wounds-seen-and-unseen

[wounds-seen-and-unseen]

“I’m sorry, (caretaker). I’m sorry I’m this way” + caretaker for the whump prompts ask please?

Love the idea of this game!

"I... I'm sorry too."

"It's not your fault. I promise."

"Look at me. You're okay. There's nothing wrong with you."

"Don't apologize for what they did to you."

"I just--I don't know what to do anymore, yknow? I don't."

[wounds-seen-and-unseen]

Royal whump prompts

“They’re going to betray you. You know that, don’t you?”

“You cannot manage this kingdom alone.”

“Is this how you want the people to see you? To see our family?”

“Do you know what happens when the masses hate their ruler? They rebel, Whumpee.”

“Your family may have gotten away, but you’re going to pay for everything they’ve done.”

“You dishonour our family name.”

“You truly didn’t see this coming? My, you certainly are naive, Your Majesty.”

“Poor little prince/princess, where’s your crown now?”

“You failed us.”

“This kingdom is falling apart. Believe it or not, you need my help.”

“If you cared about your people, you would do something.”

“I would say there are few people we can trust these days. But of course, my loyalties lie with you, Your Majesty.”

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Chat is it too much to ask for angel or knight whumpee stuff. I am a simple man! I just want pious, otherworldly and heroic characters to be completely destroyed by enemies that they could not defeat, to be throughly and violently stripped of their strength, of their status and perception as protectors and come out of the other side of their torture as sub-human beings who can only continue existing if they are of use to someone else.

And then they are selflessly taken in and looked after Caretaker, yet, being protected by someone they would have been the one looking after... isn't that so degrading? Such a painful reminder as to how far they have fallen from their former glory?.

Chat please talk to me about this type of whumpee, I am going to go crazy /j

[wounds-seen-and-unseen]

royal whump scenario where a servant witnesses the heir to the throne makes a mistake in their training—they flinch away during sparring. They dare to raise a hand to protect their face.

The heir, without waiting for their trainer to speak, drops to their knees and pulls their shirt off over their head. Their bottom lip trembles. They don’t beg they don’t speak they merely bow their head with the full crushing knowledge that mistakes cannot be made. Their back is already scarred with winding lines that crisscross their skin. And their trainer lifts a short-handled whip, “I really thought you would have learned courage by now.”

The servant presses back into the corner, a hand clasped over their mouth, horror burning like a newborn flame. They make brief eye contact with the heir and see fear— raw and pleading. The heir‘s gaze darts away almost instantly, faster than a moth in flight, as the whip cracks down

[wounds-seen-and-unseen]

Chapter 2 Part 4: Special Treatment

⚠️ CW: Institutionalized Slavery, Dehumanization, Blood, Public Whipping, Public Humiliation, degradation, Noncon Nudity (briefly ordered at the end). If I missed anything, please let me know.

✨️Thank you to my beta readers, @generic-whumperz and @3-2-whump. Also, i added a few things post beta read, so if there are mistakes, please let me know.✨️

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Story Under the Cut.

The Mongrel snapped up almost simultaneously to the door banging open. A field handler, a large muscular Valten man, strode in. The Valten were another race that lived in Tallis, they couldn’t read minds like the Tallisian, but their lighting was equally as frightening, and infinitely more painful.

“Up, out to the frame,” the man barked.

The Mutt was already halfway out when he noticed Zan was still in the process of getting off his mat. Before he could do anything, Zan’s tardiness had earned himself a sharp kick in the ribs. The Dog had to suppress the impulse to roll his eyes. Zan had already been here a year or so, that was plenty long enough to know slow responses were not tolerated.

He walked out stiffly, thighs still in immense pain, Zan following not far behind, shoved forward by the field handler. The sinking sun highlighted the fall colors on the trees around the mansion ground. They walked in silence around the back side of the mansion and up to the front of the yard where the frame stood. The roughly dozen other slaves were already gathered.

The Mongrel swallowed a forming lump. The frame was a set of two posts roughly an arm span apart. He was intimately familiar with this punishment, his limbs ached just looking at it. Before he could think further on it a rough hand shoved him forward.

