#i'm trying not to just write straight up whump

[maraschinomerry]

Hi! Could you please write a Lockwood x reader fic involving the prompt: You aren't well, but you don't want to skip training and make them worry, so you continue on as usual, thinking it's not that serious. But that's proven wrong when you faint right in front of them mid-fight. Mixed with the dialogue: "You hold it like this and- why are your hands trembling?" Thank you in advance! 💙

Pretty Boy

Pairings: Anthony Lockwood x gn!reader

Content: mild swearing, whump (fainting as in the prompt), mentions of not eating or sleeping, cute flirty ending

A/N: thank you for such a great request!! I've actually also just got over being not well while I was writing this (I'm fine now and wasn't this bad!) so it was weirdly cathartic 😅

Word count: 2.3k

The blissful quiet of the kitchen at 35 Portland Row was shattered by an incredibly loud, almost violent sneeze. You threw your arm across your face just in time to catch it. That was weird. You never sneezed.

"Bless you," Lockwood frowned over the top of his magazine.

That was day 1.

On day 2, you were all out on a case, in a dilapidated Victorian house. In a divide-and-conquer strategy for such a big place, Lockwood and George had headed upstairs while you and Lucy stayed on the ground floor. Fumbling around in the dim light of the dining room, Lucy threw open the curtains to let in what was left of the evening sun, accidentally unleashing a cloud of dust which shimmered in the beam of your torch. You both coughed a little in surprise.

Your coughing didn't stop for the rest of the night.

Day 3 was spent relaxing, recovering from getting home in the early hours of the morning after a gruelling fight with a pair of Type Twos. Or rather, everyone else was relaxing. You were in your room, fluctuating between wrapping your shivering form in your duvet and throwing it off so you wouldn't melt into a puddle. The bowl of soup you'd made yourself for lunch grew cold where it sat untouched on your bedside table.

A sleepless night heralded the arrival of day 4. Your symptoms had mostly abated by the evening, and you desperately hoped to claw back a few hours of rest. By dinner time, bleary-eyed, you forced yourself downstairs to try and get at least one meal of the day. Fortunately, the kitchen was empty, so at least you didn't have to explain your recent lack of presence to anyone. Unfortunately, none of the contents of the fridge were even remotely appealing right now. You settled for a slice of toast which you took back upstairs. Two bites in, you felt your stomach flip. Great. The rest went straight in the bin.

A gentle knock sounded on your door the morning of day 5, after another night of tossing and turning without ever drifting off.

"Yeah?" you called wearily.

Lockwood poked his head in, dressed in a loose Henley T-shirt and sweatpants. "Morning. Just thought I'd check you were alright, you didn't come down for training." Oh shit. You and Lockwood had been doing weekly training together for months - it started not long after you joined the agency, when he'd come down to the basement for practice and found you already there, and you'd ended up sparring. It had happened a few more times, and eventually you fell into the habit of both going down on Friday mornings so much it became an unofficial appointment.

"Oh, sorry," you swallowed a yawn. "I lost track of what day it was. Give me five minutes."

"I sort of assumed you weren't coming down dressed Iike that." He nodded to your fuzzy pyjamas with a smirk, and you tugged shyly at the hem of the top. "Have you had breakfast?"

"Yeah." That was a lie. Lockwood studied you for a moment, and you wondered if he could see right through you, but then he nodded to himself.

"Alright, see you downstairs." He began to leave, but popped back at the last second. "I'm not saying the pyjamas are a bad look, by the way, they're cute, just maybe a bit warm for fighting in." He grinned again, and disappeared. What was that supposed to mean?

—

Five minutes later, as promised, you traipsed down the basement steps in runner shorts and a tank top. This was the last thing you wanted to be doing right now, but you loved getting one-on-one time with Lockwood and knew how much it would hurt him to break the tradition and how concerned he'd be about you if he found out you'd been ill.

Lockwood gave you another puzzled look. "Are you sure you're okay?" He'd seen you this low energy before, but normally only the day after a case.

You gave the most convincing smile you could muster. "Fine. What's the plan?"

He furrowed his brows once more, before apparently deciding against whatever he was thinking. "Okay, there was a new move I figured out on the last case. I thought I could teach you and see if you think it's any good?" That last part sounded so open and vulnerable. You could imagine what he was thinking - was it a fluke? Was it him overselling his talents? Did it look ridiculous? He got like that sometimes, needed snapping out of it. Reassuring. Your smile was more genuine this time.

"Sounds good, it certainly seemed effective."

You tried your best to concentrate while Lockwood demonstrated the move, really you did, but you were running on empty and the basement was so delightfully cool. Maybe if you just lay down on the floor for a bit, you'd sort yourself out.

"Did you get that?" Lockwood's voice cut through the fog of your thoughts, and you dragged your eyes up to meet his, which were nodding to your hands. You hadn't the slightest idea what it was he expected you to have got.

"Uhh…"

To your relief, he mistook your distraction for confusion and stepped closer to help, carefully off to one side to avoid the blade as his hands rested over yours.

"You hold it like this and- why are your hands trembling?"

You barely registered the alarm in his voice, or the uncontrollable tremor that was indeed present and spreading up your arms. Nothing in your body seemed to be responding properly any more. Did you still have hold of the rapier? Why was your chest so tight, not allowing any air in? An invisible wad had trapped in your throat, and you desperately sucked in a breath through your nose. Gosh, Lockwood smelled good. Lavender and bergamot. And he was pretty, too. So pretty. Those deep dark eyes, gazing at you with so much longing. No, not longing. He didn't do that, did he? Plus, he was frowning too much for longing. Concern? You didn't like it when he frowned. You tried to pout, but your lips didn't move. That was annoying. So were the lights. Had they always been this bright? It hurt. Everything hurt. You needed to leave. Now.

Panic took hold of the last working corner of your brain and sent a jolt of electricity down to your legs which finally reacted, carrying you shakily towards the stairs. You muttered something incoherent, mouth not quite as functional. The effort drained the last dregs of energy, and your legs stopped working again.

"Whoa, whoa-" a voice behind you gasped, hasty footsteps echoing. Who was that? There was someone else down here, wasn't there? You couldn't remember. Wait. There was a pretty boy, right? He seemed nice. You tried to tell him you were okay, you wanted to. As you pitched backwards, the silhouette of the pretty boy swam into view, blocking out the harsh lights above. That was better.

Everything went black.

—

You were laying somewhere warm and soft. That was odd. And it was less bright behind your eyelids. Where were you? Hadn't you been down in the basement? With the cold floor and the cold lights… and the pretty boy? Was he still here?

You tried to call out for him, succeeding only in a groan. The surface beneath you shifted by your feet in response, and your eyelids fluttered open a fraction. There he was. Framed by the golden rays filtering through the window behind him and dappling across his dark hair.

"Hey, pretty boy," you murmured. Proper words; that was more like it. Next step: opening your eyes fully.

Ah.

The pretty boy was Lockwood, brows knitted upwards as he shuffled further up what you gradually realised was your bed.

"Hey." His voice was thick, with the hint of a shake. "How are you feeling?"

You groaned again, moving to sit up. Lockwood instantly reached out, one hand on the small of your back and the other lifting the pillows to prop up behind you. "Been better."

Under any other circumstances, you think he'd probably have laughed. As it was, he huffed out a breath and you spotted a brief tic in his jaw. "That's a mild way of putting it. You collapsed in the middle of training. I had no idea what happened, I thought…" His gaze dropped to his lap as he trailed off. The silence clenched tightly around your heart. Eventually, he spoke again, still not looking at you, voice cracking and barely above a whisper. "I was so worried about you."

The tension in your chest pressed down further, and you thought you actually heard your heart shatter.

"Hey, Lockwood, look at me." You raised a hand, still trembling but for an entirely new reason, up to cup his cheek. At last, he looked. Those beautiful dark eyes were watery, and his nose ruffled as he tried to hold back the tears. "I'm okay, see? I'm here, I'm okay, and I'm so sorry for making you worry."

A warmth spread over the back of your hand as he brought his up to meet it. His fingers curled over yours, thumb rubbing calmingly across your knuckles. Whether the calming was for you or him, you couldn't say. "But are you sure you're okay? People don't just collapse like that, and you've been out all day." Your eyes widened a little as you glanced at your alarm clock. Almost 6. Wow.

"Honestly, it's nothing serious. Kind of stupid, actually; the irony is it all happened because I didn't want you to worry." That made him chuckle. That was promising. You continued. "I was ill - I don't know if it was a cold or flu or what - but that wasn't great to begin with, and then with it ruining my ability to eat and sleep I just… didn't have anything left to give."

You don't know what reaction you expected from Lockwood: frustration, confusion, disappointment perhaps. You certainly weren't expecting him to look quite so… guilty? "Why didn't you say something when I came to find you? We could have cancelled training." It came out sharper than you were expecting. Oh. There was where the guilt came in.

"I didn't want to break the tradition."

"To hell with the tradition if this is what it does to you!"

You faltered. Was it just your current condition, or had your mouth gone very dry? "Wait, I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" You took a steadying breath. "It's not just that. I don't mean it like it's some obligation. I love our sessions! Getting to have that time just for us, having it be our thing, it's the highlight of my week. And it's been a pretty shitty week so I wanted this one thing to be nice."

The fire in Lockwood's words died out, and he almost visibly deflated. His free hand reached up unexpectedly to brush a strand of hair from your face.

"Well, I'm glad it means that much to you, but next time will you please tell me when something's wrong? I can survive missing our date more than I can survive missing you."

Hold on.

You were definitely still ill. Your cheeks felt warm and your heart was pounding against your ribcage. That was the only possible explanation. Definitely nothing to do with the fact that the boy you'd been in love with for months had just called your training sessions a date. Oh god, you'd infected him too, his face was flushed. "Date?" you breathed.

"Only if you want it to be, of course, I don't want to jump to conclusions. Although you did call me 'pretty boy' barely five minutes ago, so I'm sure even George would agree with the legitimacy of my hypothesis." Oh, how you'd missed seeing that smirk he'd grown all of a sudden.

"I'm not entirely sure you can take the high ground on this one, love, when you said even more recently how you couldn't survive without me."

"I think so long as I'm right I can. Especially since, if we're going off who said something last, you couldn't even argue without calling me love."

"I wish we were still holding rapiers, I've got a chance of beating you at that."

Lockwood laughed, all earlier emotions replaced with nothing but tender affection. "Get some sleep, and then we can test that theory." He made to leave, but where your hands were still entwined you tightened your grip a little.

"Will you stay? Please? In case I didn't make it clear enough with fainting, I haven't been doing so great at the whole sleep thing."

When he nodded, you wriggled over to one side of the bed, allowing him to slip under the covers behind you. Everything about him felt cosy, and you snuggled towards that feeling. It took him aback for a moment until he draped an arm over your stomach, gently tugging you closer so the two of you slotted together like you'd been designed to fit one another from the start. His breath tickled your ear, but its constant rhythm slowed yours in turn. Your eyelids grew heavy.

"You know," you mumbled sleepily, "you could take me on a proper date. Only if you want to, of course, wouldn't want to jump to conclusions."

He squeezed you playfully. "I think I've got enough evidence to consider it. Lunch tomorrow if you feel up to it?" You hummed a contented agreement. As your eyes drifted shut, a feather-light kiss pressed against your temple. "Good night, love."

"Good night, pretty boy."

[stardustdreams-andcaffeine]

Bullet for You | Sierra Six

sierra six x fem!reader ✧ oneshot

Summary: Six's job is simple—protect you and Claire. It should have been straight-forward, should have been easy. That is, until you fell in love. And love makes us do crazy things, things that make the simple job of protecting very difficult.

A/N: I'm back! I know it's been a while, but I'm on a break from university and I can actually breathe and do the things I love, like writing for a totally new character to me! It's another angsty whump, but what else do you expect? Some authors specialize in smut, others in fluff. I just happen to love the angst. And be honest, so do you. Love and miss you all, keep dreaming 🤍

Warnings: angst, blood, injury, language, happy ending I promise

Word Count: 6033

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It began with a smile.

