#whump oc

[weibun-art]

𝖔𝓁𝖉 𝖔𝒸 𝖘𝓀𝖊𝓉𝖈𝒽𝖊𝓈 𝒻𝖗ℴ𝖒 𝟐0𝟏8!

I was looking through old art folders and remembered this whump oc I made (way before I ever heard of whump). hes a wrong-place-wrong-time back alley science experiment that gets turned into a werewolf...via ˚｡⋆~science~⊹ ࣪ ˖

i remember this was an era where I really wanted to have a more defined art style so i was doing lots of intentional style experiments. tbh i still dont know if ive got a style I like yet but i feel closer than i was 7 years ago.

back then I was way too embarrassed to post any of this type of art. tbh I still am but I do it anyways bc you guys seem to like it.

[oddsconvert]

I want a non-human whumpee so bad it hurts. But like whumpee with a tail to be dragged by, and they tuck it between their legs when they're scared. A whumpee with horns or antlers (I'm feeling antlers icl) 🥺 majestic wings to be bound or clipped, or again, curled up defensively.

Might need to make me a cute new lil whumpee 🥰

[whumpsy-daisy]

cw: overdose, unintentional misuse of medication

Pet Whumpee who feels horrible for waking Caretaker up with their nightmares that they start taking any sleep medication they can get. They think each pill counts for one hour. They fall asleep hoping Caretaker will finally have some decent sleep. Imagine their confusion when they wake up in a hospital with Caretaker in shambles around.

[eight-littlenightmares]

add context in the tags or smth if you'd like.. lol

[revkian-ruins]

Whumpee that on some level falls in love with whumper, to a point that takes even whumper off guard even though they were the one trying to break them to begin with. Whumpee that hates themself for loving whumper, especially if whumper also hurt people they cared about, but doesn't know how to get rid of the feelings. Whumpee that craves whumper's approval more than anything else in the world, that tries to pretend they don't care, but clearly still do, so much. Whumpee that feels like a traitor to everyone that's ever cared about them because of how much they love and miss whumper.

[jaisaac-cosplay]

Also whipped up @midwinter-whump ‘s (I believe) Blank the murderbot! Imagine a creature of pure strength Terrified and Alone and I got sad. Didn’t have time for Bear 🥲

Thanks again @whump-art-exchange I hope this was the correct account 😌

[oros-ash3s]

─ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ CHARACTER BIO ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙ ─

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

“This is how it goes: God says, I will take you or your brother.

God says, You get to choose.

And Cain says, ‘When you split me and my brother in the womb, you did not divide us evenly. He got kindness, and I got longing. He got complacence, and I got ambition. I want to kill him sometimes. I think sometimes he wants to die.’”

꩜ .ᐟ Hevel (via nathanielorion)

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

🩸⋆˚ ࿔ BASICS ｡𖦹° ☠️

Name || Fukenaga Kageko

⁀➴༯ Name meaning || Kageko is a feminine given name of Japanese origin which translates to “shadow”.

Nicknames || The Ghost (Ryuji), Kage (Ryuji), Riku (Ryuji), Him (Odesa and Dior), The Pest (Aster)

Age || 18 years old

Birthdate || January 4th (Capricorn)

Gender and Pronouns || Cisgender (he/him)

Sexuality || Unknown

Ethnicity || Japanese, Moroccan

Classification || Immortai, ghost

Occupation || None

Role || Secondary character, hero

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

🩸⋆˚ ࿔ PERSONALITY ｡𖦹° ☠️

Kageko has been left suspended in time. Murdered at 6 years old, he had no time to grow or age in a normal sense, experiencing the world only as an extension of Ryuji. He has all this passion, this energy and fuel and drive, and it is all left brewing, deep inside of him, unable to escape. He is forgotten, lonely. He has no friends to call his own, no family besides a brother who couldn’t despise him more, no one to support or love him. He is left in Ryuji’s darkened shadow, forced to watch on as his twin brother, his undoer, takes his place. And everything he has ever wanted.

He has since become obsessed with the Division. If he can not be a real boy, with a life and hobbies and happiness, he’ll force Ryuji to. He is the mind behind the operation, driving each and every one of Ryuji’s actions, pushing him further and further until he is so deeply entangled with this war there is no chance of escape. Kageko has an ambition that he will never be able to ignore, no matter how much the cards of fate try to push it down. He is driven by his hardship and he will never ever forget it. He won’t rest, not until he’s satisfied this gaping hunger consuming him.

But, through it all, he is also a child who was unable to grow up. He’s childish and immature, and in the same sense, has no proper understanding of people or life. He is completely disconnected from reality, to the point where he genuinely doesn’t understand humanity. He is not a Noroi, yet, not entirely human, either. He is a six-year-old boy who was ripped from his chance to grow up, to develop. To become better.

And all that is left in its place is a glimpse of who he could’ve been, all his negative traits amplified by the trauma that has been boiling inside of him for an entire decade.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍒 ⋅ ☆

Kageko wants nothing more than to be free.

He has been stuck tethered to his boring twin brother for over ten years. Ten years of nothing but Ryuji’s own wants, needs, and decisions. His days are spent catered towards Ryuji, pushed to whatever room Ryuji would like to visit, talking to whoever Ryuji would like to speak to, doing whatever Ryuji wants to do. No one acknowledges him, even realizes he’s there. He has forever been trapped inside his own brother’s shadow. And he’s sick of it.

He was born with dreams of adventure. Travelling, moving somewhere grand, making something of himself. Since he was only a child these are the exact things to occupy his thoughts. And yet he was cursed with a fate as cruel as this, no more than a whisper into an ear that has learnt to block his taunts out.

