#.he was made for whumping actually.

[dreamerdrop]

How many different grotesque and mortifying ways can I whump Julian Bashir: a memoir.

[whumpy-wyrms]

i drew me and Anton hanging out together like we’re the bestest of friends :3 yeah he experiments on me sometimes so what that’s completely normal!!!

[straight-to-the-pain]

I don't know if anyone else in the whump community has read 'A Constellation of Vital Phenomena' by Anthony Marra but it is genuinely a really good book and also has some of the best depictions of torture and its aftermath that I have read in fiction.

I wanted to share some of my favourite quotes, hopefully without too many spoilers as it is out of context, but maybe skip this post if you don't want to know anything at all going in.

To give a brief summary, the book centres around the lives of people in Chechnya during the first and second war between the Russian government (Feds) and the separatist rebels. The main story focuses on a man (Akhmed) who is trying to save his neighbour's daughter from being killed by the Feds after her father is taken away in the middle of the night. He does this by taking her to a hospital where he then volunteers. One of the people in his village (Ramzan) becomes an informer for the Feds after being tortured, and this is explored in the excerpts below.

‘Information the Feds would torture them for was written here on the walls for all to see. It was well understood among the men that the Feds had as much sense as two bricks smashed together. It was also understood that pain, rather than information, was the true purpose of interrogation.'

'During his first detention in the landfill, in 1995, in the first war, he had refused to inform. They had wrestled down his trousers, shown him the bolt cutters, and still he had said no. Screaming, thrashing, with his manhood half severed, he had said no. He had done that, and now he was ready to start saying yes.'

'He would have confessed everything, but they didn't ask, weren't interested, threatened to cut out his tongue and put pliers to his teeth if he spoke one more fucking word. Electric wires were wound around his fingers. A car battery was drained into his bones. God might have been watching, but it wasn't God's finger on the battery switch. The interrogating officers didn't speak. Instead he was an instrument they played, performing a duet, and in their own way they conversed through his sobs. They both wore very shiny shoes. That was all he would remember.'

'He had trouble walking, He had forgotten torture could be so exhausting. The new interrogator, the one with less shiny shoes, held him upright, using his whole body as a crutch, and helped him walk. He carefully wiped Ramzan's forehead with a handkerchief before opening the door to the next room.'

'The interrogator with less shiny shoes crouched behind him. His hands were wet. Ramzan promised everything, and the interrogator, like the parent of a child too old to believe in ghosts, watched him with disappointment, his clear eyes saddened by Ramzan's sincerity. The interrogator took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, laid the live wires on Ramzan's chest and mapped the border of their shared humanity. Ramzan offered his soul. He begged to be enslaved. The known universe contracted to the limits of the cement floor, and on it, the interrogator was both man and deity, prophet and god. By ten o'clock the interrogator with less shiny shoes asked his first question. By eleven the electrical wires were unwound from Ramzan's fingers. By noon he was allowed to dress. By one he was on the FSB payroll. He kept thanking the interrogator with less shiny shoes.'

‘Greed didn’t motivate his informing, at least not primarily; primarily he informed by necessity, to survive, for his love and hate and above all awe of the power wielded by the interrogating officer with less shiny shoes.'

'That was his greatest fear. Could he stay silent? Could he withstand what awaited him? He told himself that his love for the girl should fortify him against any torture, but this, like so much of what he told himself, was a lie. After all, he was squeamish at the sight of blood, what would he say when lying in a puddle of his own? But he saw no other way. He would pray for the strength to stay silent, for a quick heart attack, and leave the rest to God.' (This is Akhmed POV)

'When they threatened to beat me, I said nothing, Akhmed. When they threatened to beat me, I said nothing. When they threatened to electrocute me, I said nothing. When they threatened to castrate me, I said nothing. I said nothing, Akhmed. Whatever you think of me, you remember that once I said nothing when a wiser man would have sung. And the interrogators, they couldn't believe it. They called in others to examine me. I was there on the floor, and above their faces were dark ovals silhouetted by the ceiling lights. They had beaten me hard and I couldn't hear right, but I kept saying no, with every breath I had. The main reason they let me go, the only reason they didn't shoot me right there was out of perverse respect, some sort of professional courtesy. But I wish they had shot me, Akhmed, because the good part of me died there, and all this, everything since, has been an afterlife I'm trying to escape.'