I'm not even sure if you could call what Sierra Six's lips made a smile, considering how small and quick it was. I count it, though. After months of being a bodyguard for my sister and I, months of Claire cracking jokes and me forcing Six to sit through comedy after comedy, he finally smiled.

And he smiled at me.

It was oh so brief, so fleeting, so miniscule. And yet, that one upturn of his lips changed something so fundamental and eternally within me. I was in the kitchen, trying desperately to grab the flour from the top cabinet and stubbornly refusing any and all help Six so stoically offered from his silent post in the corner. When I managed to accidentally tip it over, raining the flour down upon me and sending the bag careening to the floor, I looked up just in time to see Six's lip turn up.

And I could never be the same.

After the smile, more of the ice began to crack. He got more comfortable on movie nights, would even joke back with me with that dry, sarcastic humor of his. Sometimes, if it's been an especially good week, I can get Six to take us out on the town. Our mission had always been just to warm up the unflinching exterior of Sierra Six. Claire and I never meant to rely on his protection, his safety, his surprising warmth.

I never meant to fall in love.

And love makes you do incomprehensible things.

"Six, on average, how much do you sleep? Just give me a ballpark number here," I call out, eying the stoic, gorgeously rugged man over my steaming coffee mug.

Six pauses to think for a minute before adjusting the cuffs on his suit jacket, "3 hours on a good night."

"Excuse me?" I sputter, almost choking on the burning liquid caffeine. I set down my mug, my wide eyes catching on the humor buried in Six's smug features, "You have to know how bad for you that is."

"Sleep is for the weak," Six replies plainly, and even though I know he's joking with me I roll my eyes skyward.

"That's why you have the emotional range of a carrot. I would too if I slept that little!"

I almost miss the smile that ghosts his lips. It takes every ounce of strength I have to smother the roaring of my heart at the sight. Six simply stares ahead, his unchanging demeanor giving little away. After the many months he's been watching over us, though, I've learned to pick up on the subtleties in his behavior. The way his shoulders are relaxed and his jaw isn't set, the way his clear blue eyes seem softened, I'd go as far to call him almost...content.

I hadn't realized how much I would be willing to give to make sure he stayed that way.

I find myself studying him for another moment, and I know that he knows I am. I can't bring myself to look away, though. I know what he's been through, and even if my knowledge is only a fraction of his past, I know that peace and rest have seldom been in the cards for him. Sudden, pressing emotion threatens to choke me at the thought of the agent's life away from here. All of the horrible things he has to do, all of the fighting, all of the sleepless nights and days void of joy.

"Six, can I ask you a personal question?"

There's a beat of silence, and I know he wasn't expecting that from me. Neither was I, if I'm going to be honest.

"Technically you're my boss, so you can ask me anything. Now whether or not I’ll answer..." Six tilts his head, his humored eyes meeting mine as the start of a smirk tugs at his lips. He walks over slowly to the breakfast table I sit at, and I almost begin to fear that the pounding of my heart and searing of my blood in my veins is audible.

"Ask away, Y/N." Six says gently, his gaze down at me with a glint of something that he keeps intricately veiled.

And yet it makes a shiver crawl down my spine.

I almost lose my nerve, what with his eyes burning down into me and the closeness of his presence making my head dizzy with a dangerous tangle of attraction and unspoken feelings. Swallowing thickly, I keep my voice calm as I hold his gaze.

"If you had a say in your life, what would it look like?" I almost whisper.

His jaw clenches slightly, his throat bobbing and his body going tense. A faraway look settles into those breathtaking eyes as Six raises his gaze to the window across from us. He's silent for a while, which is characteristic for Six. He always chooses his words wisely, always stays calm, always remains sure.

This is the most unsure I've seen him, and it makes me wonder if he's ever been asked this.

"I don't know," He finally answers truthfully, making something so fundamental crack in my chest. I can't help but stare at his lifted face with furrowed brows and and pain-filled eyes. "I guess I've never really thought about it."

"You've never thought about what you want?" I ask, my voice no more than a breath to hide the anguish that threatens to out my feelings for my bodyguard.

Six sets his jaw, looking down at me again and stealing the breath from my lungs. His eyes search my face, almost as if he's memorizing every feature. In them is more emotion than I've seen in his gaze before. Finally, his eyes meet mine and I remember how much of a goner I am.

"Not until recently."

I don't dare to imagine what he means, but I can't ignore the stumbling of my heart and the overwhelming urge to stand and close the distance between us. I stay unmoving in my chair though, not daring to barely breathe.

"And what do you want, Six?"

Out of the corner of my eye I see his hands clench tighter together in front of him, almost as if he's...restraining them. From what, I'm not sure. My heart pounds harder in its cage of bones and I feel something shift in the air between us. As my breathing slowly increases and the silence grows thicker, I begin to realize that I can't hold back from him much longer. Six seems ready to answer when the ringing of my phone on the breakfast table interrupts and snaps the moment.

"Sorry," I whisper, finding my breath hard to gather as I look down at the caller ID, "It's work. I have to take this."

I give him a sympathetic gaze, but Six seems to relax slightly at this. He takes a few steps back and nods, giving me another small smile, "Duty calls,"

I smile back, and it takes all of my effort to look away and answer the phone. The call is short and to the point. They're loading me with remote work to finish over the weekend before Monday morning. Once I finally hang up, I let out a long sigh and shove myself to my feet.

"Well, looks like my Saturday just got filled," I announce with a yawn, stretching my arms up before grabbing my coffee mug. I give Six a tired smile as I bring the empty mug to the sink in the kitchen.

"They're working you half to death," Six remarks, turning to watch me as I clean my dishes, "Any more extra hours and I might have to go over there and bloody up my knuckles."

His words shouldn't ignite me as much as they do.

"I’m tempted to tell you to, being technically your boss and all," I respond, and I swear a quiet laugh escapes his laugh. It makes a soft smile grow onto my lips that I don't bother to stop. I finally tear away my gaze and walk towards my room.

"Let me know if you need anything, Six." I call back, meaning every word.

What he says next makes he halt in my step, my brows furrowed in confusion.

"Court."

I look back at him, not even having to ask to convey that I don't know what he means by that one word. Six just stares at me in a way that makes me feel undone.

"That's my real name. Courtland, but everyone used to call me Court."

His name. More than a number, more than a title, more than a job. His name. He told me his name.

What Six...what Court has done to me can never be undone. What he has changed within me can never be fixed. I know it as I just stare at him, a smile growing on my lips. I know it as that name clangs around in my mind.

"If you tell anyone, I'll have to kill you, though." Court jokes, his face still so stoic. With my heart pounding in my chest and my mind spinning out of control, I stand staring at him in awe for another moment.

"I'll take it to my grave," I whisper, my heart racing so quickly that I fear it will fail, "Court."

Saying it is one thing, but to hear his name from someone else, to hear his name from me...Something changes in Court's gaze. Something changes between us, something I can't put my finger on and something that makes me come to two realizations as I walk into my room and shut the door.

One. I love him more than I thought love was capable of.

I press my back up against my bedroom door, letting my head fall back and my eyes slip closed.

Two. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, I wouldn't do to give Courtland every single thing he could ever want.

That second realization is a very dangerous thing to know to be true when the man you'd give everything for is the man in charge of protecting your very life.

|||

Later That Night

I walk out of my bedroom, stretching with a groan. It's nearly two in the morning and I'm just now finishing up with the work that my boss sent over. My tired eyes adjust to the darkness of the house as I make my way over to the kitchen and grab a water from the fridge.

"I guess I'll relax when I retire," I grumble under my breath as I take a swig of water.

I recap the bottle and go to set it on the counter edge, but miss. When the plastic bottle clatters against the ground and I realize that I have to pick it up, I let out another groan. Mumbling under my breath annoyedly, I bend down to pick up the bottle. When I do, I'm not even fully standing before a large, powerful arm is barring my throat and pressing me to the fridge with a massive, warm body. I barely have time to gasp when my wide eyes meet those familiar blue ones and his arm is off of me in the next instant.

"Shit, Y/N are you okay?" Six asks, gently taking my face in his large, rough hands and tilting it so he can examine the untarnished skin of my neck for signs of harm.

I force out a laugh to hide the lowering panic from being attacked and from being so close to Court. Where his skin meets mine burns so intensely that I almost think something is wrong.

"I'm alright," I promise, but he doesn't let go and step back until he has come to the same conclusion, "Unless you count scaring me half to death."

"No one's usually up this late, I thought you were an intruder," Six responds, guilt still coursing through his gaze. I can’t help notice the absence of warmth in my body without his hands on me.

"Well, you're very good at your job but if I were an intruder, why would I stop for some water?" I ask, humor coursing through me. Six shrugs, and I can tell he's scrambling to regain his composure.

"Maybe you got thirsty. Breaking in takes effort"

I laugh softly, which visibly puts Six at ease. He shakes his head slightly, running a hand across his stubble-covered jaw. It's then that I notice he's not wearing professional clothes. Instead, a tight-fitting black t-shirt shows off nearly every muscle in his torso and the sweatpants to go with it make him almost seem...normal. The sight has my mouth dry and my chest tightly constricted.

"I can't believe my eyes," I remark breathlessly, looking up to connect my gaze with his, "You're not wearing a suit."

"They're in the wash," he remarks, making another laugh escape my lips.

"Well, now that you've scared me half to death, I'm definitely not tired anymore."

"Next time, don't go sneaking around the kitchen at midnight," Six advises. I scoff, lifting an eyebrow at him.

"Sneaking around? If that was sneaking around then I lied. You must not be very good at your job," I point out. His ever-so stoic face turns smug in a way that sends my heart careening out of rhythm. He takes a step closer and I have to look up to keep my gaze locked with his. His warmth washes over me and suddenly I can't think straight.

"Honey, I'm not good at my job. I'm fucking incredible at it," Six rumbles, and every coherent part of me turns molten.

The way he looks down at me with that stupid smirk on the lips that I've dreamed about for months, the way his body seems to dwarf mine, the way every molecule of air has been sucked away...it's too much for my fool's heart to resist any longer.

We both go quiet, and I think he realizes the tension thick in the air at the same moment that I do. His eyes dart down to my lips so quickly that I almost think I dreamt it, but I know that I didn't and it sends me past the breaking point.

"Y/N," Court whispers. His voice is a warning, a plea, a promise.

I'm about to close the distance between us when the glint of something catches my eye. I dart my gaze over my bodyguard's shoulder just in time to see a singular man with a handgun standing at the entry of the kitchen.

And the gun's aimed at Six, not me.

My eyes widen, and the moment suddenly slows to a crawl. The man's finger is already squeezing the trigger, and in my head I can see the love of my life catching that bullet and crumpling to the ground. Pure horror seizes my chest and I can't even think before I act.

"NO!" I shout, shoving around Six and managing to get my body between him and the man just in time for a gunshot to ring pure and clear through the air.

Time freezes and every second is a handful of years. The pain is instant, but the bite is dulled by Six bellowing my name. I've never even heard his voice get that loud. It seems almost louder than the second gunshot that explodes nearer to my head, one that comes from Six and hits the lone intruder directly between the eyes.

I press my hands to the burning in my chest, and my shocked brain can't seem to comprehend what the thick, warm liquid that gushes around my fingers is. I see Six move in front of me and slowly look up at him, my head growing lighter by the second. His eyes are wild and frantic, not an ounce of calm in sight.

"Court," I breathe, and it's the only word I can get out before my legs give out. Courtland reacts instantly, lifting me in his arms and already moving for Claire's room.

"Hold on, honey. Hold on," He orders, his voice straining for indifferent but betrayed by its tremble. My blurring vision stays caught on the beautiful man who holds me, and for once his stoic nature is broken. In its stead is a panic that he barely keeps controlled.

"Six? Six what happened?" Claire calls out from somewhere in front of me.

"Claire, I need you to grab the keys and get the car started. We need to get your sister to a hospital, alright?"

I can hear Claire frantically rush out a million questions as she scrambles through the house. My vision begins to fade, voices begins to dull, and I can barely keep my eyes open as I feel myself being carried into the garage. I vaguely hear the roar of an engine and the opening of a car door. In the midst of it all, though, my eyes are on Court.

