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"Darling..."

They crouch in front of him, drawling his name like a melody, all sticky and sweet like honey. His back presses that much harder into the stone wall behind him.

"Do you want me to gouge your eyes out?"

The nonchalance of their delivery has his shaky lungs gasping for air.

"N-No..." — He doesn't, he doesn't, please don't.

"Then be a dear and keep those pretty things closed." — Their hand lands over his eyes, gently guiding his eyelids closed. — "Don't let me catch you sneaking a peek, okay?"

They smile still; he can feel their teeth grinning through the void enveloping him. He nods against their hand cupping his cheek as they watch him intently, swallowing down every word that claws at his throat to escape him in case they decide letting him keep his tongue should become a luxury too.

They give a couple light pats, then stand, purring, — "Good boy."

<3

Masterist

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For years have had this idea floating in my head about people's necks within vampire worldbuilding... There's so much potential there.

The neck is such a vulnerable spot, especially if you have to worry about vampires.

Showing someone your neck is a sign of vulnerability.

For this reason, vampires consistently wear high collars to hide the back and sides of their neck. (The front is protected by their chin and also their teeth, so they don't worry about that.

A vampire making their pet wear shirts with open necklines, making them turn their head to the side to expose their jugular anytime the vampire gets close, regardless of whether they want to feed on them at that moment or not.

Vampire duels ending with either submission by revealing their throat to the opponent or by death.

Oftentimes they end in death because of how shameful it is to give up that way.

Also just now thinking about this, but also:

Vampire who is so self assured that he doesn't wear a high shirt collar at all, but instead opts for an open collar to show other vampires that he knows he's stronger than them.

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cw vampire whumper, conditioned whumpee, past nonconsensual blood drinking

"Why do you keep letting them do this to you?" Caretaker asked, eyes narrowing at the fresh bite mark on Whumpee's neck. Subtle bruising surrounded the puncture wounds.

Whumpee frowned, quickly tugging the collar of their shirt to cover the mark. "I'm—it's not really a big deal."

Caretaker sighed. "I hate seeing you like this. You keep getting paler and thinner and...quieter. I keep wondering how long it will be before there's nothing left of you."

"It's not like that," Whumpee insisted. "Whumper isn't hurting me. And besides, did you ever consider that maybe I like what they do to me?"

They didn't tell Caretaker how they used to wail and thrash against Whumper's hold, before they understood their place. Before Whumper taught them how incredible it was to provide for someone else with your very life force.

Whumpee didn't tell Caretaker that underneath their clothes, their body was littered with bruises and bite marks. Some were old and fading, others were fresh and still sore, but each of them was a claim Whumper had made on them.

And they didn't tell Caretaker that some nights Whumper would take too much when they fed, leaving Whumpee drained and lightheaded as their blood soaked the bedsheets. They would wake up in Whumper's arms the next day, disoriented and achy, with gentle praises whispered in their ear. "I like seeing you this way," Whumper would murmur. "All dumb and empty-headed. How a good little human is meant to be."

Whumpee didn't tell Caretaker any of this; they wouldn't understand. They didn't explain that the more Whumper fed from them—owned them—the easier it got.

"How could you possibly enjoy being treated that way?" Caretaker asked softly.

Whumpee shrugged and looked away. "I don't know. Whumper makes me feel...needed. I guess that's the part I enjoy the most."

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0.9 Whumpuary

"Make it stop" | Restraints | Hair Grabbing

CW: blood, knives, torture

There wasn’t a reason often enough, why Kyriel hurt him.

Sometimes, very often, he simply wanted him to scream.

Kai panted through the gag, the bite in between his teeth. His breath short and raspy, sweat and blood falling sleek in between his shoulder blades. His arms trembling, straining and pulled behind his back - the cuts hissing as they healed, blood mixing with sweat.

It had been hours, days, weeks of this. Time blurring and warping under the knife, the burning irons over his skin.

“What’s my name, love?”

Kai flinched, Kyriel’s words like a blade against his back. Feeling the knife trail brightly over his spine, blessedly cold over his overheated skin. 

“Ma-hish-ter-” he bit through the gag, the words coming distorted for the bite. He panted, gritting his teeth, swallowing down the saliva threatening to overspill his lips. Turning his head to try to see torturer, Kyriel looming behind his back.