He won’t stand for it any longer. He’s going to find a way out of this, he is going to escape. He will make it out, no matter how much the world is against his very survival. Kageko will not give up, no matter what. In the face of complete isolation, he will make it out.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍒 ⋅ ☆

Traits || Childish, restless, adventurous, excitable, silly, vengeful, apathetic

Alignment || Chaotic Neutral

Likes || Silly jokes, meeting new people, talking, travelling, art, museums, artifacts, theatre masks, acting

Dislikes || Being cooped up for too long, having nothing to do, being dead, Ryuji

Hobbies || Talking, acting, annoying Ryuji, doing voice impressions, haunting, stand-up comedy

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

🩸⋆˚ ࿔ APPEARANCE ｡𖦹° ☠️

Kageko is not noticeable to anyone other than his brother. He is a ghost, for all intents and purposes, and being such, his physical appearance isn’t very consistent at all.

He is most frequently characterized by the black-and-white tragedy mask found upon his face at all times, morphing to fit his expression, almost as if it is a part of his very musculature. His hair is made up of several messy, silvery-white locs, with dark crimson roots, as if a pool of blood sits atop his head. He has blood-red eyes to match, swirls of crimson that appear vaguely inhuman. They’re cold, hardened. They follow you to every room you enter.

His body is translucent in appearance, though more evidently so during the daytime. But the right side of his body always appears to be more visible — and solid — than the left, holding a stronger shape and form.

His physique is of a regular 18-year-old boy, though he does seem to be slightly malnourished, appearing much shorter and stringier than Ryuji is.

Height || Unspecified

Aesthetic || Has a very much circus clown vibe. Although he doesn’t own any real clothes, his figure being for the most part transparent and hard-to-place, Kageko prefers outfits similar to what a jester would wear. He likes to be bright, vibrant. Noticeable. It is through many of Ryuji’s hallucinations of him that he can be found in these very clothes, typically donning red, black, white, or yellow. Along, of course, with a wide variety of masks.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

🩸⋆˚ ࿔ ORIGINS ｡𖦹° ☠️

Kageko was born to the seventh region of Seras, otherwise known as the home to the Seventh Sector. Eposa, a land akin to the Mediterranean, was once beautifully rich. Long rolling hills, thriving plant life, and a sparkling, deep green ocean bordering it, white waves lapping near the beaches. It was also known for its impressive architecture, stunning marble buildings that just completed the vision of ethereal glory that the region once was. But with the rise of Noroi, the region has been reduced to a crumbling whisper of the society it once was. Barren and cold, the grassy hills have become more blackened rock than grass, the sea dark and murky, completely unforgiving to all its inhabitants. It’s become a place of poverty and death — not riches and wealth.

Kageko’s family was small, unimportant in the grand scheme of things. His mother was an orphan, who didn’t have much to her name. She worked all kinds of odd jobs, doing anything to provide for her children, even if it meant losing parts of herself in the process. She’d do it all, as long as it meant they had food on the table at the end of every night. They moved around a lot during Kageko’s early life, finally settling on a small cabin at the edge of the woods, where they kept their own self-sustaining garden and strayed away from the people of the town next over. It was just them against the universe.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍒 ⋅ ☆

Kageko’s life was never the place of perfection he makes it up to be, his childhood being quite unstable and tumultuous. With only smaller, distinct memories of his father, most of his childhood was spent with his single mother and his siblings. She kept them mostly isolated, constantly hopping from town to town, doing what she needed to get by. That time of his life was a blur, his only strong memories being that of his time with his twin brother — his best friend — who he was immensely grateful for as his lifelong companion. Being on the run was more fun with him by his side.

It was around the time he and Ryuji turned five-years-old that their mother finally decided it was safe enough for them to settle down. They found a cabin that bordered on the edge of one of the abandoned woodlands in the far south of Eposa. With a small town to their right, it seemed like the perfect place to grow up. Homeschooled by their mother during the day, with their eldest sister to take care of them during the nights, their life finally had some sort of semblance of balance to it. Kageko felt truly happy. This was all he ever wanted. Staying up late at night to whisper and giggle with Ryuji, imagining dreams of where they’d go when they were older — it felt perfect.

It was on a darkened winter night of his sixth year that Kageko and Ryuji lay awake, waiting for their mother to return home late. And it was this very night that another creature entirely lurked outside the walls of their cabin, ready to tear away all his dreams of a new future……

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

𝙄 𝙖𝙢 𝙬𝙖𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 / 𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙬𝙖𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 / 𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙗𝙤𝙧𝙣 𝙬𝙖𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 / 𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙗𝙤𝙧𝙣 𝙬𝙖𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 / 𝙅𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜…

“Abbey” by Mitski

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

🩸⋆˚ ࿔ RELATIONSHIPS ｡𖦹° ☠️

Father unknown

Naô Fukenaga, mother

Hinata Fukenaga, eldest daughter

Kageko Fukenaga, himself

Ryuji Fukenaga, eldest son

Kenzo Fukenaga, middle son

Saku Fukenaga, youngest daughter

Junpei Fukenaga, youngest son

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍒 ⋅ ☆

Being the second-eldest to five children, Kageko comes from quite the large family, despite everything. Being so young when he lost them, his memories of them are short, simple. He remembers the time of his life with them as carefree and vibrant. He didn’t have any expectations, allowed to explore and do as he pleased. He and his siblings were all incredibly close, each day spent playing with each other. But out of them all, he was closest with his twin brother, who couldn’t be more alike him. They seemed to be linked to a single mind, always attached at the hip. There was nowhere Kageko would go where his brother couldn’t be close next to him, reaching out to hold his hand.

Since the Noroi attack, the size of his family has dramatically decreased. He no longer has the giggles of children to surround him anymore, the silence of the void enough to slowly drive him mad. With the whispers of ghosts ticking the back of his neck at all times, his memories of his family slowly slipping away with each passing day, the only choice he has is to slowly try to seek out the voices of his deceased family members. Sometimes he’s sure he can hear Saku’s giggle, or Junpei’s cute babbles.

