#just Give Me The Whump 😭

[painsandconfusion]

Whumpee wakes up on their stomach on a bed, their wrists tied to the bedposts in front of them, their ankles spread and tied to those at the foot of the bed. Hearing the crinkling sounds beneath themselves, whumpee opens their eyes and thrashes frantically as they realize they’re lying on a plastic sheet.

“Hello, sleepyhead.”

“Please,” whumpee begs as they feel thin metal glide up their back. They can’t see whumper, who stands beyond their scope of vision as their knife makes whumpee’s muscles twitch. “Please let me go.”

“Shhh,” whumper cooes. The blade rips whumpee’s shirt, letting the fabric fall open at their sides. “Close your eyes, sweetling. You don’t need to see this.”

Whumpee obeys. What else can they do? As whumper turns the knife, whumpee quickly becomes a whimpering mess.

“Please don’t. Please!” Whumpee can’t control the trembling that overtakes them nor the sobs that wrack their body as whumper traces their spine with the sharp edge of the blade before trailing the tip all over their skin.

“Aww, you’re such a precious thing, aren’t you?”

Whumpee flinches as whumper presses the blade to the side of their neck, their jaw quivering as tears burn their cheeks. Their eyes remain closed as whumper tests them.

“Keep your eyes closed for me. Don’t look, and maybe I’ll let you go alive when I’m done. Alright?”

Whumpee nods, one last, soft, useless “please” squeaking out of their mouth.

“Let’s begin.”

Oh shit-

The sheer amount of whumperflies I got from this was astounding 👀

EDIT: Please sign off on your anons so I can at least credit you a little and/or recognize you in the future cuz danggggggggggggggg you deserve the snaps

[kasper7489]

I kinda hopped into the dc fandom by reading fics (I know I know lmao)

But as I've read more comics and looked into different characterization and analysis I now have a more developed idea as to how I view a lot of the characters and have preferences to how their written. I'm def the type to click out a fic if I find myself thinking 'he would not fucking say that'

Anyway this is just to say it's very funny to me when I go thru some of the fics I bookmarked at the begining of my interest and find myself going Uh Oh! I don't think I can read this anymore!

[whumpypepsigal]

hello my dear friends! it’s been a minute

🎶gloooooorioussssss new whump posts coming in hot🎶

✨hurt✨comfort ✨found family✨

[sadiecoocoo]

Ultimate spider man is a great show, with so many possible whump scenes, but they NEVER USE IT! The characters never really get hurt, just fall unconscious and wake up in a medbay and everything is perfectly fine… I get it’s a kid show but come on at least have one really whumpy episode

[spocksbedsidemanner]

.

[kiss-me-cill-me]

i’m not sure if anon has already requested a character for that song but if ur up for it CAN WE HAVE THAT SONG WITH JONATHAN CRANE. also i just listened to that song for the first time in like 3 years and got major deja vu lmao 😭

also ps i love u and ur writing !!!

This is related to another ask from an anon, requesting a fic based off of Katy Perry's song, The One That Got Away. I am so sorry to both of you that it's taken me forever to write this, but thank you for your patience and support <3

Now We Pay The Price | Pt. 1

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Life hasn't turned out exactly the way you wanted it to. Isolated and distraught as you watch time slip by while you sit, trapped in Arkham, your only wish is to recapture the way that things used to be.

Warnings: Angst, whump, sexual themes but no explicit smut, mental health themes, obsession, unhealthy relationship dynamics, mention of needles, mention of sedatives, unrequited love, established past romantic relationship, ambiguity

A/N: I hardly ever write angst, so please be gentle with me lol. But with the song inspo, I couldn't help but go in that direction. Slightly nervous to post this, but also happy that I've branched out from my comfort zone a bit!

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

Lying on your stomach, feet in the air, you stretched the thin cotton sheets with your hand. Just enough to give them the tension you needed to glide a ballpoint pen over the fabric, scratching over and over the same mark to make it appear complete. This was far from the perfect medium for doodling - but sheets were what you had, and so they were what you used.

Even the pen was contraband. You knew you weren’t supposed to have it. What anyone thought you’d do with it… honestly, you had no idea. As if you could use a pen for anything other than what you were wrapped up in doing now - carefully and determinedly drawing hearts.

You stopped to rest your head for a moment on the pitifully thin pillow. Across the room, blank white concrete stared back at you. Day in, day out. Endless. The same room with the same walls.

Picking up the pen again, you placed the tip right in between the lobes of one of the many hearts. Scratch, scratch, scratch. A messy, zig-zagging line bisected the doodle. 

Broken.

You sighed, and started to color a different heart, filling it with blue ink that didn’t seem very inclined to stick to the bed sheets. It was slow going. The deep azure tint reminded you of deoxygenated blood, like you would see in a textbook diagram. Once the heart was completely filled, you moved dutifully on to the next.

A rustling at your door made you jump. Quickly, you stuffed the pen under your pillow, and turned up the sheets to hide your drawings. It wouldn’t be very good for you if anybody saw them.

You sat up, arranging your rumpled jumpsuit as neatly as you could. Leather straps hung off the sides of your bed, and you spared them a glance, bristling at the memories of having them lashed over your body. 

The metal door slid open slowly, until you could finally see…

Him. Your heart skipped a beat and a half as he stepped stiffly into the room, pulling the door shut behind him. He didn’t make a show of locking it, but it was still all too hard to miss the way his hand stopped short at the keyhole, before slipping into his pocket.

“Jonathan. I’m so glad-”

“Don’t call me that,” he bristled. “In here, we don’t know each other. Please. You always forget that.”

“...Dr. Crane,” you corrected yourself. 

His tone was so bitter that you could feel it in the very back of your throat, trying to claw its way down to your heart. You swallowed, trying to bite back the taste.

“I’m sorry. I was just happy to see you.” You smiled, pushing through your discomfort, for his sake.

Crane was clearly agitated. He took a few steps into the room, before turning around and facing the door. For one brief moment, you couldn’t see his face, until finally he turned back. His eyes were ice as they stared down at you.

“Do you have any idea how difficult you’ve been making things for me?” he spat. 

The accusation hurt, of course. Though you knew very well what he meant. You had been acting out, more than usual, as of late. And although it wasn’t without a purpose, you could see that it was wearing him thin. But… how else were you supposed to see each other? 

Arkham Asylum wasn’t exactly known for its model patients. It took a lot to get Dr. Crane’s attention.

“If we spent more time together, I wouldn’t be so difficult,” you replied, trying to keep your tone even.

Crane pinched the bridge of his nose, in that way that you were well acquainted with. He’d always had that habit. Back when you’d first met, you had loved making him get frustrated - just enough for a laugh. Some things never changed.

“You’re really backing me into a corner,” Crane sighed. “And I really wish you wouldn’t.”

“Let’s talk,” you offered, patting the bed. “That’s what you’re here for, right?”

Crane, reluctantly, sat down. You could sense his exhaustion in the way that he almost collapsed onto the bed, hands gripping the edge for support. You inched a bit closer, enough so that your knees touched briefly. Crane pulled away.

You wanted to reach out; put a hand on his shoulder, just like you’d done so many times before. He used to like it when you touched him. Sometimes, you liked to think that yours was the only gentle embrace that he had ever known. Maybe it was silly, but the thought of it always made you feel better.

Now, Crane’s eyes held nothing but menace as he glared over at you, as if you were a stain on the bed sheets. You wondered, vaguely, what had happened to change things.

So much. So much that had led you to this place, where you could be so close to him and yet felt more separated than ever.

“I hate to say it, Doc, but I think I’m going crazy in here,” you joked, trying to lighten the mood.

He barely had a reaction; a deep sigh the only hint that he’d heard what you said at all.

“And why do you think that is?” he asked, finally. 

The psychiatrist in him always came through to shove even more distance between you. Like a shield, put up just when you’d started to press through the fog of tension that hung heavy in the room. You swallowed your frustration at being kept out, and tried to answer him honestly.

“Because I barely get to see you,” you replied.

That was the wrong answer, and Crane’s shoulders swung abruptly to face you. 

He was scary like this. Almost scary, anyway. If you didn’t know him better, the look in his eyes would have sent you cowering. 

But you did know him, so well, and you remembered with sudden clarity that he’d always been bothered by feeling inadequate. You felt awful; you hadn’t meant to imply that he wasn’t doing enough.

“I’m sorry,” you soothed, before he could say anything. “I know that you’re busy, but-”

“But you continue to make yourself into a problem,” he hissed. “You know the only reason you’re in here instead of rotting away over at Blackgate is because of me, right?”

You nodded, too shocked by embarrassment to speak.

“Then for my sake, why don’t you act like it?”

“I’m…” You paused for a moment, sharp tears welling up in your eyes. “I’m just… lost without you,” you whispered. “You know that. I always told you I would be.”

The first tear fell, and you tried to hide your face.

“Don’t cry,” Crane sighed.

You could hear the harsh tinge of annoyance in his voice, and wished that it was anything else. Even his pity would have been better than knowing that your feelings were now nothing but inconvenience. You choked on your own throat, trying to stifle a sob.

“Please don’t cry,” he mumbled, slightly softer this time.

But now that you’d started, you couldn’t make yourself stop. If anything, the tears were only coming faster, and you felt yourself start to shrink into your own chest. The little black pit that always seemed to sit there, now swiftly opening up to swallow you.

