#see when i imagine/write pet whump i always think of the pets as being expected to act like actual animals

[urlocalwhumper]

a group of whumpers proudly showing off their perfectly trained (conditioned) pet whumpees at a party. letting them off leash because they're just so well conditioned that whumper knows they won't even think to try and escape. the whumpers cooing over a cuddle pile of napping pets, talking amongst themselves about setting up playdates for the pets that seem to get along best.

and on the pets' side; feeling safe and warm snuggling with other pets, unable to figure out why they suddenly feel so vulnerable and scared when master says it's time to go home. one pet worriedly licking another's fresh scars, whining low in their throat while the other pet nuzzles them to tell them that it's fine now, they don't have to worry.

[moons-cozy-corner]

Rescued Pt. 5

The apparently long awaited part 5! Thank you all so much for the love on this series, this was never expected!! <3

ALSO! I am trying to post every Monday from now on (when I can, I'm still getting used to college), so if you like this, perhaps you'll like my other stuff! Mostly whump, plus an original project that is in the works. The first chapter is already out, so please go check it out that would be awesome I'd cry happy tears: Arnin and Daren | First Impressions

Anyways, to the writing (currently eating gummy worms :P)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

TW: Previous captivity mention, stalking, explosion, ptsd, pet whump, dehumanization

Being the county's biggest villain wasn't much of a title, but it scared the hospital into kicking out their precious pet. One step closer to being back in their arms.

The organization would be a difficult break, especially with an angered Hero in range, but it would work. Whumper just needed to wait. They needed patience.

And patience was what the county's biggest villain was known for.

--------

The bed didn't feel real.

Really, nothing did. There were so many unfamiliar sounds, feelings, objects--things Villain remember knowing but simply felt foreign to now. Years in a dingy basement would do that to a someone, he supposed.

And he used to be a someone.

The Organization had no bedrooms, but Hero worked in his office so much after Villain's disappearance there was a mattress in there. Now that Hero took over Superhero's office, his old office was where Villain was staying. Villain was locked in, by request, and hidden in the corner, away from any windows, with his eyes clenched shut.

Still, it was all to bright. Too much noise, too much everything. It made his ears ring and head spin, even with his eyes pressed so hard against his own arm that his vision was turning white. The hospital wasn't any better, but at least Villain had the constant, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. The nurses were a huge annoyance, too, but at least their visits came with food. Unlike most of Whumper's visits.

They thought Villain hadn't heard; the nurses, that is. Or maybe they didn't think about it. But either way, Villain did know; Whumper was free. And Villain knew Whumper; smart, cunning, evil. They would get what they wanted. They always did, in time. And right now what they wanted was Villain. No, not Villain.

They wanted Pet back.

His body churned, and he curled into himself, grasping his stomach and holding in the cries. Holding in the tears, too. Whumper never liked tears. Whenever the pillow was wet, it would get taken for a week.

So instead he lay there, listening to the cars buzz by. There were no cars when they were with Whumper. All quiet, all the time. "All peace", as Whumper would say. Until they wanted Pet to break the silence.

Villain started nipping at his knuckles. The tears were coming, whether he liked it or not. He was never very good at this, even after years of being trained to be good at it. Stay still. Stay quiet. Pet had already messed up by talking to Hero. Opening their eyes. They had been humming, for Christ's sake. When Whumper got their hands on it, Pet was dead. Worse than dead.

It threw it's pillow against the wall, tears having fallen to the fabric. It didn't deserve a pillow anyways. It never did. When it got back to it's Master it would beg for forgiveness. Apologize, make sure Master knew that it knew it didn't deserve a pillow or mattress. Or blankets. Or any privilege Master had ever allowed them. And Pet would be okay with it. It deserved that treatment. It deserved worse.

"Villain?" A soft knock whispered against all the other noises, a voice lifting above it all regardless. "Can I come in?"

Pet stayed silent. The door slid open silently, and Hero walked in. Pet imagined behind shut eyes what Hero would see; a skeleton of a man, abandoned of any protection from his skin other than a loose shirt and shorts given to it by Hero. The silence told Pet all they needed to know. Hero was disgusted, and it made Pet's guts swirl.

His voice was apprehensive. Not soft, exactly. Not calm. Apprehensive, as if talking to a skittish cat. A dangerous animal. A starved Pet, that could either go mad or break at any given second. "Villain, do you need another blanket? It's cold in here... Why are you on the floor?" Pet could feel Hero's warmth next to it, making it realize how cold it really was in that tiny office.

Hero didn't make any moves to touch or bother Pet. He seemed to notice, however, that Pet wasn't asleep. "This... this is okay. If this is what you need to heal--to stay quiet, keep your eyes closed, whatever this behavior is--that's okay. Just remember you don't have to. You're allowed to talk and to see and- and to be warm, baby. You're safe here."

Villain's knuckles shook, the bitten parts throbbing. It's not safe here It's not safe here It's not safe here It's not safe here It's no-

Strong hands took Villain's wrists and he screamed. He screamed and flailed before correcting itself, falling to an apologetic heap on the floor but the grip didn't relent. "You are safe here, Villain! Gosh- get up off the floor, please, just- c'mere."

The warmth that surrounded it was extreme. It wasn't soft or subtle. It was harsh and suffocating. Hero's chest moved up and down slowly, but Pet's did the opposite. The only reason Pet didn't struggle was because they couldn't. Stay still, Master had said. Stay quiet.

Until I find you.

It was hard to behave in such strange circumstances. Maybe Master would be merciful if Pet begged for forgiveness hard enough. If they explained how hard they had tried. It knew the only thing that could bring it mercy was to not screw up again, but it found itself seeping into the warmth that suffocated them.

I just want to be better. I just want to be safe.

And then it passed out.

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

Villain went limp in Hero's arms. His eyes were wet and red and raw. So was the expression on his face. A face that used to be soft and happy, sly with smirks and big smiles when he would successfully prank the hero. Nimble hands that once tended Hero's' wounds now cut up and bony.

Hero just wanted Villain back.

But Villain wasn't Villain anymore, and that was the sad truth. It would take a long time for their lover to heal physically, and even longer mentally. But whatever happened, Hero promised himself and Villain that he would be protected from Whumper until the ends of days. So that maybe Villain could be happy once again.

Hero set Villain back down on the mattress, the same one Hero had spent countless nights sitting restless on trying to find Villain. The thrown pillow was placed back under his head, and a blanket placed over his brittle limbs. Hero watched as his lungs slowed to a normal speed. Far from a calm speed, but better than it had been. He hoped Villain would at least sleep for a few hours. He deserved that much.

Hero didn't move either way. He sat in the office chair and watched his lover sleep less than peacefully. And as they watched Villain, all other worries seemed to seep away, all focused on him. Just him.

So when the alarms started blaring all around them, when the lights flashed red, when Villain began to scream, covering his ears and clenching shut his eyes, Hero cursed and ran. He ran, locking the door behind him. Locking away his love, for his own safety.

And as he ran down the halls, guards moving this way and that, a burst of light came running towards him. A flash of orange, of red, of white. It was blinding, but a single shape penetrated the blinding fullness of light. A shadow of a person leaning over Hero, muttering words he could barely understand. But he did, through the ringing of his ears and the smoke in the air.

Take this as a warning, Hero.

Then all went dark.

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

[rosesareviolentlyread]

WIJ Day 3: Love

WOO the first actual prompt is here. This is a modern magic world heavily inspired by @0idril0 and @whumpywhumper‘s Nico & Markus/Lucien series respectively. I HIGHLY recommend you check them out. So this is meant to be an introduction to Pastor John/The Reverend, who is my first attempt at an intimate whumper. Thanks to @ashintheairlikesnow for inspiring the Reverend with Bram, def check out all her stuff if you haven’t

CW: religious whump, creepy whumper, whumper who doesn’t think they’re a whumper, kinda abusive relationship vibes, drugging, taking advantage of someone’s emotional state

John sits, listening to the record player in the corner crackle with the sounds of a congregation’s singing. His students tease him for being a ‘hipster’, but there’s something satisfying about their amateur voices, captured imperfectly, naturally, using a technology that reminds him of pottery, or weaving. Sound pressed into something physical, ethereality brought to his fingertips, his ears, across time. 

It’s a pleasant evening all around. John savors every detail as he takes a sip of scotch - a gift from a colleague in Edinburgh - settling into the thick leather chair by the fireplace, just musing in his mind while he waits for the brownies to be done. Perhaps he should grade, or write a lecture, or work on his sermon. But these moments in time, of being in his body, of feeling fire in his throat as sparks flick out as his toes, these are God’s moments, moments of perfect creation and harmony. 

But still, he isn’t bothered by the knock on his door, despite the late hour. The students know his door is always open. He’s become used to them coming to his couch after a late temptation, or perhaps a lapse in their faith. Perhaps just a personal dilemma. The community too, though they typically take the ‘door unlocked’ policy as is. 

No, the timidness of the youngest in his flock always brings a smile. It seems no matter how many departmental or congregational dinners he hosts, how many times they come knocking, they always knock. It is part of their youth, not cemented in their beliefs, in knowing that God will provide. So he provides, until they can become sure, can understand how a trinity of a different kind, God, his Son, and their Pastor, will be there for them. They are lambs, learning to stand on their own legs, which is why this is his favorite place to shepherd. 