The only person he has left inside his company is Ryuji. The boy couldn’t be more unlike him, quiet and reserved with no interest in seeking out revenge against the very Noroi who ruined their lives, fusing them into one. Where Kageko is all harsh lines and jagged edges, Ryuji is soft and gentle. Where Ryuji is soft-spoken and polite, Kageko is loud-mouthed and unrestrained. Kageko couldn’t despise him more. Any soft feelings he had towards his brother in his past life have been quickly replaced in death by hatred and anger. Ryuji is the root of his problems, the very one to make him into this. He can’t stand to be stuck with him like a constant, can’t stand to be the one with drive and ambition, all his hopes and dreams dulled behind the veil of the afterlife.

Ryuji is the one that was supposed to die, not him.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

🩸⋆˚ ࿔ THE SEVENTH SECTOR ｡𖦹° ☠️

Curse || Divide

Kageko is not an Immortai in the stereotypical sense. The transformation from human to husk to Immortai is one that is mostly misunderstood by the public, the exact reason it occurs completely unknown — nothing more than whispered theories into the night. When a Noroi and human come into contact typically, it results in death. Noroi exist off of the souls of humans, making it nearly impossible to resist or fight back. But by some sort of miracle, a select few manage to survive this encounter, their soul fragmenting instead of being consumed altogether.

Kageko doesn’t exactly understand the logistics of his curse. He is stuck in between life and death, connected only by his singular living relative, Ryuji Fukenaga. He is a ghost, for all intents and purposes. His body — what would’ve been his vessel — was too far gone by the time the two brothers received help. This has left him suspended in time, stuck to watch on as his brother lives out the life that he wishes so desperately to have.

He is quite the mystery to all that hear about him. The idea of an Immortai without a body to complete their mission was completely unthought of, before he came around. The current leader of the Seventh Sector, Ophelia Dyal, has spent too many hours to count trying to make sense of him, and his connection to Ryuji. As it stands, they have not been able to come up with a proper reason on why the twins are in a constant battle against the singular body in which Ryuji resides.

Without a vessel, he has no hope in becoming a Noroi hunter or defeating the Noroi that forced his very person out of his body. He is left to simply observe, with no true autonomy of his own, as he prays for his brother to do the thing that he physically cannot.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

🩸⋆˚ ࿔ EXTRA TIDBITS ｡𖦹° ☠️

Although most would assume Kageko to be the younger than the two due to his childish personality and immature antics, Kageko was actually born before Ryuji was.

His favourite food was Taiyaki, back when he was younger. He hasn’t been able to taste any sort of food since he died, so only thoughts of his favourite meals are there to keep him content.

He does not sleep, eat, or do much of anything. He doesn’t even really have memories of what those sensations felt like.

He likes to watch things — people, training, secret meetings. But especially theatre. It’s his favourite downtime, on the rare occasions he manages to convince Ryuji to go.

Kageko was not his birth name. He started referring to himself as it after he died.

He frequently strikes up one-sided conversations with the people around him (not like they can actually see or acknowledge him when he does). This makes it increasingly hard for Ryuji to study.

He dislikes Aster, but also wishes to be his friend.

He frequently pushes Ryuji to study and train and learn more on the roots of Immortai, and any cases in history similar to theirs. He wants Ryuji to become the best out of the best and free the both of them from this soul tie that they’ve developed. Yet Ryuji’s studying bores him to bits, as he has no one to talk to. Ryuji ends up very frustrated when he tries to study and Kageko won’t stop complaining.

When he isn’t with Ryuji, he exists in a dark, gloomy liminal space, which exists between life and death itself.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍒 ⋅ ☆

|| MOODBOARD

|| PLAYLIST

|| MASTERLIST

TAGLIST \\ @ohagiwrites @bloodinkandashes @corinneglass @icantthinkofablognameatm @vesanal @inky-anathemata @bioniclechronicles @seastarblue @gr3yhellh0und @aalinaaaaaa @robinshandhurts @ieppiq @sugaredparchment @lunaeuphternal @ifmasonbasonwasawriter @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @blackboxwarrior-mkultra @lancedoncrimsonwings @sharkblizzardblogs @nightmaricwriter @cepheusgalaxy @theink-stainedfolk

[problematic-tip-centre]

I saw a post recently about showing the ugly sides of your oc’s trauma and allowing them to lash out and be enraged at people and I thought I’d give some tips on it.

Reasons a traumatised character can lash out at someone else:

•Releasing pent-up tension

•Direct anger at their past traumas to someone else

•Misinterpret something the other did as a threat

•They are reminded of their trauma and displace their fear/anger

•They don’t believe they are worthy of love/are unused to love (due to their trauma) and thus lash out to not receive it

•To test if someone will stay or abandon them (esp if they have abandonment fears)

•They believe it’s a way to show love (rare (I think) but possible)

•They feel/are vulnerable and lash out as a way to protect themselves

•The other abandoned them during an hour of need (esp if they left them in a traumatic situation)

What could happen when they lash out:

•Short and cutting remarks or temporarily giving someone the silent treatment (isn’t really lashing out but can be a sign of trauma)

•Shouting or speaking harshly

•Using insults or weaponising past mistakes in an argument (my favourite thing is if the other accidentally triggered their trauma in the past)

•Throwing or smashing objects

•Shoving or grabbing someone (and yelling at them)

•Hitting or striking someone

•Serious assault (if the character is physically strong and/or they’ve been severely triggered/have severe PTSD such as a war zone or severe child abuse)

•They use any weapons that they have erratically

Potential consequences:

•They feel extremely guilty even though the recipient understands/forgives

•Fear or discomfort in the recipient

•People may grow less willing to support them if they repeatedly do it

•Some may retaliate physically

•Recipient feels remorseful esp. if they in/directly played a part in the other’s abuse

•In severe cases, the recipient dies.