With a deep and lingering exhale, Crane pulled you close. Suddenly, you were back where you both had been, so many years ago: one person’s cheek pressed into the other’s shoulder. Tears soaking into fabric that seemed to be stained with sadness. You let out a half-laugh, half-sob, and nestled into the crook of his neck.

“Remember when I used to do this for you?”

Crane stiffened slightly beside you.

“Things have changed since then,” he muttered. 

Your memory suddenly flashed back to the first time he had used the words “dysfunctional attachment” to describe you. That had hurt worse than anything else. Even more than all of the other occasions to come, when you’d heard those same words and worse fall from his lips. They could never truly compare to that first time, when your whole world had come crashing abruptly to the ground.

His arm dropped away from you, but you kept your face pressed into his shoulder.

“Things haven’t really changed,” you said. “I still belong to you.”

“You don’t.”

Two words that stung worse than hundreds of needles. You tried to pretend that the wind hadn’t been knocked out of you, as you replied.

“I do. And I will. Always.”

You looked up at him with wet eyes, a trace of the old life that you’d shared together still evident deep within your pupils. Even if only the memories of it lived inside of you, they still lived. They were still something.

“You need to move on,” Crane said flatly. “I know it’s not easy in here, with me…” He sighed. “I did what I could to protect you, but maybe it would have been better if I had just stayed out of your case. Blackgate would have at least given you distance.”

“I don’t want distance,” you whispered. “I just want to be with you.”

“You can’t be.”

Always so stubborn.

“I could be, if you’d help me get out.”

Confusion flashed across Crane’s face, quickly replaced with raw terror. 

“Escape Arkham?” His eyebrows furrowed, nearly knitting together. “You can’t be serious. Do you even realize what-?”

“I know, I know,” you hummed. “But just think - we could run away together, just like we always talked about.”

“Stop.”

“Don’t you remember? We promised-”

“Things. Change.” Crane’s voice almost shook as it thundered.

You brought a hand up to his face, gently coaxing until he looked at you.

“But they don’t have to,” you breathed. 

Your eyes drifted down to your wrist, to the space just below your thumb, and over the little tattoo that was etched into your skin. A heart - just like the ones littering your blanket, hidden carefully from Crane’s view.

“Remember when you gave me this?” you asked, holding up the tattoo in front of him.

“No; I remember you doing that to yourself.”

“At first, sure,” you chuckled. “But then, you helped me to finish it, ‘cause-”

“Because I didn’t want you to hurt yourself,” Crane muttered. “Just like you always seem to. Even now.”

You ignored his remark as your hands drifted down to collect one of his pale wrists, then lifted up to your face. The sleeve of his suit jacket slipped back, revealing the spot where once, long ago, you had given him the same mark. Just with a felt-tip pen; he would have never allowed you, even back then, to deface his own body in the same way you had yours. 

At the time, the impermanence of it hadn’t seemed to matter. You’d been too distracted; elated by the way that his and your matching blossoms of ink had pressed up against each other as you’d held hands. 

Now, you pressed a kiss to the blank space.

“Us against the world, Jonathan. Remember?”

Suddenly, his fingers pressed into your face, digging into the sides of your chin as he forced you back into focus.

“Don’t call me that,” he warned, once again. “How many times do I have to tell you? That life doesn’t exist in here.”

Your hands still dangled from his wrist as he continued to crush your jaw, not letting you look away. But this was the one part of him that you didn’t want to face. The part that didn’t need you anymore.

“Jonathan. You know the reason I’m in here, don’t you?”

“Are you asking if I know about your case? All of the crimes you committed?” he huffed. “Because yes - I was very involved in the trial, and it was nearly impossible to keep everyone else in the dark about…”

Us was the word that he couldn’t bring himself to say.

“That’s not what I mean,” you said. “I mean, do you know why I did those things?”

“Stop - please don’t tell me this again.”

“I did them for you,” you cried, your emotions getting the better of you again. “I do everything for you. So don’t you dare pretend you don’t need me, when really the only fucking reason you’re not stuck in here with me is because I always-”

“Stop.”

Crane’s hands tore away to grab you by the shoulders, wrenching you back to reality. Somehow he always managed to do that. To pull you straight out of the riptide, just as it was about to sweep you away.

“I never asked you to do what you did,” he hissed, articulating each word between clenched teeth.

“But I did it anyway,” you spat. “Because you always get into trouble. Because I told you I’d be there for you, no matter what. And because I always keep promises.”

“I don’t need you to anymore.” Crane’s hands squeezed you uncomfortably. “I don’t - I didn’t need you to ruin your life for me.”

“My life isn’t ruined if it’s for you.”

“Jesus Christ…”

Crane’s hand came up to rake through his hair, but before he could pull away fully, you caught him. Fingers clenched tight to the front of his suit, you pulled back and forced him to fall with you. Your back hit the bed, and Crane scrambled to catch himself before his full weight could slam into you. His body perched just above yours, caging you in his arms.

“This. You must remember this.” 

Your words were a whisper, barely loud enough to pass from your lips to his ear, despite how close he was. Your legs frantically came up to tug at his waist, trying to force him closer.

“This was the only time I felt alive,” you continued. “When we were like this. You remember.”

How could he not? You could still live in that moment, if you tried hard enough. As if it had been only yesterday. Both of you nervous and fumbling, nearly falling off of the bed as he hovered over you and you clung to him. 

The way that your bodies had melted together, almost desperately, in a way that had made you feel certain that neither one of you would let go. Letting go then had meant something worse than death; it meant a life that dragged on without you and him together. 

The stale echoes of passion still rang in your ears as you looked up, silently begging for him to rekindle the spark that had been there.

Crane’s expression was all but impossible to read. His face half-hidden beneath bangs that fell into his eyes. The two-second pause was like a lifetime as you awaited his answer.

“Of course I remember.”

Your heart soared, flying recklessly up.

“But that doesn’t mean it’s the same now.”

Broken. Smashed hard against the cold floor of your cell.

“I don’t believe that,” you breathed. “I can’t. I-”

“You need to,” he interrupted. “Because it’s the truth.”

You stayed stock still on the mattress as Crane briskly pushed himself up, disentangling himself from your limbs. He exhaled as he tugged at his jacket, trying to make himself presentable. 

You weren’t sure how he could find the nerve, after ripping your whole world apart.

“I’m upping the dose on your sedatives,” he informed you, still not meeting your gaze. “But I would prefer if you could find it within yourself to behave so that I don’t have to. I don’t like to do this, but-”

“Appearances…” Your voice drifted through the room. “Have to be kept up.”

He had told you as much, probably dozens of times. Just like he’d told you the old life between you no longer mattered, or even existed. If it ever had.

“I’m glad you understand,” he said shortly. 

His back was already turned, but you looked up to watch him drift out of the room, quickly pocketing the keys on his way out. 

Your head fell back, hard, but the sensation did nothing to ground you. You felt all too lost and adrift; trapped in a situation you had created. This wasn’t how things were supposed to end up.

Your hand drifted silently under the pillow, and wrapped around the barrel of the pen that was still hidden there. 

Suddenly, grotesque understanding of all the reasons why no one would want you to have such a thing flooded into your consciousness. The possibilities were many and bleak, but they all led back to the same conclusion. It was just like you had told Crane earlier.

If your life together didn’t exist in this place, then the only solution was to leave. 

You smiled. With resolve swirling dangerously inside your veins, you vowed to make sure that nothing like this ever happened again. You were going to be together, no matter what. 

There would be no getting away.

This fic now has a Part 2! Read it HERE

[bedtimescenarios]

Hii! You asked for prompts to stay motivated, so I thought I'd share my all time favorite as a possible request?

I'm a SUCKER for an injured whumpee who's incredibly scared of the caretaker, not understanding that they just want to help them! Maybe they lash out or try to run away and have to be held down to receive the medical care they desperately need, with the caretaker trying to comfort them as best as they possibly can... You know?

/nf of course!! Have a great day!!

This is my first time requesting whump stuff, I hope I'm doing everything right aaa

hey there, anon!! thank you so much for the prompt:) it's actually helped me get to writing, and it's even a bit different from my usual stories, so i had an opportunity to diversify my writing!!

i hope you like this and that it fits the prompt well enough, and thanks again!

p.s i am supposed to be sleeping and have written this at 2 am. if there's any mistakes in there or something that needs to be re-done please let me know😭

. . .

As the door swings open with a squeak, Whumpee instinctively presses their back into the wall and lowers their head. Whumper must have had a bad day, otherwise he would've let them heal before another session. They're not getting that luxury now, they think, as the wounds on their body throb and sting with the reminder of their situation. They prepare themselves. They unclench their jaw so they won't bite down on their tongue, shifting so their knees are facing outwards,- they'd rather endure another leg fracture than be nauseous all week- and they tightly shut their eyes.

"Whumpee?"

The voice that rings out is different.

They don't raise their head, but they hear the person's next footstep resound closer. Another one is their cue to cower, pressing an arm against their bleeding abdomen. Did Whumper send someone else to hurt them? Oh, God, he sent someone to finish them off. He got bored, they're finally going to die, or worse-

"Whumpee, I'm not here to hurt you." The voice says, as if reading their mind, and Whumpee takes note of the apparent gentleness of it. A trick.