"Court," I whisper, and through the darkening haze I see the love of my life look down at me, his gaze breaking with something deathly close to tears, "Court I'm tired again"

"No baby," he interrupts, his voice breaking on the words so deeply that he has to clear his throat to keep his tone steady, "I need you to stay awake, alright sweetheart?"

I try to nod as he sets my down in the back seat with Claire and shuts the door. I can hear my sister sobbing and speaking to me as she presses down firmly on my chest, trying desperately to keep my blood from gushing out of my body. Then, Court's in the driver's seat and peeling out of the garage and down the road at an ungodly speed. The squeal of tires and the smell of burning rubber catch in me as my brain scrambles to hold onto anything and everything.

"Why did you do that, Y/N?" Court demands, his voice so angry and terrified and desperate, all at once showing more emotion than I have ever head from him. “Why did you that?"

I know he doesn't mean for me to answer, but in the midst of it all his voice is my lifeline to the living world. As the pain dulls and I feel myself being dragged underneath by the alluring peace of darkness, Sierra Six's voice keeps me tethered to reality a few minutes longer.

He was just supposed to be my bodyguard. He didn’t even want this job when he first started. He was my uncle’s employee and that was it.

And now, I’ve taken a bullet for him. I’d do it again, too. Over and over and over again.

Oh how things have changed.

"I couldn't let you die." My voice is weak and small, but he hears it through all of the commotion. As he tears down the dark road, his eyes meet mine in the review mirror. In them, I see his heart shattering. I see the guilt mounting and I see his very composure hanging by a thread.

"You should have let me."

Those words are the last things I hear before my world fades away into a nothingness so consuming that I almost welcome it.

|||

The next few hours—or days, of which I’m not sure—pass in a drug-induced haze that captures my mind in a knee-deep sludge.

There’s flashes of white coats and bright lights, needles and monitors, cold metal and blinding pain. Through it all, my mind struggles to keep pace and the confusion muddles every thought and leaves them to die on their way across a neuron to fruition. Eventually, the chaos settles into a blissful sleep.

That is, until the lights turn back on in my mind and this time, I can think clearly.

When I finally manage to get my eyes to open to the soft lighting of a hospital room, I remain still on the bed. I can hear voices mulling around me, and subconsciously I find myself searching and yearning for that one specific voice to grace my ears.

But it doesn't.

With a slight frown etched into my brow, I stir slightly on the hospital bed and turn my head to survey the room. The sources of the voices appear as I sweep my gaze to the chairs at my bedside. A small smile etches onto my lips. It's Uncle Fitz and Claire.

"Hey,"

My voice is barely a scratch of a whisper, but it makes my family go silent before me. They both whip their gazes towards me, and instantly whatever conversation the two were having before is long forgotten. Uncle Fitz and Claire hurry to my side, each speaking over the other to try and talk with me. Tears edge my gaze and I chuckle slightly, the motion making my chest ache painfully.

"One at a time," I manage out, smiling at the two. Uncle Fitz grabs ahold of my hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it and clutching it in his grasp as if at any moment I'll fade away.

"You gave us both one hell of a scare, kiddo,"

"Yeah," Claire chirps in, slapping my thigh lightly, "Don't do that again, Y/N"

She's saying something else, but my gaze sweeps through the rest of the room and something in my chest falls when I see only a stranger standing in the corner. No trace of Six. An odd spiraling sensation trickles through my chest. This room isn't complete without him.

"Where's Six?" I mumble, turning to look between a now silent Uncle Fitz and Claire. My uncle takes in a long breath and sits up slightly, keeping my hand in his.

"Y/N, this is Agent Williams. He will be watching over you and Claire from now on"

That trickle in my chest intensifies to a downpour, and suddenly someone is wrenching my heart in their grasp. My breathing quickens, my head spins, my soul trembles.

Where is Six? Where is he? Why isn't he here?

"Did you fire him?" I breathe out, my eyes wide and every emotion displayed plainly across my face.

"Y/N," Fitz sighs, hanging his head so to not look me in the eyes.

"Did you fire him?" I repeat, my heart beating so fast it could burst. Then, Uncle Fitzroy looks me in the eyes once more.

"No, sweetheart. He requested to be moved to another assignment."

And my heart, my very soul, fractures.

He's just so easily left us behind? After everything we've been through, after every day cooped up together, after slowly but surely breaking into my chest and stealing my heart, he's gone.

I don’t think so.

I only groan slightly as I sit up against my uncle’s protests, “Give me his location.”

Fitz freezes, his brows furrowing as he stands unsure beside my hospital bed, “Y/N, I can’t-“

“Give me his location,” I repeat, staring down my uncle, “You know it’s safe with me.”

Fitz holds my gaze for a few more moments, warring with himself over whether or not to give into my demands. I know I’ve won when he lets out a long sigh and pulls out his phone.

“You’re not gonna back down, so I guess I have to,” he wearily says. He fiddles around with his phone before putting it away and pulling out a burner phone from another pocket.

Does he just keep those things on hand?

“Here, I sent the location to this phone,” Uncle Fitz informs, slipping the burner phone into my hand, “But you’re not allowed to go until you’re healed up.”

I nod, grateful to take whatever bargain I can. As the day goes on, it turns into two. And then three. And then a week. And then two weeks. Before I know it, it’s been a month, and I’m still clutching the burner phone to my chest. A few more months and I’ll be able to hunt Six down. I’ll find him.

I have to.

|||

A few months later.

The cold wind whips against my cheeks angrily, making my skin nearly burn with the frost it holds. The buildings smattered around do little to break the icy temperatures, and neither does the throngs of people mulling around quietly with their thick coats tugged close. My eyes follow the buildings closely as I walk, and it isn’t long before I come to a pause and pull out the small burner phone Uncle Fitz gave me months ago in the hospital.

I check and then double check. This is it. This is the building.

Anxiety I hadn’t expected blossoms in the bottom of my gut as I stand before the apartment complex. A million doubts rush through my head, but I banish them with the reminder that, if nothing else, I am here to see Court one last time.

Even if that last time is me punching him across the face.

I shove past the crowd and hastily cross the street, getting lucky enough to slip in through the main entrance behind another tenant as they go in. The blast of stifled heat in the dingy, close to trashy, apartment lobby is enough to make me choke, but it’s welcome compared to the icebox of outside. I go unnoticed as I make my way to the stairwell beside the elevators that don’t seem all that trustworthy.

Fourth floor. Room 416. It should be the last one on the right.

I take each step slower than the last, my grit fizzling out the closer I get to the fourth floor. The stairwell is silent, leaving my brain plenty of room to run over and over and over again what could happen. Once again, I silence the thoughts by reminding myself of what spurred me to come here in the first place.

He left. Six left and I don’t think I can keep living like this without him.

What if he doesn’t want to stay with me? What if I mean as little to him as the next target? What if, what if, what if?

I don’t even pause to catch my breath when I reach the massive door marked with the Russian word for four. I shove through it and begin to blaze my way down the cramped hallway. My heart is racing but I don’t dare stop, don’t dare look back. I’ve come this far, I can’t turn around now.

I do pause, though, when I reach the last door on the right. Room 416.

“416,” I breathe, my heart slamming in my chest loud enough to reverberate through my being.

Then I raise my fist, and knock.

And knock.

And then knock again.

By the third round of knocking, it hits me that he’s probably not home. For some reason, that comforts me. I tug in a breath of stifled air and then pull out the pickpocketing kit I’d purchased weeks ago in case of this very scenario. With trembling fingers, I stoop down and begin to fiddle with the lock just as I’d practiced. It’s only a few minutes before I’m met with a surprising click.

It’s open.

I stash the kit and hold my breath as I take the cold doorknob in my grasp. Then, with a heart of both lead and hope, I turn it and enter his apartment. The moment I’m inside and the door is shut behind me, I know that I’ve reached the right place. The overwhelming smell of pine and snow and a hint of gum circulates, and that’s one smell I don’t think I’ll ever soon forget.

Casting my gaze around the darkened apartment, I notice it’s as I suspected. I can’t see anyone in here. I traipse my way into the main area of the small but quaint apartment. There’s a kitchen to my left, a small living room to my right, and a short hallway leading to a door that I presume is his bedroom before me.

I haven’t taken more than two steps towards the door when a pair of large, rough hands grasp my shoulders and shove me backwards until I’m colliding with the wall beside the kitchen. A massive, muscular arm comes up to bar my throat, and once my shock has subsided, I come to realize what’s happening. The familiarity of this is too strong.

Because it’s him. It’s Courtland.

He must be just as surprised to see me, because the moment recognition flares through those gorgeous, deadly eyes, his stubble-covered jaw slackens and so does his hold on my neck. He keeps me there against the wall, seeming to be frozen and uncomprehending of what stands before him. With his skin on mine and his face so close, I almost buckle to the floor as something I’ve been missing these last few months crashes into me. Something only Court makes me feel.

“This position seems familiar,” I finally whisper, breaking the thick, tense silence.

“Y/N” Six mumbles, the very sound of my name coming from his lips making me shiver.

He shoves away from me instantly, taking steps back to put space between us. Six runs a hand over his jaw as his gaze sweeps over me, slowly and scrutinizingly in the way he was trained. Only his gaze doesn’t make me feel like a target, it makes me feel…undone. I see his eyes stick on my upper torso. The exact spot that bullet slammed into me all those months ago. A certain pain flashes through his gaze before, in an instant, his unfeeling and unyielding demeanor returns.

Only this time there’s a difference. I can visibly see the strain it takes to hide whatever emotions are running through him.

“I’m okay,” I manage out, shattering the silence between us. I mentally scold myself for the stupid and fumbling excuse for a first greeting, but I press on nonetheless.

Court nods, his face blank as his eyes pierce into mine, “What are you doing here?”

His words send a dagger of hurt slicing through my heart, but I try to ignore it. Instead, I gather my nerve and say what I came here to stay.

“You weren’t there when I woke up”

I intended the words to be bold, convicting, confident. It surprises even me when they instead come out nearly laying bare every inch of affliction burdening me. My words are quiet, but they hit Six so hard I see him flinch the slightest bit.

“I’m just glad you woke up,” Six averts, but his words ring with truth. I feel tears I knew would come but desperately hoped wouldn’t begin to prick behind my eyes.

“Why did you leave?” I ask directly. I’m done beating around the bush.

“Y/N, it’s not as simple as-”

“Why did you leave?” I repeat, my words stronger and trembling only slightly at the end. Six sighs, clenching his jaw before he manages a response.

“I had a job, I failed at that job. When that happens, that usually means you don’t have that job anymore.” He sounds almost automated, as if he’d memorized those words.

“That sounds pretty simple to me,” I shoot back, anger I hadn’t anticipated beginning to burn in my gut, “But I’m calling bullshit.”

There’s a moment of silence and I can tell from the shift in his gaze that he’s going to tell me the truth.

I just hope I’m prepared for what it means.

“It is-,” he stops abruptly, barely reacting except for the tightening of his jaw and the clenching of his fists before him as he tries again, “Was my job to protect you. I couldn’t do that when you were willing to put yourself in danger around me.”

“You left me because I made you incapable of doing your job correctly?” I exclaim, my tone incredulous.

“It’s not about the damn job!” Six suddenly outbursts, and I go silent immediately. I’ve only ever heard him raise his voice now twice.

And the first was when he saw blood pouring from my chest.

“Protecting you,” Six continues, his normal volume returned but his voice strained, “It goes beyond the job.”

I don’t seem to have a response for that one. I don’t need to find one either, because Six can’t stop himself from taking a step closer to me.

“You once asked me what I wanted,” He murmurs, and even though we’re a few feet apart the air is electric. “Well, what I want can’t be near me if all she’ll do is put herself between me and a bullet.”

I’m fairly certain that my brain short-circuits, because his words won’t process.

What he wants.

What he wants.

Me? He wants me?

“You mean you-”

But just as quickly as his emotion has exploded, it’s gone. Court’s face hardens and he turns around, walking off back to where he was before I broke in.

“Your new bodyguard is good. He’ll take care of you.”

"Wait, Six. I-"

"I've got a job to take care of here, so I probably won't see you or Claire again. Keep her safe for me." His voice is so monotone, so careless, so...so strained to make it that way. I watch in utter shock as he mills around his apartment, grabbing a phone and a gun as he clearly prepares to leave.