‘I knew what was coming. I knew it never stops. They put a shame inside you that goes on like a bridge with no end, the humiliation, the fucking humiliation of knowing that you are not a human being but a bundle of screaming nerve endings, that the torture goes on even when the physical hurt quietens. People treated me differently when I came back the first time.'

[rambheem-is-real]

Cross My Heart Pt 1

pairing: kid varadha x kid deva

Summary:

Deva barely makes it a few feet out of the arena before he collapses from the pain. His family and Varadha have things to say when he wakes up.

breaking news: in a *shocking* twist of events, touching a live wire can in fact fuck you up

-

Deva walks out of the arena, feeling like his nerves are vibrating inside of him. He can taste thick, coppery blood through his teeth, there’s a ringing in his ears, and there’s a searing pain across his shoulders that he knows means there’ll probably be a scar later. He can barely see five feet in front of him, his vision is so blurry. 

But he can’t show weakness now, not after everything he’s done. 

He’s gotten Varadha his mukku pogu back, had won it for his prince. That bastard had dared to lay a hand on him, to take what rightfully belonged to Varadha, but with what he’s done today Deva knows Rudra won’t go after Varadha for a while. 

However, that depends on Deva staying strong now. He’s in no position to fight, he’s aware that he probably fucked something up internally, but he had tried to project enough confidence and anger into his warning to Rudra that he hopes the act was convincing enough. 

Keep going, he wills himself, begging the adrenaline coursing through him to not abandon him right now. 

Deva can see Varadha’s proud smile out of the corner of his eye, the bounce in his step that was missing this morning when he sought Deva out, nose bare. He can’t let Varadha know how badly it hurts, knows his friend will blame himself for it when it wasn’t his fault at all. 

They make it past the gates of the arena, thankfully not followed by Rudra or his lackeys. Varadha beams at Deva, and opens his mouth, probably to say something adorable as usual, when Deva feels the last of the hormones leave him. Varadha’s joyful face morphs quickly into horror as Deva lurches forward, catching Deva in his arms. He cries out as Varadha grabs at his sensitive shoulders, and feels Varadha tense at the sound. 

Fuck, Deva thinks. His plan of not letting Varadha know was a bust. The world fades to black along with Varadha’s panicked cries of Deva’s name. Sorry raa, Deva thinks before he finally blacks out from the pain. 

-

Deva wakes up feeling like he got hit by a bus, with a headache the size of Mars, but at least that infernal ringing noise is gone. His vision is still blurry, but not as bad as it was the last time he was awake. It’s enough to make out the figure of his father sitting on a chair beside the bed Deva’s laying on, looking worried somewhere above Deva’s head. There are voices from that direction, and Deva focuses to hear his mother and.. Varadha? arguing with another man. 

“What do you mean you can’t fix him?” Amma demands. 

The man, probably a doctor, sounds nervous in the face of Amma’s anger as he tries to placate her. “I’m sorry, but the shock he went through will have long term consequences. There’s nothing I can do about that.”

“You’re the doctor though, isn’t it your job to fix people?” Varadha asks, and with a pang of guilt, Deva notes that his voice is rough, like he’s been crying for a long time. 

Deva tries to sit up, but realizes his muscles feel so heavy he doesn’t have the strength to move anything other than his head, and maybe if he tries hard, his hands. He tries to call Varadha’s name, but his throat closes up and he can only manage a truly pathetic cough. At the sound, everyone immediately crowds around him. 

“Deva, how are you feeling now?” Amma asks, clutching his face, and he can see tears in her eyes. 

“I’m okay, Amma,” Deva says, trying his best to project strength, and can see everyone visibly take a breath of relief. 

The doctor examines Deva briefly. “I’ll let you all talk to the patient first,” he says, gathering up the medical supplies haphazardly placed on the table next to Deva’s bed. “I’ll be back to do more tests soon.” 

As soon as the doctor leaves, Varadha throws himself on top of Deva, sobbing. Deva tries to comfort his friend, but he can barely lift his arm high enough to simply place his hand on top of Varadha’s soft curls. He looks up at his parents, trying to see what he should do, how he should comfort Varadha, but is met with two stony faces. Deva winces. 