“Coming!” He calls out, setting the glass carefully on a coaster before opening the thick door to the cottage. It takes a few blinks to clear his eyes from the rush of cold air that assaults them. The weather always seems to surprise him, just one of many things in this beautiful world. 

But what doesn’t necessarily surprise him is to see, red-rimmed eyes, a flushed tear-tracked face delicately wrought in its complexion, set upon a lithe frame that hides immense strength, an immense spirit that positively glows normally with ash-blonde hair and bright gray-blue eyes. Faith. A sense of calm comes over him, a release of tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding for days. 

“Oh, my girl, I was hoping you’d come by” Before she can get a word out, John wraps strong arms around her, enveloping her in a warm hug. Immediately he feels the telltale shake of her shoulders, small hands gripping the back of his sweater tightly, a damp spot right near his heart growing. 

Yes, John expected this. For how long, he isn’t entirely sure. Perhaps, always. Perhaps, because somewhere in him, he knew God had bigger plans for them both.

Faith had been a special student to him, from her first year intro course in the Theology department. A bright girl, a good girl, who believed with her heart and soul in Jesus’ saving grace for even the most dastardly of sinners. He hadn’t recognized it well at the time, but even he had fallen prey to the negativity within the church, the ones who said Supernaturals were truly the devil incarnate, incapable of being saved. 

But Faith, she took it upon herself to prove them all wrong. She’d been hesitant to propose her thesis to him, as her advisor. A piece to study the beliefs and communities of Supernaturals locally, from a theological and sociological perspective, in order to understand how those beliefs might be reconciled with modern Christianity. A piece that would allow for the Evangelical church she came from to see the same possibility of salvation she did. To choose love. 

“It’s alright, shhh. Why don’t you come in? The brownies for tomorrow’s potluck are almost done. I’ll put on some tea, dandelion right?” Gently, he pried her away from him, thumbing tears as she sniffled away the last of her outburst. 

“Thank you, Reverend. I just...I didn’t know where else to go. Yet.” The downcast of her eyes nearly breaks his heart at the cruelty of this world. For his fellow Christians had chosen to hate, to cast her out of their flock, after she bared her thesis, her work, no matter how unfinished. All because of what she was. 

Peter 1 4:8 comes to his mind: Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers a multitude of sins.

So what if she was truly born Fae, a natural sinner of the largest proportions. Does her desire to be saved, to save others, to feel Jesus’ healing light not garner love in them? 

Her desire, her faith, does in John’s chest, a warm feeling better than the finest scotch as he gently leads her to couch, leaving her with some tissues to compose herself. 

The moment feels so right the longer he’s in it. The brownie timer goes off right as he enters the kitchen, and he pulls them out. Perfect. He leaves them to cool as he flicks on the kettle, fingers moving through his vast collection for just the right blend. Dandelion, reminiscent of shortbread cookies, Faith’s favorite. They’ve shared so many cups over late night thesis meetings, church group meetings, dinner meetings that the box has only one left. Pulling out the last packet, he tucks away in his mind to buy more boxes. 

They’ll go through a lot he imagines, in the next few months. It’s easy to prepare, like a moment meant to be, as he lets the tea steep, adds two spoonfuls of sugar, and drops in the pills, stirring until they dissolve evenly. 

He brings it all out, tea, brownies, to the couch, where she’s already claimed a throw. It’s good, he thinks, that she already feels at home here. It’ll be easier that way. 

“Thank you,” her hands grip the warm mug, breathing in the steam, and he watches attentively as she takes a sip. “It’s been...I was scared. That you’d turn me away too” 

“My dear, you have never had anything but love for Jesus and God in your heart. Why would I believe something like this would change that?”

Of course he had been worried, in the beginning of her thesis, that she would be swayed. That they would convince her with their wicked tongues, guile her with magic and false miracles, false idols. Yes, now that he looks back, perhaps he did see it all coming. No, she hadn’t been swayed. 

But she’d swayed him. To believe in the possibility of truly saving those damned souls. So much that he’d begun his own research, his own plans, prepared for the possibility. And now, it appeared God’s plan was working perfectly, dropping her right on his doorstep on the eve of her transformation between worlds, an apostle for a new era

“Everyone else seems to think that, that this is wrong. How though? How can being who I am, the person God made me, be wrong?” Her voice is quiet in the night, barely above the crackling fire in its hoarseness, tinged still with tears. 

“He does nothing wrong. He made you this way for a reason, so that you may show others. Think of it, your work, is this not His plan?” John tries to keep the excitement out of his voice, to remain calm, collected. Gentle. Yes, he must be gentle, to do this in love for the Lord. 

She pauses, sipping more. “I...I don’t know. I just, I need some time, I think. I was walking to the bus stop when I passed your house and thought...I don’t know. I guess I hoped there’d be something I could come back to, when I was ready” Her eyes stare into the surface of the tea, growing distant. Tired. It’s working fast, he knows, likely due to her exhaustion from the past few days. 

“It’s alright to not know. The Bible does not have all the answers, but it leads us to where we need to find them. Perhaps that’s why you came here. Why don’t you get some rest, stay here tonight. Tomorrow is a new day, a new chance for you to find your way.” 

“Thank you, Reverend. That..that sounds nice. You’re right, I need to-o-o-o” the sentence is interrupted by a yawn and he chuckles. 

“It sounds like the only thing you need right now is a good night’s rest. Come on, I promise this couch may be old, but she’ll service you well. She’s saved me from several late night grading sessions” Taking the tea, he lets her settle down, and grabs a quilt from the closet - a gift from an older parishioner - and tucks it around her. 

“Goodnight, Faith. Sleep well, tomorrow will be a busy day” she mumbles something slurred, incomprehensible under the effect of the drug. Still, he sits and waits, gently petting the silky hair until her breathing fully evens out, deepens into a rhythm that could be a lullaby to itself in his ears. 

So beautiful, so wonderful, so perfect. Truly, this is his and her purpose: to show that the souls of the supernatural can be saved through Jesus’ light. 

It is with that thought that he picks up the limp bundle of girl, and carries her down into the basement.

Tags: @sableflynn @bleedingandfeverish @starry-whump @whumpmasinjuly(let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the tag list for this series)

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Colton/Kauri Fanfiction #1

@shameless-whumper and I ended up basically accidentally creating a challenge in which I promised to reward anyone who drew a specific, amazing fanart idea I was sent in an ask with a fake fanfiction drabble that featured the Colton/Kauri pairing.

You guys took me up on it.

Holy shit did you ever.

I am currently sitting at I believe four fanfic drabbles owed with at least one more soon to be claimed, I think. 

I’ve finished the first, and it’s below the cut. I give you... @haro-whumps‘s request for “Colton touches Kauri’s hair”:

Tagging: @maybeawhumpblog, @pepperonyscience, @haro-whumps, @18-toe-beans, @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @giggly-evil-puppy, @lump-of-whump, @whimpers-and-whumpers

(Colton is of course @shameless-whumper‘s and this drabble comes with express permission and no small amount of glee)

The fog was deep and my voice was inside and it told me a secret by NotAHowenShipper Youtube Videos - The Host

No Archive Warnings Apply, Colton/Kauri, On the Run, Forbidden Love, All They Do Is Kiss (This Time), I wrote this instead of sleeping, should I write another one where they do more, maybe if I get enough comments lol, omg can you even imagine the Host’s face, Owen Grant is a dick, wouldn’t it be so funny if Vincent Shield saw this

Kauri and Colton are on the run after leaving the Host and Owen Grant. They’re alone in the city with no one to turn to but each other. A cold night in a dark alley changes everything.

I love comments and kudos, you guys!!! Let me know if I should write a chapter two or something that gets a little ~spicier~, if you get my drift! LOL these two were so cute in the Better Box Boy video, I hope we see them again. They are TOTALLY made for each other, right????

This was written after like six Redbulls and at 3 AM so don’t judge!!!

The alley is already dark, the shadows of the buildings on either side closing in over their heads. The footsteps pound past, a flash of darker shadow in the yellow late-afternoon winter sunlight. 

Colton’s black hoodie blends in, the hood pulled up to hide as much of his face as possible, and he presses Kauri against the crumbling brick wall behind him to hide the younger man, in his thin white T-shirt, from the handlers pursuing them. He has a hand against the wall on either side of Kauri, boxing him in, his mouth very nearly pressed against Kauri’s ear. “Just be quiet and they won’t see us,” He murmurs, and thinks that Kauri’s ear feels cold where his lips just barely brush along the shell.

Kauri was already shivering long before they made it into the alley, but here out of the weak sunlight the temperature drops even more, and he can hear Kauri’s soft breathing starting to get shallow and panicked. 

Or maybe he’s breathing faster because of something else.

“It’s okay,” Colton says softly, low voice pitched deep enough not to carry. Black curls gently graze against his forehead, his cheek, and Kauri is biting his lower lip, his eyes staring to the side, towards the entrance of the alley. “It’s gonna be okay, Kauri, I promise, just wait until they’re gone.”

He can still hear them shouting to each other, trying to find them, and while Kauri nods, Colton chances a direct look and finds his blue eyes are wide, white-rimmed, and frightened. 

He can’t stand it; hates the way Kauri looks so scared, even days after running out of the Host’s house. They could be picked up any second, the moment a sleeve rides up enough to show the barcodes and numbers tattooed into their wrists, the second their jittery nervousness is read for what it is by strangers on the street.