They look up through the fallen strands of hair stuck to their forehead, trying to assess the amount of danger- no, pain- they're about to be in. A man stands a few feet away, and they quickly identify him as the owner of the voice. Fuck, he's strong, Whumpee thinks as they notice his buff, tall build. He could break their wrist bare handedly, without much effort. Their eyes slowly trail up to his face, noting the short, dark dreads pulled back into a ponytail that ensures an unperturbed view of his surroundings. Increased efficiency and a boost in fun. I can pair your screams with clear images, Whumper used to say.

Caretaker's obsidian eyes meet Whumpee's, and they imagine him saying that same thing to them. They ignore his manipulative attempt at an empathetic, pitying glance. Having been through this too many times already, they can recognize it from a mile away. They just want their break, at least until their wounds close. And they won't let this random stranger take it away from them. Their gaze hardens slightly, yet it's still tinged with raw fear.

"I'm Caretaker. I won't hurt you, I swear- Just- Whumpee, we need to get you to a hospital."

Another lie. But... taking them to another location? No, no no no. Whumpee's hand clenches around their wounds. Another lonely gathering of walls where their screams will echo for eternity. Whumper is giving them away for good. They're so, so tired. Death suddenly doesn't sound as bad.

Alarms blare inside Whumpee's mind, turning their world to hues of red. They feel their veins burn with adrenaline, and before they know it, they're on their feet, scratching at Caretaker's face. They use all their strength, a final attempt at freedom- one way or another. Like a wounded rabbit scratching at the fox whose jaw is clenched upon its ears.

They expect a hard blow to their temple. Or the sharp prick of a syringe. But nothing comes, except for pressure pulling their hands away from the man's face. As they're pulled away, writhing in the grip, they internally swear at themselves for omitting the possibility of backup. Only when their arms are held firmly to their sides is it that they notice themselves trembling, and only when the two people next to them lower them to their ground do they realize how much of an effort each move is. How much pain each shift brings.

As the people behind them hold them still, hands quickly shuffling through a first aid kit, they can finally make out Caretaker's expression. Beyond bloody streaks, his face is painted with genuine shock- or simply incredible acting. He doesn't step forward again as Whumpee sobs in terror, their eyes glassy and breathing labored. Though, if they look closely enough, they can distinguish tears at the corners of his eyes too. He tilts his head, and the corners of his mouth turn upwards softly.

"Shh...It's okay. We'll make you all better, and you'll be able to trust again sometime."

[sockiess]

Super fluffy smut with Anakin? Super fluffy whump with Clay? Whump with Scott? Whump and smut with Sam? 🥺🥺🥺🥺

imma be super honest, I have no idea what whump means 😭😭 you think me reading fanfics especially wattpad ones since middle school I would know fanfic terms but I only know the term “lemon”

this is Anakin fluff bc I haven’t written my baby in awhile

He laughs at all my jokes

warnings: nothing besides bad knock knock jokes

Anakin was stressing about the council and how they aren’t taking him seriously as a master Jedi. He has been upset for days about it and I just couldn’t stand it. Right now he was standing in the living room starring outside the window deep in thought.

“Hey Ani?” I quietly ask rubbing his arm catching him off guard and pulling him out of his deep thoughts. “Hm?” Anakin hummed quickly looking at me and then back at the window.

“knock knock” I ask him looking up at him with a big smile. “Sweetheart not now..” Anakin sighed looking down at me. “pleeeeeease just a couple and then I let you go back to your brooding” I whine and stick out my lip making a pout and stare at him making my eyes big knowing he can’t resist.

“fine fine but only a couple” he gives in and stares at me waiting for me to continue.

“knock knock” I ask him again. “whose there?” Anakin humors me. “Tank” I say trying to stifle a giggle. “Tank who” Anakin grumbles. “You’re welcome!” I say trying not to snort and smiling up at him. Anakin looks at me and smiles and shakes his head. “ok, ok next one” I say. “knock knock” I say again. “Who’s there” Anakin asks. “Figs” I say matter-of-factly. “Figs who” Anakin responds. “Figs the doorbell it’s not working!” I say throwing my hands to the door. “Get it cause you fix things.” I say lightly punching his arm. “yes I get it” Anakin says softly laughing.

“ok last one” I say. “Knock Knock” I ask him one last time. “Who’s there” Anakin smiles at me. “Woo!” I say excitedly. “Woo Who” Anakin asks while ruffling my hair. “Glad you’re excited too!” I say excitedly.

Anakin starts to laugh and wraps his arm around me and pulls me into his chest. “Thank you sweetheart you always know how to make me feel better.. even if your joke are god awful”

“Hey! they’re not awful”

This is was fun to write 😛 as always if you need me to change or add anything please let me know! (also i realized you asked for smut after i finished this so im sorry :( but i hope you still enjoy :3)

[cowboylikeyouu]

heyyyy, amy, nice to meet you, I'm di, reaching out because tumblr said I may like your profile and it didn't lieeee.

I've seen you asked to ask (ohhh jezz, english is my third language, beg you pardon me for some mess I'm creating, while trying to chase my thoughts) questions, so I'm here to do that-

did you find any really tasty sickfics/whumpfics with poolverine?? I'm in emergency need of whump!logan or sick!logan, oh, why ficriters are not using those trops of some "failed to heal", "sleep deprivation"? having healing factor doesn't mean you can't feel the pain you know...

well! SO! do you have anything to recommend? thank you! 💜

ps. I'm quite a newbie here, so don't be scared of my quite empty profile, working on it. 🙏🥹

hiiii ^^

glad the tumblr algorithm did its job and brought you here!!

dw about your english, it’s "only" my 2nd language and i still mess up everything half the time, i’ve simply given up on correct grammar on social media, i don’t care anymore xD

and yesss i always love getting questions or even just random thoughts people have, idk i wish people would use the ask box more, it’s so fun!! especially for people who wanna stay anonymous :)

in terms of fic recommendations, i have to disappoint you sadly, i‘m an awful person to ask for fic recs unless it’s winterhawk (and maybe drarry & dinluke). i’ve read a whole bunch of poolverine fics, but i can only remember like… 5 of them??😭 they’re all so short still & many of them have a similar premise, so no matter how amazing the fics are, it’s hard to keep them apart in my head.

the only one i can think of rn that kinda matches one of ur requests is stay, stick around, clean the blood off my teeth by jayyxx, pretty sure logan is severely sleep deprived in this bc he just chooses to.. not sleep anymore bc of night terrors.

there are a LOT of people on here tho who can probably give you a whole bunch of fic recs, just search through some hashtags :)

enjoy your time on tumblr, it’s really the best internet place to be 💜💜💜

[campingwiththecharmings]

it's been too long since i've sent something debilitatingly horny to you, so here:

edit: im sorry its so long and plot-y 😭 i've never written for poe and got too excited.

imagine being a first order commander in charge of coaxing information from poe dameron. the first batch of interrogators (a couple stormtroopers) couldn't get a thing out of him so you were called in as back up.

GIF by antagonistenthusiast

you've had a few interactions with poe (as you're both renowned pilots), but you've never actually seen his face. you've only communicated through radios -- well, communicated is a strong word, you've taunted and growled at each other from a distance...

needless to say, you were intrigued to finally meet this 'poe dameron' that you've been chasing around since you became a flight officer.

you're shocked when you see him, not because he's battered and barely conscious, but because he's prettier than you expected.

GIF by one-blog-to-whump-them-all

of course, he's fucking pretty. he's the resistance's flyboy, the general's favorite, complete with a cut jawline, pouty lips and perfect curls.

it enrages you.

long dark lashes frame half-lidded eyes as you approach him. his body is strapped tight to a chair, but he doesn't seem bothered by it. he's so unbothered, in fact, that he immediately greets you with one of his annoying quips:

"you the good cop?" you're sure it would've sounded better if his voice wasn't so hoarse and broken -- not that you didn't enjoy that sound. there's something about a ruined man that immediately sparks a flame inside of you.

"no, they were the good cops." you refer to the storm troopers that left him this way. "i'm the bad cop, and i like to do things a bit differently..."

you can see it on his face: he recognizes you, or your voice, but he doesn't know from where.

"can't fly away anymore, can you, dameron?"

it finally dawns on him, "you." he almost looks...happy about the revelation.

"yeah, me." his stare is intense and interested, and he's not trying to hide it at all.

cocky bastard.

"y'now i didn't expect such a bea--"

you roll your eyes, "ok, let's stop with all this chatter."

there's a piece of paper sticking out of the breast pocket of his leather jacket, folded several times to fit securely in the space.

"you got something for me?" you coo, voice sickly sweet all of the sudden.

you reach out, gliding your hand from his shoulder to his chest, feeling the smooth leather rise and lower under your fingers as he starts to breathe harder. he pushes against your touch like he's touch deprived, like he's been waiting for this moment all his life.

oh, he's easy.

you snicker as you pluck the paper out, taking a second to wag it tauntingly in front of his face.

"what're you...HEY! THAT'S MINE."

bingo

you open it up, satisfied by how fluidly this interrogation is going. once you deliver this to ren, you're sure to get a promotion.

when you see what's inside, you glower: it's just a worn photo of some BB-droid.

