#don't back down whump enjoyers
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reminder that you can and most certainly should be self indulgent in your whump writing. no that's not too much blood. yes you should add a whipping scene. you think it's over the top? it's not enough. if you're not giggling and screeching internally and kicking your feet then what even is the point
#follow the whumperflies#don't back down whump enjoyers#lean in. LEAN IN#whump#whumpblr#whump community#not a prompt
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hi, monica. i trust your taste because i love your writing. what are your favorite niche lawlight fics? (that is, stuff you've read that not many people in the fandom would know.)
hope that you're having a good break and come back to fic refreshed (of course, if you want to). <3 your readers won't go anywhere.
hi wow what a sweet and touching message to receive ;_;
i don't know what counts as niche tbh i will just recommend some here that i don't necessarily see as often as like idk tithe to hell or those. this is in no particular order. i actually forgot to add the ratings to the list below so just be mindful of that if that's something important to you!
the primrose path by tsukinousagi: 1.5k, a beautifully done elizabethan au inspired by hamlet. as you guys probably know i am a hamlet freak and this is laser-targeted to me, the guy who has had the username theprinceofdenmark for 15 years.
summa cum laude by whydoeseverythinghappensomuch: 13k, an incredibly atmospheric college au. reminds me so much of the secret history that it makes me want to chew my own fingers off.
tear you open live inside you by anonymous: 3k, mind the tags. excellent, super in-character blood and gore. consensual but not safe or sane. you get it.
unkissed for a million days by anivhee: 1.7k, this is after L dies but it's still lawlight. it's unhappy but i liked it even as a lawlight freak and fix-it enjoyer.
what i meant to say by booklovertwilight: 6.6k, a paratext collection of light's letters to L after his death.
twenty-three by haydonjames17: 4.7k, an utterly devastating birthday for light after L's death. i'm sensing a theme in my favorites here clearly i need help of some kind.
fifteen stories down by the-night-gods-moon: 7k, this is the closest i'll get to enjoying whump. the boys get stuck in rubble after a building explosion. this fic is profoundly underrated.
our little secret by avoidfilledwithcelluloid: 3k, i actually cannot describe this one it's so good and quite unique! it's a fresh way of writing their antagonism.
hear no evil by sharptoothed: 4.5k, so few people understand how to write misa in a lawlight context but isa nails it. it's also hot so sue me.
i know the way it ends before it's even begun by halfpromise: 15k, a side story to THE death note fic of all time, those. i am deeply biased because i got a shout-out in the dedication but this fic absolutely never fails to make me tear up. it's beautifully written, moving without being trite, and is as close to a happy ending as those!lawlight will ever get.
anyway. this is but a small sample of lawlight fics that make me insane and unwell. this was a very very nice ask to receive i am genuinely moved and i literally didn't know that anyone even noticed i was on hiatus. <3
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Best Medicine
Pairing: Din Djarin x reader (AFAB | fem pronouns, but fairly neutral)
Words: 7.7k
Rating: Teen/Mature, 18+ (spicy first half) (K'oyacyi, sweet minors)
Warnings: Implied sensual release, grinding, cuddling, love confessions, carbonite sickness, language, memory loss, emotional hurt/comfort, survivor’s guilt, sleep intimacy, talks of consent/taking advantage, FEELINGS, the helmet comes off, Mandalorian marriages, Din deserves everything wonderful, Fluff/Hurt/Comfort roller coaster ride, angst with a happy(ish?) ending~
//set in pre and post- Season Two | The Mandalorian and the Book of Boba Fett (time jump)...// Translations included at end of work//
A/N & credits: Honorable mentions to @writerlyhabits for helping my mind run wild with carbonite sickness headcanons, and for inspiring me to write out this emotional ride of comfort-HURT-comfort for you all. It’s not often I make any form of whump, my Tumblr lovelies, so be kind and apologies in advance for this… It was both a challenge and an adventure to write~ I promised there’s a lovely silver lining in all my works, and I hope this one is enjoyable!
✨May the 4th be with y'all✨
Need more Star Wars fics? Get your fix w/my masterlist HERE!
Read on AO3
Summary: These are the soft moments you live for: each caress and light word of banter chisel the dark heaviness of life away, chip by chip. Tonight’s no different– you are swept up into the arms of Mando who’s taken your bait, and loving every minute of it. You’re overdue for a break and some quality time.
The quiet cabin of the Razor Crest gave you the space for cozy confessions, to learn more of his mother tongue, and give in to your tendency to get carried away like teenagers, if just for a spell.
Laughter is the best medicine: from the dead of hyperspace, to whatever bed you've landed on while on the run. Yet will that be the case– as the cruelty of time and circumstance test it?
"Ho-okay, c'mere you."
Relishing in your giggles as you wedged your hand in between his newly exposed ribcage, the Mandalorian let out the catch in his throat and quickly picked you up by your thighs– the perfect way to toss you up on one shoulder. You squealed and couldn't stop laughing even as he groused about your ‘cheeky hands where I can see them’, and walked you over to his quarters.
He swung you back down so that you plopped with a bounce on the recently laundered bunk. It’s tidy – well, was, before you fell onto it– and still smells fresh and windblown from your last stop. Pliant under his shadow, he towered over you with a hand on each side of your head. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t wearing armor; he’s still impressive.
"Do I have to teach you to mind your manners, too?" The rasp came out as annoyed, but you knew better.
He chides the kiddo all the time. 'Quit picking at things', 'don't give her that attitude'; all the magic words have to be instilled in him, as well as just keeping to himself and not being a nuisance. Munchkin has to be taught such things; they're juvenile.
That's not what he means with you. He's talking about the glances, the bounce of your foot taunting him when your legs cross, the playing with your belt which then tugs your neckline… when you line up your scope just right, just as he taught you, and you give him all the credit.
You really don't have to try hard at all to get Mando’s attention– it's the game of keeping a step away that leads into a chase that gets under his skin. Especially when he just knows you're up to it.
You have a few hours to kill until the next leg of your adventure begins. It’s bound to be a restless one when you touchdown planetside, so spoil him, you shall.
You couldn't stop smiling when he caught you.
"C'mon, you can't blame me, space cowboy. You're fun to tease."
Since you were taken down, you brushed your hair back, let your arms hang above your head, toying with him through your eye’s bat.
The visor transfixed on you told you everything you needed to know: you were practically gift-wrapped under him, and he’s obsessed with the view. That was by design.
Your laughter died down to little hums as you watched him glance to the wall, back to you, then again toward the shelf. He finally decided to palm the panel brusquely to shut the door behind him: encasing you both in automatic darkness.
You heard the click of the underside of his helmet. A relaxed, hollowed chuckle transitioned to a bright one to fill the silence.
Jackpot.
Strong arms came slowly down to the bed to hold you, with a warm, -now ungloved- hand brushing more hair back that had framed your face every which way.
The Mandalorian cooed down at you with a saccharine smile you knew had to be there,
"I love hearing you laugh…"
Hearing and touch senses honed in, you reached tentatively to where his shoulder would be, pulling him in and inviting him to lay in his newly claimed spot between your legs. The Mandalorian followed so, gingerly.
You murmured an affirmation as a questioning reply, coupled with a breathy string of chuckles to confirm his desires. Truly your eyes couldn't know the difference between open and closed in total blackness, anyway.
"--and I love listening to you sing," he praised you again. “I can hear you better this way.”
You hummed sweetly,
"Aww, so you do enjoy being serenaded huh? Big, scary bounty hunter brought to his knees by a wannabe wordsmith with a funny accent?"
Eager lips laid their caring touch to your forehead.
“Every time." He pressed little cheek kisses to you, too, explaining his untold, priceless comforts in between, "The minute you put the kid to bed is my favorite part of the day."
He feels your fingers trail up to his hair, nails taking through the crimped mess of curls there. He froze his affections the moment you did that. You ease moans out of him at one, singular touch.
He doesn't care how small he sounds, you think. All he knows is ‘I’m safe.’
"And this, is mine:" you said with a softness reserved for him. All teasing is set aside when you do choose to be serious. You shifted so he can let down more weight onto you in the newly shared room, "Taking care of the one man who puts everything and everyone else before himself. It's quite the honor, for me."
Sighs fall from him so easily. You'd imagine his eyes shut at that.
“It’s you who honors me,” Mando countered.
You wanted these moments to count: taking any chance you could to affirm and provide whatever comfort you can with the little downtime you had.
You know he won't show you, but it doesn't keep you from wondering… when he's so close, you wonder what he looks like under the helm. What kind of hair, how long. What breaks in the skin have cut into him after wearing it for so long, or did he have any prior to swearing on the names of his Ancestors.
What of his eyes alone? There's the usual gemlike hues, earthy tones; or there's always the artificial overlays people use to disguise themselves or the retinal scans– it's just a special effect they use in those holovids you watch on the weekends. Just the kind he mocked when he caught you watching them. 'Silly and pointless and ridiculously scripted.' And yet while he sassed about the waste of time, you often corralled him enough so that he'd at least sit with you while he cleaned off the carbon scoring of his rifles, to watch them passively by your side… he'd caved to your whims if you so much as touched him. That's what got you here.
With him at his most docile, you felt brave enough to ask what has always mystified you,
"What color are your eyes, hon?"
You heard Mando’s head tilt up with its sleepy intake of breath. A flash of worry that you overstepped hit you, feeling his form rise from its concave state under your touch… but he didn't go away. Fingers wound their way to cup the back of your neck instead–
–to prepare to taste yours in just a few moments.
"Purple," he answered.
You snorted at the lie. It's just a little bluff, but you'll entertain it… you both are teetering in the realm of what's permitted within his Creed anyway.
His lips are a breath from yours. You played along; like you'd won the guessing game,
"I knew it."
Your winner’s kiss was the touch of warmth he'd needed all day.
Eh, maybe he'd tell you the truth one day, maybe not– besides, you don't have any brainpower left to wonder when he's kissing you.
One turned into two and more, with the Mandalorian’s hands roaming your features until they reached low enough to switch spots and roll you over onto his chest instead. His palm’s exploration over your shoulder gave you the chance to pull away for a breath, leaving you to process the shivers he's causing and taking the time to relish his touch.
"I really do have to thank you," Mando confessed between deep breaths. Deep, like he was really breathing for the first time today. "I've– never felt so.. safe. Ever -in all my life- than when I'm with you."
You melted, until he said more.
"Feels like I’ve cheated the Fates to even be left standing, much less lie down without needing to keep an eye open. I never-- really thought I.. deserve this."
You wondered why. Your browline tensed with worry, why he would be so self-deprecating even after a career like his… littered with wins and paygrades and beskar trophies?
"Ill-deserving of what?" You asked plainly. "--having someone care about you?"
Your Mandalorian fell quiet, simply running a hand up and down your back with complete tenderness. Where his blunted nails caught your skin on the backstrokes, the pads of his glove-worn hands soothed the loving scratches’ path.
This silent confirmation wouldn’t cut your questions: it’s still a force of habit, Mando using actions to show what he means.
"You give me kindness. Kindness that," Mando spoke of the wonder of this feeling, "I had to convince my heart to accept. Who'd dare refuse a gift from you… But I can't help feeling it's wasted on someone like me."
Someone like him: a hunter? Or a Mandalorian? Folks frowned upon both mantles. You knew the biases, but you treated him fairly, made him feel valid– even before your feelings for him grew into something much sweeter than a working coexistence. Thank the Stars, you were so happy to find your chemistry was a feeling Mando shared after a late night with a too-close call. A feeling he was apparently still getting used to- hence the apparent guilt of what ‘gift’ he'd been given by having someone so generous like you for a partner.