Kyriel smiled, sweetly and horrendously, grabbing him by the hair.

In truth, Kai knew by now that giving his captor what he wanted wouldn’t make the torture stop. Not when he had years of scores to settle on his skin, even less so when he liked seeing him squirm. Not when he got off the power he exercised through pain on him, not when he came with the sound of his screams. Not when his writhing in pain was often the point of the exercise - Kai knowing he was only bargaining the knife for the torture of the runes if he defied him, or the end of bleeding for another type of screams if he rather chose to yield to him.

The boy shuddered, only glaring under too thick lashes, when the angel grabbed him by the jaw as well.

“Again, love,” he whispered, sweet. “I so like you when you are like this.”

Kai and Kyriel Masterlist | Whumpuary 2024 Masterlist

Taglist: @suspicious-whumping-egg @forthetaintedsorrow-whump @flowersarefreetherapy @enigmawritesstuff @sunshiline-writes @burnticedlatte

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Drabble #1

inspo masterlist

trigger warnings: talk of punishment (lashing), dehumanisation, power dynamics

Len hadn’t been doing anything. He hadn't been in the middle of chores, nor any of the recreational activities that he’d been so graciously allowed. He had been walking from one room to the other, namely his bedroom to the kitchen, when he’d heard the click.

He’d grown to flinch and tense up at the sound of the tally counter, knowing his punishments were adding up, and when the weekend finally came, it’d all rain down on him at once. One click equaled two lashes, and Kalysta never failed to mention how merciful an exchange rate that was. They could’ve done three, four, five lashes even for a single click. Len thought they could’ve done one lash for one click - hell, this was a crazy concept, but maybe no lashes at all?

He froze in the middle of the hall, mid-movement, waiting for another click. There were none. He slowly, cautiously turned his head to find the source of the sound, conscious of every little movement he was making, so he could cease if he heard the tally counter go off again. Once again, no clicks.

Kalysta was standing in the doorway, looking at him expectantly. He stared back, confused. Neither of them moved, until finally, Kalysta sighed and made the little machine click again. Len’s eyes widened in panic. He was doing something, and he had no idea what, but if he didn’t stop immediately, the clicks would just keep on coming.

He frantically looked over his clothes, looking for dirt or a tear, he checked that he was wearing the appropriate indoor slippers, the floor wasn’t wet, - of course it wasn’t, it wasn’t like Kalysta ever did their own chores, - there was nothing. Another click came from behind his back, and he let out a choked sob, turning back to Kalysta and dropping to his knees.

“I don’t know what it is. I don’t know. Please, please help me correct it. I’m trying to be good.” His voice was shaky at best, wavering with the knowledge that his monologue might just cause another click. Kalysta sighed again, lowering the device.

“Why, I can’t just spoon-feed you everything. But I am willing to stop at three clicks. You can think about it later, while you’re doing the laundry.” They motioned for him to get up, pointing towards the bathroom with the laundry basket. “Run along now.”

~

@ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen

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"You know, if you're not going to talk," - he takes the prisoner's injured hand in his own, fingers brushing over broken bones - "and you're not going to make this fun for me anymore," - he lightly taps his fingers against the breaks - "then I don't really have much use left for you, do I?"

Silence.

"Really, are we done here? Should I just lock you up for good and leave you to rot?"

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A voiceless breath of a whimper.

"That's it? Not even gonna scream for me?" He frowns, loosely wrapping his fingers around the broken hand. "C'mon. Is there any fight left in you?"

Without warning, he tightens his grip and twists.

The room echoes with the almost silent scream of an overstrained voice. Gasping for breath, eyes unfocused, weakly, uselessly attempting to pull away, the prisoner manages to breathe out two words.

"Ff-fuck…. you."

"Ah," the man smiles. "There you are."

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Whump writers who's first language isn't english?

You are so cool...................

I appreciate you so much........

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hey come here, listen to me for a sec-

the phrase "used to it" has me on my hands and knees. seriously, hear me out:

Whumpee saying "I'm used to it" in response to caretaker's concerns, minimizing their trauma and genuinely believing it wasn't a big deal since they mostly put up with it

"Why are you crying? You should be used to this by now."