Amma immediately starts yelling. “What were you thinking? Are you crazy?”

Dhaara joins in, voice thick with worry. “Touching a live wire like that!”

“The next time you pull something like this I’ll kick you out!”

“Varadha told us what happened-”

“Then you’ll know, once you feel what I felt when-”

“-could’ve died, you’re lucky the current wasn’t high enough to kill-”

The voices start overlapping as Deva’s headache worsens, and he shuts his eyes against the sensory overload. He also doesn’t really know what to say that will get him out of this, so he stays quiet. 

They pause for a few seconds, realizing Deva’s not listening.

“Deva,” Dhaara starts gently. “The doctor says you’re going to have complications for the rest of your life.”

Deva opens his eyes. “Like what?” Not like he really cares, but might as well know. 

His parents look at each other, then back at him, like they’re unsure of how he’ll take the news. 

“The doctor said you’ll have a lifetime of unpredictable muscle tremors and temporary paralysis. And that’s the bare minimum. You’ll still have to be tested for the next few weeks to make sure you don’t develop cataracts in your eyes, and see how badly the feathering marks across your shoulders scar.” Dhaara says, looking more and more devastated by the time he gets to the end. “You’ll also have to be monitored for any neurological damage.”

“Ok,” is all Deva replies. 

His silence seems to enrage Amma even more. “Do you even care? Who’ll take care of you when you’re old and paralyzed? Who’s going to marry you with those scars on your back?”

Dhaara winces. “Ammadi, why are you bothered about all that? He’s barely ten.”

“I’m his mother, of course I’ll bother about it! It’ll be me tending to him decades later if his condition worsens!”

“Of course I’ll be there too, he’s our son, we’ll both take care of him-”

“That’s not the point-”

Deva tunes them out once again, realizing that he’s regained enough strength in his fingers that he’s able to stroke through Varadha’s hair. I’d love to braid the hair if it gets longer, Deva thinks absently. He only knows the traditional Shouryanga ones, but he resolves to find out if there are any special Mannarsi braids. 

Dhaara is the first to quiet down, and gently mentions to Amma that they should calm down since Deva is still hurt.

Amma sniffles. “Ah, like he has that consideration for his poor parents. He doesn’t care if we live or die.” The tone makes Deva feel awful even though he knows she’s exaggerating. He refuses to feel regret, though. No matter how upset it makes his mother feel. He won’t ever regret defending Varadha, not even if he loses his life in the process. 

Dhaara sends one last worried look towards his son before he leads Amma out of the room to let Deva rest. 

By this time, Varadha’s sobs have quieted, and he turns his face to look up at Deva. His eyeliner is completely smudged, falling in black streams down his face, his cheeks are red and blotchy, and there’s snot in his nose from crying so hard. Deva thinks he’s still the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. 

“Arey Vara,” he starts. 

Varadha sits up and quickly punches him in the chest again, making Deva recoil. 

“Ow, what the hell?”

Deva regrets every single time he’s teased Varadha for not being aggressive enough towards anyone he’s angry at as Varadha tears into him. 

“You absolute fucking buffoon! Look at the state of you, yedava [idiot]! What the hell were you even thinking?”

“Not you too,” Deva groans. 

“I thought you were fine!” Varadha cries. “You got up fine, you threatened Rudra and you were fine, you walked out fine, I thought you were FINE! And then you collapse in my arms, what the hell was I supposed to think?”

“Sorry raa.”

“No, that’s not enough! I had to carry you all the way back to your house, asshole! I thought you were about to die in my arms!” He’s close to tears again. “All for what, a fucking nose ring? Let him have it, I would rather have you, alive and well rather than a stupid nose ring!” 

Deva stubbornly looks through the window next to him. He’s fine apologizing for worrying Varadha, but if Varadha thinks he’ll get an apology for getting his nose ring back, he might as well give up now. Varadha’s too nice for his family, he needs someone like Deva who’s willing to get fucked up to make sure Varadha gets the respect he deserves. He may not see it that way, but that’s just Khansaar for the both of them. Only the strong survive in this place. 

“What, are you gonna give me the silent treatment too?” 