This broke your heart every time. Not just hearing his affirmations and words of appreciation when they catch you off guard– but how he’d thank you for the most basic needs of his own.
"Honey," you leaned down your forehead to his, "You matter. Whether you believe it or not, you're loved and not alone in this galaxy. Your words, feelings, they matter to me. It's not wasted, any of it, baby. I'm honored to be the one who gets to love you on the day-to-day basis, yeah, but... even if I wasn't in the picture, I should hope you’d still seek out getting your needs met. That's all anyone wants, I think."
You caressed his stubbled jaw line with your thumb as it slid and traced down the seams to his chest. Something inspiring bumbled around in your head, so you tried working it out.
"You know as well as I do... these days can blur together so fast when we're moving too fast. We– get in the way of our own thoughts, and that can make our minds a messy place. It’s easy then, we forget how needed our wants are, sometimes.”
The hands caressing you stilled; reverent to every word you said.
“Keep your word, settle your debts, all that’s still true,” you shook your head, “But please don't forget this part, hon... You matter, and that includes the softer things you want. The nice things. What the amazing, kind- hearted man underneath needs."
No person has ever respected him so much. To honor his creed and what it entails, to support what he did, the lifestyle he chose-especially one as taxing as this. He wouldn't call himself a kind man; he was a killer, detached and for the longest time, keen to remain that way.. But if this woman so dear to him said so, maybe he was learning to be gentle after all.
You wished more than ever that you could stare him in the eyes so you'd know he heard you– but you swung for the next best thing: you held your hand right on top of his heart. Its beat was faint under his padded underarmour, but there.
His breath faltered at the touch.
Mando reached his to find the digits caressing him and dancing his along each one: skin to skin. Has no one really ever told him that? A little huff of air escaped him; you felt his head shake from the motion rustling the pillow beneath him.
"Hell, you're sweet," Mando brought your fingers off and laced them to his lips. "You mean that."
"Of course I do. I don't say it to prove I'm being right. I want you to know the truth."
He was quiet again. Only this time, a purposeful finger ran along your side to coax you out. Tickle, more like.
"Ok, sometimes I like being right!!" you rushed out to make him stop.
"I have a running list of wagers a mile long that says otherwise, cyar'ika. You fool no one, let alone me."
Mando amused himself every now and then, a sound you loved like a drug, too. You took control and dove up for another kiss, his deep laugh turning into something stronger, deeper. He always kissed you like he was drowning and you were his source of life and air. As if you'd fly away at any minute.
His hands pulled you tightly to him, demanding closeness with firm, undulating grips on your thigh and on your neck to direct you. Kiss after kiss, you eventually led from your point of leverage to start kissing down his neck as an experiment. He'd gasped at first, but the good kind. The kind that begged, not stalled for less.
“Loving on me,” Mando rasped, “Is that wha’ you– you’re calling nngthis?”
Your boy needed reassurance, something awful, tonight.
You'd normally tease him as you go, gauging his response to touching these new places, but were kind about it tonight. As touch-starved as your Mandalorian is, you didn't want to overwhelm him.
So you merely paused, gave a sweet “Sir, yes, sir~” and carried on after a quick peck on the cheek.
You couldn’t help but let your giddiness escape again when you reached a soft spot on his neck; one that made him say your name in an awestruck cry. Soft on the clips, long on the vowels. God, you love the sound of it, bobbing under your waiting lips as you worship the space. He's warm, stubbled, and just perfect.
"The way you say my name,” you beamed, “I'm starting to think you like me or something, honey."
Mando sighed out, moving a hand to the back of your head to get your attention:
"Din."
You still kissed him, asking him to repeat with a little hum.
"m'... m' name."
The loving haze blew away, and you with it. A zing thrummed to life in your chest. He’s never told you his name– ‘anonymity was his strength’ dictating the secrecy, after all. Despite the dark, you leaned up on an elbow.
Your eyes went wide, looking into nowhere at the wall, breathless at the discovery.
"Your name is Din?"
He was just as breathless beneath you, equally rendered mute as you were. Made sense, it was the first time he'd said the word to anyone in years; the proof lay in how his chest was heaving, "Yes."
"...Din."
He melted at the sound of it on your tongue.
"Din Djarin." he offered up his family name.
"Din Djarin." so you honored the clan, just the same.
He shuddered, "Fuck, yes".
In a surge, Din Djarin -no longer just the man you affectionately called ‘hey you’- pulled you back to his lips. Heated minutes passed with his hands all over you and your delighted, soft laughs breaking your kisses from pure happiness.
You now knew his name. Two words that coded him in a way few knew, and you were one of the select recipients of such intimate knowledge. This would take your bond to new heights tonight, and you could barely stand the euphoria that flooded you.
You'd started shuffling about with your hips instinctively over his once as much as your perch allowed and when they settled as an unintentional roll, Din sighed deeply and with a tighter grip. One hand gathered up your hair in his hand, where he could relish the waves in it and hold you back enough where he could lap at your neck as you'd done to him. Your hips found permission to work their magic and you were met with a carnal side of the Mandalorian you'd anticipated he held back all along. Even though his thick trousers and your leggings separated you two entirely, it was enough to scratch the itch and blind him even more to anything around him in a matter of seconds.
Little phrases passed Din’s lips; sweet nothings you thought, with no idea for their meaning. But with him talking, you didn't care if he was reciting the alphabet, his dinner order, or the damn 'Ode to the Empire’. He was practically praying hotly in your ear, and that was a buzz you'd never try to stop and put a pin in the moment to demand a pocket translator.
"Mesh’la, cyar’ika. Ka'ra jaon'kov, cuy’gar mesh’la. B’d jate... Jatne o'r ner sur'haai…"
One deep roll sent him gripping you tight so he bucked back. The sensation hit you in a special place too; you cried out a bit louder than you anticipated. Before you could even think to be shy about it, Din sucked hard on your neck– and your surprise jumped an octave.
"That's it, sweetheart." Din swallowed, "Kriff, that's a good girl."
He set a pace that you had no control of anymore. You'd be losing control yourself soon enough.
A bit helplessly, you whimpered along with the rolls, listening to his begs,
"Din, I ---nnnguhhh"
"What is it, sweet girl? Rejorhaa'ir ni. Does that feel good, huh?"
"Mhmmm.. it feels good,"
"You sound good. Heavens, you sound amazing. So.. so fucking pretty.." Din sought a sloppy makeout that you happily fell into.
From the warmth buzzing in your face through your body, you shot away breathless in a tiny whine into his cheek; something was going to burst inside.
"Ohmygodohmygod, Mand– Din, I can't..."
He ground up a bit faster, "Ni ganar’e, cyare, I've got you. Let go. Let me hear you, c'mon."
You'd whined again, shaking your head against your better judgment.
Sensing the fight in you, Din fisted the hand on your hair into a deliciously tight hold– his loving, seductive mouth speaking into the soft flesh by your jaw while his hand explored its way down to your thigh.
"C'mon, I know you're close. C'mon." The bass in his voice turned it into a growl easily. He was desperate too. "Be my best girl, like I know you are."
Oh God that tempted you. You'd been grinding faster, yourself. Not unlike hearing the pre-flight tells you catch when the engines cycle power in the cockpit: you're racing the lighting inside you while still trying to be conscious of the moment. Staying centered on him.
On Din. Din Djarin.
And with another suckling, lazy kiss to your neck, you'd cried out. The tremors jolted within you, subsiding into trembling shakes even when you quit thrashing against him.
Din's hand dropped to brace your back after your rush, keeping up his pace while you fought for breath. His voice choked out fast, too, ending his chase in a hard groan and his own hips rutting against you a few times harder than the rest, then fell back altogether. Your highs concluded quickly– with the mellow clang of his head thunking against the bar at the top of his bunk as he fell back.
You didn’t mean to, but you chuckled at his small 'ow', so you cupped your hand up to cradle his head. Massage it, to comfort. Even he, the man who takes vibroblades to the flesh and barely sheds a tear, feels vulnerable enough to give a little whine out to play for sympathy.
Catching your breath has never felt so good.
Soon enough though, you felt both his hands slide to your hips and push up a bit.
You lifted gingerly, "Oh, am I hurting you?"
"I.. I uh,... made a mess." Din sounded so winded.
You ran hot at that admission.
"Oh. Heh, sorry ‘bout that."
"Oh hell, don't you apologize for that," You could hear the smile, albeit the awkward stumbling behind it. "Wait- wait here."
He tipped you on your side and kissed you quick.
"Eyes closed?”
You nuzzled his forehead pressed onto yours, "Already there."
"Atta girl." Din leaned into another kiss.
He left and changed quickly. Gave you enough time for you to collect your hair up and over the pillow from where it got mussed, hugging a pillow to yourself in his place, still giddy at making the Mandalorian lose himself.
Making Din lose himself.
By his dulled footsteps and overhead bar of light painting a Mandalorian-shaped shadow onto the door again, you hid in your pillow dramatically. The rumbles of his voice carried to you as the door closed and he crawled back to you as before; bare to the room once more and laughing at your comical eagerness for him to shed the helmet again.
"Ok–" Din’s welcoming hand pulled your arm down; familiar, to when he'd collected your hands at the start.
"Hey you." You cooed shyly.
"Hey you." He purred back.
You lifted up into another kiss, this one much calmer and softer, having been sated in the most tender way with him.
Settling back, breathless you muttered out a quick 'hey' to bring him back to the present. "Teach me how to say something?"
Obeying your pause, he slowed to a stop. "In Mando'a?” he asked.
"Mhm?"
Interest piqued his tone, “What do you want to say?”
What your heart’s been singing for months every moment he has his back turned. What you’ve meant and said a thousand different ways other than the three standard words. Only this time, you want him to be in on the secret, too. You wanted to be able to tell him this in a way that will only resonate with him:
“..I wanna say 'I love you'.”
Din went rigid. Then straightening up, he brushed your hair back soothingly, falling to a whisper- another secret.
"We would say..ni kar'tayl gar darrasuum."
“Ni cart ah-"
He chuckled, "ni kar'tayl,"
"ni kar'tayl,"
"gar,"
"gar?"
"darrasuum."
"darrasuum."
"That's it. All together?" Din guided.
You tried for all three, and when it did , it slid perfectly off your tongue so that a happy, wet sound left him. Something about it must have stung his eyes you couldn't see. You pressed a couple small kisses to his lips.
Mando’a was a gorgeous, sonorous language– and quite possibly the trickiest to pick up.
Then your tone turned curious, "Haven't… you been saying that to me? All this time?"
"You remembered." He nuzzled your forehead, but shook his head a little to answer, ‘not quite’ teased in his motion. "Kar'tayl means 'to know', or another way... It means to care deeply, to care for. Mandalorians use it for many things, depending who they speak it to. There is no word for 'love', so... "
"To really know someone is to love them." You finished sweetly.
You hit the nail on the head, and speaking that core tenet earned you a loving sweep of Din’s thumb across your cheek.
It’s inevitable; your chest was going to burst.
"That's beautiful, Din." You blissfully sighed. He snuck both arms around you, pulling you forward. “Din Djarin.”
"It means so much," he whispered, "--coming from you..."
In that moment, you hoped his heart could rest…
FIVE MONTHS LATER
Din lays at your back, having nestled up subconsciously overnight.