"really?" you give him an unimpressed look. "what, is this your pet or something?"

"he's my driod! my little buddy!"

"ok...so we'll do this the hard way."

---

it starts with pain, but it never seems to be enough. he's -- laughing! he's taunting you, groaning out "is that all you got" or whispering a hoarse "i could do this all day".

you realize you're methods will have to be a bit...unconventional to get your point across. you saw how he reacted to your touch, how he looks at you, even when you're punching him in the face.

you know what you need to do, you're just not sure that you could take it.

GIF by joker1315

you take the step -- blurring the line between pain and pleasure.

it's for the first order, you tell yourself, but you're enjoying it.

you're breathing almost as hard as he is -- you need it just as much as he does.

you've been edging him about an hour now. he whines when you slow your hand again, leaving him right at the brink of release. metal clangs and groans as he pulls against his restraints.

"please, please, please..."

"you know what i need." you squeeze him, not tightly, but just enough to drive him wild. "just one word -- the planet -- and i'll give it to you. i'll let you cum all over yourself."

"c-can't."

"can't? or won't?" you swipe your thumb over his leaking tip. he's literally pulsing in your hold.

"fuck!" he yells out a name, one you immediately memorize, desperate voice and all.

;dlfsl;dfgk oh oh oh ohhhhhhh my goddddddddddddd

no but like, the fact that poe was also kind of into the whole thing though?? him arching into your touch, shooting you heated glances even when you're torturing him, like he likes being at your mercy?????? please send help 🫠🫠🫠

(**WARNING: here there be smut and it could potentially be considered dub-con so read at your own risk**)

if you thought he was pretty before, it's nothing compared to how he looks when he comes--his jaw slack, head thrown back, baring his glorious neck (a neck you just wanna bite), his sweaty curls deliciously mussed, eyes closed in ecstasy as he makes a mess of himself and your hand.

heavenly, you think. the sight is heavenly.

unable to resist, you kiss him softly, so contradictory to the rough way you'd been handling him. he sighs, sagging against his restraints as he kisses you back, his breath fanning across your cheek. you tell him he's a good boy when you pull away and he whines, trying to follow your lips, his mouth gaping, pupils blown wide with lust. he's so drunk on you, on the pleasure you've given him, he'd probably give you whatever you wanted right now; the knowledge fills you with glee. you smile, running a hand down his chest before tucking him back in his trousers.

he comes back to himself when you move to leave, his eyes growing a little harder, jaw clenching as you tell him that you look forward to working with him again.

unfortunately, ren isn't around for you to give him the intel poe gave you, so you hold onto it, intent on telling him when he returns. that night though, you can't sleep, can't stop thinking about poe's breathy whines and whimpers and how pretty he looked begging you to let him come. it's all you can think about, the urge to go to him so strong. so you go, shooing the guards from his cell and going inside. he's asleep, still tied up but removed from the rack he'd been on earlier, bloodied and bruised and beautiful. you allow yourself a moment to study him, eyes tracing the curve of his jaw, of his brow, his nose.

then you take him in your hand, squeezing and stroking, his pretty little noises going straight to your core. you want him, you realize, want to claim him, want to make him yours. the urge is so strong it makes you a little angry--that he could have so much power over you in this state is...well, it's unacceptable.

maybe you just need to fuck him, you reason, to get it out of your system. so you do, straddling him and sheathing his hardness inside your warm, wet cunt. he sounds (and looks) even prettier like this, beneath you, his moans breathy, breathing ragged as you ride him. he feels so good inside you, the stretch of his cock scratching an itch you didn't even realize you had. he watches at you with wide, attentive eyes, hips pushing up to meet yours as you impale yourself on him again and again.

you see stars when you come, cunt clenching around his cock as you throw your head back with a strangled moan. he's still hard and inside you when you come down, his ragged breaths reaching your ears. the look in his eyes is almost reverent when you meet them, and when he begs you to let him come inside you, a little piece of your heart crumbles.

you leave his cell, swearing to yourself that you'll never do it again, that you'll tell ren what you've learned and that dameron will be executed and it'll all be done.

but you don't. can't.

you keep the information you learned to yourself so your trysts with him can continue. every day you go to his cell, send away the guards, and fuck him. you start to look forward to it, to seeing him, to being with him. he starts begging you to let him touch you, and one day you cave and allow it. you groan when he cups your breast, arching into his touch as you bounce slowly on his cock. then his hand falls to your hip, his fingers dig into your skin, and a part of you hopes he'll leave behind bruises. when his thumb finds your clit, he circles the bud, groaning as you gasp, cunt fluttering around him. he whispers something as you fall apart, and it isn't until later that you realize...he'd called you beautiful.

(lmaooooooooooo many, many apologies for going overboard with this, i love me a subby man, especially when that man is poe dameron, hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnng)

[starbeltconstellation]

Since you are a passionate jedi fan, I would be interested in your opinion on a thing I noticed on AO3. There is a fanon that is inspired by Ancient Greek scholars having had sex with their pupils. In the fics there is a special night in which the masters have to fuck their padawans because it is tradition. Sex and AO3, you ask? What's new, you ask? What is new is that the writers explicitely write in their notes that the institutionalized fucking of the padawans is their way to show how corrupt and morally bad the jedi are. But how is something that fanfic writers completely made up to get more readers (because sex sells) a critique of the jedi in canon? No matter what answer I come up with, it is weird. Are these fanfic writers fetishizing a law allowing teachers to fuck their students, feel bad for their own arousal and try to shrug it off by making themselves believe that they are just writing these sex scenes for a "good cause"? I mean, if they hated the jedi so much, why would they write about them? The MCU or DC would get them more readers, right? I simply can't come up with a satisfying answer to why this mental gymnastics exist. I know this is a very long ask, but please address it if it is of any interest to you as well!

Hi, anon! 👋💕✨

Sooooo deeply sorry for the long wait time. 😭😖💔 Things just got away from me, and I kept putting off my response because I wanted to make sure I had the time to give the nitty gritty of my thoughts on your ask.

And as a pro jedi fan and a SW fan in general… I just have to say… ew. 😭☹️🤢💔

And it’s not necessarily that I’m trying to SHAME people that write darker or more sexual stuff (even though there are some things that just genuinely baffle me why ANYONE would enjoy writing something so horrible, but then again, I’ve never been a fan of horror movies, sooo… 😂🤷‍♀️).

And look, I’m aware that fiction is separate from reality and not necessarily a show of a person’s morals (it’s FAKE, at the end of the day), but at the same TIME, I believe people on this app and just in fandom spaces in general sometimes purposely plug their ears and sing “lalalala” by pretending that how we interact with the world doesn’t shape our perception and psyche to SOME degree.

And this isn’t me saying that if someone writes something like “noncon” or “whump” that they’re going to go out and hurt anybody! That’s the EXTREME reaction that conservative panic tries to drum up by pretending that people have no self control and need to be shielded from “corruption 🙄” or something like that. But what I DO believe is that seeing stories (whether love stories or family stories in general) WILL affect how someone can come to view relationships. This is on a tier scale, obviously. Kids and teenagers will have a harder time grasping why “365 Days” is not a modern Beauty and the Beast movie. 😭🤦‍♀️ BUT… with ADULTS… it’s easier to separate fiction from reality… in a CONSCIOUS way. But for me, from a psychological standpoint, if a person grows up with a specific attraction to certain toxic love stories that are PRESENTED as healthy when they just aren’t—it’s POSSIBLE that they can unconsciously seek out someone who fits that mold. I don’t think this is the NORM—but it IS a possibility, and that’s why I think it’s so important to recognize yourself and your own wants and needs in the real world and ask yourself “Does this make me feel safe and happy? Or just obsessively DESIRED?” and other things such as that.

Anyway, I got a little off topic (which I often do 😭😅), but my POINT is my disgust isn’t necessarily about these writers’s choices on exploring such darker themes in their work if they truly want to—it’s THEIR fic, at the end of the day. But what DOES disgust me is (yes, dear anon, you guessed it! 🙃🙃) that apparently writers are USING this trope to create even MORE anti Jedi rhetoric when there is already SO much of it in the community in general (and that god awful ‘The Acolyte’ show only made the hatred and genocide apologia worse, even though I do acknowledge the show wasn’t given as much of a chance as Ahsoka and The Mandolrian shows were).

Just as The Acolyte had to INVENT an entire scenario where the “EMPATHETIC SPACE MONKS 😭🤦‍♀️” of the galaxy apparently cover up a massacre which DIRECTLY parallels Anakin Skywalker’s descent to the Dark Side—which makes NO goddamn sense that it’s truly LAUGHABLE—you have brought to me a fic trope scenario where the writer has apparently INVENTED something that was NEVER canon to show how “corrupt 🙄” the Jedi Order is—before they stand back and go “haha! 😌 See? SUCHHH horrible people.”, as if they didn’t just invent that scenario in THEIR own head to justify their bias against the Jedi and their way of life.