Deva avoids Varadha’s glare. He’s pretty much paralyzed right now, it’s not like he can do anything else. He can keep playing this game. 

Finally, Varadha gives in, and softens his voice. “Fine. Please raa, just promise me.” He lifts his hand up, and Deva looks over. “Promise me you’ll never do anything as reckless as this again for me.” Deva hates how desperate he sounds. He so wants to promise Varadha anything he wants, anything he asks for, never wants Varadha to cry again in this life if Deva can help it, but he can’t promise this.

Varadha seems to notice his hesitation. “Ok. Don’t promise. Just.. just say you’ll try your best. At least give me that.”

Deva sighs. It’s the best he’ll get. He tries to lift his arm up to put his hand in Varadha’s awaiting hand, but it takes him a few seconds to get there. He pretends not to notice the way Varadha’s face falls as he sees how badly Deva’s hand is shaking. 

“Fine. I’ll try my best to not be reckless again.” 

Varadha frowns. “Try to keep your word Deva, please. Don’t make me go through this again.” His voice drops into a whisper, and another tear slowly makes its way down Varadha’s face. “I thought I lost you.”

Deva doesn’t know how to respond to Varadha being this honest with him, this vulnerable. He’s never been good with comforting words, so he attempts to shrug and tell a joke to cheer Varadha up, but fights back a groan at the searing pain in his shoulders as he attempts to lift them. Varadha’s eyes track the movement and the subsequent twitch of pain, and Deva internally winces at the resurgence of guilt he can see in them. 

“Varadha… Rey. It wasn’t your fault. It was fully my decision to challenge the pailwan.” 

Varadha visibly debates responding to that, but seems to realize Deva’s just as stubborn as him, and gives up. “Whatever.” He fidgets for a few seconds, then comes to a decision. He looks Deva in the eyes. “I’ll always be there for you, raa. You know that, right?” 

“Of course I know that,” Deva says, confused.

Varadha shakes his head. “No, I mean, what your mom was saying earlier… she’s wrong. If this does fuck you up in the future, when you’re older, I’ll be there to take care of you. No matter what I’m doing, no matter where you are, I’ll find you, and I’ll be there for you.” There’s determination in his eyes, and Deva knows he meant what he said, every bit of it. 

Deva gives him a small smile, floored by the depth of affection Varadha has for him. 

Varadha frowns at his reaction. “Unbelievable. You actually thought I’d let you do something like this and then not take care of you afterwards. Yedava.” He settles back onto Deva’s chest. “You won’t get rid of me that easily, don’t worry.” Varadha moves so his ear is directly over Deva’s heart. Deva feels a warmth slowly expand inside him as he realizes Varadha’s trying to comfort himself by listening to Deva’s heartbeat. 

“Does it hurt a lot?” Varadha asks softly, tracing the feathering marks on the back of Deva’s arm. 

“Not at all,” Deva says, and Varadha scoffs, but is it even a lie? He gets to feel his Varadha’s cheek pressed into his chest, gets to hear him all but explicitly say that Deva is someone he genuinely loves and cares for. What more could he want? 

They sit in silence like that for a while, enjoying each other’s company. 

Before he slips back into unconsciousness, Deva can hear footsteps coming back into the room, then stopping abruptly. He knows Varadha is asleep by now, can feel the even pattern of his breaths, and he himself probably looks asleep as well. There’s silence, then a hushed “Dhaara, what are we going to do about this?”

Deva fights to stay awake, wants to hear the response to that, but is rapidly losing the battle.

The last thing he hears is an amused, “I suppose we’ll have to start being nicer to Raja Mannar, if he’s going to be part of our family in a few years.” 

-

[kyotosummer]

I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort I want comfort

STOP MAKING LEONARDO SUICIDAL.

[theenemyod]

*puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain**puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain**puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain**puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain*

[curiosity-killed]

been a while since i hurt the baby

[ALT ID: A digital illustration of a man being dragged out of dark water by his armpits. Watery hands reach up and cling to him. Two arrows pierce his chest while his face is bruised and bloody, and more blood is visible on his side and sleeve.]