His arm -the perfectly still, bracing one he relies on when he scouts- found its place so easily spooned beneath yours. Proof you are part of a matching set: intwined in love and bond and safety, even in sleep– at least to him, who you knew once felt he didn’t deserve such sweetness and warmth.
This would have been nothing out of the ordinary, nothing out of character for Din to do with you in bed. He cuddled you nightly, religiously, from that first evening onward, sharing your bed and souls alike since you spoke your first word of love to him. Normally, you’d welcome it, you always welcome him.
But– not now. Now, it set you on edge. Since his last shift of the blankets when he rolled over, you haven’t been able to fall back asleep. In uneasiness, you lie awake and aware of how a once tender act was wrong. Your conscience nags at your gut: no, no, no.
Not like this.
He doesn't know what he's doing.
Stop him.
Tell him to move.
Move him.
You willed yourself awake when Din curled in; you really shouldn’t allow this. But for the sake of his rest as all the docs all say he needs, you let him seek his peace however makes him the most comfortable, content enough to watch the ongoing lanes of traffic of early and late commuters of the Ring out your window’s slats.
Sleep wasn’t easy for you now anyway– not with this every present knot in your throat. It’s set to burst when your mind wanders too far towards what got you here…
There were two callsigns you memorized since meeting Din– not as a request or favor, but a demand. One of course, was his, and the other belonged to one of the last Mandalorians standing from his former covert as a last resort. One that he quizzed you on over and over about answering, ‘should anything ever happen to me’.
One day, that callsign just pinged you– and sent a good bit of ice into your stomach when you greet a wide-cut blue helm filling your holo.
“Master Vizsla.”
“Lady Djarin,” Paz greeted with a warm-enough familiarity.
Something in the way he chose how he delivered his words around you told you that he’s perhaps making an effort to appear personable over a holomessage, whereas he may put on fewer airs face-to-face.
You were honest,
“I feel like there’s few reasons someone like you would call me, and none of those reasons strike me well…”
“ I’ve only said two words, little bird. Your intuition is a curious one,” his helmet shook a little, “-though, not misplaced...”
You leveled your face, waiting to hear what he had to say.
“I have news. I recovered your riduur. He is alive, though not in the same state as when he left you.”
Now that is a curious response.
You outsourced yourself for a job and have taken a good, six-week-long hiatus from your shared space rented on the Glavis Ringworld pursuing your own contracts. Although confident in this share of responsibility, it’s been harder being away from each other than either of you anticipated. You spoke on comms for each other’s voices about every other rotation in your separation, though never nearly as far from each other’s mind. But this was your marriage, one you honored in every way- together or apart.
And anything to bring in some extra credits, and… take your mind off the kiddo’s absence… has been a welcome distraction.
Only now, with Paz’s news, you’re both relieved and far more anxious to learn just why Din hasn’t answered your hails from an unusual, weeklong stretch of radio silence…
“Sorry, not the same– state?” you asked, “what do you mean? What about his state…”
Before your headspace had the chance to spin– running wild with concern over his body, what he could have suffered, could have fought, could have breathed, ingested, poisoned–
“...state of mind, I fear.” was Paz’s cool answer. “He has lost his Path, and you need to help him guide it back where it belongs.”
This, as it would turn out, was not so easy a malady to heal.
You met Paz at his transmitted coordinates to collect your husband and work through what was to become the biggest challenge this -or any relationship in your life- has ever faced:
Fekking carbonite sickness. Or whatever corrupted version of it Din Djarin had quite literally trapped himself into.
While on his own mission, Paz recovered a poorly thrown together carbonite freezer that a petty gang abandoned, with a select few targets within. One of which entombed none other than his own kih’vod. The reason why he described it as ‘a botched job’ was that the alchemical readouts of said carbonite chamber pointed to a tainted solution: not pure in ingredients that typically secure a clean, minimally-invasive freezing process. When you start cutting corners to save costs, you compromise the effectiveness of the flashfreeze. Some sentients did not survive this treatment; though it was a blessing Din clearly did– though not before taking a unique toll.
Typically, carbonite would blitz your vision, your extremities; make you feel like a ten-ton transport has dragged you across the Dune Sea then set you spinning through a wash cycle, expecting you to walk a few miles blindfolded as a cool down without a single misstep.
It makes you drowsy– not lose your short-term memory.
When Din awoke, the questions posed to him concerning what events led him to his present predicament went unanswered. Not from a place of obstinance, but complete confusion. He’s unsatisfied with himself, the frailty he feels. Being stripped of the mind stung equally as bad as if it had his body– which conveniently, was also hurting.
He got angry, Paz said– furious as to what could have altered his head and made him feel so out-of-body. There were decent chunks of recent days, weeks he claimed he could not recall. That list grew as he couldn’t even say what his last paygrade was, what he’d done with the Guild for the last year, what had become of the covert on Nevarro. When he glanced at a darkly mirrored reflection of himself, he didn’t know how he procured the newer portions of his chromed armor.
The bad news continued to careen out of control. He didn’t recognize the mudhorn etched on his shoulder; had to ask the Armorer why that creature was added. To her immovable surprise, she sobered at how serious this truly was. He didn’t know his Clan? Of its addition?
He didn’t..--he didn’t know the name Grogu. Never even heard of such a species.
When shown a holopic of the kid, he simply looked at you and asked if something like that could speak- could maybe answer to what happened to him. That nearly broke you on the spot if the Armorer hadn’t ushered a still-throbbing Din to sit and receive a medical consult and diverted your attention. The whole scene was a heartbreaking one, though Vizsla spared you most of the big questions you wanted to ask by ripping off the emotional bandaids himself.
It was by Paz’s explanation that Din had been told that you were his wife, his riduur. For some strange reason, he accepted that quickly. Explained straight away why you stuck around. But in the hours and days that followed, your partner was far from the cozy and nurturing man you’ve known for so long. Even if he tolerated you, he still appeared to consider you a stranger. You knew why, and therefore didn’t blame him one bit. He was hard enough on himself for his failings on a good day. Getting himself into such a vulnerable situation and having to nurse this blasted headache everyday that barely seemed to let up would naturally only make that self-image worse. His steps fall heavier, carrying weight unseen.
It was clear a depression was setting in as the hard first days melted into a week. Into two. The man you loved walked through your shared home as a cold, distant shell of himself, filled to the brim with unspoken anger, confusion, guilt, and lost pain.
While in your company every day, you led most of the talking- just about practical things. Suggestions when he lost his train of thought, simple choices, graciously avoiding the oliphant in the room by keeping topics in the moment with your usual, helpful nature. It’s your default and, so, hard to break; but for the most part, Din Djarin accepted that too with nods and hums of agreement. He poured himself into some easy reconnaissance missions and errands to try and pull himself out of the dark, but he offered very little depth of dialogue with you, claiming he’s focusing on meditation. Centering himself.
But you knew better. Centering, introspection– that takes a different form with Din when he’s in a bad headspace. He’s hating himself, punishing: for being a disappointment, to be your problem.
Though… oddly enough… your nighttime routine had not really changed. That’s the most bittersweet feeling of all of this.
When it came that first night to talk about your living arrangement, he insisted that nothing change: for you to keep your bed, and he would busy himself elsewhere. But as you both just talked things through about what your next steps should be, sitting side by side against the headboard watching the nightlife stream in through the porthole of your room, your drowsiness took root, and he somehow fell asleep right beside you– as though nothing had changed.
In the silence of morning, he didn’t speak on it; you carried about your days as before, getting by. But sure enough, when you’d catch up at the end of the day, the same sinking feeling around you would hit at the same hour, you’d lie down, wake with him having never left his side of the bed, and the cycle would repeat.
A poignant, if painful, reminder of what connection still stood between you– and what little comfort the universe was offering you in the midst of a horrible situation through your Mandalorian’s touch.
Still, you know it’s not the same. It’s instinctual, not intentional. You don’t cry anymore about it. You’re all sniffled out, though your throat hasn’t gotten the memo. It seizes every time he calls you by name instead of Cyar'ika.
So here, he sleeps behind you: seemingly none the wiser about the more amorous nights that bombarded your god-awful, precious memories. These dreams, they keep you awake at all hours of the early morning when even Din’s subconscious cries out to hold you. To allow him to sleep by your side when surely his entire world felt numb and unfamiliar? It was his blessing, and your nightly curse.
A noise, finally. A little catch, high behind your neck- a barely-there attempt to wake up. In trying, he squeezes you in, then settles with a soothed groan. Din’s nuzzling between your shoulders. The scent of your conditioner must be the only thing keeping him in such a drowsy state. On the edge of sleep, he’s still able to make you melt with his rarely-seen gentle nature.
And despite the circumstances, you laugh at this, softly.
"What are you doing?" you ask of yourself more than him: but he answers…
"Mmmm... y'r warm.."
Now that’s your Din. That’s your Darling talking.
It’s him… and not.
"Djar…” you sighed with a catch in your chest, “Honey, wake up."
You’d shown him where he stowed his helmet on the shelf while you slept and that you’d never get up before him, so he didn’t feel exposed. It was torture though– you always woke up before him now and were subject to his snuggly nature: sans the intimacy you once shared by turning into each other. That wouldn’t be fair now, wouldn’t be right, even if it was what you craved the most about mornings with him. For now, you’d face away, until he was ready.
Din stirred again. His limbs gave a quivering squeeze to wakefulness. You knew it the moment he must have opened his eyes, because his breaths seized. He’s aware, then... even more aware.
"Oh,” he broke through his morning voice with a rush, “I'm so sorry-- I was just-"
"It's ok, just relax,” you threw confidence into your voice, “How’s the head?"
“It um.. It’s ok. Kind of achey.”
“C'mon. Lay down and rest.” You’re selfish and can’t help settling in, "It's not like we have to get up yet. Paz still has the speeder, so we can stick to this side of town until he brings it back."
You held onto his wrist carefully, returning it to its lax spot between your breasts, just where it fits. You just want him lucid; even if he doesn’t hold you as tight as he used to.
After the Grogu holo incident, you couldn’t bear to ask him more about what he does or doesn’t recognize. You couldn’t bear to ask him if he remembered you, and you wouldn’t, even now. How could he, after all? If he didn’t even know the face of his own son, what chance did you have? You’d met him months after taking on his charge. Based on the gap of time Din struggled to remember, you certainly fell within that ocean of nothingness. No, you didn’t bother to ask him things of that nature. You simply accepted his companionship and moved along.
At your word, Din nests back in, presumably to get a few more minutes of sleep. But then, he breathes in, and you sense it’s not purely therapeutic, the way he’s settled into you. He’s scooted closer, and not to readjust his posture. He’s moved your hair, and not to get it out of his face for his comfort–
He starts– kriff, he’s kissing you. Kissing you like he means it. Little pecks. Your neck, your shoulder, and– you stop him.
"D- babe,- you don't have to,” the warning lights fire off in your brain, holding his wrist firmly now.
Din mumbles more between presses, "I want to.”
"Mando, you-"
"Call me Djarin again."
The way he hushes you, so fekking softly, it sounds like him… dank ferrick. .
Stars, it’s weird. This whole thing is weird. When was this supposed to let up, a vague ‘week or two, come back for a new assessment and we will review the prognosis’? You try to hope he’s feeling more like himself after a good night’s rest, but you can’t really explain this behavior.