Pets on the run, to be rounded up and returned to Owen Grant and the Host - probably sent back to the Facility to be refurbished and sold off like virus-riddled computers. He doesn’t even know why he decided to run when he did. Owen and the Host had been in another room, and he’d just grabbed Kauri’s arm and said, come with me.

The real question was why Kauri had so quickly gone with him.

No argument, no fight. Kauri had only whispered, yes, flashed him a slight, shy smile, and run right after him out the door. The Host and Owen hadn’t even noticed until they were most of the way down the block, and he’d heard them shouting as a distant sound that seemed barely human. 

But barely human is what they are, and the only way to stay together now is to never stop moving. They’re hungry - Colton’s been panhandling, making enough to get by but not really enough to live on, even as homeless ex-pet runaways. Kauri’s too distinctive, his looks are too much like Vincent Shield, and so he mostly stays back in shadows while Colton, who looks like no one in particular or at least no one famous, does his best to keep them fed. 

They’re hungry, and hunted, and running out of time to figure out another plan. He doesn’t even really know where he is, or why he ran, or what he expects to happen next. The weirdest part is that it doesn’t even matter.

All that matters is who came with him.

Kauri shivers again, and he’s close enough to feel it. Colton lifts a hand to his face, and Kauri’s breathing calms, a little, at the touch. Colton swallows against the urge to keep this up, to never stop doing whatever it took to make Kauri feel just a little safer. 

“Hey, are you shaking ‘cause you’re scared, or is this just because of the cold?” His heart is pounding but it feels like it’s less from fear than it was before, now some other feeling creeping its way in. 

It’s something he doesn’t want to think about, or to talk about, but it’s still been between them from the moment he’d seen Kauri from behind the camera.

“Can-... do I get to say both?” Kauri whispers, and the two of them laugh, airy and breathless and barely sounds at all. “They almost got us that time, Colton.”

“It doesn’t matter. We got away again. We’ll always get away, I promise, I’ll make sure you always get away.”

Kauri turns his head a little, and they’re barely an inch apart, now. “I don’t want me to always get away, Colton,” Kauri says, and there’s a hitch to his voice. “I want both of us to always get away... together.”

The air is warmer between them than the cold around them, and this time when he feels Kauri shiver, Colton pushes closer to him instead of pulling back. He unzips his sweatshirt - they’d dropped the branded Host’s merchandise as fast as they could, taking a sweatshirt right off the hanger at a convenience store and putting the Host’s sweater in its place - and slides it off his shoulders.

Colton wonders why it is that this is the person he wanted so badly to protect that he’d lose everything - and risk even more - just to end up here. Some sweet guy he’d only barely met, barely spoken to… but here they were.

Together, half-starved and freezing in a dirty alley, and Colton is taking off the only warm clothing he has to slide it over the shoulders of the younger man looking up at him with wide, blue eyes, his face slightly scrunched up with confusion. 

“Colton, no,” Kauri says softly, but he pulls the sweatshirt tighter around himself, and Colton swallows against an unfamiliar feeling (but no, it’s not unfamiliar at all) of wanting to see Kauri wearing his clothes - all of them, not just his sweatshirt - one day. “You’ll get cold.”

“You’re already cold,” Colton says softly, and his smile is slight and maybe a little sharp, but softer than it ever was for the Host. And Kauri’s returning smile had none of the nervous fear of every time Colton had seen him look towards Owen Grant when Colton had stood behind the camera.

“I don’t want us to trade off being cold,” Kauri says, and his hands are a little shaky when he reaches out, twisting fingers into the fabric of the thick long-sleeved shirt Colton was wearing under the hoodie. When he pulls Colton forward, he moves easily enough, until they’re touching and Colton can feel Kauri’s heart beating as hard and fast as his own. Kauri shifts, pulling the sides of the hoodie around so they wrapped around behind Colton, too, and Kauri’s shiver was still there but it had changed, too. “We could be warm together, instead.”

Colton’s forehead drops forward, to rest against Kauri’s, breathing a little harder. “We don’t even know who we are,” He whispers, and there’s real pain in that confession. He doesn’t know why he’d signed up for the pet program, what he’d done in his past that was so bad he had given up everything.

But he’s found something else in the process.

“I could be a murderer. I could be something terrible, and you don’t even know.” Even as he speaks the words, Colton’s hands move up to cup Kauri’s face, the cold cheeks against his warm palms. He moved his fingers up into Kauri’s hair, into wild black curls that had gone tangled with days on the run, a little dirty, but still they feel impossibly soft to him. 

Kauri melts into the touch, leaning his head back slightly, and he’s so close. He’s so, so close. 

“I could be a murderer, too,” Kauri whispers, and Colton can’t stop the huff of laughter. Kauri’s eyes flash with defensiveness and the scrunch of confusion shifts to an attempt at an angry frown, but his hands stay wrapped in Colton’s shirt, and Colton doesn’t pull his hands back from his hair. “I could be a murderer!”

“No offense,” Colton says softly, “But killing someone is genuinely the second-most impossible thing I’ve ever tried to imagine you doing.”

“What’s the most impossible thing?” Kauri asks, and Colton keeps one hand in his hair, sliding around behind his head, while the other moves to take him by the chin, lifting his head just a little bit.

The wide blue eyes are on his, now, and they’re not frightened anymore.

“The most impossible thing I can imagine you doing is this,” Colton whispers, and leans down to kiss him. 

[killian-whump]

Random questions: have you seen/are you going to see the new Aladdin? What do you think awaked whump in your childhood? When did you realize what whump was? Do you have any pets? If you do please tell them that they are very good and give them pets for me. What are your top 5 favorite whump tropes? Do you prefer hurt/comfort or hurt/no comfort? Have you ever told anyone that you liked whumpy and they discovered they liked whump? (Sorry if any are too personal) you are the best!!💖💖💖💖

NO, NONNY - YOU’RE THE BEST!!!

Okay, time to answer all of these! :D

Have you seen/are you going to see the new Aladdin?Oh, of course! I won’t be seeing it in the theater though, so it’ll take me awhile to see it. But once it’s available for rent/streaming - I’m definitely gonna see it. I have to see how they handle that super whumpy drowning scene, after all ;) I’ve already seen some GIFs of the genie and him AFTER the drowning... but I gotta see the bondage/gag and the actual drowning. I hope they don’t let me (and, like, a million other whumpers and also all the gay men who love bondage) down! No pressure or anything, Disney, just don’t fuck it up.

What do you think awakened whump in your childhood?Oh, gosh. I honestly don’t know WHAT awakens the love of whump in people, despite all of my wondering about it. It does seem like most of us start loving it in our childhoods, and I’m certainly no different. But it seems like we just... see something and like it. It feels less like it inspired us to like it than that it was inevitable that we’ll like it and it just depends on whatever it is we see first. For me, it was either old daytime reruns of the 1960s Batman series, or a particularly long General Hospital storyline, where one of the characters was held captive in a dog kennel for weeks while her two lovers (one her ex-husband, one her current one, both still in love with her) searched for her. The kidnapper taunted them continually, and even sent photos of her suffering to upset them. It was great. That storyline and the Batman shows are my fondest memories of whump as a kid. It wasn’t until a while later that I saw some of the classic Disney whump a lot of whumpers found in their childhood - for some reason, I never saw Sleeping Beauty until high school, and Aladdin came out around the same time.

When did you realize what whump was?Oh, gosh. Well, whump wasn’t even a thing until I was in high school, I think, in the 90s when Stargate: Atlantis was on. And I wasn’t into that show at the time, and the term kind of fell out of favor and lost popularity after that show. It didn’t really “catch on” in any other fandoms or in fandom in general until the more recent resurgence of the term here on Tumblr :) Before that, we all mostly made do with the “hurt/comfort” tag or with the gay community’s “get” content and various other things that would pop up. The X-Files community was where I first got involved with other people loving what we now call whump. There was a website that collected all the hurt/comfort (and just plain hurt ;)) stories in the fandom, and it was called Mulder Torture Anonymous. It was HEAVEN. And, sadly, I never found anything else remotely like it until all of these wonderful whump blogs started showing up on Tumblr. HEAVEN REBORN :D 

Incidentally, Mulder Torture Anonymous is one of the main inspirations for my blog - both the content (obviously) and the organization.

Do you have any pets?Not anymore. I’ve almost always had pets before now, but our last one was this absolutely adorable little dog (a chihuahua/spaniel mix, like a miniature spaniel) who was ridiculously intelligent and affectionate and... I have never seen a smarter animal with anywhere near as big of a personality. She passed on about 2 years ago, and my entire family has agreed that, quite honestly, any other dog/pet we could possibly get just simply wouldn’t live up to her memory. And none of us want to adopt another dog that we’ll constantly feel isn’t as special as that one was. She basically ruined us all for other pets, haha, but we feel like having her in our lives was the greatest blessing we could ever ask for.

What are your top 5 favorite whump tropes?Captivity!!! I love long term captivity, when the whumpee is kidnapped and held somewhere, long enough for them to start breaking down and losing hope and all that wonderful stuff. Kidnappings in general are great. Bondage, as well. I love mental institution tropes, where the whumpee is being held against their will in an asylum run by nefarious people. And RESCUES! I love rescues. I hate it when whumpees free themselves or get set free by the bad guys. There HAS to be a big rescue at the end of the scenario, or I feel unsatisfied.