[diseaseriddencube]

scared to look up alastor on ao3, because while I'm not opposed to people shipping alastor/putting him in saucy scenarios and whatever else that has become a drama- but i know that's ALL it's gonna be, and he is not gonna be in character is he 😩

[flowersarefreetherapy]

history moment of the week: yesterday my mother was explaining the difference between memorial day and veteran's day to me (the man who has studied all the history surrounding it but has no clue what we're actually celebrating)

mother: It's the day when we celebrate those who died in service to the country

me without thinking: I'm gonna celebrate John Laurens

mother:

mother: ...... I guess you can??

[phosphorescentspaceman]

sick fic - yogscast fic

Honeydew sat up in bed, casting a bleary eye around the room. Lalna, who had slept incredibly poorly, was grateful the older man was conscious. The other man - dwarven constitution and bullheadedness combined to disastrous effect - hadn’t realised he was sick until he’d passed out next to the forge. Xephos almost had a heart attack and had been tending him all night, alongside an increasingly peaky Lalna. He was pretty good at it, but his knowledge of medicine was either purely biochemical or (concerningly) surgical and he’d been pesting Lalna with questions until Lalna had had to hurl, upon which he’d gone full mother-hen mode and pushed him into bed alongside a snoring Honeydew. He looked fine already - Lalna was sure his fever and the high temperatures near the forge had just caused his blood pressure to drop and he’d already slept off the fever as only a dwarf could. Lalna, on the other hand, could tell he was settling in for a few days of creaky discomfort and runny noses. Xephos had left some time ago, ostensibly to get some fresh water and fever reducer, but he hadn’t come back in a while and Lalna was starting to feel miserable again. 

“Glad you’re alive, mate. How are you feeling?” Honeydew scratched the back of his head awkwardly. 

“Fine, so much for my dwarven constitution, fainting like a little girl and all that.” He paused, before frowning. “Where’s Xephos?” 

“He was playing nursemaid to you all night, kept asking me questions and bustling about - he may have just fallen asleep on the way back.” Honeydew looked pale before heaving himself out of bed, swaying slightly on his feet. “Whoa there, you aren’t ready to go running around yet - probably - settle back -” 

“That idiot!” Lalna startled backwards, not ready for the real frustration pouring from the dwarf. He turned, near dragging Lalna from his bed. “If he's drowning in a puddle of sick somewhere I’m going to kill him myself! Idiot! He should have hid on the other side of the base!” Lalna felt dizzy as he was tugged along the halls, the stop-starting as Honeydew kept checking every cranny rattling his brain in his skull. 

“What do you mean? If he gets sick it’ll be miserable but -” Honeydew stopped short, glaring up at him. 

“Some kinda Doctor you are - he’s from fucking space! He got a cold from a snotty brat one time and died!” 

“Space?!” 

Honeydew looked at him strangely. “Yeah? What, you think I call him spaceman for shits and giggles?” 

“Yes, actually! Neither of you ever talk about anything personal!” 

He huffed, looking away. “Not much of it is worth talking about.” Lalna’s head couldn’t help but spin. Xephos’ immortality was quite simply the only reason the man hadn’t long died from some childhood illness - he must be so unadapted to the local diseases, to say nothing of the fact Lalna hadn’t even thought to see how respawning affected the creation of memory T cells. 

“Shit - shit shit. You’re right - why doesn’t he wear a mask? Why didn’t he quarantine when he saw you were sick?” The both of them were frantically checking over rooms, both of them remembering various times the other man had slinked off into a corner to bleed out rather than receive medical attention.

“Because he’s a soft hearted idiot! - Fuck - Xeph!” Lalna rushed over to where Honeydew was already crouched next to a deathly pale Xephos, the glow of his freckles near totally absent. His breath was rough and wheezy, and it looked like he’d partially aspirated. Stamping down his instinctual panicked flailing, Lalna pressed his fingers firmly to Xephos’ radial artery, staring at his watch as he timed his pulse. It was weaker than he’d like - sitting at about 125 bpm which was. Not at all good, but not imminently fatal. They didn’t have anything to set up an IV drip but he was pretty sure had had a few vials of amoxicillin-clavulanate laying around. It’d burn going in and he’d have to deliver it slowly, but it should stop the aspiration pneumonia he could hear in Xeph’s rasping breaths from getting any worse. Their infections themselves were viral, so there wasn’t anything he could do other than give fever reducers and keep him hydrated, just like Xephos had been doing for him and Honeydew last night as Lalna had whined about how rubbish he felt. 