Your restraint now is a testament, a promise to protect him as he’s always protected you:
" You’re–” you shoot yourself in the foot and craft the words as they break your heart. “You're not yourself. I can't ignore that. I know it, even if you don't."
You’ll curse this blasted phase in the future, when everything settles and eventually goes back to normal. But this is the one time you’d ever call such tender treatment truly insufferable. He pauses in his affections,
"--No," Din then counters, gentle and curious, "I… I remember this part..."
Remember what? You’ve shown him video still after still when he asks, letting him lead his own recovery journey as he wills. You obviously do your best, but it hurts you– and you’re not so sure he doesn’t notice judging by the sweet ways he apologizes for troubling you.
You’re sure he’s being kind. "Do you, now."
Facing the wall with empty focus, you kept your sights down, ignoring how he braced himself on one arm and attempted to turn you onto your back. You followed the give of his hand’s press on you, but not much. And of course, you still didn’t look at him. Can’t stomach him revealing himself to you when you assume he’s doing it out of duty; what’s expected of him as an unwilling, ‘newfound’ spouse.
But when he spoke again, the barest of touches skidded along your collarbones, up the neck…
"You were born with these,” Din shares with a reverence. “Here. Little Ones, from the sun. But this: this was an accident. When you were small; your skin was too new."
Your eyes honed on a red traffic light outside– the sight of it mimicked your alarm. He’s brushing a scarline– yes, from a childhood incident you told him about… months ago…
"You really can't see it unless your face turns red. Pretty sure I’ve seen that,” Din trails off, sets to brushing your cheek, “Turns white, against the curve. You get embarrassed, but I remember telling you to quit–”
"--to not worry about it." you finished as a whisper. “Din.”
‘Makes you who you are. Pretty as a picture, meshla. Think of it as a brushstroke, when the Maker was putting on the finishing touches of you.’
He knows. He does know you. He hasn’t forgotten?
Your eyes stung when you tried to blink the memory away. This makes no sense…
"I’m sorry- you remember that…” you shake in awe, “But– not?…"
Grogu?
"I know." His brow furrowed, "or.. rather, I don't."
His hand set atop your bicep– something grounding.
“I want to," he begs of you, "Truly, I want to say I feel like I’m nearly there. If only to convince you to look at me.”
You laid flat the rest of the way. Mostly so you could better hear him and not make him think you’re hiding, but also, you could now reach him more comfortably.
Bittersweet tenderness braided you two together-- here in an unbelievable turn of events.
You lifted your eyes to him at last. Din whispers again,
“Angel Eyes…”
The endearment makes you nearly sob. Dammit, he does remember. Relief, grief, it’s all muddy.
"I don't remember my foundling’s name.” you’re crushed at how mournful he sounds, “-which is a sin in its own right…" But he speaks with life-rendering conviction, "But I know I told you mine. I know where we stood, which light panel on the Crest I turned off, how you- h-how you kissed me back that day.”
Your foreheads touch, the invisible string pulls you to do it. The lids of your eyes shut on contact with the ebb of a hurricane behind your eyes.
“Please use it-" Din asks of you, "-until I can remember all of the rest. Until I can remember every time I have ever told you ‘I loved you’-- and revive it, tenfold."
The tsunami's pressure strikes you down. You bury your sob down your windpipe and lunge for him– to kiss sense into him if it's the last thing you do.
And kiss, you do: for the release, for answers, for solace in an unfair time. For whatever reason, your riduur finds the same comfort, though he is desperate at the other end of the spectrum. You, in knowing a shred of him still exists and rejoicing in that; in him, grasping onto that one fact like it’s the only thing he has.
His entire energy is sad beyond belief, but he looks at you like you're his lifeline when you part. Din wets his lips- masking a tremble by how he bites it.
"This is the only thing that feels normal. Feels right. I don't understand it…"
The shadow of his humility shines, even as he wallows in his present struggle.
"You'll get there,” you swore through tears- not all of them sad anymore. “If this is any proof, you'll get there. Won’t last forever."
You share another kiss for healing. By how his brows seem to even out, you wonder if it’s actually helping to ease the pain after all. It’s firm, longing. It’s all you have to give him.
Din looks you over as he’s in close proximity- refamiliarizing himself with every high point in your face, every contour, and gives a genuine smile.
“Pretty sure…” he worked through the whirl of ideas behind that dreamy gaze, “... had a dream about that kid. Kept taking that– did he try to take the gear shift off the Crest? Y’know, the ball end? Think it was a toy?”
And finally: you laughed for the first time in weeks.
“Yes, he did! It’s the one thing that survived the crash!” you burst into happy tears. “Oh my God, I can’t believe it~ see? You’re–”
"You haven't laughed. Not in days," Din interrupts– "I like it when you laugh."
You hear it once more, plain as day:
I love hearing you laugh.
–like it was yesterday…
"I know you do." you calm yourself. "Maybe one of these days, you'll remember how you bring it out of me."
He considers you, and a funny little aire of critique passes across his face.
“Something tells me that’s not hard to do. I’ll try my best,” he scrunches his perfect nose, “M’not a comedian though, fair warning. ”
“That’s ok. It’s your delivery that’s the funniest part. Munchkin thinks so,” you reminded with hope. You worded it like a question, hoping Din would visualize the instance easier if you made it sound casual.
“Seems to favor testing me, more like– what you've told me so far.” Din trails off on his own. His brow twitches, showing his head may be pulsing, but he’s fighting through it. “Better be one to mind his manners the next time we see him. Wonder if the Jedi teach that, too.”
Understanding just how many times he'd looked your way expressionless under the guise of armor, he'd learned the benefits of using words when you came into his life and makeshift home. It was a change of perspective that was all too necessary; that he could truly speak his mind and that you would listen anytime- day or night. The way he communicated was truly poetic once he felt comfortable to release the matters of his heart through his mouth.
So now, even when his mind has split and you were left to patiently wait out for his memories to return in full force, you'd simply hold his hand and keep the anchor set so his heartstrings could untangle themselves.
You smile despite the gap in understanding the gravity of what he'd just spoken- that Grogu was with a Jedi without hope of any visitation date that you knew of. It's still so hard without him– another pain you feel that you're shouldering alone…
“Have I said that before?" Din's flare of insecurity flared like the ebb of his headache. "I'm not making things easier by opening my damn mouth, am I…”
You sift the thoughts away, out from the forefront, "No…" you say, to ease his worry.
You're reminded of how much he is still the same Din. The power of his gentle words and the potency of laughter: the best medicine he could take. With knowing tears lining your eyes, you answered with a massage to his temple,
“It just means more, coming from you."
Translations:
Mesh’la, cyar’ika = Beautiful, sweetheart.
Ka'ra jaon'kov, cuy’gar mesh’la = Stars above, you're beautiful.
B’d jate = So (good)
Jatne o'r ner sur'haai = Perfect (good, superlative) in my eyes.
Rejorhaa'ir ni = Tell me
Ni ganar’e, cyare = I have you, my sweetheart
#the mandalorian#din djarin#din djarin x you#din djarin x reader#the mandalorian fanfiction#star wars fanfiction#the mandalorian x you#the mandalorian x reader#may the fourth be with you#i wrote something sad for once#but i promise i landed the plane#angst with a happy ending#din djarin smut#din djarin fluff
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tw religious whump, aftermath of trauma, forced recovery, dubious whumper turned caretaker
Whumper pulled back after a few seconds, letting out a quiet sigh. The human, as expected, looked absolutely pitiful and broken. Unfortunately, centuries of seeking revenge and punishing the insolent had killed every ounce of pride or enjoyment they'd used to derive from it.
They watched as the sentience slowly returned to the human, for better or for worse, and they quickly curled up into a trembling ball of confusion and anguish. The same sight, the same sounds, the same reaction... Whumper found no pleasure in it anymore. It was boring, it was more of an obligation they'd placed upon themself than anything else.
They felt a pang of... something, deep within their soul. It wasn't guilt. Was it? No, it was something different. They didn't feel anything just staring down at the broken human, but...
No, they shouldn't have been thinking about these things. It was truly odd for a god to be thinking such thoughts. Undesirable.
But they couldn't deny that those thoughts rekindled a fire inside of them. A fire of long lost excitement. It would've been something new, something different...
Why should they deny themself the thrill?
"Get up, mortal."
The human didn't move. They even covered their ears, like some petulant child who refused to listen. It was very clear now; their desire to correct was much greated than their desire to destroy completely.
"Get up," they repeated, this time pushing the command directly into the human's thoughts. It only got them a pathetic whimper. "You have sinned against me and I have punished you for it. I am offering you a chance to start over. To lead a life of devotion and worship instead of ridiculous stunts."
"Stop tormenting me," they begged desperately. "Leave me! Please! Go to your followers, they're way more deserving of your attention, just– just leave me alone..."
Whumper slowly lowered themself to the ground next to the human, finding themself infinitely captivated by this display of useless defiance. Clearly, the human was simply afraid, and for good reason. But refusing divine help after an encounter like this was as good as suicide. They needed help.
"You don't have a choice," they said simply. "I know the consequences of my punishments very well, yet I have never once brought a mortal back from the brink of devastating madness. I wish to do that now. And I will, no matter your opinion on the matter."
Taking away the illusion of choice seemed to work. The human looked up at them with tear-filled eyes, still shaking in fear. "M-more punishments..?"
"Certainly, if you continue to hinder my plans. But not if you stay obedient, no." They paused, letting the words sink in before repeating their order. "Get up, now. I will give you a life fuller than the one you've lost."
~
general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night
#whump#whump drabble#religious whump#aftermath of trauma#forced recovery#dubious whumper turned caretaker
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trick or treat (dealer’s choice)! happy halloween and hope you have a nice day <3
clark whump enjoyers treat :,)
okay so. the backstory here is that in the first ever adaptation of superman, the radio show, in the first season. the name 'clark kent' is made up by the first people he rescues. the kents straight up don't exist. kal is a baby when jor puts him in the ship. but then he grows up on the way over. alone in a rocket ship for years and years.
a little fucked up! of course they don't like. explore this in any way whatsoever. there's no effects from this at all, radio clark is a pretty well adjusted guy for the 40s. and it gets retconned in the second season to the familiar backstory but. it itches my brain.....
439 words, gen, no particular warnings besides childhood isolation, rough draft because the voices aren't right for radio canon
“What were you like when you were a kid?” Dick asks.
Clark blinks, brushes the snow off the back of his neck. “Me? I… wasn’t really - I didn’t grow up on Krypton.”
Bruce looks at him oddly. “You mentioned you were an adult when you came here."
“I grew up on the flight,” Clark says, looking inside one of the stores. “It was - Krypton was very far away.”
There's silence for a few seconds as he scans the street below. When he looks back to Dick and Bruce, both are looking at him, abandoning the binoculars.
“How far?” Bruce says, and there’s a strange note in his voice, of caution. “How long did you - you grew up on the flight? How old were you when you left?”
He frowns, thinking back. “I would have been… about a year old, in Earth terms. I don’t…” his voice is a little hoarse. “I don’t really remember.”
“Superman,” Bruce says, and there’s an aborted movement in his arm, a moment where he seems to reach out and then think better of it. Clark isn’t sure if he wants him to think better of it.