“How nice of you to join us,” Balor chirped, rubbing his hands together.

The Mongrel suppressed a flinch, and immediately dropped to his knees in the gray gravel around the frame. The wounds on his thighs protested, and he felt the sharp rocks dig into his knees as he dropped with more force than he had meant to. He could tell what kind of mood the man was in, and it chilled him down to his core. Chilled him deeper than the autumn air at night.

Beside him, he could hear Zan growl, deep and guttural. The Mutt wanted to tell him to stop, but the order of quiet earlier ensured he couldn’t. The forced silence made him want to claw out his own throat. It caused panic and the feeling of being trapped to have his voice stolen in this manner. His thoughts flashed back to the year he spent under such an order and wanted to sob.

Balor fisted The Dog’s hair, snapping him from his thoughts. “What have I told you?” he whispered, dangerously quiet, “You are not a person, ‘I’, ‘me’, those are not words I even want to hear you think. You are a tool, and barely even that. You have one function, to drink down poison, that’s it. You are not to think, or feel, just follow orders and eat poison.”

The Mutt suppressed a whine. It forgot to check itself. It reflexively opened its mouth to apologize, only to be met with the familiar pain of the bands swimming through its veins. ‘It, it, it, its not a person, just an object.’

Balor released his grip on The Mongrel’s hair and sauntered up to Zan. “Now what to do with you?”

The Mutt could tell by Balor’s voice that the Tallisian was grinning.

It watched their feet as Balor pulled Zan to the frame and hooked him up to the frame. The chains were pulled tight by the Valten handler until Zan’s limbs were outstretched between the two pillars. The Mutt shivered.

“I got it!” Balor snapped brightly, “it seems like you need some practice counting. Each slave here will whip you until I say stop. At the end you will tell us how many lashes you were given. Fail to do so, or get it wrong, we’ll go again.”

The Mongrel’s eyes widened but it kept them fixed on the gray gravel it was kneeling on. This was a no-win situation for Zan, assuming he didn’t tear his piercing before the end anyway.

Balor passed the whip to one of the younger brass band intended slaves. The Mutt could smell the shock and fear in the girl as she stepped up. It could also hear her small gasp, followed by shallow breaths even over the autumn breeze.

The whip slapped rather than cracked. It was clear the girl has never used one before. It was still enough to leave a red line on Zan’s tan skin though. The girl hit him a few more times. Luckily The Dog was the only one near with hearing keen enough to hear the concealed sobs as she went again and again, each hit as ineffective as the next.

Balor caught her wrist. “that’s enough,” he growled, clearly irked. He passed the whip to the biggest of the slaves, a burly Drar the other slaves affectionately nicknamed Grizz.

First hit, crack, the whip drew blood, eliciting a muffled reaction from Zan’s throat. Grizz’s lashes continued for what felt like hours. The Mutt counted 43 before Balor stopped him, taking the whip. Zan’s back was dripping blood and raw, his body slumping against the restraints. To his credit, he did not scream.

Balor then strode up to The Mongrel and dropped the whip in front of it, rather than handing it off like he did previously. “Your turn,” Balor’s voice was hard and cruel, but it also held a gleeful note.

The Mutt’s stomach turned at the thought of him enjoying this. The sight of Zan’s back in front of it brought images of a boy holding out an apple, images that caused fear and bile and guilt to rise. It grabbed the whip, trying to push the pictures out of its mind. It rose stiffly, thighs screaming, legs heavy from kneeling. 'Just a tool.'

“What is the meaning of this? Do you wish to replace Zan?! We can definitely add a few more scars to your collection if that’s the case,” Balor huffed.

Hiding all emotion, it calmly stepped up to the frame and Zan. Instead of striking his already raw back, however, it turned and faced Balor and the rest of the slaves behind it. It held the whip out to Balor while bowing. it could smell the anger on him. ‘Your turn’ wasn’t technically an order, so it wasn’t technically breaking any rules. Thus, the bands remained inert.

Being asked a direct question, even if it was likely rhetorical, finally released the order to be quiet earlier that day.