"Six, don't shut down like this. We need to talk about what you just said." I insist. He acts as though I haven't spoken at all.

"If you'll excuse me," Six says curtly, pulling a suit jacket on and brushing past me and towards the door to his apartment. A certain panic grips my chest so tightly that my legs nearly give out.

He can't leave me, not again. I can't lose him. I can't.

"Six, wait!" I exclaim, trailing him towards the door. He doesn't turn around, "Please, just talk to me."

Six makes it to the apartment door and swings it open. As he does, despair that threatens to suffocate me invades my chest. I'm slowly beginning to realize that this is it. He's going to walk out that door and everything that has happened in the time I've known him, everything he's become to me, will be over.

"Court, please. Don't leave me,"

Six freezes in his step, the door still in his grasp and his frame halfway through the opening. My heart slams into my throat, hope making it pick up its pace as he stands with his back to me, his body clearly heaving with breath.

"If you meant what you just said," I falter slightly, only slightly, before I throw all caution to the wind, "Then you have to know that I want you too, you have to know that. Shit, Court I more than want you. I-"

My words die as Six is suddenly moving, storming back into the apartment and slamming the door behind him. I stare with wide eyes as he suddenly approaches me, and the next thing I know his hands are cupping my face and his face is so close to mine that all thoughts leave me. His eyes search mine as he pauses, no emotions held back this time.

"This isn't safe for you," Court rasps. I can hardly focus as his eyes drop to my lips with a desire so strong in them that a shiver runs down my spine.

"I'm safest with you," I assure. Court shakes his head slightly, his thumb running across my cheek.

"You just had to go and say my name," He murmurs.

Then Court connects his lips to mine, and for the first time in my life I know what it is to live.

His lips move in perfect harmony with mine, his warmth overwhelming me and overheating me. His large, calloused hands on me are everything and not enough all at once and when one slips into my hair and tugs me closer, I know.

He is danger, he is the dark, he is everything I was warned about as a child. And he's the love of my life.

"No more jumping in front of bullets for me," Court orders once he pulls back. My lips twitch up slightly.

"No promises."

[snakebites-and-ink]

Whumper-Turned-Caretaker CYOA 1

I'm giving this a try. It's my first time writing something interactive like this so please bear with me.

CW for the series

You linger at the top of the stairs, quietly watching the sleeping form of your basement’s unwilling inhabitant. As if just watching them will help you figure out what to do next.

You’ve had Whumpee for a while. You caught them for your own enjoyment and you’ve kept them locked up down here ever since. You treated them however you pleased, which usually meant them getting hurt. It’s taken its toll on them, but you didn’t really mind that. At least, not before now.

But you had a…an epiphany, maybe, a change of heart, a reformation, whatever you want to categorize it as. Point is, you don’t feel like you should be doing this any longer.

You take a moment to consider what you should do from here. Maybe just letting Whumpee go right away would be the technically right thing to do, but you really don’t want them running straight to the police. It would probably be better for both of you if you helped them recover first, right?

You can patch them up, meet the many needs they have that you’ve been…less than diligent about at best. Take care of them.

Then again, they’re probably behind on sleep. Waking them up to take care of them might actually be worse than leaving them as-is for the time being.

You sigh to yourself. Doing whatever seemed fun in the moment was so much easier than trying to figure out how to do what’s right.

Taglist:

@kabie-whump

[wrencatte]

Do you have a fav whump trope for Cal? Or my beloved Jason Todd if you don’t have one for the trauma Jedi

There is sooooo much overlap if I'm being completely honest. I have my preferences yanno? Trying to pick a favorite whump trope for a specific character would just be listing my favorite whump tropes in general (and I have soooooo many). BUT you asked a question so I'll do my best to answer....

Cal: electrocution definitely, there are a bunch of canon instances across both games from the stim introduction in fallen order, the 'trooper weapons, the Bedlam raiders, and those shock grenades that even Bode uses (did somebody say friendly fire???).

Also, falling. First off, falling is so broad. Why did he fall? Slip? Animal attack? Trooper attack? Seizure? Echo? Whump him before the impact. Second off, what did he fall onto? Water? Impact and drowning risk. Tar? Same. A creature's den? Oh boy. Into a room full of Imperials or raiders? Craggy rocks? I read a fic where someone pushed off a scrap ship on Bracca and he got impaled. The options are endless. (Also, what did he climb? One of my wips his forcing him to climb orange hot metal grating >:3c)

And then seizures and echo induced emotional breakdowns and/or catatonia, I have a fic planned where he's in solitary confinement for like a few hours at most but he gets to experience echoes of dozens of people whose confinements lasted much, much, MUCH longer - and they all died in the end. Having to experience first-hand hours, days, weeks of being utterly alone condensed into just a few hours? Echoes are soooo ripe for whump

OH AND ORDER 66 TRAUMA. That's my jam. I like it when time travel stories (I've read them all I'm 99.99% sure because I looovvveeeeee time travel fics) have him understandably freak the fuck out around clones while also struggling with the knowledge about the chips.

Jason: *gestures to all of my posted stories* How can I pick just a couple as my favorite? Can I pick a favorite fic or two and extrapolate from there? Cos let me tell you wiretrapped and dragged along were some of my favorite straight-up whump fics to write, and oh just hangin' out. I also like giving Jason panic attacks, too, I'm now realizing. Fear toxin is also so much fun - Sheila being the starring member of those hallucinations is just so good.

Thank you for the ask!! Have an avcacdo 🥑🥑(have them all! I'm allergic)

[bellysoupset]

Soup, Soup, you can't just post about Jon's burps right after mentioning Wendy kept sliding him the drinks after the party at her place...could we have any of the aftermath with him and Leo? 👀 just striking the iron while it's hot, don't mind me @writing-whump

This was too cute not to type immediately.

Burpy Jonah in the morning after Wen's bday.

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

Leo had fallen asleep on the couch. Not on purpose, but after dropping Jonah off at Wen's apartment at 1 AM and coming home alone, he had stopped to breathe in the couch, unbuttoning his shirt- And then woke up with the sun streaming in and JD nibbling at his fingertips.

"Uhm, what is it?" Leo grumbled, sitting up and picking up the cat, pressing his nose to her little triangular one, "it's too early for food, baby. You're gonna turn into a round cat if we keep feeding you at all times of the day."

JD let out a pitiful meow at that and Leo sighed, collapsing back against the cushions and yawning, "is Jonah back yet?" he smoothed her fur, grinning when his cat rolled on her back, exposing her tummy for him. She knew exactly how to be terribly cute and get herself treats when he said no, "you manipulative little cat."

Leo got out of the couch, stumbling to the kitchen to grab JD's treats, the cat running ahead as if to show him the way. He rolled his eyes at her, crouching down to grab the plastic packet and grimacing when he caught his reflection on one of the pans. His hair was sticking out everywhere and he was still wearing last night's clothes.

After a long shower, Leo walked back into the living room, only to find JD had climbed his work suitcase and was in the process of trying to open the zipper.

"You are terrible," he groaned, reaching to grab her and she let out a pitiful meow at being pressed against his naked, humid chest, "yeah, meow all you want, my work suitcase is not for-"

He interrupted himself when the door opened and Jonah stumbled in.

Leo raised his eyebrows, pressing his lips into a line as he saw Jon press against the door, raising a hand to his mouth to muffle what he thought was a yawn, only for a loud burp to cause Leo to jump and JD to hiss.

"Oh shit- Sorry!" Jonah blushed as he realized he wasn't alone, collecting himself, as he was sliding down the closed front door, "sorry. Excuse me."

"You're excused," Leo giggled, "what time is it?"

"Eight something..." Jon rubbed his face and Leo raised his eyebrows as he took in exactly what his boyfriend was wearing. These were certainly not the social clothes he had left wearing last night.

"Are those Vince's?" Leo smiled, inspecting the orange hoodie that was very large on Jon, as well as the grey pants that were covering his toes.

"Yeah," Jonah grimaced and walked further into the apartment, "I'm starving."

"Wendy didn't feed you? Some host she is," Leo couldn't help the jab and Jonah's shoulders shook with a chuckle as he entered the kitchen area and started grabbing everything in the fridge.

"Apparently Vince is down with some biblical plague, they all rushed to Luke and Bell's place, Barbara drove me home..." Jonah stuffed his mouth with a croissant that Leo was pretty sure was a day old and thus normally untouchable by his boyfriend's standards, "uhm, this is good. My tummy hurts."

"Your tummy hurts," Leo repeated, lowering JD back to the ground and leaning against the fridge, terribly amused, "are you still drunk?"

"Maybe," Jon nodded, sliding down and sitting on the kitchen floor, chugging juice straight out of the carton and causing Leo's eyebrows to raise even more, "probably, Wendy kept pushing me her drinks."

"I see," Leo nodded, crouching down on the ground as well and crawling to him, pressing Jon against a cabinet as he stole a kiss, "just how drunk?"

"Uhmmm," Jonah hummed happily, pulling back with a dazed smile and running his fingers through Leo's humid hair, "not drunk enough we have to stop, no."

"No?" Leo grinned, tugging on Jonah's borrowed orange hoodie and dumping it on the ground next to them, practically on top of JD, "c'mere-"

He leaned in to kiss Jon, all but sitting on his lap on the kitchen floor, only for the pressure on his boyfriend's tummy to be too much and Leo ended up jumping back, startled as Jon let out a loud burp.

The other man whined, scrambling to cover his mouth with both hands, while Leo threw his head back, cackling.

"Not funny!" Jonah groaned, lowering his forehead to Leo's naked shoulder and the blonde shook with giggles.

"No, hilarious," he corrected, kissing Jon's cheek, "does your tummy at least feel better?"

Jon groaned, then Leo felt him muffle another huge burp, his cheeks ballooning comically, "a little. Stop laughing at me."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he grinned, wrapping his arms around him, "we can still make out, I don't mind."

"Freaky," Jonah scoffed, hugging him back and slotting his chin on Leo's shoulder, "I think I just... Just wanna stay like this."

"Okay," Leo smiled, melting into the hug, "whatever you want, Jon."

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Hello I am here again to ask for your thoughts on A Dune Subject.

So I know we both have had thoughts re: Paul's injuries at the end of Part 2. I still don't know how they'll handle the Messiah time jump but my guess is that they'll still show *some* stuff that took place in the in between rather than just having a 12 year gap like the books...I still think the idea that they'll address his injuries feels too specific to hope for HOWEVER. However. I was glancing through that scene in the books and realized something I'd forgotten about -- in the book, Feyd's knife is drugged, just enough as an attempt to slow his opponent down in a fight (Paul's narration calls it a soporific but what he describes is essentially a muscle relaxant) and it turns out he's also got a poisoned dart hidden under his armour that he's trying to get Paul close enough to in order to stab him with it.

Now I know none of this was in the movie, but do you think it's possible it'll be alluded to somehow in the third film? Bc a part of me feels like even if they don't do it exactly it would make sense to have a nod to it even as a short lived plot point, like possibly it'll turn out Feyd's knife was straight up poisoned and this is Bad News for Paul? Idk I'm curious about your thoughts...even if they don't do it (which I'm not EXPECTING) it's A Concept for certain

I don't think it's likely anything like this will come up in the films, mostly because I don't really think it fits Villeneuve!Feyd's characterization. He seems to relish having a worthy opponent and consider himself "honorable" so I don't know that giving himself a hidden sneaky advantage would be appealing to him. And like, unless the Emperor himself is carrying around a poisoned blade idk exactly how the logistics would work.

It is, however, a GREAT whump fic concept. Or I can even see a canon-divergent AU that more or less uses Thufir Hawat's plotline that got cut in the film, where Paul got poisoned when he was stabbed, but it's a slow-acting poison and someone is withholding the antidote unless he does what they want. And wait wait it has just occurred to me that that someone should be IRULAN who knows that the Emperor's knife is always poisoned and suddenly she goes from a pawn to being in control of the whole situation. Oh that's juicy. Someone who likes writing Irulan scheming and plotting should totally write that.