Do you prefer hurt/comfort or hurt/no comfort?Oh, I have to have the comfort!!! I mean, don’t get me wrong - if there’s no comfort, I’ll still enjoy the hurt. But if there’s no comfort in the content as its presented, I’ll feel unsatisfied and usually have to imagine the comfort for myself. Unfortunately, that happens a lot with TV shows and movies, where they chintz out on the comfort. That’s usually when I end up stealing their hurt scene and re-writing it with my favorite whumpee du jour and adding some damn comfort on the end. Gotta have the comfort. It’s like the whump version of a money shot.

Have you ever told anyone that you liked whumpy and they discovered they liked whump?Honestly, I feel like making this blog was that for me XD When I started it, there was only a handful of active whump blogs, and only a couple of Hook fans being outwardly obvious about loving to “torture” the pirate - and even then, it was usually with angst and emotional suffering ;) When I started, I wasn’t worried about being accepted in the whump community, though I was worried a lot of people wouldn’t be interested in such a narrowly specific whump blog. It was the Once community I was worried about - I expected to either be chased out of town entirely or more or less ignored by most folks XD I honestly never expected so many Hook fans to embrace me and my blog, and not only accept that I like whump, but to admit they like it too! It’s part of the reason why I will die on the hill of Colin/Hook having the best fandom around - because the warmth and acceptance I’ve gotten here, even amongst those who don’t like whump at all, has been nothing short of legendary.

Between the Whump Community and Colin’s Fandom, I really could not ask for a better bunch of folks to blog with and be friends with

[alo-piss-trancy]

Hello, you have been identified as An Awesome Writer™! Congrats, you rock! So that all of your readers can shower you with some extra love today, please tell us your favorite five (or as many as you want) stories of yours and why you like them and then send this to another five fic authors you think deserve this title! ❤

Gee, I wonder who this could be from? c; (Thank you so much I love you!)

Okay so I’m doing seven because as you all know from my zillion ships and characters I’ve written for/screamed about, I’m incapable of picking a specific favourite lmao. But it’s still less than half my fics so it’s fine. Also none of these are ranked, I enjoyed them all equally tbh. (Forgive my lack of heart emojis RIP, I’m on desktop for this one)The Troubles Rain Can Bring (Pers/ona 5) : Of course I have to bring this one up, since it’s the one I consider my first legit omo fic (Jade was my first foray, but since it’s unfinished and I picked a dead fandom specifically so I had less chances of getting mean comments, I consider it more of a practice run). This was my first time writing for a very active and current fandom, so it was really intimidating, but I was also really excited to participate in creating for a game I was so passionate about! Also that fic was just a total labour of self-indulgence and love (excuse for fluff with my otp? combining all my fav tropes? Gratuitous Akira Suffering? Including the others for fun towards the end? I was in hog heaven!) While I definitely can find parts where I could improve the writing now, I still love it for all of the effort I put into it, and I got such a lovely response that made me feel really welcome on ao3, the omo tag on tumblr, and in the p/5 fandom! It’s kind of nostalgic for me, even if it was only written like a year and a half ago, haha.All Bottled Up (Dang/anRonpa: THH) : I’m just really proud of this fic, and I had so much fun writing it! I think it’s probably one of the few fics I’ve written that was a completely smooth ride of inspiration and fun from start to finish, without any hitches in the writing process or me getting bogged down with other projects. Seriously I think I hammered the entire thing out in like a week or two lmao. I love Naegiri so much, and the idea was a treat to work with even if it’s some of the most cliché omo scenarios, it was just a nice relaxing bit of indulgence! Also I got to dig into Kirigiri’s character, which I didn’t get to do in my other fic of her (since that one was so short and oddly styled). My favourite bit was probably getting to mess with the drawbacks of her gloves/hand injuries, and of course those fluffy bits with Naegi! Getting Your Feet Wet (Pers/ona 5) : This one, hoo boy. Definitely one of my longest fics, and while at the time when I posted it I kind of hated half the stuff in it (just because I had been nitpicking it for so long lmao), now that time has gone by I can genuinely say I love it and it’s probably one I’m proudest of. Not only was it my first full dive into snut (and I’d like to think it isn’t too shabby), but I got to work with a rarepair that I’ve been intrigued by, with two of my fav npcs from the game! So fun times all around! It was great to imagine how Sae might have changed and opened up since the game’s ending, and what Tae could do to help draw her out of that strict shell while still making her feel secure and comfortable. Also I got to include pet/p.lay which is something I’d been dying to write since I started that account, so bonus points for that! And I got a way better response than I was expecting, so that was nice!A Sinking Ship (Pers/ona 5) : ((Okay I swear I still plan to update the other half of this one someday soon, I literally have the draft halfway done I just haven’t been able to get it finished to the level I want.)) Anyways, I have a soft spot for this one because 1. It’s Makoto, and you all know how much I adore her, 2. I finally got to write some legit palace battling and shenanigans, which I really enjoyed and want to include more of in future projects, 3. I literally put so much detail into this one, from the setting descriptions to the dialogue and going out of my way to include the entire team interacting with her instead of just one or two chars, and I’m giving myself a fat pat on the back for that. And then throwing in actual anxiety and plot issues instead of just making her desperate for the sake of it, which may have been ambitious (hence why it’s kind of on a cliffhanger right now while I finish the comfort half), but I really just wanted her to have one of my best fics possible because Makoto deserves the best (of the worst suffering oops sorry bby). Also did I mention The Shumako Bridal Carry scene? That was absolutely necessary to include okay? Also there’s gonna be quality Shumako bonding in the second chapter so I’m biased to love this in advance. Basically I love this one specifically because it’s my own self-indulgent bullshit, which is kind of every fic I write but this is definitely one of The Most Indulgent. I also consider this one my very best omo fic in terms of the actual omo writing/content, even if it’s long AF, because at least you’re getting desperation and wetting for pretty much the entire thing, even when other stuff’s going on around it. So yeah I guess if you don’t mind a cliffhanger ending (for now) and have a decent knowledge of p/5, this is the one I recommend reading!Conundrums Lead to Collapse (Doc/tor Who - 13th Doc/tor) : I really liked writing this one because of the whump, actually. I rarely have excuses to injure characters for Even Worse Omo Suffering/Comfort, so the fact that I could write based on a canon injury was the perfect excuse! Also I’m just weak for the 13th Doctor so I’m always down for omo of her, but it was also a fun excuse to explore her character. We hadn’t gotten to see her angry or broken down at the time it aired, so I enjoyed getting to play around with how things affect her when she does finally lose the positive attitude and confidence, and bringing a character as powerful (and semi immortal I guess) as The Doctor to the floor was just a fun exercise. Also it’s kind of hard to find whump fics focused on female characters that don’t involve a certain kind of violence (or just female whump in general actually), so I just really enjoyed using all of the fandom tropes I’ve read over the years in those fics to create something for those of us who wanted it the other way around! I would also like to say this one gave me the excuse for Found Family Coddling, everyone comforts and helps her towards the end which is perfect for my fluff-craving heart after all of the angst.Holding More than Cards (Ka/kegurui Compulsive Gambler) : Oh boy, I’ll be honest the reason I love this is purely because it’s pretty much the only fic for this pairing that I’ve found for my tastes and I had to make it myself dang it (They basically had a whole two episodes where Midari creamed herself for Yumeko and they had that scene where they held each other’s faces staring into their eyes, HOW is no one jumping on this ship??? There’s literally 5 fics total on ao3 I’m not joking). I really enjoyed getting to dig into Midari’s characterization for this one, especially since I had such a tiny bit of canon to go off of and had to set it after the anime’s s1 developments. I got to write Yumeko being a dom and dropping her cheerful attitude too, which was really satisfying. Also while this doesn’t have full on snut in it, it was the closest I’d come at the time, so that was an interesting challenge. This was a rare chance to indulge in unhealthy ships too (bc literally every ship in that show is unhealthy on some level lmao) so that was entertaining to try and navigate.Capture the Fly with Nectar Sweet (The Ch/illing Adventures of Sabrin/a) : I just posted this one recently but I’m adding it anyways, because I had an absolute blast working on it. It’s so starkly different from anything I usually write, because you all know I love close friendships and found family and all that quality fluff and caring. But instead this one was me staring at my laptop thinking of how I want to tell this character to go to hell, except that would be pointless because that’s literally where she came from. I really got to stretch my wings outside my comfort zone and dig around in the dark, manipulative side for a while, and it was so much fun to study one of my favourite villains (anti-hero? she’s such a mysterious mess idk how to classify her) and her relationship with Sabrina. I also got to attempt writing desperation from the outsider’s perspective instead of the victim’s, and while I feel like I definitely still have room to improve with that, it was a nice break from the way I usually write my omo fics. I also got to shift around my writing style for this one, using words like ‘betwixt’ (which I love but never get to use lol) and using a bunch of metaphors and similes to showcase how Madam views Sabrina. This is probably the fic that makes it obvious that Language Arts was my favourite subject in school and that I’m Extra when it comes to predator/prey comparisons lmao. (Note: Please read the tags on this one, the Dead Dove: Do Not Eat warning applies here.)