Whumper telling caretaker a recaptured whumpee is "used to it" - referring to how scared / obedient / resilient they are - and caretaker's blood boiling because of it

thank you for coming to my ted talk you may go now <3

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i will ALWAYS clap my hands excitedly and lean forward in my seat when someone tells a character to "keep your dog on a leash" only for it to turn out they're referring to another person

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What if Nebra was the bad guy for once 😜 #oc #Nebraska #Ren

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“I-I’m not s-s-scared of you, sir,” he mutters, averting his eyes. Romantics aren’t supposed to be fearful; loving companions are what they’re trained to be.

If only he could get the stupid tremble in his hands to stop.

“Trust me, sweetheart,” the pet flinches as those fingers take hold of his jaw. “I don’t mind it in the slightest.”

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Linden & Colton - Guard Dog AU

(masterpost)

exactly what it says on the tin! as you may know I've not written in months so I'm super super happy that I enjoyed this and got it done!!

CW: pet whump, dehumanisation + dehumanising language

-

The guard dog had been taken in. Everyone at the shelter was shocked, but none more shocked than the pet himself. Even better than that, he had been named. He was Col now, or sometimes Colton. He had figured that Col was the nicer, more affectionate version, but his new Master used it all the time, so perhaps he’d misinterpreted. Humans named all sorts of possessions, from plants to cars to, it seemed, guard dogs. Col happily accepted the gift.

The second he laid eyes on his owner, Col felt every ounce of loyalty he possessed being placed squarely at this man’s feet. He would be a worthwhile purchase, and protect his Master no matter what.

Master had come as a bit of a surprise at first, when Col was taken from the dog shelter to his home. He didn't look like the kind of person to make much use of a guard dog. Col stayed up all night, watching for threats, but Master's entire road was as peaceful as the man himself. The worst he'd ever seen was a few teenagers letting off fireworks.

Everything was just... a bit strange, with this new Master. He didn't have any heavy weights, no punching bag, nothing to keep Col strong. He never doled out punishments, never made sure Col knew where his devotion was placed. Col knew anyway, he was a good boy after all, but he thought all Masters needed to enforce it. His old owner had talked a lot of weak minds and needing to keep the lesson fresh. Clearly Colton's new Master had quite a bit more trust in him.

Which was weird, considering Col was a stray. But it made him all the more determined to prove himself.

Col made sure to keep busy during his otherwise unnaturally quiet new life: he lifted plastic bottles of milk for hours until his arms finally gave out; he filled a suitcase with books and squatted with it; he recited his rules at night, fighting off sleep, fighting off complacency. He spent the daylight hours pacing the house unless Master told him to calm down, which he soon realised was an order to come and kneel by his side.

The day Col fucked everything up was a day the same as any other to begin with. Master had gone shopping without him, like Col was useless, and that always made him frenetic with anxiety. He had begged, knelt with his head to the floor, to accompany him, to do his job and keep his owner safe, but Master had refused. I'll be fine, Col, he'd said softly, and then as a follow up, you can guard the house, right?

Col had done step-ups at the bottom of the staircase to try and work through his wasted energy, and when that hadn't worked, he'd stared out of the kitchen window like a hawk, every wail of an ambulance siren or police van sending his mind spiralling downwards. By the time Master returned unharmed he was a nervous wreck (utterly unfit for a guard dog, no wonder he wasn't allowed out) and he'd thrown himself at his owner's feet in relief. He knew what a wonderful rush of power his old owner had got from such an imposing pet cowering below him, and Col hoped Master might want to take him out next time, keep that feeling of power going.

In the present, Col was dutifully following Master's order to do some yoga.

The cat, Jaffa, was doing her own set of stretches alongside him, something that pleased Master greatly.

The sound of the front door unlocking pulled him from his meditation. Someone was trying to get in, Col realised, with a burst of aggression.

He sprang up like a startled animal and ran into the hall, but he still wasn't fast enough: the stranger was inside. Col noted a lean, strong build, with no obvious weapon, and tried to plan accordingly in the split second before he collided into him. He grabbed the human roughly by the shoulders and slammed him against the back of the door, letting his head crack against it with the momentum. Not enough to do any real damage, just to make him see stars. He wasted no time in pressing one forearm against his neck, letting it sit snugly against the windpipe, tight with pent up force. There was no mistaking that if he needed to press harder, he would. His other hand stayed gripping the man's shoulder, holding him in place.

'Who are you," he growled.