My personal favourite scenarios are:

•A lashes out at B because B left them at the mercy of an abusive family member (bonus points if B is remorseful for it and/or A reconciles with B).

•A lashes out at B because B showed them a film which accidentally triggered their trauma.

•A retaliates at B because B raised their voice.

•B is unable to forgive A for lashing out at them (bonus points if they want to but can’t).

•B lashes out at A because A lashed out at B and B was unable to forgive them.

[arrrmagedonnn]

i have finished this after like.... 2 months.... yeah....

[dresden-syndrome]

Restraint frames for medical checks in class 4 detention units. Made for easier access to any needed body part while the subject stays properly restrained in one place. Frame designs depend on the facility; newer or remodeled ones usually have the standing frame type.

(Sorry for the art style change! I hope y'all will be understanding and let me draw in sketch format for a while!)

Art tag: @painful-pooch @prismpanic @generic-whumperz @suspicious-whumping-egg @onlywhump @whumpedydump @whumpthefifth @monarchthefirst @sunshiline-writes @project-xiii

[chrysalis-thestateofchange]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* ── | “Snapped” | ── *•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊

Characters // Atlas (he/him), Wren (they/them)

Atlas surveys the streets below, sure he must be dreaming.

Taking up the entire back wall of the hotel room is a long, shiny floor-to-ceiling window.

A window.

He can’t remember the last time he’d seen one. The warehouse, despite its many floors and levels, didn’t have any. Not ones that led outside, anyway. And definitely not ones as grand as this one. It was nothing but the same steel-gray walls along every hallway, stretching on endlessly, inescapable no matter what room you turned into. His bedroom had been like that too: four bare, gray walls, not a single window in sight.

But here — here he can see it all.

The darkened streets stretch out below him, bustling with cars and people. It isn’t as crowded here as it had been when he’d first drove with Wren this morning, less people around to watch. Still… It’s beautiful.

Outside. He can really see outside.

Wren’s van sits out in front of them in the parking lot, the pale white of the paint glistening from the streetlight overhead. Wren had slid into the parking lot only fifteen minutes prior, flashing a sleek credit card in his direction, proclaiming it was for “emergencies only”, before leading him inside the hotel. It’s a nicer place than the rest of the buildings he’s seen today — much cleaner than the McDonalds — with shiny elevators and smooth marble floors, a few people bustling around in the hallways; kids and adults alike, smiling and laughing with each other. 

Now settled in their hotel room, he can spot a few men gathered on the corner of the street, little wisps of smoke drifting up into the night air around them from their cigarettes. They’re laughing loudly, throwing their heads back, mouths spread out in a grin. Atlas wonders what it’s like, to laugh like that.

He stands there in silence, simply taking it all in, eyes flickering towards every person that passes by on the street, to every car in the distance. They are all but blurs of colour in the darkness of the night, the illumination of streetlights casting a dull glow over everything, the lights from nearby shops slowly starting to flicker off as the day falls to a close.

Atlas is pulled away from the serene view at Wren’s eyes on him.

They look up at him from their spot criss-crossed on the floor, face curious as he meets their gaze. They pat the spot beside them, expectantly waiting for him to sit.

He hesitates for a moment, scanning their expression for any hint of hostility. He still isn’t sure what to think of them. They’re brash and rude — not to mention stupid — but then again, they’d genuinely tried to help him, hadn’t they? Slowly, he obliges, taking the seat next to them.

Wren fixes their gaze back onto the street below, pressing their forehead into the glass. “How old are you?”

Atlas bristles at the question. “You first.”

All day they’d been asking things like this, trying to… get information out of him. He guesses it’s what anyone would do, he is a practical stranger, after all. But a part of him can’t help but feel on guard at it. He isn’t supposed to tell people about himself, isn’t supposed to give anything away. Especially to someone from outside of Eden. Though, he guesses, he isn’t a part of Eden anymore either, is he? Those rules don’t apply to him anymore.

Not after he left them.

Wren sighs, but for once doesn’t push, instead opting for answering his deflection. “Fine asshole. I’m fourteen.”

Atlas falls quiet at their answer, weighing his options. Eden’s rules don’t technically apply to him anymore, but that doesn’t mean he really cares about Wren, either. It isn’t like they’ve ever been nice to him before now. Still, it isn’t like he’s going to gain anything from being so prudent with them. And telling them his age can’t be that bad….

“I’m fifteen.” He relents.

Their head jerks towards him at his answer, eyes going wide in shock as they mumble, “You’re just a kid.”

Atlas’ gaze doesn’t leave the window, his face still a perfect mask of calm, the only movement coming from him being his eyes as they scan the different buildings outside. “I’m older than you.” He points out.

Wren clicks their tongue loudly and shrugs, tearing their face away from the window again to glance at him. “Yeah. I’m a kid too.”

Atlas focuses on a particular car — a deep maroon in colour, with a dent in the side, little chips along the paint. He places all his attention on it, taking nice, even breaths, holding back his urge to scream at them. He’s never felt so miserable, so helplessly alone, in his entire life. “My age doesn’t matter.” He responds, voice clipped. So just shut the fuck up already.

Wren rolls their eyes, huffing out a breath of frustration. “Yeah. Did they tell you that too? Did they tell you it doesn’t matter that you’re a literal kid?”

Atlas stiffens. “That’s none of your concern.”

Wren sighs and leans back on their hands, still staring out the window. “Fine, whatever.” They go silent for a long moment before a thought suddenly occurs to them. “What’s your name? Do you have a name?” They ask, glancing back towards him.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” He says coldly, unable to hold the exasperation from leaking into his voice. Wren seems to have that sort of effect on him; he never feels quite so defensive or angry as he does when he’s around them.