He felt real fucking rubbish now. 

“Honeydew - Lalna.” Xephos’ voice was rough, and his eyes hazy. He pressed himself into the both of them, shivering slightly. “‘M cold. Tired. Sorry I forgot the - the stuff.” Honeydew had grabbed a washcloth from gods knows where and was wiping the bile and sweat from Xephos’ feverish face as he sat there, placid but whining softly at the cold cloth.

“Well?” Honeydew looked at Lalna who startled out of his internal dosage calculations. “Is he -” 

Lalna sighed, not taking his fingers from Xephos’ wrist. “He's rough, and I’m going to have to give him some strong antibiotics, but he’s not deathly ill. It might actually have been better that he was running around when it happened, if he’d been laying down and as weak as this he’d probably have drowned.” 

Honeydew swore, face paling. They were immortal, but - well. Dying couldn’t be nice. Xephos clumsily pet Honeydew’s face, frowning at how upset his friend looked. “ 's ok. I just - I need a drink and. And a sit. I’m ok, friend.” Honeydew just thumped his head heavily on Xephos’ shoulder, the other man petting at his messy hair. “Don’t - don’t worry, friend. Don’t worry.”

Lalna pulled himself to his feet, feeling like he’d aged a few years over the last 10 minutes. “‘Dew, can you get him back to the room alright or do you need a hand? I need to grab some stuff from storage but it can wait a minute if you need the help.” 

Honeydew shook his head, lifting Xephos with a practised ease that could only come from hundreds of adventures. “He’s a twig, I’ll be right.” Xephos let out a soft whine as Lalna turned to go, fingers tangled in his lab coat. Lalna’s heart did something complicated as he carefully removed his hand before brushing a palm over his forehead, cool against Xephos’ fever. The other man sighed before relaxing into Honeydew's hold, muttering something incomprehensible into the dwarf’s neck that made him chuckle. 

“Come back quick, right? I don’t need to go running around looking for you too.”

[pixelatedraindrops]

Another RainCode edit comic thing.

TW // Sneezing/Snz 🤧💦

(idk if its a trigger for people, but just in case you're not into that)

Also just to be safe:

PLEASE DO NOT REBLOG TO NON SNZ BLOGS

Yuma catches a nasty cold 🤧💦

I've given this boy enough fevers. (well he still has one but that's not the MAIN issue here) Made a small lazy edit comic outta my most recent sprite edits. (also my very poor attempt to make him look wet from the rain by darkening his hair and clothes and adding some...well very poorly drawn water droplets x-x)

After entering the base and removing his raincoat, the small soaked detective lets out a loud and wet sneeze. The city's gloomy rain really did a number on him due to the rotten luck of him losing his hat, resulting in the rain downpouring onto him. He ends up with an awful cold by the time he returns to base, his nose running, bright red and stuffed to the point that his voice becomes nasally. (as I said before, kanai ward rain probably gives people much harsher colds)

Yakou really has his work cut out for him looking after this sopping wet tissue of a trainee💦 But he's happy to do it. Its his job as chief to look after those in his agency. The sub will eventually be littered in tissues... ;w; (and everyone else in the agency will have to wear a mask when inside.)

I LIKE HOW I SAID IM NOT THAT INTO SNZ BUT I WANTED TO TRY MY HAND AT EDITING IT ANYWAY...

Man idk, after reading more sicknario prompts here, I suddenly wanted to see him all messed up being all wet from both the rain AND a drippy cold at the same time at least once… x’D The absolute WETTEST of wetcats. poor baby ;-; literal wet tissue

(not even my first time experimenting w snz, I kinda made another one here months ago)

[killjoyconstruct]

you're a hitman buddy what'd you expect

[siren-of-agony]

Oh my first whump awakening when it comes to media? The Rainbow Fish for sure.

[sysig]

Lose myself to you (Patreon)

[whumble-beeee]

If I had a nickel for every time I almost got seduced by a cult, I'd have FOUR nickels.

Which is a lot why does this keep happening to me.

[painonthebrain]

Simultaneously want to write horrific transformation whump with Starling and gay shit where Flint and Oath are so homo for each other