I don't know if we'll see any of the intervening years between the end of Part Two and Messiah. I think we'll most likely get a prologue voiceover similar to the first two movies orienting us to what's happened in the intervening years. (I would love it if they did some sort of riff on the way the book opens, where we're introduced to the events of the preceding years by some random historian from Ix who we have NO context for. But actually now that I'm thinking about it, I think the most interesting person to give the opening voiceover is Alia.) I do think they will have to skip ahead more than 12 years, because one of the few things we seem to know about the movie is that Anya Taylor-Joy is gonna be in it, and while I think she can play a convincing-enough teenager, I don't think she can pull off 12.

[whumping-valentine]

🦌 Fawn and Hunter - Part 1 🦌

(Inspired by my post from last night)

Content: hunter whumper, captured whumpee in bear trap, rural setting, injuries, creepy whumper, environmental whump (kinda)

1,500 Words (so nice to write something short for once)

I plan to make this series progressively more and more creepy and paranormal as it goes on (introducing ghosts, demons, vampires, etc.) which even begin to freak whumper out. I came up with an entire plot while I was trying (and failing) to sleep last night. I told myself I was going to write something not fantasy and actually grounded in reality for once but noooo I just had to have my cryptids. And complex plots. I'm incapable of making something simple, I really tried, guys. But trust me, y'all have no idea how crazy things are gonna get.

I'll tag this series as #fawn and hunter so you can use that to search my profile for it (which will be their "names" going forward). Apologies if the writing isn't the best, I wrote this in like 2 hours. Btw they're both nonbinary because I've decided I hate gender. Fellow genderqueers rise up.

Anyways, enjoy!

       The woods were Whumpee's favorite place to be. The way the winds rustled through the leaves, and birds sang from their nests up high in the trees. They loved nature, they always had since they were a child. And today was a day just like any other.

       They were new to this area in particular, and were eager to take a walk through a brand new set of woodland. They were heavily geared and excited, taking their steps into a small, secluded nature trail early in the morning.

       They lost themself among the trees, the crunching autumnal leaves beneath their feet, the wind against their face. They hiked through the rocky paths, stomped down steep hills, and rested against the trees. They were an adventurer at heart. One who loved nature, and animals, and the outdoors. They respected it, thanked it, and appreciated it. 

       They hadn't even realized they had ventured off the path, far too amazed by the rushing river and fall scenery. They snapped so many photos on their camera, it was all so beautiful. They had been in the area for about a week now, and locals have called the woods haunted and dangerous. How ridiculous! Whumpee thought. They were really missing out.

       A few hours into their hike, they relaxed in the leaves against a tree near the river, kicking their bare feet in the cold water. It didn't bother them much. They took a drink from their cantine, feeling high and happy on these simple joys of life. This is what it was all about. This was living.

       Whumpee dried off their feet and continued their hike away from the rushing waters, where they spotted a white-tailed deer. A doe, to be exact. She was beautiful, and whumpee was careful to remain hidden and quiet as they peered from behind a tree. They took notice of a heart shape among her white spots, quietly snapping photos of the unique pattern. When she spotted the human, both looked like deer caught in headlights.

       Whumpee slowly, and carefully, pulled out a granola bar from their bag, kneeling down on the ground as they offered it to the cautious creature. The doe slowly approached them, as if she could sense something positive about the small human. She sniffed the oats and began to munch. When there was nothing left the two made eye contact before the doe galloped off into the woods, hoof steps disappearing off into the distance. Whumpee was stunned by the encounter. It felt magical.

       Whumpee continued on through the woods, where the peaceful tranquility was interrupted by a loud, metal clank, followed by a pained scream that echoed through the trees. Whumpee collapsed to their knees in the dirt in a state of shock. They looked to their legs and saw a massive, heavy bear trap clung to their right ankle. It dug straight through their thick boots, going all the way down to the bone.

       As the adrenaline and shock wore off, an unbearable agony coursed all throughout their leg, followed by an aching throb. Any slight movement they'd make with their leg would cause a spike of horrendous, sharp pain. They tried their best to fight through it and pry the contraption off of them, but it was no use, and just caused more turmoil to their vessel. Even if they could get it off, they weren't sure they'd even be able to walk.

       They pulled their phone out of their bag to call for help, but to their dismay they had no signal. How far out did they venture from the path? It couldn't have been that far… yet by the look of the sky, night was approaching. They had been walking all day. How could they have gotten so lost?

       They shut off their phone and their hand fell limp to the ground in defeat. Pure dread took a hold of them as their racing heart dropped to their stomach. All they could do was lie back in the dirt and leaves, control their breathing, and pray to god someone finds them. 

       When they calmed down enough, all that was left was that throbbing ache. They squeezed their eyes shut as tears leaked from them. They felt so stupid. How could they have gotten so lost? How could they have allowed themself to get caught in such a large trap?

       They packed plenty of snacks and water, but would it even be worth it to stay alive? Maybe they should just accept defeat and let the Earth reclaim their bones. They had made a foolish mistake, and this was how things shall end. Taken down by the very thing they love. Ironic, isn't it?

       Night approached quickly, and along with it came the autumnal chill. It was freezing, and there was nothing they could do. They tried their best to relax and rest, but it was difficult. They had been camping many times before, but never without a blanket, in the dirt, with a bear trap around their ankle.

       The cold wind blew the decaying leaves off the trees, rustling as they tumbled around the ground. At least whumpee had the comforting sound of the crickets and owls to keep them company. Even the distant howling of wolves and bats flying overhead helped put them at ease. At least they weren't alone.

       Somehow they managed to fall asleep. They were awoken by the morning sun shining down on them, greeted by the chirp of birds who still had yet to fly south. The sun didn't stay for long, quickly passing behind thick clouds, casting a grey darkness over the land. Whumpee sighed, and stared up at the sky, getting lost in their thoughts of death and decay, trying to accept their fate.

       They were snapped out of their macabre thoughts by the sound of crunching leaves. They firstly assumed it to be a deer, but quickly noticed— it was a person!

       "H— hey!" Whumpee called out, sitting up, "Help me, please, I need help!"

       The person was dressed in thick, layered clothing. They wore a trapper hat with a mask that covered everything but their eyes, gripping an old, dirty, wooden shotgun in both their hands. The hunter looked between them and the trap, surprise in their brown eyes. They walked over to them.

        "Help?" Whumper questions, pulling down their mask, and a slow smile begins to cross their face, "Oh, yes. So sorry about the trap."

       "This… is your trap?" Whumpee questioned in disgust, "I don't hate hunters, but these kinds of traps are cruel and illegal! I've been stuck here all night, and I'm in so much pain, and I'm cold, and— and— stop smiling, you sicko, you caught a person!"

       "I did." Whumper said, sounding almost proud, kneeling down in front of their capture. "But who's fault is that? What's a pretty fawn like you doing this deep into the woods? It's not like there's a trail anywhere around here. I would know. I've never run into another person out here before. Not until now."

       "Don't— don't blame me! You shouldn't even have these kinds of traps to begin with!"

       "Stop yelling, you'll ruin that pretty voice of yours." Whumper grabbed their chin and inspected their face. They had big, green eyes that were only made larger by their circular glasses. Their face was freckled and covered with dirt, "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

        Whumpee roughly pushed their hand away, "Don't touch me! I'm fine except for my ankle, all thanks to you. Help me get it off, and I'll leave, and— and won't report you for possessing illegal traps. Is that so hard to do?"

       "Mm, it's not that it's hard..."

       "Then what is it?! Just— just take it off! It hurts! And I'm hungry, and tired, and getting sick, just— help me!" They cried.

      "If you want me to help then you can stop yelling at me. You can do that, can't you?"

       "Yeah, sure, whatever, just make it stop."

       "I don't appreciate your attitude, but I'll let it slide for now." Whumper stood back up.

       "For now?! What do you—!"

       "Shut it." Whumper cut them off, pointing their gun towards them. They then stuck out their hands, looking at whumpee with a blank yet firm expression, "Come. I'll fix you up."

      Whumpee stared at them and their outstretched hands. They didn't trust this person one bit.

       But it isn't like they had a choice.

       Reluctantly, whumpee took their hands, and was helped to their feet. Well, at least their good foot. They leaned against the hunter for support, letting out a groan and scream of pain. Their ankle was still throbbing as the sharp metal teeth cut through flesh and bone.

       Whumper picked them up and threw them over their shoulder, causing a surprised and pained yelp to escape their prey.

       As whumper carried them off through the forest, it was then where whumpee noticed the woodland chatter had fallen completely silent...

( If you want more of Fawn whumpee and Hunter whumper please let me know!! I will be writing more regardless though lol )

Edit: More can be found on my profile by searching Fawn and Hunter 👍 Thanks guys

[lloydfrontera]

The only reason people say Lloyd was maltreated is because OG Lloyd suffers from “Draco in Leather Pants”, where a character with major negative flaws has those flaws massively downplayed. Along with any evil actions or rude behaviour they committed ignored or retroactively justified as them being the actions of a “victim” who is lashing out, despite all evidence to the contrary. This mostly done so that the fandom can have a new “Woobie”, a character who makes you feel extremely sorry for them, to write angst about

On the other hand, Arcos suffers from “Ron the Death Eater” syndrome. Where fandom decides to take a good character who committed a few mistakes in the past, exaggerating that characters’s small negative flaws or mistakes to massive proportions. Or even assigning evil acts to the character that the character never committed. This way people can have convenient antagonist who hurt the “Woobie” in the past or continues to do so, thus making the “Woobie” the victim in the scenario.

These are all symptoms of people wanting to make more “Whump” fanfic. Whump fanfic is fanfic where a character undergoes various different forms physical and mental suffering. These insubstantial takes on the characters in order to create “Whump” completely ignore other avenues rife with potential “Whump”, ones that are even supported by the source material.

Such as Kim Suho constant struggles with the fact that even though he now has the life he always wanted, being free from debt, in a safe financial positions, and being surrounded by a loving family, he has to contend with the fact they aren’t’t his. He has to handle the guilt he feels when interacting with Arcos and Marbella due to the belief that they don’t know that he not there son. That he effectively stolen another person’s life, though through no fault of his own, and has now undeservedly gained that person’s parents.

Then there is Julian, who suffered plenty of abuse from his brother over the years growing up, both vocal and physical. As evidenced by the scar on his forehead that was caused by glass from a beer bottle his brother threw at him. There is also the physical and vocal abuse he suffered from other nobles at the academy before Kim Suho showed up and set everyone straight. Yet not nearly as many people seem to be interested in delving to how being on the receiving end of that kind of abuse for years would affect him

In short,

Reader: “I want Whump”

Actual Story: “We have Whump at home”

love the use of tropes in this ask, you're speaking my language now

and yeah, you're right, i just,,, i find it confusing. ofc everyone is allowed to do whatever they want, canon is a suggestion and all of that but like,, i don't know. i find it weird.

it almost feels like they're trying to justify og lloyd's abuse of julian by accusing arcos of bad parenting. but 1) they do it by exaggerating some genuine mistakes he made, 2) ignoring the context surrounding the situation and 3) just fucking lying about it????

not to mention, that even if arcos had been a genuinely bad father (which he was not), that would still not justify what og lloyd did to julian! negligence doesn't justify abuse! even if the fronteras hadn't given lloyd enough positive attention (which there isn't any evidence to assume this), that would still not justify og lloyd lashing out and constantly hurting the people around him, including his younger brother.

if people want whump, just like you said, there's plenty in canon already. lloyd, julian, and javier all have their own trauma to work through, some of it caused by og lloyd himself. heck if you want that very specific 'negligent and distant father' flavor of whump, sheherazade is right there. bk moon does a great job at giving us plenty of character with a lot of baggage and trauma, there's enough to pick and choose without needing to resort to headcanons that go directly against canon lmao

but again, i'm not fond of the whole 'you're only allowed to like a character while acknowledging every bad thing they've ever done' thing, because it's bullshit and also i love me some war criminals here and there, so do whatever you want forever i'm no one to say you can't do something lol

[whumpshaped]

Saddest trope ever for me is Whumpee not knowing how to read/write. Caretaker mindlessly asks them to pick out a book or something like that and Whumpee panics because they can't complete the task Caretaker gave them.