Wren huffs, sagging forwards and resting their forehead upon the glass once again. They seem unable to sit still for more than a minute, constantly fidgeting and moving around. Atlas has never found something quite so irritating. “Look, I know you don’t like me. That’s fine. But we can’t do anything unless you trust me a little. At least enough to give me your name.”

“I don’t need to give you anything.” Atlas replies rigidly. He decides that he in fact isn’t going to tell them anything. He’s out of Eden now, so that means he can choose. There are no rules against that, not anymore. And Wren is definitely not his superior. He likes it better this way. That way they can’t use anything against him. That way he still has the slight upper hand.

Wren lets out a long, hard sigh, rocking for a minute before flopping all the way back, lying flat on the scratchy carpet. “Okay. Whatever.” They mumble, closing their eyes.

Atlas doesn’t move.

Wren thumps their feet on the floor rhythmically, disturbing Atlas’ peace. “Fine, I don’t need to know your name. Do you have a favourite colour?” They ask, glancing towards his hair, a shaggy mullet with burgundy streaks littering throughout it. “Is it red?”

“Is yours blue?” Atlas counters, still annoyingly refusing to answer any of their questions. He can’t stand it — can’t stand sitting here, with them, can’t stand their constant chattering. He wants to be at the warehouse, with Cato, with Ira; wants to be in his dorm room, curled up on his cozy bed. Wants to be training, the familiar feeling of his staff in his hands, strength surging through his core. He wants to be at home.

You left that, remember? He chides himself. That isn’t your home, not anymore.

“Very clever. Did you figure that all on your own?” Wren asks, pulling him from his thoughts.

“It doesn’t take a genius.” He grunts, not once glancing toward them to meet their gaze.

“Sarcasm.” They mutter. “You dye it yourself?” They gesture vaguely towards his hair.

Atlas answers with nothing but a curt nod, hand subconsciously raising to fiddle with his hair, a dark red strand twirling around his fingers. 

“Me too. I’ve spent too much money on box dye.”

Atlas hums. He still remembers with perfect clarity the first time Ira came over with box dye and helped him with his hair — almost as if it was just yesterday.

He had been twelve. She’d swung into his dorm room with a small grin, waving the box around like it was pure gold. It had been, to him. He remembers, up until then, he’d barely even had belongings to himself. No books beside his textbooks, no notebooks or paper besides the ones supplied to him for his lessons. No souvenirs, no nothing. His room had genuinely been bare. Just a bed and a small desk pushed into the corner. Wren had commented on the absolute emptiness of his room, but it was nothing compared to back then.

So when Ira had offered to dye his hair, he’d been over-the-moon. For as long as he could remember, her hair was always done up in some interesting way. A streak of colour, or ombré, or jaggedly cut in a way that Atlas wished he could pull off. He remembers how excitement coursed through his bones as she helped him chop off his ordinary, plain black locks for the shaggy mullet that he then kept for the past three years. That pure, child-like excitement… it was the best feeling in the entire world.

Wren doesn’t take his lack of a response as a sign he isn’t in the mood for a conversation, simply continuing to talk. They might as well be talking to themself, for all that it matters. “The first time I dyed my hair, I bleached it without instructions. It was so bad, it started falling out of my head.”

Atlas still doesn’t react, simply winding his hair around his finger, over and over and over again. Its soothing, almost. Something to focus on. 

Wren continues. “I had a big bald spot on the side of my head for the entire first part of 6th grade. My mom bought me this hair growth stuff for bald guys. Didn’t work at all.”

Atlas doesn’t give them a second of his attention. He stares out the window, watching out into the streets below, half-forgetting to blink. He wants to be out on those streets, walking. Free. It has never been a thought he admitted — not in full extent — but out of everything in the entire universe, that has always been his dream. To go out, by himself, no watchful eye of his commander or the judgemental gaze of a scrawny insufferable rebel. Just him and the quiet of the night, the chill of the breeze cooling the back of his neck. Calm, contented peace. 

Wren’s gaze doesn’t leave him as they sit up, scooting closer to his side. “Hey…?” They ask, leaning over slightly and waving their hand in front of his face. 

“Hm?” Atlas hums, his piercing gaze falling upon them. This is the closest they’ve dared get to him, only inches apart. “What is it?”

Wren furrows their brows at him. “You went all zombie on me.”

“I was listening.” Atlas says dismissively. What he really wants to say to them is “shut up, I do not want to talk to you right now, or ever, for that matter”, but he holds his tongue. He wants to do many things — shove Wren away from him, scream at them, beat their annoying face until it’s black and blue, run away from them and never come back — but that does not mean that he can actually do them. He’s stuck with Wren, as much as he hates it, so the best he can do is try to tolerate them. For now.

Wren frowns but shrugs, brushing past it. “Okay.” They say, leaning away to resume their position of resting their forehead against the window, letting out a heavy exhale as they do so. “Is there anything you want to know about me?”

Atlas focuses his attention back upon the window, watching outside in silence for a second. If he was to be honest, he’d say that he really couldn’t care less if Wren told him anything about themself. But he knows that’s not what they want to hear. “Whatever you would like to tell me.” He says with the slightest of shrugs. We are not friends. He thinks. And we will never be friends. There’s nothing you can do or say that will ever change my mind on that.

Wren rolls their eyes with a loud and dramatic groan. “That’s not how this works. I’ve told you plenty and you won’t even respond.” They say, shooting him a scowl.

Atlas hums. “What would you like me to say?” There’s a reason I didn’t answer, you dunce.

“I dunno man. Usually you’re supposed to acknowledge what someone’s saying.” They say with another loud huff. “Whatever, you get a free pass because you got brainwashed.”