“Sir, any more, and he’ll be out of working order,” The Mongrel said carefully. Its voice was gravelly and quiet. It kept its gaze on the floor trying to come off as meek as possible. It then, still feeling the old familiar guilt, quietly added, "And if need my blood as well...." it trailed off.

“You dare tell ME how to do the job MY FATHER, YOUR MASTER, had entrusted me to do? You dare question me? Filthy cur!” Balor backhanded The Mutt.

It turned its face slightly with the blow, cheek reddening, but otherwise did not react.

“You think you’re so special because you’re Father’s favorite? Because he pays special attention to you? What would the other slaves think if they knew what kind of monster you really were? A monster that even chased my mother away.” Balor turned to the field overseers and other slaves, “you all want to see why this trash actually gets so much ‘special treatment’ right?”

There was a murmur of agreement and questioning that made The Mutt’s downturned face burn with shame. It welcomed the burn However, it was something other than cold. If it was being completely honest, it almost liked the sensation, a brief reprieve from the guilt.

“Rodrick, release Zan and string up this piece of dirt facing everyone… while you’re at it, strip it first … I’ll be right back,” Balor patted The Dog’s cheek before stalking off.

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Taglist:

@whumpsandbumps, @whumperofworlds, @skittles-the-whumpee, @3-2-whump, @wounds-seen-and-unseen,

@generic-whumperz, @emptycalories-splitlip, @pigeonwhumps, @i-eat-worlds, @starfields08000

@onlywhump, @snakebites-and-ink, @aloafofbreadwithanxiety, @turvuren, @whumps-and-bumps

@paingoes, @spectral-whumpy-writer, @vampiresprite, @whumping-in-the-dark, @saffitaffi

@ichortwine

Let me know if you wanted to be added to or taken off the taglist.

My inbox is always open to feedback, too.

[wounds-seen-and-unseen]

Misplaced guilt.

They should have done something (in a situation where they couldn't).

They should have known (there was no reality where they could have known).

They should've been better (they were so young).

They have to apologize in every possible moment (they shouldn't apologize for anything).

They deserve to be punished for their mistakes (they had no choice in making them).

Just. Guilt complexes. Yes please.

[wounds-seen-and-unseen]

In a world where the supernatural has been known to humans for decades, the law is harshly enforced against those who use their powers to commit crimes. After being convicted of aggravated assault, a werewolf is given a choice: go to a supernatural prison—a fate considered by many to be worse than death—or work off his sentence by helping the police solve murders. Unfortunately for him, the cops aren’t inclined to go easy on their new helper.

Beasts in Blue Chapter 37 - Thoughts

Rating: E

Pairings: Werewolf/Detective

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-con, lots of whump

[wounds-seen-and-unseen]

Writing Worksheets & Templates

will update this every few weeks/months. alternatively, here are all my tagged Writing Worksheets & Templates

Chapter Outline ⚜ Character- or Plot-Driven Story

Death & Sacrifice ⚜ Magic & Rituals ⚜ Plot-Planning

Editing: Sentence Check ⚜ Writing Your Novel: 20 Questions

Tension ⚜ Thought Distortions ⚜ What's at Stake

Character Development

50 Questions ⚜ Backstory ⚜ Character Creation

Antagonist; Villain; Fighting ⚜ Protagonist & Antagonist

Character: Change; Adding Action; Conflict

Character: Creator; Name; Quirks; Flaws; Motivation

Character Profile (by Rick Riordan) ⚜ Character Sheet Template

Character Sketch & Bible ⚜ Interview your Character

Story-Worthy Hero ⚜ "Well-Rounded" Character Worksheet

Worldbuilding

20 Questions ⚜ Decisions & Categories ⚜ Worksheet

Setting ⚜ Dystopian World ⚜ Magic System (AALC Method)

Templates: Geography; World History; City; Fictional Plant

Writing References: Worldbuilding ⚜ Plot ⚜ Character

all posts are queued. send questions/requests here.