I can make it better with a whumpee who can't read/write but also can't communicate verbally so for some times the only way they can communicate with Caretaker is through crude/ childish drawings.

tw whumpee ashamed of not being able to communicate and read, implied past trauma

A book. Why did it have to be a book? Whumpee looked at the wide selection on Caretaker's shelves and felt themself beginning to panic. They didn't know what to go off of. The size? The cover? Were they supposed to pick something that looked complicated, or something that looked like it was meant for a child? What did Caretaker expect them to do?

"You don't like any of them?" Caretaker asked casually. "We can go pick up something else for you at a library, if you want."

Whumpee shook their head frantically. No. Not even more books for someone so incompetent and stupid and-

"Whumpee?" They looked concerned now. "Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry. I'm... not very good at guessing what, uh... guessing what you'd like. Without... you know."

The fact was, Whumpee either couldn't or didn't want to talk. It made the attempted recovery way harder on both of them, and Caretaker kept stepping into traps they didn't know were there. Clearly, this was another one of those times.

"I'm gonna ask you a couple questions, okay? Yes or no questions. You can just nod or shake your head. I would like to try and understand what's wrong. Is that okay with you?"

Whumpee nodded, taking a deep breath to try and calm down. It was just Caretaker. They were a friend. They could do this thing, they could answer some questions for a friend.

"Okay. Let's see... Do you like books at all?"

Whumpee hesitantly shook their head.

"Do they remind you of something bad?"

Whumpee shook their head again.

Caretaker hummed. "So you just don't like to read?"

Whumpee shook their head once more. That wasn't it. They would've loved to read the books. They would've loved to do well for Caretaker.

Caretaker thought some more, then finally arrived at the right question. "Can you read?"

Whumpee shook their head one last time, relieved that Caretaker knew they weren't purposely being bad, but ashamed that now there was one more thing Caretaker knew they were incapable of doing. But instead of a disappointed sigh or straight up yelling, they just seemed... relieved as well.

"Ah, I see. I'm sorry, I didn't think of that. Then, new question: would you like me to read for you?" Whumpee perked up immediately, nodding and making Caretaker chuckle. "Great. I'll just grab something I think you'll like, then. Make yourself comfy on the couch."

~

@ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @dustbunnywhump @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland

[dresden-syndrome]

Greetings comrade!

I wanted to ask you, is there anything particular that you're not comfortable seeing regarding EESU fanworks? Writings or drawings.

I often do dubcon/noncon (especially noncon touching). Drugging, forcing whumpee to hurt others etc. I make sure it doesnt break whumpee too much. I like to draw/write sexualy explicit or straight up nsfw works.

I love your work and would love to contribute with some fic or fanart. I acknowledge that some things I like are not for everyone so I'd like to know your boundaries before I do something. Last thing I'd want is to traumatise my favourite writer or ruin your passion for the characters.

On the other hand. What are stuff you'd like to see?

I sincerely love your work, Its pretty rare to military work, especially for eastern block. I like the dynamic between Radim and Gunther.

Glory to the EESU.

☭

-signed [ REDACTED ]

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

No human rights violations have occured during typing of this message.

its not human rights violation if they arent human anymore

Hello comrade! Glory to the Supreme Commander!

First can I just say how happy am I to hear that?? You literally made my day!! I just can't believe it can happen!!!✨

Second, what I'm not comfortable with - male whumper/female whumpee (AND vice versa), noncon body modification, social rejection (yeah, sounds weird given that struggling with an ideologically brainwashed society makes a solid part of totalitarian whump) and anything close to bodily waste.

As for noncon (and dubcon), it's literally one of my most beloved whump tropes ever BUT this is SFW only blog so I'd love that but none of it will end up reblogged here. Drugging, breaking the boys (especially class 4 ones) - why not? Broken enemies make for compliant subjects, ready to do their part in the state's progress. (Not to mention they're also really cute to look at).

What I'd like to see? Honestly I don't know what I'd like more, not just because I'm already SO happy to see people wanting to do anything with that little shithole dictatorship of mine🥰 well, usual detention/sentence/designation struggles? with the prettiest whumpee boys? in absolute totalitarian state vibe?

The good news is, they don't even have to be my boys (tho it'd be really great to see any of them remembered)! EESU is not a background for my character stories. It's an open world I throw the prettiest OCs in for a well earned (shouldn't have been so cute and whumpable) fate. Anyone's welcome to try that too! This totalitarian meat grinder needs more pretty state enemy boys after all😄

And yeah, Erhardt and Radím my beloved. They're the best.💖

[sunny-reis]

hi! can i request akito shinonome x reader where they get into an argument? maybe it takes them a few days to make up because akito is stubborn and reader is a bit shy and overthinks like "what if he doesnt want me anymore" or whatever. oneshot please..! thank you, and have a nice day!! dont write if you dont wanna :)

oneshot - post-argument tension w/ akito

i wish i never ever told you all about it, but i just had to let you know; never meant to hurt you, tho

notes: pjsk req woohoo 🤠 i'm not sure if you wanted them to make up after the whump so ,.,,.,. we ball lmao

tags: gender-neutral reader, you're friends with ena, an, and kohane

word count: 1,987

thirteen hours and twenty-six minutes.

that’s how long you’ve gone without hearing the familiar ding! of a message from akito. it’s almost half past nine now, you note, double-checking the small alarm clock on the side table by your bed. it's been more than half a day since you’ve talked to the redheaded idiot you call a boyfriend, and you can't help but be pissed (and worried sick, but you're too angry to think about that right now. he doesn't deserve my worry, you think).

it all started late yesterday, when he was supposed to come over to your place after his afternoon dance practice – the two of you had made plans to visit a cute new bakery opening on main street. needless to say, he completely ignored your texts and calls, replying hours later with a simple “sorry, i forgot. catch up with you later.” being human, you replied with a series of passive-aggressive texts, inevitably leading to an explosive argument. you sat on the couch for what felt like hours after, kicking around the stupid cow plushie he won you at a summer fair now on the ground. how hard is it to call ahead? or keep a stupid promise?

and so, here you are, listening to music in bed and staring emptily at the ceiling. a single thought floats around in your head: what the hell’s up with akito? he’s never been the type to be dry, not even on the numerous times when he's been frustrated out of his mind with schoolwork, or fed up with family politics and his dad. the night goes by slowly, and after far too much moping, you huff and sit up against the headboard. pausing your music, you open the messages app to (wishfully) check for a text from akito, only to be met with the same “hey aki, call me when you're free” you sent hours ago. sighing, you text the one person you think would know where he is: ena.

you - 10:32

hey ena !

is aki home? he won't reply to me

minutes later, a message bubble pops up.

enanan - 10:37

umm yeah

but he looked pretty tired when he came home an hour ago

you bite your nail, a force of habit; akito’s dance practice ends at 3:20 at the very latest. what on earth has he been doing for the past six hours?

you - 10:38

oh okay ;-;

ena - 10:38

did he say something to you?

i’ll kick his ass if he did something stupid

just say the word !!

you let out a small laugh, wrapping the covers tighter around yourself. count it on ena to keep him straight.

you - 10:39

nonono i was just overthinking !

poor guy’s probably exhausted :(

ena - 10:40

probably

get some rest though !! no man’s worth losing sleep over

you - 10:40

yeahhh i probably should

you too !!

ena - 10:41

eh i’ll try

night y/n :)

you - 10:41

nighttt

unfaithful to your words, you do not get some rest. instead, you spend far more time than you should mindlessly scrolling through anything and everything you can find on your phone to distract yourself from your thoughts, somehow ending up playing through a particularly spicy story on episode at two am. looking up from the dim screen, you sigh. ena’s right - no man’s worth losing sleep over. tapping furiously through the rest of the episode, you toss your phone under the pillow next to you and shut your eyes, trying to sleep.

although you managed to get a good six hours of sleep, you find your eyes shooting awake at 8:37 am. although it's the weekend, a sunday, you've become accustomed to waking up at the ass-crack of dawn to get ready. sitting up and stretching, you quietly pad down to the bathroom to fix yourself, being rid of last night's woes.

after a small breakfast of cereal and orange juice, you make a list of everything you plan to do today; an, a member of akito’s dance group and one of your closest friends, proposed you, ena, and kohane go out for lunch at one of the numerous cafes on main street. going outside definitely sounds better than sitting at home and sulking, so you set off to the cafe an send the address to at noon.

a little bell chimes as you open the door, instantly hit by the sweet aroma of various pastries on display. you see everything, from blueberry muffins to finely decorated cakes; your wallet feels lighter at the sight of them. making your way over to a table in the secluded corner where an waves at you, signature smile plastered on your face, you sit down on the booth. next to you sits ena, and across, an and kohane.

“hey, y/n, good to see you!” says ena, followed by a small wave from kohane.

“hello hello! i haven't seen you in a while, kohane, how’s everything going?” you ask, setting your bag down next to you.

“sorry,” she replies sheepishly, “we've been so busy with practice and school, i barely get the energy to catch up!”

“aw,” you frown, once again thinking about akito, “don't tire yourself out too much.”

“ah, it's only for a little bit! once we finish nail last routine, we’ll be done with practice and ready to perform!” an laughs; kohane only sighs.

“yeah, but it's so hard…toya and akito have been cooped up at the studio for ages, now. if it’s hard for them, imagine how hard it is for me!”

“hey, don't sell yourself short, kohane! i’ve seen the way you dance, you make it look so easy!” says ena, taking a sip of the her coffee. you nod in agreement.

“trust me, whatever you're doing is working! aki’s tried teaching me some moves – let's just say it didn't end well.” the four of you chatter away giddily until a waiter brings over a fancy rack of desserts to sample, courtesy of an. there are a humble few slices of cake, and far too many small treats you don't know the name of.

“wow, an, you sure have a keen eye for desserts!” says ena, happily finishing her coffee with a cat-shaped cookie.

“of course i do, i haven't been working at a cafe for nothing!”

“oh, you!”

a little while after you all finish, you say your goodbyes to an and kohane, leaving you an ena at scramble crossing.

“so…do you wanna walk around, or go back home? i have some time to kill.” she asks, the two of you crossing the road as the cars come to a halt.

“i’m fine with walking, i don't really have anything to do at home.” you shrug, checking your watch. it’s only 2:45 and the only thing waiting for you at home is a full washing machine, so you opt to wander around the city with ena.

somewhere around the local playground, the two of you have a heart-to-heart on the far-too-small swings.

“has everything been okay with you and akito?” she asks, leaning against the chain, “i feel like something’s up. you can talk to me about it if you want.” you sigh.

“well…kind of? i think he's been ignoring me and i’m really worried. i don't think i did anything to upset him, and he’s been really exhausted lately.”

“oh, yeah, he's been coming home later too. i don't blame him, really. i guess perfectionism is a family disease.”

“definitely,” you shake your head, “i'm not angry at him at all, but i feel…hurt.” she sits up alertly.

“why? did he say something?”

“no, no, that's the problem! he missed our date the other day, but he said sorry and we fought over text. i feel so bad, but i know i’m not being irrational, and he's ghosting me! we’ve fought before, but what if this is it?” ena mumbles under her breath, something about a “stupid kid”.

“you both really are perfect for each other, you know that?” you tilt your head in confusion.

“how so?”

“you're both so hard-headed,” she laughs, “and stupid, sometimes. although that's more him than you.”

“i guess so.”

“but seriously, let me talk to him at home. maybe then he’ll get the balls to apologize and it’ll all be okay again.��

“you don't need to get tangled up in this mess, ena, don't worry-”

“oh, shut up! no man is worth lowering your standards for, that applies to him, too! maybe it’ll do you both some good, too.”

“you're the best, really.” you say, squeezing her hand.

“oh, i know.” ena flounces; you laugh, getting off the swing and brushing the sand off your lap. the walk to your house is short, or so you assure ena, but she walks back with you anyways.