Don’t fucking speak to me like that.  

“I’m not brainwashed.” Atlas mutters, side-eying them.  

Wren clicks their tongue and scoffs. “I’m not saying it’s your fault or anything, but you kind of are man.”

Atlas scowls. You’re a naive, stupid child that thinks they know everything because they managed to steal a few fucking files. You’ll never amount to even a sliver of what I am right now, even if you spent your entire life trying. Pull your head out of your fucking ass.

“You don’t know anything about me. Stop acting like you do.” 

Atlas’ words only cause Wren to shrug. “I mean, I knew a lot more than you.” They point out matter-of-factly.

Atlas is so sick of Wren’s constant comments, their know-all attitude. Their audacity. All he’s had to deal with this entire day is their snarky quips, poking and prodding, rubbing salt into his sore wounds.

He should’ve known better. They’re a rebel, after all. Rebels are cruel, apathetic. Why would they care about what he’s lost, what he’s sacrificed, leaving with them? A homeless middle schooler with a clunky, dirty van that barely operates on its own. And he’s supposed to just be grateful, accept their treatment with the same grace he always holds. 

They don’t have a single clue about what his life was like, the hardship and struggles he’s had to endure. They don’t know how much he gave away, just to join their shitty little grandiose delusion of “revolution”. They make him sick.

Fuck, I’m so tired. 

He gives them a hard glare. “No, you didn’t.”

Wren narrows their eyes at him, giving him a skeptical glance before sighing. “What-ever.”

This finally snaps Atlas’ resolve.

It isn’t their dismissal that does it, more an accumulation of the last day. He should know better than this, should know better than to snap at them like he does, but suddenly the burning anger that has been boiling, slow and steady, in his chest all day is exploding out of him, hot as flames. Unrestrained.

“I hate you.” He spits, whipping around to glare down at them with pure hatred shining in his eyes. “At least Eden treated me kindly. At least I belonged.” His voice shakes, emotion slipping through in a way it hasn’t in — he doesn’t even know how long. Years? A decade? Forever? “At least I wasn’t stuck with an insolent child.”

His words come out quick and sharp, a part of him almost too scared to even say them. He can’t remember ever speaking out against someone in his entire life. He isn’t supposed to — it’s against the rules. He’s supposed to keep his feelings in check; a soldier who can’t keep control over themself is as good to Eden as a ticking time bomb. Soldiers are polite. Soldiers are obedient. Soldiers don’t voice their own opinions. Soldiers don’t have opinions — don’t have emotions. For all of his life, he has been this: The perfect soldier.

But what had that gotten him in the end?

“You don’t know anything about what it was like.” He says coldly. He has to admit to himself, actually voicing what he’s been thinking the entire day…. It feels kind of good.

Wren’s eyes widen slightly, a look of shock that gives Atlas the slightest hint of satisfaction evident on their features. They slowly tilt their head up to look at him again, the words hanging lowly in the air between them, turning the atmosphere thick with tension.

Finally, Wren breaks the dreadful silence. “Yeah, I get it.” They say, pausing for a moment, as if they were for once going to put in a sliver of thought before they spit out some crude insult at him. “I don’t expect you to like me. And I don’t really care if you do.”

Their face is calm, voice even as they speak. It feels as if they are addressing an explosive child, not a boy who has spent the last fifteen years of his life carefully pushing down his true feelings for what matters, who always does what he’s told without questions, who works and works and works. Who doesn’t know what it’s like to experience true relaxation — true peace.

“I may not know what it was like,” they say, the slightest bit of exasperation in their voice. “But I know what would’ve happened if you stayed.”

It’s like a slap to the face. Atlas pales, the thought of the files — the videos; the horrific images of torture, torture that he would’ve endured, torture that Eden had been doing on its own soldiers for years — causing his mouth to instantly snap shut.

The smug feeling dissipates just as fast as it comes. There is no rebuttal to their statement. Although he never would admit to it, both he and Wren know that they are right. What had been waiting for him after today….

He doesn’t even want to think about it.

In one swift movement, Atlas jumps to his feet. His hands are shaking as he roughly turns on his heel, stalking out of the room and making a beeline for the bathroom. For the first time in his life, he feels the careful control he has over his emotions slip through his fingers, anger burning in his chest fiery hot, flushing his cheeks red.

He fucking hates it here.

The door slams behind him with a sharp bang.

He is shaking as he enters the bathroom, his entire body trembling, the weight he’s been holding upon his shoulders for too long finally cracking away at his perfectly poised exterior, slipping him under the waves of unconstrained emotions he has tried so hard to dull. His control is dissipating faster than he can manage, the short rapid breaths through his nose doing nothing to cool the fury within him. 

The stress of the past 24 hours — no, the entire past month — have taken their hold on him, sending him spiraling down a well of no return. He is untethered, boundless, suffocating in the infinite unknown of space. And there is not that usual rough calloused hand to pull him back to safety, reassurances of warmth and belonging easing him back to reality. 

His reflection glares back at him, only inches away. The boy in the mirror is a shameful thing, cheeks all blotchy and red, flushed by his rage; eyes glassy and tinged with tears, squinting with a determined will to force them back; his chest is heaving, uncontrollable gasps slipping from his lips. 

He hates it. 

He hates all of it. He hates the perfectly tidy bathroom, too similar to Eden, with its sparse toiletries, carefully unordinary, and pale gray walls, no decorations adorning them. Too similar to what he left behind — what he’s missing so desperately. 

He hates not knowing what he’s supposed to do, how he’s supposed to act. Before today he had every single second in every single minute carefully and methodically planned out, his whole future set in stone, just waiting for him to arrive. And now he is lost, his plans of a picture-perfect future set aflame, all notions of normalcy or structure crumbling to ash with it. He is a nobody, with nothing to his name.