An uncomfortable silence hangs over them, and he feels like he needs to say something, he just doesn’t know what. He turns back to the street, because it's easier to look there than at his friends. “I wasn’t awake for all of it. Or… it’s hard to explain. I was, but I wasn’t. It was something between sleeping and waking up.” He searches the faces below them carefully, looking at their freckles and scars, the smile at the corner of a young lady’s lip as she watches her two kids run ahead of her on the slushy sidewalk. “There were recordings. That’s how I learned the language.” One of the kids almost slips, and the mother reaches out, but the brother is there faster, grabbing onto his sister. Keeping her safe. “My father - I think he programmed the ship to somehow - there was a voice that I could ask questions to, and it would answer. It wasn’t a person, but it would answer, if it could find the answer in the radio waves it’d stored and translated. But it wasn’t... it shut itself down when I got here.”
He’s looking at the crowd. He doesn’t want to look away from the crowd, because there’s a tight feeling in his chest and he doesn’t know what he would see if he looks over at his friends. He doesn’t know what he would want to see. So he looks at the crowd, at the families. At all the people, together.
#thanks for the ask :^)#unbreakabledawn#my writing#otr taos#one day im going to return to the old timey radio husbands......i love them............................
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Do you have a least favorite form of whump? Or rather, what kind do you care the least for or just don't like?
Oh yeah for sure! There's tons of stuff that squick me out or just do nothing for me.
I'm not a fan of the bbu/pet whump stuff at all. I actively avoid it honestly.
I don't like intimate whumpers, creepy whumpers (honestly if it's got a whumper at all it gets knocked down a few levels on my enjoyment scale. i prefer whumperless whump).
I don't like heavy torture and gore.
I hate torture things involving the mouth or eyes or fingernails or feet.
I usually don't enjoy master/slave type of stuff but there have been exceptions where a fanfic was so well written I did enjoy the trope.
I don't like when the whumpee is so broken down they become simpering and eager to please their captor. Like conditioning. Don't like it. I like my whumpees defiant and tough.
Dehumanization is a no go
Don't like lots of blood. Like excessive amounts of it.
I don't like major character death UNLESS the character comes back to life. No permanent death please
Not a huge fan of medical whump but it can be okay
Long term captivity is in the same. Not my favorite but it can be done well.
I'm very specific which kind of stress positions I like and which I hate. There's really only like...two that I like
Not a fan of muzzle like whump. Gagged with like a cloth is fine but other than that I get squicked.
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Hey all, hope everyone's having a good Wednesday! Today we have eight whump fics for your enjoyment! Some are on the lighter side, some are much heavier, so don't forget to mind the warnings! As always, you can find them below the cut and if you check any of them out, I encourage you to leave kudoes and comments to spread the rarepair love 🩷
if you must falter, be wise by mabarihound (3,546 words, Explicit)
Pairing: Eadwulf Grieve/Essek Thelyss (Esswulf)
Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, Unhappy Ending, Dubious Consent, Cannibalism, Body Horror
Wulf dies but Essek brings him back as a vampire, a la the Briarwoods.
Reccer Says: unhappy ending TO YOU. I'm built different. Essek is so fucking insane in this, Wulf is barely human, there's so much blood and bad sex, it's gruesome and sad and amazing. Love doesn't fix anything but it makes a thrilling story!
The Self in the Other by fjorests_of_wildemount (1,010 words, Teen)
Pairing: Astrid Beck/Eadwulf Grieve (Blumenduo)
Warnings: None
After killing some of Trent’s loyalists, Astrid and Wulf head home to tend their wounds.
Reccer Says: It’s a delicious glimpse into what post-C2 might look like for these two and I love it. Their dynamic oozes of the decade and a half of history between them and it’s so good.
Crowned Teeth (or, an Offering Revoked) by fruitzbat (130,570 words, Mature)
Pairing: Kingsley Tealeaf/Original Female Character
Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Slavery, Mentioned but Not Depicted Sexual Violence
Kingsley escapes being kidnapped by pirates after being mutinied against. Finding himself a long way from home, Kingsley then resorts to hunting the people responsible down with the help of a new ragtag bunch of misfits that call him captain.
Reccer Says: With respect to the rarepair, I think it's a fun dynamic. fruitzbat does a really good job of capturing all of those weird, uncomfortable nooks and crannies that come with new relationships. And I think most importantly, Kingsley really stretches his wings as his own person. There is such a clear vision of what he's like and how that's distinct from Molly and Lucien, and that clearness really carries throughout both this piece and the rest of the series.
which is a tenderness. by redhoods (5,724 words, Mature)
Pairing: Fjord/Caleb Widogast (Widofjord)
Warnings: Fjord-typical Self Harm, Fantasy Racism
Caleb returns to the tavern and learns Fjord has gotten hurt in a bar fight then locked himself in their room, refusing healing.
Reccer Says: Fjord angst and tender wound care *chef's kiss* (and also just a touch of trans Fjord)
i feel you, your precious soul by glossolali (6009 words, Mature)
Pairing: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss (Shadowmauk)
Warnings: Offscreen Past Non-Consensual Body Modification, Mentions of Limb Loss & Amputation, Mentions of Disordered Eating, Selective Mutism, Panic Attacks
Essek, a cyberware expert, medical technician and researcher, helps his friends save Mollymauk’s life using what he knows best. What he didn't count on, was the connection that would develop between them, and his own misgivings about it.
Reccer Says: Cyberpunk/cybernetics AU, Essek has mixed feelings about fixing up Molly, and about initiating a relationship (established shadowgast, established widomauk, but Essek hasn't said anything to Molly about them yet). Its great <3 mollymauk's half cybernetic/prosthetics, and the malfunctioning is pretty oof
fell in love with the fire long ago by BananasofThorns (2,501 words, Teen)
Pairing: Fjord/Caleb Widogast (Widofjord)
Warnings: Mind Control, Burns
Caleb has been mind controlled and is attacking the party with deadly intent. Fjord has a ring of fire resistance and a bad plan.
Reccer Says: What's not to love about a person being forced to hurt those they care about and then blaming themself for it? I've rearead this 3 times.
by the water by nonbinarywithaknife (578 words, Teen)
Pairing: Veth Brenatto/Yeza Brenatto
Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, Canonical Character Death, Nott-Typical Alcoholism
In Felderwin, Nott sits by the river and remembers.
Reccer Says: Mostly sad, briefly sweet. She's really been going through it😢
Peace At Last by HyperKid (4,770 words, Mature)
Pairing: Jester Lavorre/Mollymauk Tealeaf (Jestermauk)
Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Mentioned Past Character Death
After Cognouza, Jester takes some quiet time to herself in the Blooming Grove. Molly finds her and they cuddle and talk through some difficult emotions.
Reccer Says: It's heartaching and sweet in equal measures. The atmosphere is beautiful and suits it so well. Molly and Jester fit together so well, like the softest of puzzle pieces, if that makes sense. Their relationship feels natural and you can sense the strength of their bond in each moment. It's got some wonderful mentions of Jester's struggle with being the Happy One and Molly having lost so much time while his friends have grown as well, on top of all of the other deliciously angsty feelings the two of them are coping with.
Thank you for joining us this week's recc list! All the love to everyone who submitted a fic 🩷 All enclosed recommendations were submitted by the community via our submissions form, which you can find here. All fic information is as it was provided by the reccer, so it may not be accurate to the author’s intent or the precise contents of the fic itself. Please assume good intent from all parties 🩷
Submissions for next week’s list are already open! We’ll be featuring Pre-Relationship fics. If you have any you’d like to highlight, you can send them in here. The week after that, the theme is Canon Divergence and the week after that we're taking recommendations for rarepairs including Keyleth! Submissions for both themes are also currently open.
If you want more rarepair fic, check out @cr-summer-wildflowers and their event collections on ao3! If you want some friendship after all this romance, take a look at @critter-genfic-events and their recc lists! And if you’re interested in everyone’s favorite wizards, you can’t go wrong with the lists at @aeor-is-for-reccing !
Thanks all and have a lovely day/night/timezone! 🩷
#critter rarepair recc lists#esswulf#blumenduo#kingsley x oc#widofjord#shadowmauk#veth x yeza#jestermauk#critical role#cr fanfic
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Time for an angsty many years post-Crooked Kingdom Kaz whump concept. More of a not!fic style but I hope it's still enjoyable🖤
all the nightmares I’ve had
Years after Kaz gets his revenge, Pekka Rollin's family is killed in a tragic accident. It has nothing to do with Kaz or the Crows but Pekka is convinced Kaz is responsible. Pekka is deep in his grief, reckless and has no fear for what he could lose any more, Inej's threats to himself forgotten. He surprises Kaz, and his touch aversion works against him, so Pekka does manage to take him down along with the help of some chemicals. Kaz had made progress on that, less guarded and covered up these days, but if there's one person guaranteed to take him right back to the barge mentally it's Pekka touching him. Pekka gets him into the coffin so easily after that, buries him six feet deep, but he doesn't just want to kill him. He sets up a way that Kaz won't run out of air down there. No, it will be dehydration that kills him as he slowly starves down there too.
He's groggy from the drugs and injured from the scuffle with Pekka but he knows well enough he has no way out this time because it isn't locks he can pick that trap him, instead an oppressive mass of earth bearing down on him, gravity itself working against his escape. Even those who try to pull off such tricks as entertainment often die trying, so Kaz has no hope he can evade this when the circumstances here are designed to kill. As he comes back to more himself, the dawning reality is so much harder to deal with. Being left for dead is his worst nightmare happening all over again, despite that it isn't the barge, it's still too close. He won't call out via the spout in case Pekka is listening, waiting for him to beg - he won't give Pekka that satisfaction. Pekka won't have been foolish enough to bury Kaz where anyone else would overhear any cries for help anyway.
Pekka's hubris is much the same as Kaz's was, abandoning the simple solution of a quick death because he wants him to suffer as long as possible, for it to be fitting. Just how long Kaz can last is partly a matter of willpower, how long he can remain calm and hang on to the will to live. Hope has never been something Kaz put much stock in but he clings to the hope that people will miss him, that they will care to look for him, that he will be found in time, not forgotten down here as he grows groggier again with lack of water. To distract himself, he stews on plans for his own revenge once he gets out of this, until it becomes too hard to think properly and the old fears creep back into his hazy mind. Water starts to seeps in from rain down the air spout, leaving him wet and cold and losing any remaining faith that he will get out of this nightmare.
The Crows don't know Kaz is missing until the next day and they spend over a day searching the city until Jesper finally gets a feeling drawing him towards Black Veil island, hoping desperately that the incredibly rare mineral he's sensing there is indeed from Kaz's rather unique wedding ring Inej got him on her travels. They scour the cemetery for the exact source, silent as the grave once they find the freshly dug ground someone had tried to pack down harder, now sodden with the night's rain as well. Inej is the one to spot the strange pipe coming out of the ground. "He's still alive," she proclaims, and Jesper just hopes she's right about what it means. Inej starts scraping back soil in swathes with her knives, while the rest of them go to locate some metal Jesper can fashion into shovels. The time spent digging up that grave feels like the longest time of Jesper's life. When they pull Kaz - pale and wet and shaking but alive - from the coffin, Jesper is witness to the most public display of affection he's ever seen by Kaz and Inej. Kaz clings to Inej like she's his lifeline to the living, though Kaz is careful once again to not touch any skin. Jesper has to look away, giving them their privacy as best he can, until the moment passes and Inej turns to ask Wylan for the water bottle they brought along.