I actually don’t know who else to send this to that I haven’t already, since like half the omo tag has vanished and I’m blanking on usernames, so if any of y'all are reading this post and you write fics: consider this me asking you to do it so I can hear about your fics! :D

[sevralships]

“Oasis”

For years, the twins fantasized about the day they could live together, far from prying eyes and watchful parents. A safe haven where they could love each other freely. They’ve lived together for a few months now and it is lacking some of the passion and glamour that Mabel expected.

Pinecest, 5,428 words, NSFW, TW incest, TW angst, TW sexual frustration, TW hella cynical realism (BUT ALSO CUTENESS)

Fic under the cut, enjoy!

Mabel awoke at Dipper’s voice in her ear, “Love you, Mabes,” before planting a peck on her temple. She was only just blinking her eyes open, looking across the sparsely furnished studio apartment. As it was really just a rectangular room with a teensy kitchenette and a teensier bathroom, the door was only several feet from the mattress on the floor which was their bed. Mabel watched Dipper grab his keys from the blue glass bowl by the door. He glanced back at her, the corner of his mouth quirking up at the sight of her grumpy-Gus morning face peeking out from under the covers, before all but flying out the door with a, “Seeya tonight,”

“Seeya,” Mabel grumbled sleepily to the empty apartment. She half rolled over, careful not to untuck the blankets burritoed around her, and squinted at Dipper’s alarm clock. 9:21. Shit, no wonder he was hustlin’, Mabel noted, knowing how far behind schedule he was. His bus came at 9:30, and if he booked it, he might not miss it. Maybe he’ll miss it, Mabel thought with a mischievous smile beginning to rise on her lips, flopping back to her original position to gaze hopefully at the door, then he’ll have to come back home.

Half-drowsing, Mabel lay in bed with her eyes glued to the door. After a while, she realized that Dipper must already be long gone, despite how much she had willed the bus to leave without him. She sighed and chewed her lip, reminding herself that that train of thought was selfish and clingy and indulgent. She didn’t really want Dipper to miss class. It’s important to him so it’s important to me, she told herself, although internally, she wasn’t really convinced. She knew that was how couples were supposed to feel, but did any couple really have the self-sacrificing, saintly ability to draw interest for all of their lover’s pursuits out of some cray-cray internal well that never ran out? Un-flippin-likely, she told herself.

“What do you know about relationships?” she asked herself aloud, slightly muffled against the comforter in which she was swaddled. This was the only serious relationship she’d ever been in, and there wasn’t exactly a guidebook on how to be a good girlfriend to your brother.

She’d pretty much considered herself an expert by the time they moved in here a couple months prior. When Dipper had gotten this gig as an adjunct professor at Merritt College, where Mabel was still a part-time student, it was a no-brainer. Living together in Oakland? It was a dream come true. They’d been waiting for the time to be right since High School. It’d been years already, and Mabel had been confident that she had the whole bro-friend thing on lockdown.

But it wasn’t the way she’d envisioned all those years. While they were tiptoe-ing around their parents’ house or slogging through semesters being states apart, this had always been their pet fantasy. Whispering about it late at night, trying to believe this day would come. Like an oasis, shimmering and hovering just on the horizon, where they would have freedom, and privacy, and a medicine cabinet with both of their things in it, and a dish-washing routine after meals, and maybe even a pet, and, bestest of all, a bed of their own to share. How many gazillions of times had they soothed each other with the promise that someday they’d be within arm’s reach and they wouldn’t have to deal with the constant longing, the unabating missing each other?

But an oasis isn’t real, Mabel found herself thinking bitterly, pulling the blankets tighter still, that’s like the whole biz with oases, they’re all in your janked-up mind. Maybe that made it the perfect word, though, she figured. Dip and I were dying of thirst, so this looked like a kickass waterfall, with tropical flowers and a nice lil rainbow over it and lots of sex. She peered around the tiny apartment. No waterfalls, no flowers, no rainbow. She frowned at the empty spot beside her in bed. No sex.

Well, not no sex, she reminded herself, wanting to give credit where it was due, we just did the do the other day. Just last week. Wait… Or was it the week before? She screwed up her face, trying to backtrack through the uniform days of classes and waitressing shifts, of Dipper sprinting out in the mornings after inevitably sleeping in, of scraping together rent and writing the check, somehow feeling both triumphant and deflated about the transaction. It was the day I took Alicia’s morning shift, Mabel realized, adding days together on her fingers. Her heart sank.  Twenty days? For real? That’s almost three stinkin’ weeks! No wonder I’m such a sourpuss!

Without another moment’s hesitation, Mabel slipped her hand under her sleep shorts within her blanket cocoon. Sexual frustration was a problem to which she actually had the solution. Her skin was pleasantly warm to the touch, a result of hours wrapped up in blankets, and it made her hand feel quite cool. She probed one cool fingertip just between her lips, unsurprised to find herself already pretty wet. It’s a pretty consistent weather pattern down south lately, she absently noted as her fingers fell into a familiar choreography. Mabel closed her eyes, trying to focus on the feeling of her fingers sliding steadily in and out of her, nudging the sensitive spots just so. Her thumb brushed against her clit, trying to imitate the sensation of that thing Dipper did with his thumb. It sent a thrill through her, but it was also a little like trying to tickle herself. Being able to anticipate the exactness of the touch dulled the effect.

It felt good, though, and Mabel found her breath growing heavier. She was often frisky in the mornings and today was no exception. What if Dipper walked in right now? She wondered. Indulging her fantasy, she imagined he’d missed his bus after all, and willed her ears to hear his key engaging the lock. How he’d drop them in the bowl with a jangle, already walking towards the ‘bedroom’. He’d be flushed from running in vain to the bus stop, his cheeks bright and a dewy film on his skin. The hair would be sweaty and stuck against his temples and his forehead and he’d gratefully shed layers of clothing as he approached her. He’d be talking, oblivious to her illicit activities, but as he looked at her face, he’d recognize the expression and his eyebrows would lift in an intrigued little way.

“What’s this?” he’d say, or “I see you’re having a good morning!”, or “Keeping all the fun to yourself?” or some other dorky flirtation. And he’d sit down on the edge of the bed, the sweat cooling on his bare chest, having just ditched his shirt on the floor. And even with him right there, Mabel wouldn’t stop, raising an eyebrow and daring him to intervene. He’d grin then, pulling back the covers like unwrapping a present, revealing her. Just the sight of her hand moving under her pajamas would be enough to ignite a hungry passion in him and he would be all over her. His lips and teeth worshipping her neck and breasts, his hands peeling away her clothes, dancing across her skin, sometimes firm, sometimes as delicate as butterfly wings. He’d eagerly replace her hand, and they would move together with abandon, their uninhibited cries bouncing off the walls of this space that they didn’t have to share with anyone. Their movements would grow more and more desperate, grinding and thrusting in an effort to get even closer to each other, clawing and biting and kissing tenderly even amidst the madness of their lust. His thrusts would grow more needy, more stiff, his gasping breath more and more ragged against her neck. His orgasm would build in unison with hers, both climbing closer and closer and closer to that edge, only to reach climax together in glorious harmony.

Only she didn’t. Growing more and more frustrated, Mabel forged on, replaying the third act of her fantasy again. She was fingering herself in clumsy desperation, her palm cramping badly. She replayed the fantasy again, paying special attention to the spots she knew to have the most sensation. It had grown excruciatingly hot beneath the blankets. She rolled onto her stomach, hoping the extra pressure on her clitoris and lower abdomen would ensure orgasm as it normally did. She replayed the fantasy in her head yet again, rutting against her hand beneath her, moaning the urgency of her need into her pillow.

Fantasy Dipper reached his climax without her yet again and her need easily crossed the easily-blurred boundary between lust and anger and her moan crescendoed quite suddenly into a roar. Impatiently, she threw the blankets off and sat up, hurling her pillow across the room with a sound somewhere between a cry and a growl. It was a pillow, of course, so there was no satisfying crash, no bang, no shattering pieces to serve as a small outlet to her anger. The pillow simply slid across the floor until it came to rest against the foot of the fridge with an anticlimactic, barely audible whump. Mabel glared at the pillow. Dipper wouldn't be walking in anytime soon and when he did, it was unlikely he would suddenly remember he desired her after weeks of disinterest. The thought stung, but there was no use denying it, he doesn't want me.

It’s not fair, she thought tritely, and slapped her palms against the bed. It felt good to hit something and she repeated it several more times. She noticed the fitted sheet beside her was damp from the steam that had built up under the blankets as she’d chased her elusive orgasm. They need to be washed anywho, she reminded herself (since Dipper seemed unaware of the fact that bedsheets in fact require washing) and mechanically began stripping the bed. She threw them into the plastic laundry basket and padded over to the stuffed dresser she and Dipper shared to grab a change of clothes.

Everything in her drawer was just a bit too cheerful for her present mood. Maybe wearing something purdy will lift my spirits, she told herself, digging through sweaters and dresses and lingerie. The thought of putting on lingerie at present was a bit laughable, as she felt anything but sexy. Exactly! It might make you feel sexy, you cranky-butt! The infuriatingly optimistic voice within her nagged, As we always say, life needs more lace. Both she and her internal voice knew that that was not a catch-phrase of hers, though it had a good enough ring to it. Mabel lifted a pair of frilly lavender panties from the drawer and regarded them skeptically.