Useless. He’s fucking useless.

He hates these new emotions swirling up inside of him. He hates being so fucking angry, every breath of air igniting his insides, erasing this perfect persona he has crafted so delicately for himself. He hates this new life, hates this stupid smartass kid who thinks they know better than he does, thinks they’re somehow greater and better because they didn’t get roped up into a corporation like Eden, didn’t fall for the sweet-as-honey lies, the manipulated comforts. He hates living in a van, hates having no home. 

But most of all….

He hates himself. 

· · ───────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ───────── · ·

“I was gonna shower, asshole.” 

Wren stares at the closed bathroom door with a scowl. The boy has shut himself in there and it looks like he’s not going to come out anytime soon. Great. Just what they needed. 

They sigh, standing up and flopping back onto the bed with a groan, their body limp. The mattress bounces underneath their weight, creaking in rhythm. The blankets are smooth, though not cozy and gentle like the ones they have back at home, impossibly soft to the touch. But they’ll do, much more comforting than their worn-down sleeping bag rolled up in the van, which is much overdue for a wash. 

They stare up at the ceiling, eyes bleary from exhaustion. It is in this quietness, a sort of rest washing over them for the first time all day without the boy’s tense presence to bother them, that the realization dawns on them that they haven’t really slept properly at all in weeks. At Eden they were on constant alert, left with the choice of camping out in their van half a mile off-grounds or cloaking themself somewhere ambiguous, body forced into a small, impossibly cramped crawl space no one would think to search. And this morning they woke up far too early for their own liking, the boy’s piercing violet gaze disrupting their dreams. 

They groan, turning their head towards the bathroom door. The water isn’t even running. “Hey,” they call out. “You gonna shower? Or can I?” 

They wait and the air is left brimming with tension as silence stretches out, no response coming from the other side of the door. “Hello?” 

The sound of slight shuffling is the only noise they can catch. 

They frown, sliding off the bed and going to stand in front of the door; their eyebrows furrowed, mouth pulled taut. “Dude, you good?” They ask, voice louder this time, fist brought down in a light knock. 

An explosion of fury booms from behind the door, ripping the next words from Wren’s tongue. 

“SHUT UP!” The boy screams, unbridled rage cracking his voice. It is deafening, hitting Wren with a truckload of emotion that has evidently been pushed down for far longer than he’s capable of withstanding. It's a violent kind of rage, one that’s dangerous to get caught up in. A stark contrast to the quiet and polite attitude from before — Wren is almost unsure if it came from him. “FUCKING LEAVE ME ALONE.”

Wren flinches slightly at his outburst, the anger coming unexpected. Their eyes are wide and they are still for a moment, lips parted slightly. Shit. 

With a sigh, they turn away from the door. If he wanted to be left alone, then Wren would leave him alone. That bursting, uncontrollable anger is one they are all too familiar with. It’s no use in trying to comfort him, they’ve never been very good at that anyway. They’re sure their presence is only making his breakdown worse.

They turn and shuffle through their bag, pulling out a pair of large sweatpants and a t-shirt. They carry it to the door before dropping it in front of it wordlessly, and returning to sit on the bed. 

The bathroom is quiet for a second, so quiet that Wren thinks the boy has calmed down. They listen out for any further sound, and it’s at that moment that a large crash cuts through their hotel room. There’s a deafening bang, the sound of smashing glass shattering from behind the closed door. Wren gasps as a series of muffled thumps follow, clattering and clanging alerting them of the destruction reigned upon the bathroom. 

The sound of running water hisses from the tap and Wren grimaces, wiping at their face, their exhaustion settling in. They kick off their shoes, curling up under the covers. This should have been expected. 

They can shower tomorrow. 

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A big thanks to @ohagiwrites for helping me write this chapter ⋆˚࿔

─ O.A. .ᐟ

[rizzoto-whump]

I really enjoy the dynamics of size difference in whump, especially when there's a smaller whumpee and a larger whumper. The contrast of a small and fragile whumpee, easily overpowered or defeated by a larger whumper—like a pathetic, sad wet cat they are.

[whumpsy-daisy]

BTHB: insecurity

CW: self harm (kinda), descriptions of torture and scars, bruises

Whumpee stood in front of the full length mirror the Whumper had left him. He wasn't sure why he’d given it to him.For once it was his own eyes trailing up his body, yet he still felt sick. Was this really what everyone saw? His hands came to shield his shoulders. He was nothing...nothing but scars and bruises. His ankles were scarred over from here the cuffs that had dug too deep into his skin. His legs were littered in scars from an escape attempt. All he known for the last few years was torture and cruel experiments. His hips freckled with needle marks from every injection he’d been forced to take. His chest was still covered with bruises from one of the other experiment’s outbursts. He couldn’t even blame him, he just wished he’d taken it out on one of their captors instead. He finally locked eyes with himself. His eyes watering, one swollen nearly shut and bruised, his lip busted and nose covered by a white splint. His bottom lip quivered. He couldn't remember what he looked like before scars took home on his skin. They weren't like bruises that’d go away over time along with the memories. They were parasites that infected every inch of his skin. He didn’t care that he’d probably be taken to the quiet room for his actions; he couldn't bear to see himself. Whumpee threw the mirror to the ground immediately dropping to the ground to finish the job. He slammed his fists into it over and over, he didn’t care about the shards digging into his fist or the blood starting to stain it. 

When Whumper came into his room he was stunned by the mess of glass and Whumpee’s curled up and bleeding form next to the shattered mirror he’d given him. He sighed standing over him. Whumpee heard him mumble fifty one fifty into his radio. Whumpee felt a little better knowing he wouldn’t have to see his reflection for the next three days.

[defire]

My whump OC's be like

OC:

Well I may not be faring well but at least I'm a great punching bag!