"Whoa! F-fuck, Linden! Get off me you crazy bastard!" the man shouted, but there was a smile on his face, which only made Col angrier.

Before he could bark his question again or tell the man to shut up, his Master appeared, running over to them. Col bent his head just enough to see both him and the intruder- he had been trained that dealing with a threat was not an excuse to ignore his owner.

The intruder gasped in what sounded like a sigh of relief, or a strained laugh. Col was still pushing on his throat.

"Mate, get off me," he said, and it was infuriating that he didn't seem at all bothered by Col's presence. Col had the upper hand, didn't he? Was there something he didn't know? Maybe this man did have a weapon concealed somewhere?

"I take orders from my Master only," Col replied, and hoped he would get one.

"Let him go, Col," Master said, "and come over here, please."

He obeyed instantly and moved to stand behind his Master's left shoulder, arms folded, glaring at the stranger. Hoping he knew that it would only take one wrong move for Col to knock his lights out.

He expected Master to tell the man to get the fuck out of his house; Colton was more than a little confused when the stranger instead threw one arm out for a hug, and Master leaned in happily.

"Hey Vik."

"Hey. Nice bodyguard you've got there."

"I'm sorry about that. Col," he turned to face his dog, "this is Vik. My brother."

His brother?

Oh, fuck.

All the blood drained from his face and he actually flinched back, his arms unfolding and instead resting hesitantly by his side. Now wasn’t the time for him to look dangerous.

He looked between the two men. Their physical similarities were suddenly glaringly obvious.

Col had fucked up. He'd fucked up and he didn't know how to make it better. He'd just tried to choke Master's brother for god’s sake, and Col was strong, sure, but he still howled when the belt was used on him, or when his owner had held his lighter to Col's arm, or when his back was slashed open and his owner kicked him between the shoulder blades. He was going to have to pay dearly for this.

"-hear me? Col? Hey, hello?"

Col blinked. His mind had wandered- a bad habit he never shook off despite hours of training. Master and his brother were stood together, eyeing him.

He pulled himself together enough to curl his hands against his heart and bow in submission.

"I'm so sorry for my mistake, Sir, it was unforgiveable, and I'm sorry," he said, forcing the words out mechanically. He didn't sound remorseful in the slightest, and he'd said he was sorry twice, it sounded stupid. His panic was starting to seep through. "I didn't know, b-but that's no excuse, and, and I'll take any punishment you see fit."

The sentence was familiar, and Col managed to dig deep for some composure. He'd be a big brave dog for this. Guard dogs didn't feel fear- they didn't feel anything. Col didn't feel anything. He straightened up, but kept his head bowed, and listened to his heart pounding in his ears. He waited to see if Vik was the type to show mercy.

Master spoke first. "No, it's okay. Just a misunderstanding, right? Vik has a key, so that's how he just appeared-"

"Hey, stop giving me evils."

"-and you were just doing what you thought was right, Col."

Col looked up slowly. Master seemed to be waiting for a response.

"What I did was unforgiveable," he tried, the panic smothering his thoughts. He had to get this right and he just didn't know how- except through pain. "I promise I'll take my punishment well, Sir, very well."

He saw Vik's eyes widen as he tried to catch Master's gaze, but it stayed fixed on Col.

"Well... you could apologise to Vik, I suppose, for- for-" Master's words were eaten up in an outburst of laughter. Col's fear took a sharp, and weird, left turn. What the fuck? "I’m sorry, I just can't believe you almost bollocked my older brother, that’s fucking hilarious!”

"Stop laughing!" Vik snapped, giving Master a mild shove that made Col bristle. "Or go do it while making me a cup of tea."

"Sorry, I'm sorry, haha, I'll leave you two alone for two seconds, I'm gonna-"

Master put a hand to his mouth to contain his laughter, and breezed past Col towards the kitchen, giving him a pat on the shoulder as he went. Master figured this was all a big joke, then.

Left alone with Vik. That would be Master's strategy, and Col figured it was more than fair. Vik had been the offended party.

He was about to lower himself to his knees, but Vik reached out a hand, stopping Col. He tensed just a fraction, no more than that: he wasn't allowed to mitigate pain.

"Fair play, mate, you were very quick. Good form, too. Got the jump on me like that." Vik snapped his fingers, making Col stiffen even more. "But we can be cool now, yeah? Now you know my face. You'll probably see me a lot, I come round all the time. So let's put this behind us and shake on it like two gents."