“don't worry about akito, okay? i’ll handle him.” she says, walking down the steps to your house. you nod, waving at her as she leaves. deep down, the two of you know that won't be happening – worrying about akito is a part of the package, so you’ve come to realize.

you decide to spend the rest of the day lazing around on the couch, snacking on popcorn as you binge chick flicks. as you subconsciously replay the events of the past two days in the back of your mind, the guilt settles in. you sit up, checking your phone for any messages and signs of life from akito, and flinching at the sudden brightness. looking around, the state of the living room is as pathetic as you feel. there are popcorn kernels where you tried (and failed) to throw them in the small trash can, pillows strewn all over the floor, blankets folded messily, each mess driving you crazier by the minute. pausing the movie, you sigh, getting up to clean whatever you see. although you still feel like garbage mentally, seeing the room decently clean makes you feel slightly better.

before you realize it, you're yawning and no longer paying attention to mean girls playing on the laptop in bed. sitting up and stretching, you set it on the nightstand, wrap yourself up in a blanket cocoon, and begin to fall asleep.

you're woken out of your peaceful slumber by the abrupt ring of the doorbell. rubbing your eyes, you pad to the front door, opening it to see none other than-

“aki? what are you doing here, it’s the middle of the night?” he’s drenched, clearly having walked here in the ongoing downpour behind him. how cliché. you let him in, helping him feel off his jacket and fetching him a towel.

“so, are we gonna talk about the elephant in the room?” you ask, sitting down next to him on the couch. he looks down at his feet.

“yeah, we probably should.”

“speak your peace, then, i’m listening.”

“well…i’m sorry i've been an ass,” akiro sighs, “everything’s been so overwhelming lately.”

“i’m sorry, too. i shouldn’t have been so passive-aggressive, it clearly only made things worse.” he shakes his head.

“no, i get it. i was in the wrong and i lashed out at you for no reason. i missed our date, too! i’ve been really shitty to you, you don't deserve any of that.”

“i understand why it happened, aki,” you say, giving him a small smile and grasping his hand in yours, “you can talk to me when things get rough, though, you know what.”

“i know, i know, and i'm sorry.”

“no use dwelling on the past now, i guess, yeah?”

akito nods, laying down on your lap; you play with his hair absentmindedly, listening to him mumble about his week. the weight on your chest is lifted just by the sight of him opening up to you again, and you feel much better.

“hey, aki, promise me something.”

“hm?”

“don't ghost me again, or i’ll kick your ass.”

[whumpsday]

Hello, if its not too much to ask, I was wondering if you had any tips on writing whump scenes? I've noticed I tend to get too, idk, clinical with mine (I feel a little as if Im just listing injuries rather than writing a scene, if that makes sense). And I really love how you so naturally communicate the headspaces of your characters and how they feel about what's happening to them or what they're doing to others, so I'd love to know more about your process if that's okay. Also, loving your newest series so far! Big fan of Kane & Jim so I'm looking forward to reading more about these new bois

there are 2 approaches you could take from this point!

1. the more detailed you get, the better. it's also good to describe the pain, through use of adjectives, simile, and metaphor, rather than just the injury itself. for example:

He woke up with a groan. His leg was broken, stopping him from getting up. On top of that, there was a nasty gash in his side, and he had a pounding headache that made it hard to even think.

will do the job in a pinch, but doesn't really tell you a lot about the character's headspace. something like this would be better:

He woke up with a soft groan that was utterly drowned out by pain all over his body. A harsh jolt through his leg stopped him in his tracks as he attempted to get up, shards of bone feeling like they were stabbing their way through his mangled shin. On top of that, he could feel a hot, throbbing gash in his side. The splitting headache wedging its way into his skull certainly didn't help things, making it hard to even think straight past the haze of agony.

so basically just: details, details, details!

2. the OTHER option you have is to lean into the clinical style and write something that compliments it. for example, write from the perspective of a lab whumper who's actively trying to be clinical, so the style makes sense for the character's headspace. then the audience can get a sense of horror from how little the whumper cares about the pain they're inflicting.

the best example i've seen of this is Receiver of Guests by @blood-is-compulsory, which has probably my fave lab whumper i've ever seen. (cw for delightfully gross bug/parasite stuff throughout the series.) i would specifically refer to the "experimental log" section of chapter 2 (again: heed the content warnings you have been WARNED), which is WONDERFULLY written. a clinical style can absolutely draw out strong emotions if applied correctly!

hope this was helpful :) ppl ask for advice a lot with "do you have any advice for writing whump" and i never know what to say bc it's too general, but i am always happy to help with more specific questions!

[letstalkwhump]

Let's Talk Whump No.11

Welcome to Let’s Talk Whump, a series of interviews that spotlight the amazing people in our whump community. I’m Malice and I’ll be your host. 

Today we have @zillstar13 joining us to share their whump story!

Good to have you here, Abraham! Let’s start with a fact about yourself?

I collect all sorts of things. From antique dolls, to rocks, to old bottles, to rusty metal trash, to Halloween decorations. 

And what does whump mean to you?

A story or art piece centered around a character being hurt in some way, especially if it is posted to the internet or put in a zine. 

My writing is whump. Dracula is whump. The doodles of Marie Antoinette I drew in elementary school are whump. It's very vague and fluid, just how I like it. 

How did you find the whump community? What made you want to join? 

Tumblr. My friend Mac N Cheese supported my exercises in writing whump before I was bold enough to post anything. He doesn't write whump (as of right now, I'm trying to get him hooked) but has been beta reading my writing since I started posting.  

Has your view on whump changed since you joined? Are there tropes you now love/hate that you didn't at first? Maybe your choice of OC vs Fandom? Or even your style ie going from mainly writing to gifmaking or art?

I used to hate most vampire whump. My first series, Our Man Flint, was a vampire whump story with heavy focus on colonial America period folklore and Puritan beliefs. 

I couldn't stand most modern interpretations of vampires written by people lacking my vast knowledge of Slavic and colonial folklore. But it's grown on me tons since then. 

I still very much prefer folklore vampires, or ones similar to Bram Stoker's Dracula. But modern vampires stripped of historical context can be fun sometimes. I do appreciate how fluid they are as a species. 

I guess Mill coaxed me out of my shell after I coaxed him in the complete opposite direction.

Do you have any favourite whump trope?

I love whump based on religion and folklore. Whether it be real/historical or invented for the story. Spirits, vampires, gods, and whatever else. It is simply fascinating and scratches a particular niche in my brain. 

What is a favourite piece that you've written? Hype yourself up, we want to hear it!

I love all of my work. But at the moment I simply adore Blood Sacrifices. Its position as my favorite will probably have changed by the time this is posted. 

It's an ongoing story about a vampire posing as a pagan god to take advantage of a society practicing human sacrifices. It's very dark for obvious reasons, but human sacrifice is such an interesting concept to me. 

There is a lot of religious abuse, for obvious reasons. Including heavily explored emotional and sexual abuse of one of the priests, and straight up torture of another. I view some of it as dark comedy, but in a truly twisted sense. And it could easily be interpreted as completely serious. 

I haven't gotten to delve into all of the folklore and religion yet, but boy do I have some amazing things planned. 

Religion based whump is so good! Do you mind sharing your writing routine with us?

I write every day, but the amount fluctuates wildly. I mostly write when I'm supposed to be doing something else, like cleaning or eating, but the executive dysfunction is throttling my brain. 

I write a lot in the evening. I drink a lot while writing. But that's incidental as I always have water, tea, coffee, or hot chocolate right on hand. 

Is there anything you struggle with writing? What comes easily for you?

I'm really good at writing emotional abuse, gas lighting, religious abuse, manipulation, and all that sort of thing. Writing is 80% trauma and 20% skill and I'm banking on the trauma, with a splash of purple prose for good measure.

I have a hard time writing about recovery. I write hurt/no comfort. I cannot find it in me to let my traumatized characters recover. Some people find it cathartic, but I'm the opposite. If I'm stuck with my trauma, they are too. I don't vibe with writing healing arcs. 

Is there anything you're working on at the moment? 

I have so many ongoing series, it isn't even funny anymore. I'm participating in the Whumpay event. I passed Whumpril with flying colors and am hoping to keep up the energy. The final chapter of Our Man Flint is slowly being picked away at but I have little motivation at present. 

Do you have any advice for our readers?

Write the most deranged things possible. Project your traumas and insecurities onto all of your characters. Weave pieces of your past, present, and future into the narrative that it can't be separated from you. 

Your writing will be much better if you pour your heart and soul into it. It will feel horribly vulnerable at first, but that does get better. And I enjoy it much more than I ever enjoyed writing popular cliches and random two dimensions ideas. 

Shout out to your favourite writing/whump blogs, bffs or people who've inspired you. We're hyping everyone one up here!!!

@elim-flower For supporting me so well, being a truly amazing best friend, talking through all of my problems, and letting me draw us as a vampire and a ferret. 

@heavenly-whumper For being my best friend in the whump community, and outside of it, and for keeping all my secrets and letting me keep yours. 

@devourerofcheesecake For letting me use our coffee/antique shop dates as an excuse to ramble about my writing for hours on end. 

@whumpshaped For helping me through all the niche fears of being a writer with NPD, and saying deranged things about my characters whenever I post. 

@whumpsday For all the truly extensive moral support, acceptance, good advice, optimism, and being a fantastic source of supply. 

@skittles-the-whumpee For being a good friend and staying up late talking with me about our lives, pasts, fears, hopes, and problems. 

Anything you'd like to add? <3

I fucking love this god forsaken community. 

Thanks for taking the time to chat with us, @/zillstar13!

And to all you folks at home, have a whump-derful day!

[callsign-bunnie]

look i know im annoying but can i have more ghost whump 🙏 also learning that’s he’s 24 hurts. he’s so young. imma need you to hurt him bad bc currently i need to feel something so whatever you do will be appreciated 🫡

Look, I'm gonna be straight with you guys, if I don't wanna answer, I just delete the ask. Trust me, you guys are so far from annoying. The only thing that gets to me is how many Konig asks I get and when people as for Noncon/Rape and phrase it as BDSM, even there, just be honest as to what you want, I'm probably still gonna write it.

—

Ghost had been captured and was now stuck in a box of some sort. It was too small, making him have to curl at an odd angle to fit. An ache was spreading through his bones and he started to kick desperately at the wood. 

Faintly, he thought he heard digging and had to resist the urge to scream. He was pretty sure it wasn’t real, that it was all in his head, but he couldn’t focus. The walls were closing in, threatening to crush him. Reduce him to atoms.

No one was coming. The last conversation he had with Johnny was him brushing him off. Price’s was a list of orders on what to do. He couldn’t remember the last time he talked to any of the others. 

Would they even notice he was gone?

Would anyone notice? Or would he just be a shallow grave?

Would they think he just stopped coming? No one knew where he lived. Would he be marked as a deserter, all while he sat there, rotting away while still alive?

He clawed at the wood around him, ignoring the burning sensation behind his eyes. He knew by now he wouldn’t cry. It wasn’t something he was capable of anymore. 

Digging his teeth deep into the flesh of his hand, he tried to calm himself. It felt like Roba all over again. He just hoped this person wasn’t into experimentation the same way. 

Ghost’s nerves were on fire despite the freezing cold creeping from the grave to reclaim him and he gave in to the urge to scream, hoping his captors would hear him and do something. Anything, just take him out of the box. 

They were speaking in a language he didn’t know. Couldn’t piece together. He wanted far, far away. 

Soap shook him awake, holding him tight. “Hey, hey, you’re okay.” He was warm against him, shaking away some of the feeling. 

Ghost touched his face, realizing he wasn’t wearing the mask. Normally he wouldn’t wear it to bed but something about not having it that night got to him. He grabbed it from the nightstand and shoved it on, not wanting to be Simon at the moment.

“Ghost, what happened?” Soap looked tired, holding on to him.

“I was in a box.”

“A box?” Soap mumbled when it was clear Ghost wasn’t going to explain further. “You screamed.”

“I don’t… want to be in a box again.”

Soap sat up, realizing he had an opportunity to get some information. “When were you in a box?”

Ghost sighed and leaned into him. “Roba put me in two. He used to put me in the a box with a scorpion in it when I wouldn’t go all out in the fighting ring. I’d sit there for hours, trying to stay still so it wouldn’t sting me as much.”

Soap hugged him to his chest, letting Simon hide there. He decided not to ask about the fighting ring today. “And the other?”

“He buried me alive with my captain’s body. They dug him up… Roba told me I should try teaching him what its like to be a man.” Simon sniffled a little. “They shoved me down there. It’s cold. It really is freezing. I had to crawl out of the earth. Tear through the ground until I saw the moon again.”