Striking a bargain with herself, Mabel discarded her sticky pajamas into the laundry basket on top of the sheets. She slipped into the frilly lavender panties, feeling slightly ludicrous putting on such a flirty, girly garment. Flirty and girly was normally one hundred and twenty percent her scene, but she just wasn’t feeling it today. To even out the silliness of wearing panties that looked nothing like how she felt, Mabel covered them in a pair of grey basketball shorts swiped from Dipper’s drawer and one of the several murky green Mystery Shack tee shirts the twins had acquired over the years. It was soft and thin from many trips through the spin cycle and nearly a size too big. The baggy clothes in their muted colors suitably mirrored how Mabel was beginning to feel as her sour mood grew stormier and stormier.

She counted out quarters from the dish on top of the dresser and frowned, noting that only three remained. She dropped the handful of coins into the pocket of Dipper’s basketball shorts, hefted the laundry basket and trotted off to the laundry room. It was in the same building but two floors down. The elevator had been out of order for some time and Mabel gave it a longing glance as she trudged by to go the long way down the stairs. Her arms were feeling a little wobbly when she reached the laundry room and she silently thanked the universe that none of her neighbors were there. How can a room that literally exists for cleaning stuff be so grody? she wondered, as she always did. The cloying scent of bleach and dryer sheets stung her nose. She loaded the washer, careful not to let anything touch the filthy floor even on its way in to the wash, and glumly watched quarters disappear into the slot before turning back around and making the trip back to the apartment.

Upon returning, Mabel found herself underwhelmed by her own home. She looked at it appraisingly from the front door. The big window by the bed was the only particularly nice feature to the apartment. The cracking linoleum and dated appliances sure weren’t the selling point. Nor were the roaches in the bathroom, such a constant presence that Dipper joked that they ought to chip in for rent. Mabel shut the door behind her, dropping her keys in the glass bowl. Her stomach rumbled and a lightbulb just about went off in her head. Food! It cheered, Food will make you feel better!

No such luck. The cupboard was nearly bare. Mabel scrounged up a can of tuna, a couple sorry slices of bread, and a couple leftover mayo packets and distractedly combined the ingredients to make a pretty sad tuna sandwich. The only dishes that were clean were some colorful plastic kids’ dishes Mabel had picked up for a buck at a thrift store at some point, and there was no denying that the neon green of her plate only made her pathetic lunch look more grey by contrast. She found herself famished though, and standing at the counter, she lifted it and took a bite. And got a mouthful of stale bread with a little bit of mayo as the runny tuna, displaced by the pressure of her teeth, slid out the back and landed directly on the top of her bare foot with a splat.

“EUGH!” Mabel cried out in disgust, instinctively lifting her foot from the offending wet sensation. The sudden motion threw her off-balance and with all the grace of drunken hippopotamus, she teetered and landed painfully on her rear end. She held on uselessly to the empty slices of bread that had refused to perform as a sandwich, and once on the ground she blinked at them twice before dropping them. They hit the floor with a weak little sound. Mabel cast a wrathful eye at them, and the mess the tuna had made, on the floor and where it had splashed onto the baseboards of the cabinets.

I can’t do this, she thought limply, shaking her head slightly from side to side, it’s not bleepin’ worth it. The optimistic voice in her head piped up at once, insisting that of course anything was worth it as long as she and Dipper were together. But I don’t know how long that will be, she countered, the thought she’d been avoiding finally sneaking up on her. She felt her lip begin to quiver. He already doesn’t want me, how much longer till he doesn’t love me? Till none of this junkum is worth it to him either? She asked herself bitterly as burning tears began to stream down her cheeks. She hated the sound of her own hitching sobs, echoing pitifully in the tiny apartment. She hugged her knees to her chest, letting the tears pour out of her.

It had hardly ever entered her mind that things might sour between her and Dipper. They were meant to be, after all. They were soulmates. They came into life together and they were supposed to share their lives...right? What was the last time it felt like that? Even the last time they’d had sex, 20 days prior, it hadn’t been the mind-bending intensely intimate magical thing that it had once been. It was quick and kinda dutiful, and they hadn’t even turned the lights on. Is it really ending? Mabel asked herself, hating what that meant. What kind of normalcy could they ever build out of the total crud-storm that splitting up would be? Dealing with an ex was hard enough when they weren't at Thanksgiving, at Christmas, in your own reflection in the mirror. Because if they couldn’t make this work… well, it was weird enough to reconcile being in love with your twin, how could they handle falling out of love with their twin?

Badly, dumdum, Mabel told herself, you’re handling it badly. But I’m not falling out of love with Dip, Mabel reminded herself, clutching her knees tighter, I’m just watching him falling out of love with me. The sobs that quaked her body hit with even greater force, and Mabel gave herself over to the anger and the hurt.

When the key turned in the lock and Dipper opened the door, with a “Mabes, I’m home,” Mabel stirred slightly from her trance. She wasn’t sure if she’d fallen asleep or if she’d just zoned out, but apparently a few hours had gone by, “Mabel?” Without looking up, she could sense the passage of his eyes, checking the bed, the lumpy little couch, the desk they shared, before his gaze landed on the grey-and-green blob on the kitchen floor. He was at her side in an instant, “Oh, god, Mabel, are you okay? Are you hurt? What’s going on?” She just shook her head. Dipper looked around, his investigative mind quickly picking up some of the clues around her. He grimaced at the tuna salad, turned brown from sitting out. Without saying another word, he cleaned up the stinky mess and then returned to Mabel’s side, “I kinda get what happened with the tuna sandwich,” Dipper said gently, “But why is your pillow over there?”

The good-natured voice buried stubbornly in Mabel’s head chuckled, knowing it was a reasonable question. But Nice Mabel wasn’t in charge right now. She lifted her head to glare at him, “Because I put it there, dammit,” she snapped.

Dipper cocked his head, “Oo-kay… and why’d you do that?”

“I wanted to!” she insisted, hating the petulant tone in her own voice. She saw Dipper’s effort not to smile, and added, “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you, babe,” Dipper assured her, laying his hand on her shoulder. She stiffened at his touch and his forehead creased in concern, “Mabel…?”

“No, I’m not okay,” Mabel snarled, before he could ask, “Everything stinks!”

“Yeah, that would be the tuna,” Dipper joked. When he received no laugh, he said in an even voice, “Lemme help you get cleaned up.”

“Don’t pretend like you care,” Mabel grumbled.

Dipper froze, “What the hell, Mabes?” he asked, his own irritation rising, “Of course I care,” Mabel blew an unconvinced raspberry, “That’s not fair,” he said quietly as he dragged her to her feet.

Upon standing, she discovered her butt and feet were asleep from being bent in that position for so long. His disappointed tone stung her and she chanced another look at him. He was thinking hard, probably trying to puzzle out the reason for his sister’s rotten mood. She hated the cute way his brow furrowed, the thoughtful way his lips pursed to the side. How will I ever be able to fall out of love with his dumb cute face? Mabel asked herself hopelessly, daunted by the idea of going back to only being his sister. He was beginning to approach the situation as a mystery to be solved, she could tell from the expression alone. I can spot Dip’s mystery-solving mug from a mile away. He kept his hands on her to guide her to the bathroom and she tried not to love the feeling of his touch.

In the bathroom, she took a seat on the closed toilet lid while Dipper sat on the edge of the tub turned on the water, testing the temperature before stopping the drain so that it would start to fill, “I don’t need a bath,” Mabel groused.

“The rancid tuna on your leg thinks otherwise,” Dipper snarked, without looking away from the water burbling out of the spout.

Mabel stared at the opposite wall, dispassionately watching the progress a cockroach was making. It was a small-ish one and as a result slightly lower on the Nightmare Fuel Scale than its heftier brothers and sisters. A couple months ago, the sight of it would have been enough to send Mabel into kill-it-with-fire hysterics, but she’d become de-sensitized to this, along with so many of the other less-than-ideal elements of her new life. Mabel glanced at the water rushing from the faucet into the scratched too-small tub. Not exactly the waterfall I expected, she thought as, instead of rainbow-festooned mist, the tiny room filled up with clammy steam.

Dipper sighed at her uncooperative muteness and turned off the water, the silence sudden apart from the occasional drip, “C’mon,” he said, willing his voice not to be too pushy, “I’ll wash it off for you,” Grudgingly, Mabel stood up from the toilet and stepped one foot into the pleasantly warm water, “Ew,” Dipper said, his face level with her hip, “You got it on my shorts?” He sounded disappointed again and Mabel grimaced slightly, “Take them off, it’ll be easier anyway without them getting in the way.”

Her hands had already risen to the waistband of the grey basketball shorts, but something about Dipper’s direct, pragmatic request froze them in place. She’d never been shy about her body around Dipper, even before their relationship had begun. A lifetime of swimming together, dressing rooms, and doctor’s offices together, sharing a bathroom and sometimes bedrooms had made semi-nudity pretty much a non-issue between them until they’d started wanting to look and touch more than was appropriate. But right now, for the first time since maybe ever, Mabel couldn’t quite stand the thought of him seeing her body. Not in this context. Not so he could wash her up like an invalid, not when he’d see her sans rose-tinted glasses in all her blah-ness “C’mon, Mabes,” Dipper said. His voice was gentle, but there was an edge of irritation that Mabel knew him too well to miss. All she could manage was a weak shake of her head, “Mabel,” Dipper said again, his tone a little more authoritative this time. Pulling her foot back out of the bath, Mabel pushed the shorts past her hips and let them pool around her ankles.