Col realised why Vik's hand was held out.

He thought about protesting for half a second- his old owner had always reminded him how dirty he was- but the last thing he wanted to do was look like he was buying time.

Vik would probably grab his hand and pull him down, try to throw him to the floor. Col didn't think he had the strength, so he prepared to fake it.

The handshake was the most human thing Col had ever done. Vik did pull, but towards him, and not in the rough way Col had expected. He'd forced himself to go so limp that he almost stumbled into him- he caught himself at the last moment and stood still, grazing Vik's shoulder.

"My brother's a really good man," he said, and Col was sure he knew the threat that would follow it up. So if you make one wrong move, I'll break you.

But instead, Vik's voice stayed low, and calm, with no hardness that Col could discern. There was even a smile on his face. "You're gonna be fine here."

. . .

"You're gonna be fine here," he said, doing his best to use his inside voice because he couldn't let Linden hear him being nice about him for once.

And also because the big guy still holding his hand seemed shit-scared already.

Vik had a damn good view being so near to him: Colton's face was absolutely littered with scars. That was meant to be a bad sign when it came to guard dogs- meant they were volatile or picked fights constantly. Vik wasn't so sure. He'd backed off the minute Linden intervened, and Linden had already told Vik that Colton was clearly terrified of him, even though he tried to hide it. Standing with him now, Vik reckoned he wasn't hiding it very well at all. He could feel Colton's heartbeat thrumming from his wrist like a drum.

He briefly imagined a scene in the far future, when Linden's gamble had worked out and this man was alright again, where the three of them were hanging out together, where they were all close friends. Vik would tease him for the time they first met, when Col had tried to chuck him straight back out onto the street. Linden would probably make some joke that he should’ve gone through with it. They’d all laugh – Col would be laughing hardest of all.   

Right now, Vik felt like laughing wasn't a physical possibility for Colton.

"Please punish me as you see fit, sir," Col replied, just as quietly.

"Ahh, well," Vik said brightly, giving Col a pat on the shoulder - making him flinch - and drawing back to a normal distance. His voice raised with it, giving his brother a hint that all was okay. "You weren't to know. No harm done."

Except for the back of my head which hurts like fuck, but whatever, I don't want this guy to start grovelling.

Col looked at him, his frown loosening a little bit. “Really, sir? You’d give me mercy?”

Ew. “Er, yeah, man. We’re cool.”

Linden’s voice came from the kitchen, accompanied by the sharp rings of a teaspoon being tapped against the rim of a mug, shaking off the final drops. “Tea’s ready!”

Col looked at Vik, waiting for something- instruction, probably. Vik gestured forward. “After you, mate.”

. . .

The rest of Vik’s visit passed without incident. The two brothers settled on the sofa so fluidly that Col got the impression they both sat in the exact same place every time. He felt overwhelmed with shame and apprehension as his mistake replayed in his mind. Running at Vik and pinning him to the wall, snapping at him, intending to hurt him. His Master must feel so embarrassed to have such a poorly-behaved pet.

Col knelt behind his owner and stared at nothing, keeping his back straight and his ears on the world outside. Occasionally the cat threatened to distract him with her purring and big eyes, but Colton didn’t allow himself to enjoy the sight of her. She wasn’t for his enjoyment, anyway.

“Come to mine next time, yeah?” Vik asked.

“Sure, it’s been a while. That’d be nice.”

“Alright, well I’ll head off. Nice to meet you, Col.”

Vik’s face appeared in Col’s peripheral vision, and Col looked over, giving him a nod and looking to his owner for permission to speak.

When his Master gave him an encouraging smile, Col said quietly, “Nice to meet you, sir. I’m sorry again.”

“It’s alright, Col,” Master said, reaching down and giving Col’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. Col flinched that time, too. The shame only twisted deeper in his guts. Master turned back to his brother. “I’ll wave you off.”

“You’re always keeping me out of trouble, aren’t you,” replied Vik with a wry smile.

. . .

Linden didn’t have to catch Vik before he walked out the door – they clearly both wanted to have a debrief. Their chat had been more than a little stifled with Colton kneeling right there, ramrod straight, his eyes wide and unfocused. Vik bent to put his shoes back on and stared up at Linden with a face that said what the fuck.