Soap held him closer. “I’m so sorry, Simon.” He held him close, kissing his face. 

Ghost hesitated, but this was… an opportunity. A chance to tell Soap more, in the quiet of their own room.

“They did other things to me… Experiments. They did… things to my hands. Did something to my ligaments or something so they’d bend more. It makes them ache in the cold. And they cut me open and rearranged my insides so many times and….” He buried his face in his neck and held on to Soap.

“Simon, you don’t have to…”

“No. I… want to . I need someone to know. Someone to believe me. No one every believed me…” He held on to him tight. “I got to the border. I got help and they said some of it looked self inflicted. Or like a botched surgery. Said I shouldn’t have went to Mexico. One asked why I’d want to change my figure anyway. They were so clearly blaming me. I tried to tell them about…”

“About what, mo chridhe?”

“I told them I had been raped. They only cared that a man had raped me, they ignored they had women do it too. And they only cared because they needed to do a fucking std test. I told my brother that they had a woman rape me and he said that must’ve been the best part… He didn’t mean it that way… but it felt like one more person blaming me. So I just…. Didn’t bother telling him the rest. I never told anyone. I’m dirty. It feels like the grave dirt is in my cells, packed in every single organ.”

Soap held him tight. “I believe you. I believe you.” 

Ghost sobbed, frustrated that no tears fell. He wanted the emotions out of him. “I can feel their hands sometimes. I fought back. I promise I did.”

“Simon, that doesn’t matter. Even if you didn’t fight, it wasn’t your fault. You were… captured. You couldn’t protect yourself then, but you can protect yourself now. And I’m going to protect you too. Keep you safe with me.” Soap put him to his chest, feeling his LT fall to pieces. He held him tighter, trying desperately to keep him together. 

“I hated it. I didn’t want anyone to touch me for so long. I want… I want to be normal again. I want touch to be safe.” 

Soap frowned. “Is my touch okay?”

“Yes. It’s so good. But I… I just…” 

“You don’t have to explain.” Soap reassured, pulling him so he was laying down. He curled around him as best he could despite Ghost being way too damn big to wrap all the way around him like he wanted.

“Do you… think less of me?”

“No, of course not.” Soap felt his heart squeeze. He’d kick those doctor’s asses one day. 

“Love you, Johnny.”

“Love you too, Simon.”

[bellysoupset]

How I organize this blog.

This is a post specifically for writers and kink-writers. I'm gonna be talking about how *I* organize my stuff and a system that I feel works well.

It doesn't mean my way is the only way, but it IS a way I've found manageable and as someone with 200+ fics, being easy to navigate is my number 1 concern.

Under the cut 👇

Tagging system

This is my touchstone, my everything in this blog. I have three "categories" of tags I use.

Character Tag: So I tag my sickee in every fic. JUST the sickee/whumped charcter. I try to use the full name (Lucas Atwood) or the nickname that is easier to come to mind (Vince Monacelli).

Why is this important? One day you're going to get an anon saying "hey I'd really like to read all your fics with John". And then you'll have to go and hunt for all your fics with John. One day you'll be writing something and be like "is Mary allergic to peanuts?" and then you'll want to go back and read just the Mary fics. This WILL happen and you'll be glad you can just click the "Mary" tag and go through all your Mary fics.

Organization Tag: I use #mywriting for every single fic I write, tiny or large. Other tags I also use #myocs for all questions I get regarding them and #ocsfaces for everything I've ever posted regarding their appearance. I also use #meta for everything regarding the act of writing.

Why is it important? Sometimes you'll want to reblog other creators' works or you'll go on an answering asks spree and then suddenly, if someone was to stumble in your blog, your writing is actually in page 3 or 4. This is why #mywriting is important, so people can go straight to that, sorted by the most recent piece. Also, updating your masterlist is a pain in the ass, but tagging is easy. You WILL get asks about your OCs eye color, height, whatever, this is the reason for the other two tags.

Please Notice Me Tags: Well, I write sick fics, so everything is tagged #sickfic, #emetophilia, #flu... etc etc. This is just so other likeminded people will find your stuff in the tag! It can also serve as an organization tag if you remember that you always tag "#stomach flu", but I sometimes flip flop between how to tag each illness so in my case is not for organization, is more for marketing reasons.

Why is it important? Well, you put time and effort into this! You want people to read it <3

-

Pinned Post

This is already common practice around these lands, but here are some things I think are important.

Add your tags (character and organization, only. Not the marketing tags) to your pinned post, so you can easily find them. My pinned post has every character I have tagged, because its easier for ME to navigate my own blog this way.

Please, for the love of god, assign a name to yourself. It doesn't have to be your name, hell it doesn't have to be even A name, it can be "Book/Seven/Cool Dog Name", it just makes it so much easier to interact with other creators when I don't have to call them "kinkmasteremeto102" every time I reblog from them.

Either have your masterlist under a "read more" in your pinned post or add a link to it. I recommend having a link to your masterlist, it has worked to me and this way you can reblog the masterlist without having to reblog your pinned post with more personal info every time.

If there's something you absolutely don't write, don't want requests, this is the place to put it! Make it clear from the get go to avoid exhausting interactions.

In my case I know people mostly come to my blog for emeto, so I mark my fics that have no emeto with **, but that's just personal preference, it doesn't actually make my life easier.

-

Archive

One day, maybe next week, maybe in six months, another tumblr scare "the website is going down" will happen. And then you'll freak out and cry, if you're like me and doesn't wanna lose your fics in case this website goes up in smoke.

I HIGHLY recommend saving your fics elsewhere, as well as tumblr. Not to have a reader base there, just for safety. Here are some options:

Archiveofourown, tagged as original work: it's a fucking hassle to put up, but if you're starting to post works, it's actually very easy to maintain. In my case, with 200+ fics it didn't work bc I didn't have the patience to upload all of them there, but as a creator who still has a small number and working your way up, I think this is a good one!

Google Drive. Scary, I know, because Google is watching over you, but this is the method that worked for me. Here's how I do it: have a google account JUST for my kink stuff, that has no ties whatsoever to my real person. Not the security email, not a similar password, nothing. Only use it in an anonymous tab and then you can use the entire Drive Suite to upload your fics in a big document, your OC info in a google sheet, etc etc.

Waybackmachine. I haven't actually ever used this one, but I know its an internet archive and you can take "snapshots" of your blog, so they're saved there forever. Unsure how it works, though.

----

Oh ANOTHER thing. Always tag your anons if they sign their stuff. I know it's common practice already, but doesn't hurt to reiterate.

If you get an ask signed as - 🙈anon, tag the fic/request/answer with "# 🙈 anon" as well, this way the anon can later easily find their question in your blog. 💛

If anyone has a question regarding this in specific, my askbox is always open.

[filipinosamflynn]

RED RISING BOOK 1 CHARACTER TIER LIST + FULL THOUGHTS! >:D

Below is my review of book 1, I'll go into spoilers. After this, I'm either gonna move onto a different book or try to find golden son. Not sure which one will happen.

But yeah, great book, 4 stars, or 8/10! Definitely just set up for things to come in the trilogy, but also a really good setup & story.

PREFACE: This is from the perspective from somebody who DOESN'T read books for fun too often. Red Rising was the first book in a long while I chose to read for fun since Harry Potter in 1st year high school (I didn't even finish the series, I stopped at the start of Half Blood Prince). So you're dealing with one of the most casual guys who went into the series. Another thing: I came into the series thinking it would be similar to Nimona (2023) or Sylas's story from League, since I brought up these two things when I first asked for book recs, so my expectations were HORRIBLY wrong (kind of, sylas's lore is pretty similar and the only difference is that sylas gets STRAIGHT into action but also his characterization sucks). So my perspective is strange, is what I'm saying, and I am far from the most valid person to be seriously reviewing this book. I'm just sharing this for fun lmao :P

I'm just writing the first few things that come to my mind, so stick with me people! These are messy, unfiltered thoughts.

This book is rough, really whumpy at the start of the book, but it's good whump. It's just setting up and establishing what's to come and to make all the payoffs feel better by showing us the insane suffering Darrow goes through. But also? Damn. That was rough. it felt like grimdark (this is coming from the perspective of a guy who actively avoids all things grimdark - with the exception of whump fanfics on ao3).

And then we get into the institution, and I just went, "oh. This is hunger games harry potter." I was a bit disappointed to be honest, I know the book is called "red rising" and it literally means "the slow rise of a red" so he still needs to prepare himself for what's to come, but also... eh?????? Someone in Reddit called this segment "pierce brown kidnapping fans of the hunger games when it was at the peak of its popularity", which ✨️iconic behavior✨️ but I was a bit confused as we took this academy stuff seriously. But slowly, I grew into it when the characters started interacting. I liked it when Darrow was interacting with others since the first half of the book felt so isolating. I liked every single scene Sevro shows up since he brings so much chaos and fun to a story that had so much downtrodden underlying sadness. The chapter 9 reveal is still hitting me, like "damn FUCK THESE GUYS BRO, WHAT DO YOU MEAN THIS PLANET HAS ALREADY BEEN TERRAFORMED???" Also because sevro's fucking awesome, but that's besides the point. The same goes for Darrow's scenes with Virginia and pre-sword fight Cassius, but they aren't as iconic as Sevro.

Darrow is a super compelling protagonist for the story he's in. Making him this power fantasy fulfillment guy makes things feel all the more liberating when he beats the shit out of a guy, it's sort of like a shonen anime protagonist, I guess (i don't watch anime btw). Bro talks about Eo a bit too much though 💀 it got to the point where it got a bit funny, but some moments do hit... before virginia came into the picture as the better love interest since she's girlboss and eo is seraphine from league of legends.

Most of the characters are well written or awesome! The proctors are real loveably hateable pieces of shit I wanted 200 feet below the dirt, and I loved seeing them get beat up. Except you Fitchner, you are iconic, and you gave us Sevro. I love you. Antonia, Cassius & Jackal are just set up here, and it's mildly disappointing? I am super happy the finale ended up being "FUCK THE PROCTORS" but also that stole time away from finishing off the inter-student conflicts. Yeah those will 100% be explored in the rest of the books with more time to do so, but damn :/ the last time we see Antonia, I think she just stands there at a castle to remind us she exists??? Whatever, watching the proctors get shit on was exactly what I needed to want to see more out of this series.

I was a bit disappointed when Darrow ended up being the only red we explore in this book. I was kind of disappointed when Darrow just speaks with a gold accent the entire time, I hope later in the series he speaks like a red again because I have a red bias and hate fancy ass shit. From a book called "red rising", there aren't too many reds after part 2 which I found odd for a revolution story about a red taking control over the system. Titus? Ohoh! FUCK HIM! why did they write him to be this rapist guy, and he just exists to let darrow know he isn't the only fake gold at the institute. I was mildly hoping we would get to see another red-turned-gold team up with darrow as a 100% trustworthy ally since I felt like we needed it after all the loneliness Darrow goes through, but sadly no :(

OH AND THE ACTION SCENES HELL YEAH!!! Reddit wasn't kidding when they talked about how bloodydamn GOOD the fight scenes are. I got spoiled that "Clang! Clang! Clang! Confess!" means something, and I don't even know who is fighting who, but I want to read the whole series just to get to that point because it sounds badass.

But uhhh this series came to me at a rough point in my life. It was hard to read some parts of it and I took a few breaks. Yeah, I read the whole thing in 2 weeks, but also just to fill myself with some sort of closure when I felt sad. I felt good coming out of it, but during? UHHHHHH-

These disorganized thoughts are getting messy, if you have any questions about specific things, comment them for me to answer. I might. 🥰

Story: 7/10, just set up but good set up

Characters: 9/10, bloodydamn good, almost all of them. I can tell, despite my initial disappointment for some of them since I know this is a book SERIES, so we will be seeing more of them soon.

Personal Enjoyment: ????/10, felt too sad at some points, absolutely adored this book in others.

Quality: 9/10, amazing writing, I want to buy all the books JUST to support Pierce Brown, I'm not even sure if I will be reading them, I just feel like throwing money at him.

Overall Score: 8/10, scared to continue, but damn I want to continue.