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Writing Notes & References

Alchemy ⚜ Antidote to Anxiety ⚜ Attachment ⚜ Autopsy

Art: Elements ⚜ Principles ⚜ Photographs ⚜ Watercolour

Children ⚜ Children's Dialogue ⚜ Childhood Bilingualism

Character Quirks ⚜ Cruise Ships ⚜ Dystopian World

Culture ⚜ Culture Shock ⚜ Ethnocentrism & Cultural Relativism

Emotions: Anger ⚜ Fear ⚜ Happiness ⚜ Sadness

Emotional Intelligence ⚜ Genius (Giftedness)

Facial Expressions ⚜ Laughter & Humour ⚜ Swearing & Taboo

Fantasy Creatures ⚜ Literary & Character Tropes

Fight Scenes Part 1 2 ⚜ Kill Adverbs

Food: Cooking Basics ⚜ Herbs & Spices ⚜ Sauces ⚜ Wine-tasting ⚜ Aphrodisiacs ⚜ List of Aphrodisiacs ⚜ Food History

Genre: Crime ⚜ Horror ⚜ Fantasy ⚜ Speculative Biology

Hate ⚜ Love ⚜ Kinds of Love ⚜ The Physiology of Love

How to Write: Food ⚜ Colours ⚜ Drunkenness

Jargon ⚜ Logical Fallacies ⚜ Memory

Magic: Magic System ⚜ 10 Uncommon ⚜ How to Choose

Moon: Part 1 2 ⚜ Related Words

Mystical Items & Objects ⚜ Talisman ⚜ Relics ⚜ Poison

Realistic Injuries ⚜ Rejection ⚜ Structural Issues ⚜ Villains

Symbolism: Colors ⚜ Food ⚜ Numbers ⚜ Storms

Thinking ⚜ Thinking Styles ⚜ Thought Distortions

Compilations: Plot ⚜ Character ⚜ Worldbuilding ⚜ For Poets

all posts are queued. will update this every few weeks/months. send questions or requests here.

[wounds-seen-and-unseen]

The WRU customer’s guide

Chapter 2 - Product receival

(Distributed by WRU ©)

Your Boxie arrived! And now what?

Congratulations on getting your new Pet! The WRU staff thanks you for your preference. 

We assure your new Pet is suited to attend all your necessities and wishes thanks to its top-tier training with WRU’s most brilliant teams of professional handlers. If your experience is enjoyable, please consider leaving a feedback on our site! Your opinion matters a lot to us.

Your pet's serial number and designation can be verified at its register that was printed and shipped alongside the product, and also sent to your online mail. If there is a mistake and you can't find it, please refer to custome service on the nearest WRU store or our site, wru.com.

What's included in your product

Inside the box that you received is one (1) WRU Box Boy, which is wearing a basic WRU shipping uniform and collar. Alongside it is your Pet's Owner’s File that includes its designation, medical record and further information.

If there is any damage or parts of your delivery missing, please don’t hesitate to call the WRU team (DDD xxxx-xxxx) that will promptly resolve your issue.

Unboxing your Boxie

Unboxing your new Pet should be very easy. However, if this is your first time unboxing a Box Boy you might ask your deliverer to assist you.

[ID: A loosely drawn pet box with the WRU logo on the side as well as two handles instead of one. Below the box is written "Box lol". /end ID.]

Please check if your package is an WRU Pet Box.

The Box was sealed during the shipping process to avoid opening up and damaging your Pet on the way. To unlock it, remove the bolt of the door and pull the six locks arranged as 2 on the top, 2 at the bottom and more 2 on the left side. This should be enough to unlock your box.

Your new Pet is awaiting inside! It might be curled up awake or sleeping, in which case you can press the button under the red compartiment on the right side of the Box, which will send a quick shock to awake it.

Depending on the delivery, your boxie might have stayed in there from two to nine hours. Give it some time to come out of the package, and it should kneel in front of it. If you think your Pet is taking too long to come out or is not taking the supposed position, it might be hurt or confused, in which case, you can demand a self diagnostic by asking it if there is any damage. If that is the case, do not worry; You can acess the Pet First-Aid guide on our site or refer to the nearest WRU store, that will promptly take care of it for you.