It’s very similar to the uncharitable views that certain parts of the SW fandom (specifically the Anidala and the radical Anakin fans) have towards the Jedi in regards to NONCANON info that we do NOT truly know (such as why Anakin never visited Shimi all that time), before just CHOOSING the most uncharitable and mean spirited view of the Jedi that they can, which is saying—“Well, the Jedi Order must have a strict policy on NEVER seeing your birth family again, or they’ll be kicked out! 🤪🤪”, when there is NOTHING in canon to ever give any indication of that. It’s literally fanon that has somehow all but become canon in the eyes of the fandom, and I haven’t the foggiest clue how it happened (yes I do. 🙄🫠 It’s because SW fans LIKE Anakin, so of COURSE they don’t want to admit he was in the wrong or that he could’ve taken things too personally or the wrong way—so they settle on, “Those mean Jedi must’ve bullied him and kept him from his mom! 😡🤪”🙄🤦‍♀️).

Fans will make something up out of thin air—literally twisting themselves into KNOTS to try and excuse Anakin’s choices while blaming everyone else to pretend it’s not his fault and he didn’t truly have a choice (COMPLETELY untrue)—while at the very same TIME, giving absolutely NONE of that courtesy to the Jedi Order themselves. The Jedi’s actions are nitpicked to DEATH. Everything they do—choosing to fight in the war to save lives instead of sitting on the sidelines to watch the galaxy burn, not worshiping the ground Anakin walked on to try and teach him humility and grace and respect, literally putting their LIVES on the line RIGHT BESIDE THE CLONES each day on the battlefield, Mace going to arrest Palpatine before realizing the man would never be convicted at a corrupt trial—NONE of it is ever enough.

They are 10,000 strong (NOT taking into consideration how some are younglings or retired Jedi), and yet they are judged with the sharpness of a knife that they cannot solve every damn trillions of problems in the galaxy.

They are a literal DROP in the ocean. It is LAUGHABLE to expect them to somehow be able to end slavery throughout the galaxy in the Outer Rim without the backing of the Republic’s help (which they definitely would NOT choose to help the Jedi, and even if somehow they DID, it would STILL be a long and tedious thing that would take DECADES to fully accomplish), and it is even MORE ludicrous to BLAME the JEDI FUCKING ORDER of all people for the Clones’s situation, like they could just stroll into the Senate building and wave their lightsabers around to suddenly give the clones their (deserved) rights, or to expect them to somehow—what? Kidnap all the clones (because a lot of clones would sadly NOT go willingly because of their brainwashing indoctrination that this is what they were ‘made for’) and run from fighting in the war? Where the hell do people expect them to GO? How do people expect the Jedi to be able to take CARE of all those people (INCLUDING their own) in such a situation without the Republic backing or the Temple walls?—be able to just magically give the clones rights or to just magically be able to say no to fighting in the war as if that would somehow do ANYTHING for the clones instead of just placing them under the rule of men like Tarkin.

The one thing I will concede is that (WHILE being in the war, because YES, despite what some people believe, it was UNAVOIDABLE. Palpatine definitely made sure of that) the Jedi probably needed to learn to get more into politics to control their image in the eyes of the public (ironic, considering how many people blame them for their own genocide by saying they were ‘too involved in politics 🙄’ when the TRUTH is that they did everything to AVOID being in the political sphere because they heavily disliked it). There is a bit of (gentle-hearted) naïveté here, because they all assume that the citizens of the galaxy will just SEE that the Jedi are trying to protect them. But people get selfish and greedy REAL fast when their lives become affected badly by things happening around them. And the more the war dragged on, the more citizens of the galaxy (disgustingly) latched onto Palpatine’s slowly growing propaganda that the Jedi were somehow the big bad villains of the war and not like—oh, I don’t know—the fucking SENATE. 😭🙄🤦‍♀️

My POINT is that—you’re RIGHT, anon. This fic trope you’ve brought up is (while HEAVILY ew in my eyes 😭🤢) just one part of a growing infection of the SW fandom where it’s becoming the “edgy” take to blame the Jedi (the VICTIMS) for their own genocide, instead of placing the blame at the politicians’s feet, where it belongs. Palpatine wasn’t able to gain this power ALONE. The Senate makes it EASY for him. Because they’re all out for themselves at the end of the day (YES, even Padmé, who would’ve taken Anakin’s tusken massacre to the grave if she’d had the chance), and even the ones that DO care about the bills they’re trying to push to help change things STILL are in such a position of privilege (ironic, considering fandom pretends the Jedi Order is ‘privileged’, when they are anything but and are more of a ‘model minority’ group struggling desperately to keep the soft power they have to at the very LEAST have a place at the Senate’s side to TRY and make them see reason sometimes) that they forget about the little people suffering underneath them (Padmé has to be REMINDED of this by one of her handmaidens at one point).

The point is that George Lucas intended the SENATE to be the corruption of the Prequels that brought about their own doom. Not the fucking JEDI. 😭🤦‍♀️ But somehow, SW fandom has rewritten their memories to somehow believe this to be true. But if they’d watch ANY George Lucas interview, they’d see this is not the case. And people are allowed to have different interpretations of stories at the end of the day—but what IS ridiculous is how certain anti Jedi fans SHAMELESSLY try to rewrite history by outright STATING that it WAS GL’s original intent to portray the Jedi as ‘corrupt 🙄’, which is just… SO far from accurate that it’s laughable.

But yeah, at the end of the day, the REAL ‘villain’ (besides the Sith) of the prequels is the SENATE, because THEY are the ones who should be doing their jobs, but who are INSTEAD lining their pockets or kissing up to the clueless citizens of the galaxy come election time, while apathetically expecting the Jedi Order to solve all the problems that the SENATE is too damn lazy and selfish to solve.

The one conclusion I can make is that if the Jedi HAD realized they’d need to play the game of politics to keep in the public’s good graces—then you bet your ASS they would have been on intergalactic interview after intergalactic interview subtly “hinting” at the clones’s lack of rights and plight to try and stir up public outcry—because THAT is how you get true change. By changing things from WITHIN the very public itself. Because THAT is the only thing that will make the Senate LISTEN—is if they’re at risk of losing votes later on down the line.

Anyway, I of course went on the longest of rants once again. Lol. 😂😅 But I hope the long wait time was worth this response! 😊❤️💕

-

To any readers that stumble across this and are curious enough to check out my fic:

-

Tags:

@ensomnia

@heartfairy

@fangirlteallie

@shoniwake

@lemons-2-limes

@lexskiss

@spidersaye

@selenaftmarvel

@silverwoodj

@ajtaals

[unforgivenn]

MASTERPOST!!!

Hi there fellow whumpers! I'm Remy or you can simply just call me Unforgiven. I'm Bisexual, use she/her, and live in Dubai! (Pronunciation of my name cuz a lot of you people are confused)

This is my first blog and I'm really new to this so I have no idea how to make a masterlist. Please go easy on the critism and bear with me😭 I post angst filled writings here. There might be some smol sketches filled with whumpy things which are faaarrrr away from my professional artwork. Also feel free to go through my new blog @unforgivenntired2 as well where I post fanfictions of anime characters!!

Please give @nuriiz134's blog some love and support too (18+) ^^

Things you should know about my blog

❗️❗️YOUNG WHUMPEES MIGHT BE MENTIONED❗️❗️ ❗️❗️THERE WILL BE *NO* NSFW HERE❗️❗️ ❗️❗️PLEASE TAG ME IF YOU USE ANY OF MY PROMPTS❗️❗️ ❗️❗️NONE OF MY WORK IS FREE TO REPUBLISH❗️❗️

What you can expect to find here

𓆩♡𓆪 Contains a lotttt of Pet whump so if you're not comfortable with it or don't like it then please don't interact with this blog. 𓆩♡𓆪 I absolutely adore scenarios where Whumpers force whumpees to address them as 'sir' (≧∇≦)ﾉ. 𓆩♡𓆪 I'm very much into psychological torment so there will be a lot of that here. 𓆩♡𓆪 There's something irresistible about defiant whumpees slowly breaking down over time, it's my ultimate weakness 🤌. 𓆩♡𓆪 I'm completely obsessed with stories having human blood bags and vampire whumpers. I mean, humans being treated as both a food source and a pet? That's double the torture!! 𓆩♡𓆪 Carewhumpers hehe 𓆩♡𓆪 Manipulation 𓆩♡𓆪 Small bois crying :)

Prompts are free to use but please tag me if you do. Asks, dm's and requests are always open so please don't feel scared or shy to send one in! <3 Please ignore if I post some bullshit in the middle of the night.

What i probably won't write

𓆩♡𓆪 BBU 𓆩♡𓆪 NSFW 𓆩♡𓆪 Tiny whumpee/Giant whumper 𓆩♡𓆪 Fandom whump 𓆩♡𓆪 Furries. Please don't even ask me about it.

Some stories I'm absolutely obsessed with and you should check out as well!!

Jack and Asher by @whumpasaurus101

Play Pretend by @oddsconvert

@astrowhump's every single story.