When Kaz seems a bit more focused, Inej asks “Pekka?” with her voice like a knife. “Pekka,” Kaz confirms sharply, but his eyes taking on a dark far away look, staring past them all in a way that worries Jesper. Inej leaves abruptly, with murder in her eyes, so it falls to Jesper and Wylan to cautiously help Kaz to the carriage. They're careful to keep their touches firmly over Jesper's coat that they help the shivering Kaz into, in case their proximity might trigger him like it used to. They go back to the mansion, setting Kaz up in the guest room they all know is really his anyhow. Kaz is quiet, no smart remarks and no refusal of the help they give, accepting any comfort they can provide him that isn't touch. Wylan brings up a pot of hot, very sugary tea and so much food. The tray placed on the side of the bed is laden with far more than he could possibly eat, but every item is a favourite of Kaz's; foods Kaz would deny caring one jot for but anyone observant enough would know to be true. Jesper waits by his side, wishing he could hug Kaz, however briefly, to feel him solid and safe in his arms, but he doesn't dare ask right now. Being there is hopefully enough. With Jesper watching over him, Kaz sleeps, curled up in the layers of soft, warm blankets they gave him that he'd normally scoff at and turn down.
When Kaz wakes, Jesper's heart skips a beat in anticipation as Kaz reaches out his hand as if to touch him, only for that hope to be dashed as Kaz snatches his hand back suddenly, not able to complete the intended action. Kaz scowls, looking down at the floor. But then he says something that surprises Jesper, “Thank you, Jes.” Kaz's gaze shifts to looking down at the bed covers as he says it, a discomfit evident in the tension of his shoulders and the tight grip of one hand on his other in his lap. “You don't need to thank me, you podge.” Jesper replies, exasperated but fondly said nevertheless. “This is what we do, we look out for one another.” Kaz simply nods and Jesper decides now is a good time to fetch more food and drink, to leave Kaz to his thoughts for a bit.
Inej comes back in the evening, her clothes freshly changed and the scent of the cleaner she uses on her knives trailing in her wake. She only says "It's done" to the room when she appears suddenly, no one needs to ask what. Then she climbs onto the bed with Kaz, prompting Jesper to quickly leave them be. The newspapers the next day don't show the gruesome detail of a man taken to pieces in a depiction of any sort for that would be far too improper, but they spare no words to describe the unexpected downfall of a once barrel boss practically forgotten and by now only remarkable in his manner of death. That morning, when they take up a tray of food and the paper, he sees Kaz smirk, for the first time since they rescued him, at the sight of the headline.
#six of crows#kaz brekker#angst#grishaverse#crooked kingdom#whump#hurt/comfort#soc fics#six of crows fanfic#purpleyin#purpleyin: fanfic#kanej#but it's more of a gen fic really#soc aus#not!fic#jesper fahey#inej ghafa#wylan van eck#pekka rollins#my kanej fanworks
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Hi! This is for the Nsft/Whump prompts
You could choose between #19 for Vigcup or #13 for this weird ship of mine; Vigstrid 😅✌
Thank you for requesting! I chose to go with Vigstrid, given that there's hardly anything out there for it and I wanted to challenge myself. You're making me ship it, anon.
---
Rated: explicit
Warnings: none
Pairings: Viggo/Astrid
Word Count: 855
Summary: Astrid has sex with Viggo for the first time and is surprised by how good the experience is.
Ao3 Link
"I never thought you could make such sweet noises," Astrid breathed as she rode her partner's cock, in absolute awe of everything that was happening. For one, she was having sex. And for two, she was having sex with Viggo Grimborn.
"Me neither." Viggo's voice was just as breathy, and he took her by the hips gently. This man could be gentle, this man who had led the Dragon Hunters in business and battle for years, this man who had hurt and killed, and...
He was being gentle. Viggo was very different now, after having been burned chasing the one thing that had mattered to him: the Dragon Eye. He'd realized how shallow his life and his ambitions had been without having care for others.
That care now extended to her and the other Riders. Though, his care for her was very different from his care for them.
And Astrid had only heard threats out of him before, but now she was hearing sweet moans and sighs. She'd never once thought that something like this would ever happen.
"I-I'm sorry," Viggo said after some time, clearly in thought.
"What?"
"For everything I did before."
"Don't you dare try to apologize while I'm having sex with you," Astrid scolded. "This isn't apology sex. It's just sex."
Viggo smirked at her. "Whatever you say, my dear."
Astrid placed her hands on Viggo's broad, naked chest, riding him slowly, given that he was rather large, and sex was new to her. It hurt a bit, but she liked it. She liked it so much. Despite being intimidated by the sheer size of him everywhere, she'd wanted to be on top and take control. That was just how she was.
And Viggo seemed to be fine with that. He didn't roll them over or use his grip on her hips to make her go harder or faster than she wanted to. He just let her do this and pleasure the both of them.
"Are you close?" Astrid asked, voice low with lust in a way she'd never heard before.
Viggo ran his hands up over her back, the touch so good it made her shiver. "Not quite, darling."
Astrid arched into him, tilting her head back, humming with her eyes closed. "Oh. I am."
"Feeling your end would be splendid." Viggo's voice was also low with lust: a rumble.
Astrid had never thought she would like slow sex, had thought that her enjoyment would more align with something fast and hard and almost vicious. Maybe next time, but now, this was what she wanted, what she needed. Her orgasm was riding up on her, tensing her muscles in all the right places, increasing her pleasure to a burning she felt in her extremities.
Astrid's mouth dropped open in a loud gasp when she came, followed suit by a long moan. Her walls clenching around Viggo felt so good, and her body was burning and buzzing. Though she was rather good at pleasuring herself, she'd never had an orgasm this good before. She'd never felt so connected with someone before either. She swore she could feel Viggo's soul in her.
Viggo said nothing as she rode him through her climax. He just gripped her hips, let her dig her nails into his chest.
Astrid didn't know what to do when it was over. She was oversensitive, the feeling of Viggo's cock in her now too much. But, she hadn't gotten him off, and she wanted to.
"You do not have to continue if you do not wish to," Viggo said. "I can finish myself."
"I want to help," Astrid said. She climbed off of him, moaning as he came out of her. She took another look at his cock, and was utterly astonished that that had been in her.
She laid beside him, snuggling close, and reached her hand down. Her touch elicited a small gasp from Viggo, and a big arm wrapped around her, pulling her so tight against him he was almost crushing her.
But he was still gentle, even as he neared climax and his muscles tightened. She could feel his cock throb under her fingers.
He came with a sigh and a moan, hardly giving any warning, but Astrid hadn't needed any--being so close to him, she'd known that it was going to happen. She almost laughed at the way cum spurted from his slit. She'd known what a man's orgasm was like, but had never witnessed one personally, or been the cause of it.
She stroked him through it, and he laid a big hand on hers when he was finished, when it became too much. She pulled her hand away.
For a while, they just laid there in silence, breathing together, Astrid's breaths more even, Viggo's more like panting. Once his breathing had slowed, he looked at her and gave her a smile. She was on his right side so that he could see her. He was blind in his left eye now from his injury.
"That was wonderful, Astrid, my dear."
Astrid smiled, pecked him on the lips. "Yes. Yes it was."
#asks#Anonymous#requests#nsft#smut#vigstrid#viggo grimborn#astrid hofferson#httyd#httyd rtte#rtte#how to train your dragon#race to the edge#fanfiction#writing
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My Favorites
I have a soft spot for other peoples’ OCs, so why not make a list of my favorite stories and books <3 In no specific order. Please note: Some of those are heavy on the whump.
Unless noted otherwise, all stories are in a fantasy/historical setting.
I’ll try to limit it to one series per blog, but I might link others I have read without description, and I encourage you to check out the other works of those people.
Personal Highlights
Absolute gold star stories with a special place in my heart 💜 Finished, or very close to finished.
Unbidden by alittlewhump
Set in the world of Diablo 2, but doesn’t require knowledge of the game. Sweet necromancer gets pulled into saving the world, and has a horrible time doing so.
Hidden Depths by starlit-hopes-and-dreams
Resh sold himself into indentured servitude to save his sick sister. Unfortunately, the guy who now owns him is a sadistic asshole, and Resh in big, big trouble.
(This one was finished, but now a second part started :D)
Never by whumpflash
A different take on Captain Hook, how he lost his hand, and his history with Peter. Very gory, very horrible and so very fun.
Other works: Penumbra, Sun and Glass
The Prince of Thieves by little-peril-stories
In this Robin Hood-inspired story, Bree is arrested and thrown in prison with Will, a ringleader of the gang of thieves she’s part of.
Other works: The Curiosity Collector
Untitled Story by verkja
A sorcerer who isn't half as evil as he thinks he is, a mercenary with a troubling dream, and the looming end of the world.
(This one's not finished, but it will be.)
Sin of Purity, Purity of Sin by pleasestaywithmedarling
Kiri learned from a young age to keep her head down; Anden knows the key to his survival is to never back down from a fight. But when they are chosen to serve as the next year's sacrifice in the yearly Midsummer's Day ritual, they'll need to work together if they want to escape their fate.
(In progress.)
Finished Stories
The Monster of Lindborough by secretwhumplair
Werewolf boy gets caught and tortured to drive out the beast. Then he’s left in the care of the smith, who slowly starts to see that there’s true monsters among them, and it’s not the kid crying in his house.
Other works: Check their pinned post
My Little Mermaid by thoughtsonhurtandcomfort
Brave little mermaid gets stranded and is found by a human, who turns out to be a true nightmare.
Other works: Check their pinned post
Smoke, Salt, and Asbestos by quietly-by-myself
Life for Keeper Silvanus was never normal. However, abnormal quickly changed to strange when a fae creature dropped dead at the doorstep of his ward, the Hall of Alchemists.
Other works: Check their post here
Consequence of Action by squishablesunbeam
After a failed mutiny, Quinn is kept as a slave for the enjoyment of the crew, until one of them shows him some pity. Unfortunately, the captain notices.
Notes: Sci-fi setting, so very nsfw.
Unburied by whump-me
In trying to prove what she has discovered—a weapon that can level a city, as long as it is fueled with a human body and soul—Kira just might become this fuel herself.
Notes: Contains major character death.
Other works: Martyr
Bridge from Ashes by winterandwords
Corruption and cruelty pulse through the veins of an opulent metropolis, where every side is the wrong side and progress is fuelled by exploitation.
Notes: Cyberpunk setting.
Other works: November Breaks
Actual Books by Tumblr Authors
I don't have half as much time to read as I'd like, so I recommend also looking at my #other people's books tag. Links go to goodreads for now.
Once Stolen by brynwrites / D.N. Bryn
When Cacao's attempt to rob the jungle’s most notorious energy cartel fails stunningly, a chaotic escape leaves him chained to a self-proclaimed hero with a hidden stash of power stones so large, Cacao would never need to steal again. He’s determined to get his hands on it, even if it means guiding her home straight through the mist-laden and monster-filled swamp that exiled him.
Other works: Our Bloody Pearl, Odder Still
The Sorceress and the Incubus by menagerie-of-monsters / Mallory Dunlin
After ten lonely years of catching the meteors raining from the broken sky, all Rain wanted was a little help. Maybe some companionship. Then she gave my summoning a little too much power… and now she's bonded soul-to-soul with an incubus.
Other works: The Changeling and the Dragon
Over the Dragon's Gate by serotoninshift / Juliana Jones & Riley Sanderson
Treya has everything he needs in his food, shelter, and other fish to swim with. It’s painful to wonder if he had another life once, so he ignores the fragments of disturbing dreams that plague him.