Tip: You can keep the Box until you have arranged a proper enclosure for your Pet.

Settling your new Pet

After taking your Box Boy out of the package, look for a green sheet that contains its information and history. That is your Pet Owner’s guide. Be sure to verify it is indeed your Pet and that it has not been any mistake in the shipping process.

Your Pet is now ready to serve you, but it needs you to state the boundaries and rules of your house, so it may act accordingly. You can let them in some room as you put the shipping package away.

Once you’re done, show your house to the Pet and tell it what its duties are gonna be. You might name it or assign a room and belongings to it, if you so wish, but be assured it doesn’t need any accomodations besides the basics to be in its best behavior.

If you have any doubts about accomodating your new Pet or how to handle it, please check our site for more information.

Thank you for trusting WRU with your comfort! :)

Did you know?

WRU © not only cares a lot about our customers, but also we care about the environment!

In order to fight climate change, we in WRU adopted the Tip for a Tree project, in which every dollar you donate goes to WRU’s partners who are working for a greener future!

Acess more information at wru/tipforatree.com.

[ID: The WRU logo, a grey W with a V crossed over it. /end ID.]

--

lmao what do you guys think

credits of the logo to @endless-whump

[wounds-seen-and-unseen]

Chapter 2 Part 2: Shattered Glass

⚠️CW: Institutionalized slavery, torture, dehumanization, humiliation, angst, bullying. If I missed anything, please let me know.

A special thanks as always to @3-2-whump and @generic-whumperz for listening to my babble, talking things out is the best way for me to world build. Sorry its been a hot minute everyone, but I needed a shutdown period for a bit.

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The large, muscular Drar with short cropped black hair and an air of insolence walked in. The Mongrel was just a few steps behind him, eyes downcast. The difference between the two slaves couldn’t be more stark. Even Balor himself had to admit that the Dog’s manners and obedience were much finer, as was expected. The Mutt has been much more thoroughly trained. Additionally, after everything, it owed him absolute obedience.

“What do you want?” Zan asked hostilely.

Balor noted that the other slave’s response made The Mutt flinch ever so slightly. Balor smirked, The Mongrel knew what was coming. He tucked away The Runt’s reaction, making a mental note to punish it for breaking bearing later.

“Leave us, Mutt,” Balor ordered, his voice echoing slightly in the large marbled entry room of the mansion.

The Mongrel bowed deeply, once again displaying perfect form, before wordlessly leaving.

“Now…” Balor circled Zan a bit, like a raptor circling his prey. “….Care to rephrase that last little comment?”

“Fuck you, you aren’t my master, I don’t owe you courtesy. You’re just a spoiled child. I’m not like that damn simpering dog that just walked out.” Zan glared at Balor, fists balled.

“Funny, your Master put me in charge. And last time I checked I’m both a Tallisian and a noble, thus entitled to respect from a mere slave.” He grinned ear to ear, “You could afford to be more like that simpering dog, maybe we should arrange that.”

Balor watched with glee as Zan’s eyes grew wide with horror. It had been a stab in the dark, but to his pleasure he had hit a soft spot.

“Basement, now.” Balor hissed the order in a dangerously quiet tone. The bands would ensure that he would obey.

*****

Once outside The Dog took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cool autumn air. The scent of dying leaves and sweet ripening fruit wafted around him in the breeze. It was soothing to his raw nerves.

He walked around to the backside of the slave house, to the outside corner furthest away from the mansion. The Mutt suspected  that Sir would be busy with Zan for a while, and decided he could risk a look at his one and only possession he has ever had.

Other slaves might be allowed a few small trinkets, but for him, it was forbidden. Of course he would be forbidden, dogs and tools are only owned, they don’t own things, they don’t even own themselves. The Dog would be in so much trouble if this was ever discovered, but it wasn’t like he was hoarding anything valuable.

The Mongrel dug up the tiny pouch he kept safely hidden away. The smell of damp dirt and leather tickled his sensitive nose. The scent was comforting. It wasn’t lost on him how dog-like this behavior was, ‘Master is right,’ he sighed to himself.