Whiskey and Baxter by @cyberwhumper

Smile for the camera by @morning-star-whump

@demondamage's aziphem and haziel

ONESHOTS

CONFINED THE KNIFE'S EDGE SORRY ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH ISOLATION

HIDE AND SEEK BLOODBOUND SIDEKICK WHUMPEE PRETTY LITTLE THING GIFT OF PAIN PAIN OR PLEASURE

PROMPTS AND SNIPPETS

FEEL THE PAIN NOTHING BUT A PAWN BURNING DRESSES WINGED WHUMPEES BROKEN VILLAIN WHUMPEE YOU BELONG TO ME TWISTED PLEASURE A DISOBEDIENT PET FEAR'S DELIGHT CHEERFUL WHUMPERS MANIPULATIVE WHUMPERS HERO WHUMPEE VILLAIN WHUMPER PREY TRAUAMATIZED WHUMPEES WHUMPERS WITH NO REASONING FOR TORTURE BETRAYAL FAILED ESCAPE/RESCUE ATTEMPTS A FOE DISSAPOINTMENT CHOKING IN WHUMP WHUMPERS WHO FEEL SORRY

MY ART

CALEB AND DOMINIC MASTERLIST (SLOW UPDATE)

SHACKLED BY ROYALTY

Sypnosis: In a world where power reigns supreme, Noah, a 17-year-old, finds himself thrust into a nightmare beyond comprehension. He's kidnapped by Andrey if it even is called kidnapping. All the torture he endures, everything he goes through whether it be mental or physical torture. Everything is legal and no one can stop it unless they want to be beheaded. Forced to become a slave, Noah's life got a 180 degree turn where betrayal and pain lurks at every corner and shadow.

16th HOUR

based on this

Sypnosis: In a messed-up world where your whole life changes on your 16th birthday, society decides if you're human or livestock based on your social status. If you get the livestock label, you lose all your human rights and become a piece of property, destined for work, experimentation, or even get slaughtered for meat. What happens when Samuel gets classified into the livestock category despite being the son of a big-time businessman?

DEAR SOMEONE (recently started)

Sypnosis: When Mile is given a notebook as a “reward” for his obedience, he’s both terrified and relieved. To Ezra, it’s a token of control, a way to keep Mile’s mind occupied and compliant. But to Mile, it becomes a lifeline, a place to pour out his soul, document his suffering, and cling to the last shreds of humanity.

Dear Diary, Why is this happening to me?

Masterlist is constantly updated Reblogs are always appreciated <3

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

Prompt: someone is mean to wrecker and the rest of the batch either chooses violence or chooses to comfort wrecker

Hello there!

I saw this as an opportunity to write about the Batch as cadets, and I RAN with it. Though I broke my own heart having to write a few mean things about Wrecker 😭 They’re sweet babies, and I want to give them the galaxy 🥹

No reader in this, just the boys. Hope it's okay!

Art by @alligatorpie1945 - go check out her awesome art! I kept her 'Through the Ages' series on my screen while writing to help get me in the headspace. All her art is gorgeous!

Brotherly Bonds

The holonet can be a wonderful yet vicious place. When Wrecker’s feelings are hurt, and he questions his place in the squad, his brothers rally together to fix it and comfort him.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Bit of whump, Wrecker being cyber-bullied by a Reg, caring brothers, protective brothers, bully gets called out, conflict is resolved, comfort and reassurance, happy ending.

The light of his datapad casts a blue glow over his face as he reads. It’s late, their barracks dimly lit by the moonlight, but Wrecker can���t sleep. His eyes trace the words repeatedly. Slow. Clumsy. Idiot. Each one feels like a vibroknife between his ribs.

It started a few days ago after a training drill with his brothers and a handful of Regs, who had seen him struggling with hand signals and tripping over his feet. It wasn’t his fault he was bigger than everyone else and that hand signals all looked similar to him from a distance. He’d been made this way. He was trying his best with what he’d been given. One day, he’d grow into his size and understand the signals. He was sure of it.

Wrecker sighs softly, turning onto his side to face the wall of his bunk. He pulls Lula closer, tucking her under his chin as he continues to read. He knows he should stop, that he’s only making himself feel worse by continuing, but he wants to know what everyone’s thinking and doesn’t want to walk into the mess hall tomorrow and be caught off guard.

The mean comments continue in the thread posted to the cadet chat boards. He and his brothers frequently ignore them, not caring for gossip, but Wrecker had heard things whispered under a Reg’s breath at mealtime – a Reg who hadn’t been part of their earlier drill. Other than hearing it through the grapevine, the boards would be the only other place.

Wrecker’s fingers tighten around the edges of his datapad, the cold metal digging into his palms. He takes a deep breath, trying to shake off the hurtful words. Despite his tough exterior, the comments on the chat boards have chipped away at his confidence. The camaraderie he shares with his brothers shields him from most insults, but the online world has found a crack in his armour.

As he scrolls through the thread, Wrecker can’t help but notice the lack of empathy in the words of his fellow cadets. The faceless avatars behind the comments don’t understand his challenges, trying to fit in a world where he doesn’t – metaphorically and literally. He wonders if they’d say the same things to his face or if the anonymity of the virtual space emboldens them.

Lula provides some comfort amid his turmoil, a reminder that his brothers care and love him, the stuffed tooka being a present from them. He squeezes her a little tighter as he contemplates shutting down the datapad, shutting out the negativity, but a stubborn curiosity keeps him scrolling. It’s as if he’s searching for that one comment that might offer understanding or support, even though he knows the likelihood is slim.

Wrecker’s brow furrows as he reads a particularly cutting comment. ‘Idiot can’t even understand signals. How'd he even make it out the tube? The rest of them are carrying him.’ The words sting, and Wrecker feels a surge of anger, but beneath it lies a more profound, more insidious emotion—doubt.

He glances at the sleeping forms of his brothers in the dimly lit barracks. They trust and depend on him, yet the doubts the Regs have planted in his mind start to take root. Wrecker wonders if he’s genuinely holding the team back. Maybe his brothers would be better off without him in the squad, with someone more agile and quick-witted in his place.

Lula’s stitched eyes seem to gaze at him with understanding, and Wrecker can almost hear Tech’s voice in his head, rattling off statistics and probabilities to prove that their team is more robust with him in it. But those voices are drowned out by the relentless comments scrolling on his datapad.

In the solitude of the night, Wrecker quietly shuts off his datapad and gets up, careful not to wake his brothers. He steps outside into the bright corridor and starts walking, going until he reaches one of the many bridges connecting different parts of Tipoca City. It’s cool out, but the earlier stormy weather has passed.

Leaning against the railing, Wrecker looks up at the stars. The vastness of the galaxy puts his problems into perspective. But the doubts linger. As he contemplates his place in the squad, he wonders if he should ask to be transferred. He doesn’t want to be the weak link, not when his brother’s lives are on the line.

A voice startles him. “Hey, Wreck, having trouble sleeping?” It’s Hunter, concern etched on his face as he reaches him, standing at his side at the railing.

Wrecker tries to shrug off the unease. “Nah, just needin’ some air.” He slaps on a grin. “Was hopin’ to see that big ol’ creature they say lives out here.” His gut rolls with the lie as he gestures to the choppy sea surrounding them, not wanting Hunter to worry. Although they were still cadets, he knew his older brother was already carrying a heavy weight, and he was being primed to lead them once they were old enough to fight.

Hunter studies Wrecker for a moment, his sharp senses missing very little. He sees beyond the forced grin and recognizes the turmoil in Wrecker’s eyes. Without saying a word, Hunter leans on the railing beside him. “Yeah, I heard about that creature too.” He says with a faint smile as he plays into his brother’s lie. “But I think it’s just a story to keep cadets like us from wandering too far.” He adds on. Silence lingers for a second before he speaks up again. “You doing okay, Wreck? You seem a bit off tonight.”

Wrecker hesitates, then sighs, the weight of the words on the datapad still lingering in his mind. “Just... things people are saying. About me. On those chat boards.”

Hunter’s expression tightens as he glances at Wrecker. “You shouldn’t let those get to you. People don’t know what it’s like for us.”

Wrecker nods, but the doubt remains evident in his eyes. “I know, but sometimes I wonder if they’re right. If I’m really holding the squad back.”

Hunter turns fully towards Wrecker, his gaze unwavering. “Wrecker, you’re an essential part of this squad. Don’t let some unfounded comments make you question that. We’re not just soldiers; we’re brothers. And brothers stick together. You’re not holding us back; you’re lifting us up with your strength, both in training and out of it.” His tone leaves no room for doubt.

Wrecker looks at Hunter, a mix of gratitude and uncertainty in his eyes. “You really think so?”

Hunter reaches out, placing a hand on Wrecker’s shoulder. “I know so. Who else could toss droids across the room like you do? Who else could diffuse a bomb so quickly without breaking into a sweat? We need your strength and steady hands, Wrecker, and more importantly, we need you. We wouldn’t be the Bad Batch without you.”

Wrecker’s tense shoulders gradually relax under Hunter’s reassuring touch. The doubt in his eyes begins to fade. He takes a deep breath, absorbing Hunter’s words.

“Thanks, Hunter. I appreciate it.” Wrecker says, a genuine smile breaking through his earlier turmoil.

Hunter nods, squeezing Wrecker’s shoulder before letting go. “Anytime, vod. Remember, the opinions of others don’t define you. We know your worth, and that’s what matters.”

Hunter’s words gradually sink in, pushing back against the doubts that had taken root in Wrecker’s mind. As they head back to the barracks together, Wrecker can’t help but feel grateful for the unwavering support.

The following day, as Wrecker takes his turn in the fresher, Hunter slips across to Tech’s bunk, gesturing with a hand for Crosshair to join them. The three boys gather, and Hunter shares what happened last night. Before he’s finished the story, Tech reaches for his datapad and other equipment strewn around his bunk area, fingers flying over the screen as he starts to pinpoint who started the thread and the names of every cadet who’d commented.