Me:

...honey, what

OC:

What? I can really take a beating! It's a skill!

Me:

That is not a skill my child. That is not a skill. Don't try to make the beatings good. Beatings are bad my son.

[the-enhanced-project]

‎‧₊˚✧ Charlie Barak - Character Intro ✧˚₊‧

picrew here

‎‧₊˚✧ Basic Info ✧˚₊‧

Name || Charlotte ‘Charlie’ Barak

Age || Twenty-Two

Birthdate || August 25th

Gender + pronouns || Trans girl + she/her

Orientation || Lesbian

Ethnicity || Syrian

Alias || Conductor

╰› This was the alias Charlie used during her time as a fighter. She was one of those kids who was really into trains, so it was a play on that and an electrical conductor.

Enhancement || Electrokenisis

╰› Charlie's body creates an excess amount of static electricity, which causes many health issues such as chronic migraines and seizures (powers with drawbacks my beloved). She can expel small amounts of electricity from her body (typical lightning powers you'd see in media), as well as manipulate electrical devices around her (lights, for example).

Alignment || Neutral good

Daytime occupation || Bartender

College Major || Kinesiology

Likes || Sports (she’s on the track and basketball teams), working out, running, going to the gym

Dislikes || Her past, wide open spaces, feeling exposed, her own anger

‎‧₊˚✧ Appearance ✧˚₊‧

Charlie has warm brown skin and caramel brown eyes that look almost gold in the sun. Her wavy dark brown hair is usually tied back in a small ponytail or bun, especially when she's working or at the gym, though a few strands hang loosely over her forehead.

She's quite tall and well built, considering how active she is. She has one of those noses that's clearly been broken before and never really healed right, so not it's kinda crooked.

Height || 5’11’’ (180 cm)

Outfits || Her work outfit is a simple white collared shirt rolled up to her elbows, under a black vest type thing--typical bartender uniform thingy. When she's not at work, she doesn't put a huge amount of effort into her appearance, dressing simple and practical rather than for fashion.

‎‧₊˚✧ Personality ✧˚₊‧

For as long as she could remember, Charlie's been angry.

At the world, at the people who ruined her life, at her brother, and most of all at herself. It started as a quiet burn inside of her when her brother died, and only intensified as she grew older and eventually escaped the facility. Eventually, though, with the right people to help, she's learned to start managing it. She's still angry, but now she doesn't have to beat up people twice her size to deal with it.

...at least for a while.

ANYWAYS.

She's friendly at the surface level--she has to be, working in customer service--but she's still pretty reserved and secretive. Paranoid, almost. She doesn't give up personal information easily. But if you're someone she's already close with, she's fairly loyal and open. It just takes a bit to get there.

She's really athletic, and enjoys playing and watching sports, working out, going to the gym, etc etc. She's reactive, adaptable, and a fighter at heart.

Myers-Briggs || ESTP

‎‧₊˚✧ Background ✧˚₊‧

tw - charlie's backstory includes themes of kidnapping, and loss of a family member. Keep yourself safe first and foremost <3

Charlie was twelve years old when her enhancement developed. She was simply sitting in her 6th grade science classroom, trying to ignore the boys in her class who kept throwing colored pencils at her. But eventually, she turned, yelled, "will you quit it?", and the lights in the classroom went out.

While in hindsight, it was painted as simply a coincidence--faulty wires, or something--Charlie knew deep down that it wasn't. She'd heard the stories of the kids who could do crazy things on tv, of course. But she'd also heard stories of those people being murdered, kicked out, and other unspeakable things. So, she was smart enough to stay quiet.

Unfortunately, someone else noticed.

Her science teacher, Mr. Holt. He'd always talked in class about the enhanced, seemed fascinated by them. Charlie had never thought much about that.. until he took her.

One moment, she was simply walking home from the park with her 5 year old little brother, Caleb, and the next.. a sharp pain in her neck, then darkness.

The siblings awoke in some sort of makeshift science laboratory that looked like it had been built out of a shed.

The next three and a half years of Charlie's life were a blur of experiments and agony. From what she could gather, Holt was fascinated by the enhanced, he would do anything to figure out why they could do what they could do, how that could help him, etc etc. Charlie and her brother were the unfortunate guinea pigs for his tests.

Caleb was killed a year into it, experiment gone wrong, and maybe he was the lucky one. And then Charlie was alone, terrified.

She was fifteen when she finally escaped, by stealing some chemicals from the lab, dumping them onto Holt's face, and making a run for it.

She wandered for a while, having no idea where she was, what to do, where to go, etc. She eventually found her way into the city, and for a while she.. survived. She slept wherever she could, found food, used the public computers in the library to find out that not only had she been pronounced missing and then dead, but her parents had died sometime in her absence as well. She doubted it was an accident.

She was angry. She was alone, terrified, starving, but most of all she was so, so angry.

Eventually, she came across this sort of.. fight club, for enhanced people. It offered a pretty good pay for the simple act of going into a pit and beating the shit out of someone.. no rules, just entertainemnt for whatever sickos decided to check it out.

It wasn't perfect, but it was the best opportunity she had. So, Charlie signed up. Even though most of her opponents were twice her size, she was able to fight defensively and use her powers to her advantage.

She used this as her primary income for food and basic needs for a while, until she met Robyn.

He was also a fighter at this place, around her age. They met between matches, quickly becoming good friends. Good enough that they were eventually able to scrounge together enough money to get a tiny apartment together and enroll in school.

Charlie now works as a bartender at the Sine, a sports bar a little away from her college campus. She shares an apartment with Robyn while she works on a kinesiology degree.

‎‧₊˚✧ Links ✧˚₊‧

-> Tumblr tag

-> Character hub wiki

-> Pinterest board

‎‧₊˚✧ Tag List ✧˚₊‧

(ask to be added)

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