The contents of the pouch jingled slightly as The Dog plopped himself down on the soft grass. With trembling hands, he dumped the contents into his palm. A colorful collection of broken glass bits tumbled out. Hues of blues and browns danced across his skin as the sunlight hit them.

They were just bits of trash, not unlike himself, but they were beautiful, and they were the only thing truly his. The Mongrel didn’t have a mat or a pillow like the other slaves or even a name, and clothing was a privilege that could easily be revoked by his master. These bits of glass were HIS and served as proof that even he could be liked one day.

Though, did he really deserve it. The years old familiar guilt crept in. He hadn’t thought of that incident in ages. He earned this treatment. He was the reason she left. Because of him Balor wore a scar to this day across his chest. He truly wasn’t a person; he didn’t deserve to be liked. Nobody liked monsters.

The Mutt was so caught up in his thoughts and glass, he wasn’t paying attention to his senses. He jumped when he went to hold a piece up to the sun, only to see Balor standing of too the side.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” Balor’s voice tore The Dog’s fragile moment of peace. His tone was not unlike the sound of ice cracking, and equally as cold.

The Dog fell to a kneeling bow, quickly trying to hide the glass under his torso. His- its- throat constricted in fear. He, no, its thoughts raced. Balor was not predictable like its master, he wasn’t safe like his - its master….. Balor relished reading minds, just looking for an excuse to hurt them, but mostly it, which it deserved. Its Master usually didn’t waste the energy. He disliked it when The Mutt thought of itself as a person, but didn’t care if it used the same terms you would refer to a dog as. Master would just take its glass and make it sleep outside for a while, but that wasn’t Balor’s style.

The Mongrel knew better than to try to lie. It didn’t even know how long he’d been standing there. It took a quiet breath. “This slave was looking at broken glass,” It replied honestly. It didn’t risk a glance up; it could smell the danger it was in for rolling off the man in front of it.

Again, unwanted memories surfaced. That scent of danger used to be the scent of warmth and happiness. Thirteen years ago, with its first taste of Divinity’s Downfall, was its last taste of friendship.

“Is that right?” Balor hissed. “And just where did you get this glass? Sounds like you’ve been stealing.”

The Mongrel visibly flinched, which was the wrong move. Flinching only ever made things worse. “No Sir, this slave would never steal. It….”

“Liar, I know for a fact you stole food a few days ago!” Balor yelled, cutting The Dog off holding up a hand of silence. “I’ve heard enough, I forbid you from speaking further. Now give them to me.”

Unable to resist a direct order, it fell silent. Its bands glowed bright purple with the difficulty of the request, yet their pleasant hum could not dull the sting. This collection was the only thing it had to its name. The pieces were just going to be thrown away, The Mongrel didn’t understand why it couldn’t have this one thing, this one small good. It had no bedding, shoes, or even a name. The only positive in its life was the glowing purple thrum of the bands when it obeyed.  It was an artificial comfort, but it was all it was allowed.

 ‘No, dogs don’t own, and it’s a dog not a slave,’ it reminded itself, swallowing back the impulse to use “I”.

It could talk and think like other slaves, it could even walk on two legs when permitted. It didn’t look like a dog either. Master called it a dog though, Master couldn’t be wrong…. Dogs get bones and toys and beds though; it was definitely not a dog…. Being a dog meant being cared for…. Being a dog would be a luxury.

‘It’s just a tool, tools don’t own. Tools don’t get people names. tools were nothing, had nothing beyond their usefulness. It was definitely a tool. A slave shaped tool.’

That was the mantra it repeated frequently, to lessen the suffering. It can’t suffer if it’s just a thing. Its master called it an ‘important tool’ once, and it grew in The Mongrel’s head from there.

It shook its head, tool, dog, it didn’t matter. Tremoring hands collected up the glass, returning the colors back into the dark. The Mutt knew it was in for it. Trying to brace itself, it handed the pouch to the man in front of it as it bit back a bitter, heavy feeling it only vaguely understood as sadness, this was all it had. Clawing through the sadness was also a growing fear.