Crosshair’s expression darkens as he listens, his hawkish eyes narrowing on the information on Tech’s datapad. “We’re going to have a little chat with this individual.” He hisses, anger curling through his body that Regs were daring to pick on his brother. None of them deserved to be tormented, especially not Wrecker – he was the softest.

Tech nods in agreement, his fingers working efficiently on the datapad. “I’ve already gathered enough evidence to expose them.”

The day progresses as usual for the squad, with their training and drills occupying most of their time. Though still carrying the weight of the hurtful comments, Wrecker finds solace in his brothers’ unwavering support. Hunter keeps a watchful eye on him, and Tech and Crosshair discreetly work on their plan to confront the Reg who had started the thread.

As night approaches, the boys gather in their barracks after dinner. The atmosphere is tense, a mix of anticipation and determination. Wrecker can sense something is brewing, but his brothers maintain their usual poker faces. He decides not to pry, trusting in their brotherly bond.

They settle in for bed, comfortable in their bunks. Hunter, Tech, and Crosshair wait until they hear the familiar sounds of Wrecker’s light snores before they move, pushing back the flimsy sheets to put their plan into action.

The trio slip out of their bunks with practised stealth, moving like shadows through the dimly lit room. As they exit the room, the hallways of Tipoca City are eerily silent at this hour. Tech guides them towards the quarters of the cadet responsible for starting the thread.

They arrive at the designated quarters, one of many identical doors in the sterile corridor. Hunter knocks firmly, and a moment later, the door slides open to reveal a surprised cadet dressed for sleep.

“Hell do you want?” the cadet asks, eyeing the trio suspiciously.

Without a word, Crosshair steps forward, scowl firmly in place, making the cadet uncomfortable. Tech, meanwhile, holds up his datapad, displaying the evidence of the derogatory comments. Hunter’s gaze is stern.

“Axel, right? We need to talk.” Hunter says calmly, but there’s an undeniable edge to his voice.

Axel stammers, realizing the gravity of the situation. The brothers are not here for idle chit-chat. The door to the next room opens slightly, curious faces peeking out to see the commotion.

“Your comments about Wrecker end now.” Crosshair declares, his tone cold and uncompromising. “And we’re making sure everyone knows the consequences of targeting one of our own.”

Tech steps forward, his datapad at the ready. “We have evidence of every comment you made and the names of those who joined in. You can either stop this now and publicly apologize, or we can take this to General Ti and let her handle it.”

Axel, now visibly nervous, stumbles over his words. “I... I didn’t think it would get this serious. It was just banter, y’know?”

Hunter narrows his eyes. “Banter or not, it stops. Now.”

Axel nods quickly, realizing he’s caught in a situation he hadn’t anticipated. “Okay, okay. I’ll delete the comments, and I’ll apologize. Just... don’t involve General Ti, please.”

Crosshair leans in, his eyes piercing. “You mess with one of us; you mess with all of us. Remember that.”

The trio leaves Axel’s quarters, their message delivered. As they walk back to their own barracks, Tech speaks up. “I’ve ensured that the evidence is backed up in multiple locations. If they try anything again, we have leverage.”

Hunter nods in approval. “Good. Hopefully, this won’t happen again. We’re a team, and we protect our own.”

The three brothers slip back into their bunks in their barracks with the same practised stealth. Wrecker stirs slightly, arms tightening around Lula, but he remains blissfully unaware of the nocturnal mission his brothers had just undertaken on his behalf.

In the morning, as Wrecker and his brothers assemble for training drills again with the Regs, there’s a noticeable shift in the air. Although he’s still feeling a lingering sting from the chat boards, Wrecker picks up on the change. Only when they pause for a break, and he’s approached, does he start to piece together bits of the puzzle.

Axel approaches Wrecker with a hesitant expression. His eyes avoid direct contact, and there’s a nervous shuffle in his stance. The other cadets nearby glance between them, sensing that something is about to unfold.

“Wrecker.” Axel begins, his voice a mixture of discomfort and reluctance. “I... I wanted to apologize. I started the chat board thread, and what I said was out of line. I didn’t realize how much it would affect you. It was just stupid banter, and I didn’t think about the consequences.”

Wrecker looks at Axel with a mixture of surprise and scepticism. He wasn’t expecting an apology, and part of him wondered if this was just another act. Hunter, Tech, and Crosshair watch from a distance, ready to step in if needed.

Axel continues. “I deleted the comments, and I’m sorry for any hurt I caused. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Wrecker studies him for a moment, then nods. “Apology accepted.” He says, surprising not just Axel but also himself. Despite the hurtful words, Wrecker knows that people can make mistakes, and perhaps this is an opportunity for growth.

Axel visibly relaxes, a mix of relief and gratitude on his face. The tension in the air began dissipating, and the other cadets exchanged glances, unsure what to make of this unexpected turn of events. Wrecker, however, feels a strange sense of closure, as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

“Thanks.” Axel mumbles, still avoiding direct eye contact.

Wrecker grins, clapping a hand on Axel’s shoulder, being careful not to jostle him. “No hard feelings. Just remember, we’re all in this together.”

Axel nods, and with that, he retreats to his group, who shoot curious glances in Wrecker’s direction. The training drills resume, but the atmosphere has shifted. Wrecker notices a few glances exchanged among the cadets and the odd appreciative smile as he uses his strength to help them, but this time, he holds his head high.

Later that day, as he and his brothers gathered in their barracks, Wrecker couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude towards them. They hadn’t said anything, but he knew they’d played a part in Axel’s apology. Hunter, Tech, and Crosshair may not have erased the pain caused by the hurtful comments, but they’ve shown him that he’s not alone. They’ve stood by him, defended him.

As the evening progresses, the solidarity among the brothers remains strong. They fall into their usual cuddle pile, sharing laughter and snacks salvaged from the mess hall, reinforcing their unbreakable bond.

Wrecker reflects on the events of the past few days in the quiet moments before sleep claims them. The weight of doubt and hurt that had burdened his shoulders has been replaced by a newfound resilience. His brothers, the pillars of strength in his life, have reassured him of his worth and taken action to protect him. 

As Wrecker drifts into slumber, he clings to the knowledge that, no matter what challenges they might face, he’s part of a united family. In the moonlit barracks, the Bad Batch rests, stronger than ever, ready to face whatever the galaxy throws their way.

Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal

[thewhumpcaretaker]

Whump idea, Vincent gets cavities from eating so much sugar all the time and has to go to the dentist. He’s scared of it hurting so Chidi holds his hand the whole time. Maybe he squeezes so hard he actually breaks a bone in Chidi’s hand, but of course Chidi is too tough to let on…then later Vincent sees a splint on it and says he’ll kill whoever hurt him. And Chidi is just like, well…

I took so long to answer this because I went on hiatus right afterwards, I'm sorry 😭

But I love this ask, it's so adorable and so funny!! I was thinking about it all week. Please do send more if the inspiration strikes you, anon. I can't get enough of HoplesslyDevoted!

-⚜- Sweet Tooth -⚜-

TW: Nothing except dentists for once! This is just fluffy hurt/comfort.

Image Source

The most painful things seemed to happen when it came to Vincent - or rather, Vincent seemed to do these things to himself, and perhaps to bystanders. The toothache was one of many such cases.

He wouldn’t admit it at first, but he was irritable for two days in a row, awoke looking like he hadn’t slept, and when he didn’t even want to eat sweets, Chidi knew something had to be wrong.

“Vous n'avez pas faim, monsieur? [Aren’t you hungry, sir?]” he asked, over a banquet table filled with a positively wasteful spread of breakfast foods, from syrup-drenched crepes to fresh croissants to heaps of jam and berries.

“Non.” But his stomach let out a noise that betrayed him, and Chidi raised an eyebrow. He watched Vincent look away and breathe a little too deeply for a moment, as he did when he was about to admit something. At last, barely above a whisper, he muttered, “J'ai mal aux dents. [I have a toothache.]”

Oh. Honestly, he was relieved it was nothing more serious. “Je parlerai à votre assistant d’un rendez-vous dentaire d’urgence. [I’ll speak to your assistant about an emergency dental appointment.]”

“Non, s'il vous plaît, ne le faites pas. Euh, c'est… [No, please don’t. Er, that is…]”

“…Monsieur, sans traitement, la situation ne fera qu'empirer. […Sir, without treatment, it will only get worse.]”

“Je SAIS que [I KNOW that],” he snapped. But he still did not give permission.

Vincent was toying with his fork, pushing a blueberry around an untouched plate. Chidi watched him fidget for a moment in silence, considering how to approach this. Finally, “Puis-je demander pourquoi pas, alors? [May I ask why not, then?]”

“Juste – tu viens avec moi ? [Just – will you come with me?]”

He was scared, then. Another person might have smiled at such endearing childishness, but that would have been a wrong move. Chidi just nodded, face flat. “Bien sûr. [Of course.]”

He soon realized how much pain the Marquis had been hiding. Once he could complain openly, he admitted that not one, but two molars were aching constantly, sending pain right through the back of his head. Chidi spoke to the assistant, cancelled all the day’s meetings, and spent the morning with Vincent’s head in his lap, massaging his scalp and his jaw while they waited for the appointment.