“Yeah,” Linden whispered. “Someone’s clearly done a number on him. Did he hurt you?”

“No, no,” Vik said, unconvincingly. “It was funny anyway. But he really is fierce when he wants to be.”

“At least I know he’s… loyal, now. Not that I took him in to be loyal. Or violent. Ah well.”

“I know, but I get it, it’s good to know he doesn’t want to use any of that strength against you. You’re safe as anything as long as he’s around.”

“Bless him. He’s so nervous all the time. He won’t even pet Jaffa.”

“You’ve got this, mate,” Vik said sincerely. “He’s still new. Maybe you’ve gotta be a bit more clear with things. Next time he looks at Jaffa, just tell him to go and pet her.”

“I’ll try. You should still come round whenever, I’ll tell him not to worry about you.” The thought of Vik almost having his ass handed to him made Linden’s lips curl up again. “Maybe buy a helmet for next time just in case.”

“Oh shut up, I could still batter him and you, you better not start thinking I’m soft. I’ll see you later. And buy him some weights or something, for god’s sake. He’ll go crazy otherwise.”

Linden laughed as Vik headed off. When he walked back into the lounge, Colton was still kneeling. Of course he was – Linden hadn’t ordered him to do anything else.

“Uh…I’m glad you’ve met my brother. Please don’t fret about earlier, Col. You’re genuinely not in trouble. Vik wasn’t mad in the slightest.”

Col didn’t move except to cast his eyes towards Linden’s face. It made him look creepy, like a mannequin. “Thank you, Sir. It won’t happen again. Thank you for this mercy.”

“It might be helpful to mark Vik as someone who’s completely trusted, you know. You don’t have to be afraid when he’s around. You don’t have to be… on high alert. He’s not going to do anything.”

. . .

Col nodded. If Vik made a move to attack, it would be for him, never his Master. Col wasn’t to fight back. “I understand, Sir. Thank you.”

-

taglist part 1:

@newbornwhumperfly @whumpadump1939 @firewheeesky @whump-me-all-night-long @captain-seconds @grizzlie70  @unicornscotty @lave-whump @princessofonwardsworld  @cupcakes-and-pain  @bumbumbea @whumpfigure  @yet-another-heathen  @secretwhumplair  @whumps-up  @as-a-matter-of-whump  @getyourwhumphere  @itzagoodthing @whumpymirages @soapparentlyilikewhumpnow @the-monarch-whumperfly  @penny-for-your-whump  @briars7  @legallylibra @angel-stars  @loyds-of-registry @tears-and-lilies  @badluck990  @rosesareviolentlyread  @vickytokio  @neuro-whump  @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight  @whumpsy-daisies  @control-whump  @theydy-cringeworthy  @starnight-whump @cursedandtired  @jo-doe-seeking-inspo  @justabitofwhump  @glamrockgregory  @rippedjeansandfadeddreams  @genesissane  @justbreakonme  @addyez @httyd-chocolate  @littlespacecastle  @haro-whumps  @extrabitterbrain @neverthelass  @downrivergirl914

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Tagging @hiding-in-the-shadows @itsleelove @darkthingshappen @gala1981 @oddsconvert @emmettnet @scribbelle and anyone who sees this really

Carrying over from this post, and using this piccrew!

Tagging: @sugar4cas, @ginwicche, @amemipiacitu, @melancholictearz, @horrormusicals, @some-weird-queer-writer, @whump-blog, @cxlxrx, @sugaraddictarchangels, and whoever else wants to play!

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Okay but what if two people meet randomly, and find out they’re both rescued whumpees, and bond over shared trauma.

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the process of being Sugarified is a long and tough one. but fortunately the Bakers are there to help every step of the way!

(original versions under the cut for no eyestrain)

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Sugar Jail AU Taglist: @rule-masochism @cepheusgalaxy

General Art Taglist: @icyheart-and-friends @whumpsday @estoult @darlingwhump @whump-queen @oddsconvert @cryptidwritings @sparrowsage @wolfeyedwitch @firapolemos05 @whumpinggrounds @whumpnonny @whumpshaped @sukoshimikan @26-letter-symphony @subject-13 @astrowhump

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ur one of my favorite whump writers ever

love your work sm<333

Thanks so much anon :3333

Just when I considered quitting writing whump-