“ZAN! BRING OUT A TRASH CAN!” Balor bellowed. There was no glass in the windows of the slave quarters, so Zan would have been able to hear him without the yelling.

About 30 seconds later Zan appeared around the corner of the brick building. The breeze kicked up and The Mutt could smell the metallic scent of blood on the slave. It risked a slight glance up, not enough to see Zan’s face, but enough to see his lips dripping with blood.

Before The Mongrel could react to the blood, Balor snatched the waste bin from Zan and approached the….. the tool, yes tool.

“Take off your trousers, put in your leather bite.”

The order was as crisp as the autumn air and it scrambled to obey. It folded them and laid them neatly to the side, allowing the gentle thrum to soothe its nerves. The taste of the thick leather that it kept on a cord around its neck filled its mouth. A taste that signaled pain was soon to follow, a taste that always turned its stomach with dread.

The leather was one privilege the others never got, something to bite down on during punishments. It wasn’t for its own comfort though; it was simply to protect its tongue from any accidental bites. That was the only part of The Mutt its master valued after all….

The younger Tallisian man crouched in front of it. “Put on your blindfold, I don’t want to see your creepy eyes or feel you staring at me.”

The Mongrel did as it was told, almost automatically. Another wave of the band’s warmth flowed through its veins. The world around it dulled only slightly with the loss of its sight.

Its acute hearing picked up the subtle tinkle of the glass in the pouch, followed by a sharp pain in its thigh, then another, and another. To The Dog’s horror and relief, it realized one by one, its glass was being embedded into its flesh. With its stunted healing the wounds would almost certainly get infected, but it would at least still have its glass. The one thing in this world that caught the sun and gave it to it, the warmth it was desperate for.

After the last one-it had been keeping count- It heard Balor stand, something thudded in front of it, and then another hollow thud that it recognized as the trashcan.

It came as no surprise when there was more pain. The Mutt came to expect pain and humiliation whenever Balor was around. It could feel the noble use his shoe to press down on its freshly bloodied thighs, driving the glass deeper.

It gasped. The Dog gritted its teeth, it could feel some of the pieces break inside of its flesh. It was desperately trying to hold and vocal sounds of pain in as Balor ground his foot into its thigh. Sounds would only cause the bands to add to the cacophony of pain. For now it took some small comfort in their gentle thrum, a small reward for staying silent.

“Remove your blindfold.”

The Mutt did as it was told once again. Once its eyes adjusted, it realized the source of the first thud was a knife sticking out of the ground.

“Now, dig each piece out and throw it away, one by one.” Balor’s voice was disturbingly amused as he snapped for Zan to lower to his hands and knees to provide a stool for him to sit and watch.

The mongrel felt like its stomach fell out of its belly. This was too much….. The hesitation caused the bands to begin their warning tingle. It reluctantly picked up the knife to avoid the pain.

A single, unbidden tear slid down its cheek as it began to slice into its own thigh to dig out the first piece. It recognized the shape as its favorite, but the blood coating it denied a final look at all of the little cracks and bubbles inside of it.

“I don’t know what you’re crying about, dogs own nothing,” Balor scoffed.

The pain was excruciating but it barely registered as it placed another shard into the bin. ‘Just a tool.’

The knife and glass were slick with blood and Balor had pushed the pieces in deep. This all made the removal process arduous and painful. Some pieces broke inside of it as well, further complicating getting everything out.

Finally, after what felt like hours, it fished the last piece of glass out of its thigh. It made a small tink in the bottom of the bin. It was probably only 2 hours judging by the sun, but it felt like an eternity.

Balor stood, getting off of Zan. “Don’t worry, I’ll be telling my father when he gets home as well. He will definitely be interested in knowing about this little hoarding habit you’ve picked up. I’ll let you two rest for now, I’ve got big plans for the two of you this evening, so clean yourselves up.” He whistled as he walked off with the bin of bloody glass.

@whumpsandbumps, @whumperofworlds, @skittles-the-whumpee, @wounds-seen-and-unseen, @emptycalories-splitlip

It was incidents like this that made The Mongrel wonder if Balor even remembered that they had once been friends at all.