That afternoon, they found themselves in an office in Paris, with an elderly woman whose kindly demeanor and open face should have put anyone at ease. But she did not look happy to see Vincent. Apparently, she had served the Marquis since he was a child, and Chidi would guess she had quite a few stories she was sworn not to tell.

Vincent didn’t look happy to see her either. He was really pale and stood too close to Chidi in the lobby, keeping their shoulders in contact (though of course he was not made to wait more than a minute).

Chidi didn’t have to be told to take the seat next to the dental chair, though he was a little surprised to find Vincent’s hand catching his in a death grip almost immediately.  He described his symptoms in terse, one or two word responses, clearly fighting back panic. That was probably the only reason he allowed the dentist to lecture him about the amount of sugar he’d obviously been eating. All she got out of him was a glare. Chidi answered on his behalf about his diet, and promised to “work with the Marquis to establish a more rigorous tooth care schedule,” which was the most dignified way he could think to describe forcing Vincent to brush his teeth the next time he ate three chocolate éclairs at 9 AM.

He had multiple cavities, apparently. And despite very liberal use of anesthetic, when the dentist pulled out a drill, Vincent’s already crushing grip became really unbearable. Nonetheless, Chidi bore it. He just squeezed back and ran his thumb over Vincent’s fingers again and again to sooth him. He never spoke a word of protest. Nor did he say anything about it on the car ride back to the palace, nor when seeing Vincent off to a nap to make up for that night of tossing and turning in pain. Nothing except, “Vous avez été très courageux, monsieur. [You were very brave, sir.]”

The next time they saw each other, Vincent had emerged from his room for dinner, which would have to be mostly liquid. Despite grimacing at the creative smoothie blends the chef had concocted, he seemed in better spirits. His eyes fixed on Chidi affectionately across the table. “Tu sais, je pensais à quel point tu étais gentil avec moi aujourd'hui. Quand j’allais chez le dentiste quand j’étais enfant, la gouvernante s’impatientait au bout d’une minute et ne me tenait plus la main. Mais tu l’as fait, même si je ne devrais vraiment pas en avoir besoin. [You know, I was thinking about how kind you were to me today. When I went to the dentist as a child, the governess would get impatient after a minute and wouldn’t hold my hand anymore. But you did, even though I really shouldn’t need it.]”

Chidi smiled back, preening. “C'est ma joie d'être là pour toi. Ce dont vous avez besoin est exactement ce dont vous avez besoin, et je vous l’accorderai. [It’s my joy to be there for you. What you need is just exactly what you need, and I will give you that.]”

His eyes finally lighted on Chidi’s left hand, where a splint wrapped around his pointer finger. “Attends… qui t'a fait ça ? Y a-t-il eu une bagarre pendant que je dormais !? Celui qui a fait ça, je lui arracherai… [Wait…who did that to you? Was there a fight while I was sleeping!? Whoever did that, I’ll tear out their – ]”

“Ah non, je ne pense pas que ce soit necessaire, [Ah, no, I don’t think that’s necessary,]” Chidi said sheepishly.

“Que veux-tu dire... [What do you mean…]” Realization dawned over his face. “Non, je ne l’ai pas fait. Ai-je? [No. I didn’t. Did I?]”

“Bien… [Well…]”

“Oh, Chidi…” He stared at his hand, rueful. “Venez ici. [Come here.]”

Chidi came to stand beside his chair and the Marquis took up his hand, very delicately this time, to plant a small kiss on the splint. “Je suis désolé. [I’m sorry.]”

“C'est bon, monsieur. Tu es juste très fort. Je ai été impressionné. [It’s okay, sir. You’re just very strong. I was impressed.]” Chidi’s eyes flickered meaningfully to the butler on the other side of the dining room. The man took the hint and slipped out. Free to be a little more tender, he leaned down to return Vincent’s kiss - on the lips this time, but equally gentle.

Vincent lingered with their faces together, cupping his cheek. “Je ferais mieux de me brosser les dents après. Tu es la chose la plus douce que j'ai jamais goûtée. [I’d better brush my teeth afterwards. You are the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.]”

[prentissluvr]

oh no 😭😭

please don’t tell me season 14 fucks up anything and everything bc it’s been a pain with trying to get through the later seasons 😭

iuhgjkfdlckaksdn ueuughhhh *pathetic whieempinger iohfgkj fldkjh whimpering and crying noises* there are currently reatrs trear st treat trear tears in my eyes . and i will cry whem them as i watch episode one tonight . i don't even know what to tell you like . dfkjsadld the whole season is so difficult to get through because tbh it's kinda boring and jensen's acting is bad for some of it (no hate to him at all but michael!dean was not it for him sorry if that it a spoiler lolll) . and then they just made it really upsetting and i'm very upset and i've been so so so set on finishing all fifteen seasons before starting my rewatch but i don't think i can do it anymore i was literally about to click on episode one when i saw you send this ask :,)

i guess not everything is fucked up but definitely some things so :(( YEAH UGH I CAN'T I GIVE UP OFFICIALLY oH MY gODDDKHJFS

anyways i'm sorry i can't bring you better news

actually sams hair is GLORIOUS this season . like GLORIOUS !!@!@!@!!@@!$!EW!@!! i can't believe folks don't talk about it more maybe it's because he's so tired and sad all season long :)))))) but he has a beard at the beginning too!! it's very hot <3 and GREAT sam whump season in ep 17 :)

:]]]]

[calmlb]

Hi Essie!!! Hope you're doing well! (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)❤️

So I had this idea for a sick!Dazai fic (that I'm honestly too tired to write dhehee), and who else is better to brainstorm it with than my fellow Dazai whump enthusiast? :D

Based on my own experience of being sick for the past week, I forgot how awful it can get. It sucks. You're feverish, your nose is either runny or super blocked, your throat hurts, you get headaches, you're lethargic 80% of the time, all that stuff. But what sucked the most for me was how hot my skin felt. Like, clothes were so uncomfortable to wear from the sweat, especially since it's still summer around here.

So imagine putting bandages into account as well?

Yep, awful.

So I present you with a scenario: Teen!Dazai in his office, has taken over paper duty (that Mori knows he isn't gonna complete anyway) because of his fever. He feels gross, to say the least. Flushed and hazy, a little nauseous and sleepy. But his skin- his skin is scorching, and there is no way for it to disperse that heat because it can't breathe. He endures it for as long as he can until he just can't.

In his haze, he scrambles to tear his bandages off, loosen his tie, and decides that he will lie on the cold floor shirtless. The air conditioner isn't enough. No one is there to stop him.

Until Chuuya barges in without knocking as usual (to discus the paperwork he also knows Dazai isn't going to finish) and stumbles onto the scene.

Dazai doesn't even acknowledge him, has already taken off the bandages around his eye and is halfway through tearing off the ones around his neck. His clothes are disheveled as he loosens them and looks like he's about to take them off.

Chuuya gapes for a solid second, before exclaiming with a blush-

"What the fuck?!"

He rushes over, trying not to look at Dazai's skin that's on display and stops him. He wraps him with Mori's oversized coat aggressively.

Dazai fights against him, exclaiming that he needs to lie on the floor. Chuuya doesn't get it, all that he knows is that Dazai is delirious, and even if he thinks it's a good idea to tear through his protective layer now, he'll definitely regret it later.

So Chuuya ties him with the coat and decides to take the paperwork to his place, along with a flailing Dazai on his shoulder.

I just wanna see Dazai giving Chuuya hell during treating him 😭 cuz even if cooling off is a good idea for a fever, not staying huddled in the warmth equates to chills and endless sneezes. Makes you feel even more awful. So it's gonna be a push and pull of Chuuya trying to warm Dazai up (in order to fight off the fever faster), and Dazai wanting to cool off (because he isn't used to being this warm and hates it), until they come up with a compromise somehow dgdhejndjd

Yeah, just a fun idea! :3 Feel free to expand on it hehe

PEA 😭 i saw this when i was having a Very Bad Day™️ & it immediately made it sm better tysm 🥺🩷🩷

UGH THE TENDER, FEVERISH SKIN UNDER THE BANDAGES ❤️‍🩹 where everything just feels like too much, i completely understand why Dazai (in his feverish delusion) would think removing the offending material would be the solution

Chuuya barging in and quickly going from 👁️👄👁️ to 😳🤬. i love that he goes into protective mode, thinking of how future Dazai will surely regret this course of action & putting measures in place to prevent that 🥺

Chuuya would wrap Dazai up like a sushi roll & carry him on his shoulder like a log back to his apartment, where he proceeds to lose the idgaf war & embrace his mother hen side (which he still denies exists)

meanwhile Dazai is kicking & fighting him every step of the way, acting more like a 5 year old than a mafia sub executive (he’s still only a kid sobs), even as he shivers with chills

until Chuuya manages to get a hand in his sweat soaked curls, gently carding through them. the coolness of his leather glove against Dazai’s overheated scalp makes Dazai go still… and then slump against the couch in a mixture of relief & exhaustion. Chuuya takes advantage of his compliance to make him agree to stop fighting him, & they spend the rest of the day resting on the couch, watching movies & playing video games (well. Chuuya plays. Dazai watches & points out all of Chuuya’s mistakes) 🩷🩷🩷