Winter's Orbit by avoliot / Everina Maxwell
Prince Kiem, the Emperor’s least favourite grandchild, never expected to be married off to a stranger with a day’s notice. But his cousin is dead, leaving a bereaved partner, and the Empire must renew its bonds with its newest vassal planet or risk an all-out war.
Notes: Sci-fi setting.
Ongoing Stories
Not all of those get regular updates, and some aren't posted in chronological order.
Captured by redwingedwhump
This is a story about a relatively wicked warlock who is taken prisoner by his worst enemies- men claiming holiness, out to save his soul…
Other works: Check their pinned post
Unsung Heroes by dont-touch-my-soup
Set in a war-torn fantasy world. Kell gets arrested after trying to protect his twin sister. He finds himself in a theatre where he is forced to sing and entertain his enemies.
Dark Water by cryptidwritings
Moss Harper boards a boat in search of a better life, but instead finds himself a captive in the middle of the ocean.
Perfect Sorrows by whumping-in-the-wings
A Victorian/Gothic whump story, set in Paris with a slightly unconventional take on selkie-ish magical creatures.
Other works: Traces
Immortality Blows by brutal-nemesis
One sassy immortal with an excellent talent to find himself in horrible situations. Pirate whump? Lab whump? Burned alive? Cave whump? Take your pick.
Flicker in the Dark by just-a-silly-little-whumper
Sorcerers Elze’ith and Altair are fleeing pursuit by bounty hunters when they end up trapped in a valley ruled over by a cruel vampire.
Notes: Contains nsfw chapters.
Duochromatic by siren-of-agony
Tiefling twins living under the sadistic hand of the Circus Director, who loves to collect oddities and make them his.
Kane & Jim by whumpsday
Years ago, Jim was kept as a living bloodbag for a vampire he despises. When he gets the chance for revenge, he jumps on it - only to find a man broken by years of torture.
Whumping the Whumpers by painsandconfusion
The story of how a chronic whumpee teams up with his past whumper to get revenge on the whumpers who have whumped him before.
Notes: Contemporary setting.
Other works: Check their pinned post
Freelancers by whumpacabra
David’s had a rough go at it - drugs, thugs, you name it, he’s survived it. But no matter how far past it he feels, it’s always there. Waiting for the right moment to pull the rug out from under his feet.
Notes: Contemporary setting.
Unfinished Stories
I cannot guarantee that my categories here are correct, but below are stories that are either abandoned, or where the last update has been more than a year ago.
Blackmuir Reign by deluxewhump
When Therrin Blackmuir takes advantage of a volatile political situation to reclaim the throne, he finds an unexpected prisoner in the deepest cell of the dungeons, someone who does not expect merciful treatment from him.
Nik by just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi
Ever the one to sacrifice himself, Nik makes a deal with a sorcerer to keep his people safe. Little does he know that his cooperation was never required; just the magic that runs through his veins.
Gozukk and Anna by whimperwoods
Chief Gozukk of the orcs allows passage through his lands to a human caravan and receives, in exchange, a half-elf girl they’ve been abusing.
Also I throw a lot of masterlists I come across that I might want to check out at some point on my sideblog @burnt-salad-bar
(Not all of them, because that would require using more than a singular brain cell and remembering.)
#welp better prepare myself for the new-posteditor-calypse#and while I am on it trying a new format#the old one was just too stuffed#*mumbles* I am allowed to have favorites I am allowed to have favorites I am#favs
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What are your feelings about game!Ciri as an adaptation of book!Ciri because while I don't dislike her character in the games, they definitely ignored most of the trauma congo line level whump she went through in the book saga and made her into "generic-macguffin-girl-who-just-wants-to-be-normal" and even her character personality seems less a lot more watered down to the tons of personality she had in the book, with a character so young, it ought to be easier to imagine she’s simply grown up since we saw her last, but so much of what’s changed about Ciri feels like a step back rather than forwards.
Sorry for the late response! Thanks for asking, and I think we’re in agreement. I enjoy her a lot in the game, I find her scenes engaging and emotional, I retroactively miss her in TW2, all that good stuff. But the influence of book lore and established character traits/arcs is….. it’s hard to find.
I understand of course that CDPR was telling a different story, that there was a big time jump, and that the games take on a different tone - generally a lighter one - but I would have liked a more clear explanation for the off-screen character arc Ciri appears to have gone through, as well as a more complex characterization than we got.
Geralt has this in part from his extensive Game 1&2 amnesia plot. That’s a big deal, it changed who he is, affected his relationships, his motives, his characterization, ect, there is a justification for the changes and, to me anyway, they don’t end up reflecting an ignorance of book material, just a distant respect and inspiration. CDPR wanted to write their version of Geralt, but they had to push him there, and they did. Not saying game!geralt is ‘just as good’ that’s a different can of worms, but the structural work of a character translation was not neglected, and he's still an interesting and compelling character to watch.
Ciri I can’t really say the same for. She’s been on her own, been on the run from the wild hunt, but that’s normal for her, nothing new. We’ve seen her react to this situation, and it wasn’t with the happy-go-lucky attitude she suddenly gained. It's like you said, “Maturity?” Is that it? That's the best we can do?
And I guess... in vague defense, her final book scene with Galahad does seem to imply a more emotionally sound Ciri than we saw with Vysogota, for example. She rides off towards a future she’s ready for. Her book character arc does not end with succumbing to her trauma and loss, but learning to live with it (but it's not ...gone??) I don’t think CDPR is completely off base to then portray her as a more controlled, loose, healed version of the character we’re used to, especially a few years down the line. Fine, she grew up, whatever, I get it I guess.
But still, why water down her temper? Why hold back on her emotional response to seeing Geralt or Yen again? Why make her (second) confrontation with the lodge so deeply underwhelming? Why not get personal over her past with Eredin? Why not address her bisexuality apart from an optional dialogue choice, especially when it’s so highlighted in the books? Why did she need Geralt’s permission to trash Avallach’s lab? Why didn’t she have more questions or insight about Geralt’s resurrection? Was there really nothing deeper or uglier to be done with her updated relationship to Emyhr?? I have questions!!!
So you’re right, it ends up feeling shallow at the end of the day. I understand that she matured, and that the trauma she endured from the books has not won out over her enjoyment of life - I don’t TRULY mind this, I DO want to see her grow and reach a better place emotionally - but there are ways to ‘mature’ a character’s personality without sanding it flat.
#I love snowball fight and all but I wanted her to flip out and scoop ered/in’s eyes out. is that so much to ask for#thank you again!!! hope you don't mind me rambling and complaining to you lmao#the witcher books#cirilla fiona elen riannon#ask#anonymous#double shot
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Whumptober Day 31: Crying, truth serum*
tw: restraints, choking, magical whump, noncon drugging (sort of? forcing someone to drink a potion), interrogation, betrayal, torture mention
*alternate prompt
Halloween whump!
...
Whumper sat down at the small table with a bag of candy. He dropped it on the table with a thump, catching Whumpee's attention.
Whumpee's eyes went wide, and he started salivating. The food Whumper had given him was so bland, and he bet the candy tasted like heaven.
"Oh, this caught your eye?" He chuckled, and grabbed a piece. "I love Halloween. Trick or treat, Whumpee?"
"Treat...?" he answered hesitantly, knowing full well that none of Whumper's games ever ended well. He was extremely aware of the ropes digging into his skin, keeping him from grabbing the bag of candy and feasting on it.
"Good choice." Whumper was unwrapping the candy painfully slowly, making it known to Whumpee every second of his enjoyment. He popped the small chocolate in his mouth, with an "Mmmmm" and a "Ohh, that's good." Chewing it slowly and thoroughly, watching as Whumpee's mouth gaped.
He couldn't take watching it anymore, thought he knew he probably shouldn't. "May I-may I have a piece?"
He looked at Whumpee thoughtfully.
"...please?"
"Sure, why not. Open wide." He walked over to Whumpee, wrapper in hand, and shoved it down Whumpee's throat.
He started choking and sputtering, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. His throat started to burn, and he tried desperately to get the wrapper out.
Whumper grabbed another candy to unwrap, dropping the confections in one hand and shoving the wrapper into Whumpee's throat, pushing the first down again with it.
He coughed up the wrappers and pushed them out with his tongue, tears flowing down his face. "Y-you can stop now," he sobbed when the worst of the choking stopped. "I don't want any more candy-" His voice hitched on a cough, and Whumper backed away.
"Okay, then." He popped the candies in his mouth and picked another piece from the bag. Whumpee was relieved to watch him place the wrapper on the table. "You said you wanted a treat, so how about something to wash it down?" He pulled out a small glass vial from inside his jacket. The vial itself was beautiful, with its faceted sides and smooth curves, but the liquid it carried was a gorgeous bright green.
He didn't trust Whumper, but he couldn't struggle as Whumper unplugged the vial and poured its contents into his mouth. He swallowed, not wanting to anger Whumper by spitting it out and wasting it.
He sat down again, picking up a clipboard and pen he kept in the room. "Halloween is a great time, for things like witches and spells and potions. That lovely little drink was a gift from my friend, and her work is quite magical."
He had heard rumors of witches in his area, but no one had ever dared to interfere with one; they were too powerful, too unpredictable.
"Let's see how well she did. How did your colleagues infiltrate this place?"
"They briefly stole a key so they could copy it, and entered on a night when nobody, including the janitor, was working there. Our hacker took down the cameras from our base so they could move freely." It was a question he would have never answered. Yet it slipped so easily off of his tongue, and he couldn't stop it. He immediately felt deep pangs of guilt and regret and bit the inside of his lip.
"Wonderful," he stated, jotting down notes. "The truth serum seems to be working great."
Truth serum? Oh no, oh no no no. Fuck, I don't wanna betray everyone!
"Let's continue-"
"No, I don't want to continue, I'd be betraying my friends- well, I think of them as friends, I really don't know how they feel about me. Oh, and I really don't want to let down the guy I like, he doesn't know I'm bi, but I really like him and hope he'll go out with me. Plus, they're all I have, if they kicked me out I'd have nowhere to go, they've been helping me pay my rent." What am I saying?
"Ha! This is much better than I thought it would be. Look on the bright side, Whumpee, you keep this up and maybe I won't have to torture you anymore for answers."
"Honestly, part of me would be okay with that, I hate torture, and I'm so scared of you. But I want to stay loyal to my friends, and I don't want answers to just roll off my tongue, like the way-"
"Whumpee, that's enough," he said sharply, cutting Whumpee off. "Let's get back on track. I want to squeeze as much out of you as I can while this dose lasts. Why, exactly, did your team want to break in?"
Here we go.
#mine#ailesswhumptober2023#whumptober#whump#crying#truth serum#bisexual whumpee#restraints tw#choking tw#magical whump#noncon drugging#interrogation#interrogation tw#betrayal#betrayal tw#torture mention
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Finished Stories Masterlist
Dollhouse
About a passionate doll enthusiast, keeping a whole house full of human dolls. (Set in the same universe as Sweet as Sugar.)
tw noncon bodymod, captivity, lady whump (both whumper and whumpee), multiple whumpees, dehumanisation, major character death
ending: bittersweet/hopeful
Under the Bell Jar
About a tiny whumpee trapped under a bell jar.
tw tiny whump, captivity, driven halfway to madness
ending: unhappy
Killing, Stalking... Whumping?
About an average whump enjoyer tracking down their favourite blogger and getting more than they bargained for.
tw DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, noncon, pet whump, gore, dehumanisation, torture, major character death
ending: unhappy
SPK canon content
Alternate ending to KSW, with a rescue and recovery.