“Whoa, hello there,” Dipper’s tone confused Mabel. It was his silly, flirty tone. Not at all what she expected as his response to her reluctantly exposed blah-ness. She looked down, just to make sure she hadn’t accidentally acquired the body of a swimsuit model without remembering it. What she discovered was so much worse. She’d completely forgotten the frilly panties she’d pulled on in an idiotic fit of attempted optimism but there they were, in ridiculous contrast to the little bulge of her tummy and her pasty skin. With a groan, Mabel covered herself with both hands, feeling the color rising in her cheeks. Dipper laughed, great, he’s laughing at me again, and said “Why so modest, Mabes? It’s not like there’s anything I haven’t seen before.”

None of this is special to him anymore and he doesn’t even give a fig-newton, Mabel stewed. She stepped back into the bath and sat on the edge of the tub, tugging at the frayed hem of the Mystery Shack tee shirt, willing it to cover every last inch of her, “You really don’t have to be so shy, Mabes, I just thought they were cute,” Dipper assured her, trying to smooth over whatever it was he had done wrong now. They were cute, Mabel repeated in her head, as Dipper picked up a dreg of bar soap from the soap dish and lathered his hands a little, they. The panties. Not me. The tears were stinging her eyes before she even saw them coming and when Dipper’s hands dotingly lifted her leg out of the water and gently smoothed the soap across her (prickly) skin, she couldn’t hold back a sniffle.

From his posture, Mabel knew that Dipper had heard her. Oh, butt nuggets, now he’s gonna feel sorry for me. His hands continued to massage the soap into her skin, but his eyes darted immediately to her face. Mabel continued to stare down at the water in the tub, her hands clutched the shirt so tight her knuckles were white, trying to hide. It was about as close to sweatertown as she could get in a tee shirt. She knew he was gonna ask, hoped that he would just leave it alone, but as usual Dipper did not defy her expectations,  “Mabel, honey, what’s up?”

She shook her head stiffly. Please just leave me alone, she begged in her mind. She had always been the more confident of the two twins and she could feel Dipper’s incredulity. I’m sorry, Dipper, I can’t anymore. He said her name again, but she just couldn’t. She couldn’t answer. The effort it was taking for her to keep from crying left her throat too tightly constricted to form words. He said her name again, his own voice sounding uncertain now. She shook her head again, tucking her chin close to her chest, and managed to whisper, “Please, just don’t look at me.”

“Aw, Mabes,” Dipper joked shakily, “Nothing says sexy like the smell of fish.”

“Shut up,” Mabel pleaded, letting go of the shirt to bury her face in her hands, unable to hold back the tears any longer, “S’not funny,”

“Hey, hey,” Dipper gently released her foot, dipping his hands in the water for an instant to rinse away the soap before wiping them impatiently on his pants and taking her in his arms. It felt so good, so warm, so right to be in his arms. Don’t get used to it, she reminded herself and grew rigid at his touch, “You’re right,” he said, “I’m sorry.” He held her reluctant frame close for a moment before saying, “Please tell me what’s going on,”

“You don’t have to...to tease me about it…” Mabel stammered, “I know you don’t want me, b-but you don’t have to tease me about it.”

“Whoawhoawhoa, what?” Dipper pulled back, holding Mabel at arm’s length. Mabel lifted her eyes to his uncertainly. He looked confused, scared, maybe even a teensy bit offended, “Since when do I…? What are you…? Is that what this is about?”

Mabel gave a dry laugh, how could he even ask?, “Um, yeah, that’s what this is about. S-sorry I can’t just...just take it in stride like you do.”

“Take it in stride?” Dipper eyes were searching her face, struggling to catch up, “There’s nothing for me to take in stride! I want you as much as I ever have!” Mabel squeezed her eyes shut. Why is he making this so much harder than it had to be? Why is he denying it? It made it hurt so much more. He took her face in his hands, his palms still damp against her flushed cheeks, “Mabel, seriously. I’ve never stopped wanting you. Please look at me,” she raised her eyes to his again. He was looking at her intensely, his brown eyes blazing, the way he used to look at her in High School after their jimmies would get rustled by almost getting caught, “Of course I want you. I love you. Why would you think that?”

Mabel blinked at him, “You want me?”

“Yes, dummy, of course I do!” Dipper insisted. Mabel considered what he was saying. Even if he does, this can’t all be in my head, she thought.

“Things are s-so different,” she managed to squeak, “Not...not at all l-like we expected,”

“That’s true,” Dipper admitted, as the small roach on the wall reached the shower curtain, “It’s not like we expected. But it’s better!”

Mabel scoffed, “What part is better?”

“The part where it’s not all in our heads,” Dipper replied, his voice softening a little. He scooted a little closer and leaned his forehead against hers, not allowing her eyes to leave his, “The part where we’re not scared, and we’re not apart. The part where we don’t have to whisper to keep from waking up mom and dad, or roommates, or Grunkle Stan. The part where we don’t have to be afraid to do this,” he kissed her. His lips were so familiar, so soft, pressing against hers and willing her to listen. Maybe he’s right, she thought, leaning a tiny bit into the kiss, It’s not like I used to daydream, but… she couldn’t deny the things he said. Had she really begun taking for granted the privacy and the immediacy of being together? And she couldn’t deny that there was immense love in this kiss. Not the kind that burned, not the madness of how it had been at the start, not the fierce lips and starving hands of their High School kisses, reckless and needy. Not the kind that froze time, not the tender, tear-jerking kisses of reunion, after months of distance the way the heart fluttered and threatened to burst at the slightest touch. No, it was not the frenzy of new love or the precious delicacy of being together again. It was warmth. It was the dependable security of coming home, the safety and solace of one’s own bed.

Their lips parted and Mabel opened her eyes to find Dipper still watching her, waiting to see if she understood. She gave him a small bashful smile, “You know what else?” he said, eyes twinkling.

“What?” Mabel asked.

“I can also do this!” Before she knew it, he was hoisting her up into his arms. She wriggled in his grip, unable to suppress the panicked giggles that bubbled out of her. He squeezed her squirming form close to him and kissed her shoulder. All the fight went out of her at the tiny, sweet gesture and she relaxed, curling up close against him. He stood up and walked out of the tiny bathroom, turning sideways so that they would fit through the doorway. He turned towards the bed and then turned to her, “The mattress is naked!” he said in a tone of mock-terror.

Mabel giggled, “Yes, it’s this crazy thing called doing laundry.”

“Ohhhh,” he nodded, as if suddenly understanding a new concept, “So lemme get this straight, you strip the dirty sheets off the bed,” Mabel nodded, “Take them down to the laundry room,” Mabel nodded, “And then leave them there?”

Mabel scowled jokingly, “I got distracted,”

Dipper shrugged, “We’ll just have to make due,” without warning, he jumped onto the bare mattress, still holding Mabel, and they fell in a cackling fit, all tangled up in each other’s arms.

When the last tremors of their laughter quieted, Mabel quietly said, “Sorry for forgetting the laundry,”

“Pssshh,” Dipper rolled his eyes, “I don’t care,” he rolled onto his side so that he was facing Mabel, their cheeks resting on the slightly rough ticking of the mattress. Dipper’s eyes grew serious and he touched Mabel’s cheek, “I’m sorry, too, Mabes. I’m really sorry I...made you feel that way,”

Mabel’s cheeks got hot and she felt the uncomfortable squirm in her stomach, the twinge of embarrassment and guilt, “I was just being a dumbbell,” Mabel murmured, her voice getting quieter and quieter with each word, “I just wasn’t...it’s been such a long time since we...and I…”

“Shh,” Dipper said and kissed the tip of her nose, “Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry.” his mouth bent in just the slightest bit of a crooked smile, “And I still want you.” His smile broadened mischievously, “I still reeeally, reeeally want you,” he crawled on top of her and she couldn’t help but grin up at him.

“Are you sure?” Mabel asked, challengingly, “I miiiight need to see some proof,”

Dipper growled playfully, “Lemme give you a hand with that,” he said, peeling the overly big Mystery Shack tee shirt off of her. Mabel’s giggle turned into a sigh, as Dipper’s mouth and hands roamed her skin and she melted happily into his touch.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

do you have any fics of john flirting with sherlock over text? maybe sherlock being utterly clueless? thank you & and much luv ❤️

Hi Nonny!!!

Ahhhhhhhhhh AGES ago, I did an Epistolary / Texting / Letters fic rec list, back before I had A System™, so it’s a bit messy but it is there :) I don’t have a lot of new ones to add to it, BUT I decided I would pull all the Texting fics from that list since I now have neater organization with tags and Chapters, and then just add my NEW fics onto that one, how about that? Would that be okay? It wouldn’t be specifically just flirting, but I think that the list is long overdue anyway!! Hope you like something on this one, and I’ll TRY to tag the flirting fics WITH flirting so that you can pick them out :) 

And as always, add your own fics, Lovelies!! <3

TEXTING AND SEXTING (JULY 2020)

See also:

Epistolary / Texting / Letters (My List, 2017)

First Meeting Via Internet / Phone / Letters (Mine)

Phone Sex & Texting (Alexx’s List)

Wrong Number Texting (Alexx’s List)

They Met Online or Texting (Alexx’s List)

Message Not Sent by Queerasil (K, 762 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, One-Sided Texting, Pining Sherlock) - Sherlock texts John after the fall and during the hiatus. The messages are sent, but never received. Sequel to WORDLOCKED, TSTM, and Wait, How Do You Play This Game Again?

Texts and Tea by JillianWatson1058 (K, 959 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Texting, Humour, Fluff, POV John, Cranky John) – A John who is woken up at 2:30 in the morning is not a happy John. Sherlock, frankly, doesn’t care. He just wants his tea.

Untouchable by greengrapegaze (T, 1,368 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-S3, UST/URT, Oblivious John, Lonely Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Emotional Sherlock, POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock) – “He never would. Petty, childish, immature-bitter. Jealous. She had all that he wanted. All he could never have.” Part 1 of Steps to a Bittersweet Symphony

Yorkshire Gold by Tammany Tiger (K, 1,467 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Angst, Holmes Brothers, Open Ending, Grief, Implied Bondlock) – Mycroft may not mourn Sherlock's death-but even if he knows his brother lives, he's not without his own grief. It ain't easy being The British Government. But at least he's got good help. Set between the Fall and the Return.

Text Me When It's Over by immaculately-flawed  (K+, 1,937 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Humour, Post-TRF, Texting, Sort-Of Pining Sherlock) – After the fall Sherlock starts writing texts to John. Of course, he never sends them... Until he does by accident. Post Reichenbach fic but not angsty.

Denial Isn’t Just a River in Egypt by satanatemycat (T, 2,107 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Friendship, Texting, Bored/Cranky Sherlock) – In which John makes a bet with a co-worker. If he wins, she shuts up about him and Sherlock being a couple. If he loses… well, that doesn’t matter, because he won’t lose. Because he and Sherlock ARE NOT a couple. Right?

The Art Of Communication by StillWaters1 (T, 2,679 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, H/C) – Lestrade was used to getting odd, non sequitur texts from Sherlock. But when "John went out for milk" was followed by a terse "two hours ago," Lestrade immediately understood three things: John was missing, Sherlock was quietly panicking, and this could all end very, very badly.

Unquantifiable by 221b_hound (M, 2,799 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Grumpy John, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Pet Names, Texting, Sweet Sherlock, Princess Bride References) – John remains a terrible and foul-tempered patient, but he does try to make up for it with pet names and text message silliness. In the meantime, Sally Donovan visits Baker Street for a hint about the Milverton case, and has to deal with a Sherlock Holmes who can't find words big enough to thank her for saving John's life at the warehouse. For afters, there's a viewing of The Princess Bride. Part 33 of the Unkissed series

The Sweetest Taste In The World by crossroads (G, 3,121 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Jealous Sherlock, Fluff, Pining, Friends to Lovers) – The sweetest taste in the world is rarely ever the easiest to come by.

Entanglement by orphan_account (G, 3,218 w., 1 Ch. || Confessions, Physics, Metaphors, Texting, Pining, Christmas, Mind Palace, Sick Fic, Fluff, Humour, Praise Kink) - On Christmas Eve, snow covers London, John visits Harry, and Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson untangle some knots.

Come home. by hudders-and-hiddles (huddersandhiddles) (E, 3,763 w., 1 Ch. || Texting / Sexting, Lonely Sherlock, Nude Photos, Pining, Fluff & Smut) – When John leaves for a medical conference, Sherlock tries to entice him back home.

Happy anniversary by Salambo06 (E, 3,772 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Vulnerable Sherlock, Wedding Anniversary, Anal, Texting, Lingerie) – John inhaled deeply, feeling his cock pulse under the silk gown, and he let his eyes travel on the lean body in front of him. Sherlock was kneeling on the bed, their bed, and the picture had been taken so John could perfectly see his bare chest and pelvis. But what mattered most, what made John harden rather quickly, was the pair of panties Sherlock was wearing in the picture. Black, string over each hip and laces that outlined Sherlock’s erect cock barely hidden under the soft underwear.

Lingerie by Sexxica (E, 4,135 w., 1 Ch. || Valentine’s Day, Lingerie / Women’s Underwear, Mildly Public Masturbation, Picture Texting / Sexting, Bottomlock, Body Worship, Anal Sex / Fingering, Rimming, Orgasm Delay / Denial, Est. Rel.) – It's Valentines Day and Sherlock is taking John to Angelo's for dinner. Sherlock also happens to be wearing a garter belt, stockings and a rather small pair of women's underwear under his clothes. There's no dessert at Angelo's because John needs to get Sherlock home just as quickly as he can before they both lose their minds entirely.

If He Knows by shamelessmash (M, 4,513 w., 1 Ch. || TSo3 Fic, Pining Sherlock, Bed Sharing, Angst, First Person Sherlock POV, Texting, Internal Monologue, Blanket Forts) – I imagine mornings: John handing me a cup of tea, hair sticking out at odd angles. How he would bend down to kiss me, smiling fondly as he pulls away. The way his skin crinkles at the corner of his eyes, the way his skin looks in the morning light. The soft sigh as he sits in his chair with the morning paper, the way his toes curl in the carpet, the way he rolls his shoulders before sinking deeper into his seat. I watch him, how he is when he is content, as it should be. As he deserves. Happy. With me.

Tease You Till You Come by phoenix089 (E, 6,090 w., 1 Ch. || First Time, Clueless Sherlock, Sexting/Texting) – Initially, Sherlock was rather put out by John's lack of presence on the case. But then he starts to receive pictures, several of them, of an unexpected nature. The case is forgotten rather quickly after that.

What Did I Do Wrong? by Starlight05 (T, 7,880 w., 5 Ch. || Hurt Comfort, Angst, John Whump, Hospitalization, Worried Sherlock, Emotional Turmoil, Nightmares, Sherlock Being Dumb) - After John almost dies on a case, Sherlock disappears. So John is left to figure out what he can do to get his best friend back. Meanwhile Sherlock, guilt-ridden and willingly alone, is doing everything he can to stay away.

Bread and Wine and Curry Once a Week by cwb (E, 8,737 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Stroppy Sherlock, Love Letters, POV John) – Sherlock asks John for relationship advice. Little does he know that it’s him that Sherlock is in love with.

A Building of Bridges by Unique (K, 12,325 w., 3 Ch. || Drama, Alternate First Meeting, John’s PTSD / Flashbacks, Mute John, Dialogue-Heavy, Caring Sherlock, Friendship) – No one would ever send Sherlock in to diffuse a stand-off; but on one unlikely day, that's exactly what happened. "Congratulations, Lestrade," he called out sarcastically. "You're traumatizing a war veteran."

A Brand of Gold by aquabelacqua (M, 12,757 w., 1 Ch. || Mutual Pining, POV John, Phone Sex, Texting, Masturbation, Long Distance, Drunk Texting) – What am I doing? he wondered. The answer came back at once: Flirting. He let the vital, missing piece snap into place as surely and as cleanly as if it had always been there. He was flirting with Sherlock Holmes.

Traitor's Gate by roane (E, 17,714 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Case Fic, Mystery, Bets and Wagers, Undercover for a Case, BAMF John, Scientist Sherlock, Teasing, Established Relationship, Military Base, Sexting/Texting, Military/Uniform Kink, Frottage, Dirty Sex, Anal, Bottomlock) – John and Sherlock go undercover at a top secret government lab to find out who is selling research. John is back in uniform and Sherlock is back in a laboratory, but they have to pose as strangers. Sherlock thinks he'll have an easy time of it, but John has his doubts. It's up to them to find out who is responsible for putting a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands, and try to keep their hands off each other at the same time.

The Real Meaning of Idioms by feverishsea (T, 21,691 w., 13 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Texting, Humour, Post-TRF, Awkward Romance, Idiots in Love) - After two weeks away, John finally texts Sherlock. He doesn’t expect Sherlock to respond. He doesn’t expect Sherlock to keep texting him. And he really doesn’t expect things to spiral out of control so rapidly.

A Study In Auto-Signatures, Sniper Dolphins, and Sex Holidays by cwb (E, 32,689 w., 8 Ch. || Case Fic, Post S3, Evil Mary, Dev. Rel., Beach Holidays, Confused Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Honeymoon, Epistolary, Bottomlock, First Kiss / Time, Fluff, Secret Agents, BAMF!John) – John and Mary go on their sex holiday, and Sherlock is grumpy and pining about it. Part 1 of HOT DOLPHIN SEX

A Week is Just Seven Days Isn't It? by scifigrl47 (T, 39,906 w., 4 Ch. || Humour, Friendship/Bromance, Stroppy/Bored Sherlock, Undercover/Army John, Texting, Pining-ish Sherlock, John Whump) – When John heads overseas for a week, Sherlock's forced to fend for himself. It goes about as well as anyone could have anticipated. Which is to say, very, very poorly. Don't worry, things'll be fine in just seven days.

Definitions by siennna (T, 101,528 w., 12 of ? Ch. || Dev. Rel., Pining, Fluff and Romance, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Fluff, Cuddles) – Sherlock’s journey in defining his flat mate and stumbling through the muddled world of emotion. {{This feels complete; the chapter count is listed as ? but I feel like it is done}}