SPK AUs
AUs of the AU.
Glitching
Interactive red room whump with the antagonist of KSW, Seth Menderita, as the star of the show.
tw DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, torture, red room setting, reader's pov, heavy gore, potential major character death
ending: multiple, choose your own version
Homewrecker
About a poor soul getting stuck in the spider web they had just managed to free their friend from.
tw constant manipulation and gaslighting, lies, medical whump, murder
ending: unhappy
At my Beck and Call (Arc 1)
At my Beck and Call (Arc 2)
About a vampire finding their new favourite toy in an unexpected alleyway — he's not going back in the office with his mind intact.
tw vampire whumper, mind control, kidnapping, captivity
ending: dubious
Discontinued Stories
The Institution
About a group of musicians trapped in a prestigious school, forced to perform in front of the whole world while trying to survive in rehearsal.
tw pet whump, human trafficking, murder
Seven Minutes in Hell (archive)
About a demon and his stolen incubus boytoy.
tw DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, pet whump, murder, torture, captivity, multiple whumpers
Accountability
About a miserable man finding himself in a situation where his obedient nature could actually benefit and save him.
Sweet as Sugar
About a successful and wealthy businesswoman and pet trainer getting her hands on more than she anticipated. (Set in the same universe as Dollhouse.)
tw pet whump, lady whumper, captivity, human trafficking
Crack Whump I Don't See Myself Touching Again
Itty Bitty Paw Paws
About a catboy whumper and his prey.
Deal With the Devil
About the literal Devil and their human plaything.
tw heavy torture, religious themes
Got Under Your Skin
About a demon finding their own fallen angel.
tw body control/forced to obey, religious themes, blood parasite thing (u'll get it if u read it)
Feelings Over Facts <3
About a pitiful and spiteful little man being held captive by an unusually obsessive captor.
tw captivity, obsessive/creepy whumper
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Waltz of the Flowers
taglist: @suspicious-whumping-egg @gala1981 @whump-in-the-moonlight
content: creepy/intimate whumper, defiant whumpee, captivity whump, broken bones (fingers, toes, and ribs), dislocation (shoulder), whumpee's spirit breaking (a little)
"I'm bored," Nicolas says, resting his chin in his hands. "Want to dance with me?"
Derian's eyes are the most cutting thing he can offer. He's been gagged and tied to the front of the fireplace for a while now, close enough to the flames that they'll lick at his skin, but never quite enough to burn. The intent wasn't actually to hurt him. Ophelia just thought it might break his spirit a little.
But it hasn't. Nicolas is starting to wonder what really is going to break him.
Nicolas walks over and pulls the cloth from Derian's mouth. Derian's first response is to spit at Nicolas, and Nicolas first response is to slap him for it.
"You're such an asshole," Nicolas sighs, wiping his face with his sleeve. "Can't we just dance, pretty boy?"
"I don't want you to touch me," Derian snaps.
Nicolas cups Derian's chin, a feather-light touch that Derian flinches away from. Nicolas always finds a reason to have his hands on Derian, on his neck, his shoulders, his waist, but never in a way that crosses a line. Just a way that itches and crawls under Derian's skin.
"Do you think I care?" Nicolas grins, cocking his head to the side. "What fun would it be if you wanted me to?"
"I hate you," Derian seethes.
"Have fun with that," Nicolas smirks.
It takes only a minute or so for Nicolas to untie Derian, and kick him hard enough to turn the room into stars and spirals so he stays down.
Nicolas flicks through his records in the corner of the room. "What should we play, pretty boy?"
Nicolas is the type of asshole to collect vinyl records of classical music to seem educated, but even after only being trapped here for a month, Derian knows Nicolas has a real appreciation for it. Derian is starting to hate it, always playing throughout the house, whenever Nicolas or Ophelia decide to torture him. He's tempted to break one to see what Nicolas would do.
He's fooling himself. Nicolas would kill him. Nicolas would kill him for less.
Eventually, Nicolas decides on the music himself. Derian recognises it as soon as it starts. Waltz of the Flowers.
"I've never danced that," Derian snaps.
Nicolas laughs. "I wasn't going to ask you to. You'd just hurt yourself. And then I'll never get to see you dance ballet, will I?"
Derian would rather never dance again than have to dance for Nicolas' enjoyment.
Nicolas leans down, takes Derian's hand gently in his, then pulls him up sharply. "You know how to waltz, don't you?"
Derian swallows, and nods.
He's used to being the lead. Charlie was never good at dancing - always stepping on Derian's toes and tripping over the furniture and only finding the strength to laugh about it when Derian reminded him that he was dancing with a professional - but even had Charlie taken the lead, he'd have been soft, gentle, fun.
Nicolas' fingers are settling into the constant bruised indents on Derian's hip.
"You know, I've always thought it was weird," Nicolas says, spinning Derian. "You would've done a lot of lifts and jumps in ballet, wouldn't you? And you're strong. So why aren't you any good at fighting us off?"
"Don't be a fucking idiot," Derian mutters. "You know exactly why."
Nicolas pulls Derian in, pressing Derian up against his body, and chuckles softly. "Do I?"
"Because you hurt me every time I get a chance!" Derian hisses, then his anger dissipates and he sags against Nicolas. "Besides. I don't fight."
"Oh, I realised that," Nicolas laughs, and pushes Derian back into position. "Lia fights. Boxing, wrestling, martial arts. Begged me to let her take them when she was a kid. So I guess that's why she's stronger than you."
Derian doesn't respond.
"It adds to the fun, I think," Nicolas says, his grip on Derian tightening as he starts to bend Derian's fingers back. "That you could fight, but you never get to."
Derian's eyes sting with tears as the crack rings in the room. Nicolas doesn't stop dancing, squeezing Derian's broken fingers in his own.
"The problem with doing what we do," Nicolas muses, slamming his boots on Derian's toes and delighting in the harsh cry it elicits, "is that there's a limited amount of fun you get, torturing people for a few hours or so."
"Cry me a fucking river," Derian snarls.
Nicolas laughs and twists Derian's arm tightly behind him, other hand on Derian's throat. "Let me finish. Keeping you means we get to find out exactly what makes you tick. Lia doesn't care much for that. She just wants to bloody you up. But me…"
Nicolas twists Derian's arm, and his shoulder pops.
"I love seeing just how far you can push."
The fact that Derian's first instinct is to pull away has never helped him, and it doesn't help him now. He chokes on his screams when Nicolas' hand tightens around his throat. Nicolas is laughing. All he's doing is laughing. Derian's shoulder burns and spasms.
"Aw, pretty boy." Nicolas twists it further. "Does it hurt? Gonna cry even more for me?"
"Fuck you!" Derian screams. "Fuck you, fuck you!"
It's nothing short of a miracle that the force of Nicolas throwing Derian to the floor doesn't knock him out. Derian's breathing is only broken whines, now. Still, a part of him wants to make Nicolas angry, wants to finally see the man snap, even if it kills him.
Nicolas isn't angry in the least. In fact, he's only smiling in that cruel, narrow-eyed way as he places his boot on Derian's chest.
"I should break your ribs," Nicolas says, arm resting on his knee. "Might make you shut up."
The music is still playing. Even if the pain is drowning out every other sense Derian has, he knows the music is playing, because Nicolas is tapping to the beat.
"Try it," Derian spits. "I dare you."
Nicolas smiles wider, and presses his entire body weight onto Derian's chest.
He stops immediately when he hears the crack he was looking for.
Derian's eyes roll back, a soft gasp being the only thing that escapes him. The pain pushes every other thought out of his head, overwhelms every muscle in his body until it's the only thing he can even fathom, and he can't remember how to react.
"Come on, don't pass out on me now," Nicolas says, carefully lifting Derian up into his arms. "Let's sit you up."
The next thing Derian knows is being set down on a bed, and whining pathetically when his shoulder is gently set back into place.
"There we go," Nicolas says, a condescending softness to his tone. "You'll be fine."
"Why?" Derian swallows a sob, knowing it'll only hurt what must be broken ribs if he cries. "W-Why- why are you d-doing all of this to m-me?"
Nicolas pauses, then bursts into laughter. Derian imagines throwing himself at Nicolas, strangling him until he doesn't know what breathing is, refusing to face the reality that Nicolas could do whatever he damn well pleased with Derian right now and face nothing but a whimper in resistance.
"Why, why?" Nicolas mocks, then laughs to himself like it's the funniest thing in the world, tears at the side of his eyes. "That's your only problem, pretty boy. You keep asking for a reason. God's not punishing you for your bad karma, or whatever you wanna believe. You're just cute when you cry and beg. Did you really want something more?"
Derian nods quietly. On some level he's always believed something was going to be on his side, eventually. That the bad luck of the person he's turned into was going to turn things around, that maybe it all meant something. Even if he was the universe's plaything, at least he can accept the universe has great, unknowable reasons for making him suffer.
He has nothing to grasp onto. There is no fucking deep reason. The Wainwrights break him for the same reason a child breaks a toy. Because seems fun and why not?
Nicolas snickers, wiping his eyes. "Jesus Christ. My chest hurts so bad."
#polly's prose#derian rodriquez#nicolas wainwright#whump#whump writing#creepy/intimate whumper#captivity whump#broken bones#dislocation#nicolas is such a bastard. i love him#athazagoraphobia
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Hello I am back, could I possibly request a "*slaps roof of doc* this bad boy can fit so much whump baby" perchance? I am afraid but in a fun exciting way
Coming back for seconds, I see? (<3333)
Ok so this one actually is set during Riddle of Ages, with a canon divergence. I tried to use some lines that don't give anything away about the plot of Riddle of Ages and I think it's generally pretty vague, but I totally understand if you want to stay on the safe side about spoilers!
So, in case you don't want to chance it, here is a consolation snippet from bigg sad:
Believe me, there are a plethora of other, more enjoyable ways I wish to pass the evening. Shall I list them out for you? I think I will, in the form of a poem, since you have no other choice than but to listen. Consider it your penance.
Curtain looks as though he’d genuinely rather be carried off by a swarm of bees than have to listen to Constance recite a poem.
and I'll put the other one below the cut!
Kate hastily unbuckled her utility belt and slid it down the corridor towards the Ten Men. Then she set her tranquilizer gun on the floor and sent that spinning away, too. It came to rest, pinned under the toe of McCracken’s well-polished shoe.
“See? I’m surrendering,” Kate said, biting back the flurry of curses she wanted to fling at these vile men. (Preferably reinforced with her fists.) “Leave her alone.”
this one is Milk Chooses Violence, The Fic (Kate Edition) :)
#Moth I'm so sorry about the (possible) spoilers#I mean#I don't think it spoils much but you never know#anyways thank you for the ask I love you <33#tmbs#kate wetherall#constance contraire#ld curtain#mccracken#wip#ask game
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1-3, 14 & 15
1: è una formalita, hands down. I cannot describe to you how much I adored writing and thinking about Maria and those middle-aged men. I'm obsessed with my own creation.
2: On Defense. not even worth linking
3: see this post
14: Don't Write Back. Not for the violence or content or anything like that (personally a big enjoyer of whump and angst), but for the fact that it was a break-up fic. I hate break-up fics. no idea what came over me.
15: see this post
#inbox#ask game#actually i do know what came over me. it was listening to The Big Hurt by Miss Toni Fisher way too much for my own good. but yk
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