Masterlist

Next 🔜

@pigeonwhumps, @i-eat-worlds, @starfields08000, @onlywhump, @snakebites-and-ink

@aloafofbreadwithanxiety, @turvuren, @whumps-and-bumps, @paingoes, @spectral-whumpy-writer,

@vampiresprite, @whumping-in-the-dark, @saffitaffi, @ichortwine

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Dasa's First set of Slave papers

A bit of world building for you all since I've been MIA lately.

@generic-whumperz, @3-2-whump, @whumpsandbumps, @whumperofworlds, @skittles-the-whumpee

@wounds-seen-and-unseen, @emptycalories-splitlip, @pigeonwhumps, @i-eat-worlds, @starfields08000

@onlywhump, @snakebites-and-ink, @aloafofbreadwithanxiety, @turvuren, @whumps-and-bumps

@paingoes, @spectral-whumpy-writer, @vampiresprite, @whumping-in-the-dark, @saffitaffi

@ichortwine

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Oooh, I like a lot of these tropes (and they’re sadly rather underused) Would love to read/hear more of your work!

Intro Post

Vi (she/her), Lesbian, late 20s, from the US. I’ve been a lurker for a while and I really wanted to try out writing something too. I’m still kind of new but I’m hoping I can learn from some of the cool people in this community.

Tropes I like:

Female characters (whumpees and whumpers), especially queer ones, with messy personal lives and relationships

Unhealthy/abusive relationships

Psychological abuse/gaslighting/manipulation

Kidnapping/captivity

Gilded cages

BBU, especially the way people overcome conditioning and make connections for survival

Flawed caretaking

Intimacy as comfort and also as a tool of violence (the blog will be 18+)

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List of Interesting Latin Phrases

A list I made just to satisfy my vain cravings for resonating mottos for a secret society I'm working on. Enjoy!

abi in malam crucem: to the devil with you!

ad astra per ardua: to the star by steep paths

ad augusta per angusta: to honors through difficulties

aegis fortissima virtus: virue is the strongest shield

amor vincit amnia: love conquers all things

animo et fide: by courage and faith

arbitrium est judicium: an award is a judgement

aut mors aut victoria: either death or victory

aut vincere aut mori: either victory or death

bello ac pace paratus: prepared in war and peace

bibamus, moriendum est: let us drink, death is certain (Seneca and Elder)

bonis omnia bona: all things are good to the good

cede nullis: yield to no one

cito maturum, cito putridum: soon ripe, soon rotten

consensus facit legem: consent makes law

data fata secutus: following what is decreed by fate (Virgil)

durum telum necessitas: necessity is a hrad weapson

dux vitae ratio: reason is the guide of life

e fungis nati homines: men born of mushrooms

ego sum, ergo omnia sunt: I am, therefore all things are

pulvis et umbra sumus: we are but dust and shadow

quae amissa salva: things lost are safe

timor mortis morte pejor: the fear of death is worse than death

triumpho morte tam vita: I triumph in death as in life

tu vincula frange: break your chains

vel prece vel pretio: for either love or for money

verbera, sed audi: whip me, but hear me

veritas temporis filia: truth is the daughter of time

vero nihil verius: nothing is truer than the truth

vestigia nulla restrorsum: foosteps do not go backward

victus vincimus: conquered, we conquer (Plautus)

sica inimicis: a gger to his enemies

sic vita humana: thus is human life

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

💎If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! Also, join my Tumblr writing community for some more fun.

����Before you ask, check out my masterpost part 1 and part 2 

Reference: <Latin for the Illiterati: a modern guide to an ancient language> by Jon R. Stone, second edition, 2009

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Memorio Occultae, In Nubio Occultas- Intro post.

My first OC work!

Premise:

Dr. Adrian Everheart would himself say that he is one of the luckiest people in the world. A fulfilling career at a young age, a name that commands respect, a loving mother. What more, he would ask with a smile, would a man want?

Nothing more. And yet, as time goes by, all the happiness in his life seems to be slipping away, lost in the ghosts of the past.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Characters:

Dr. Adrian Everheart: A budding neuropsychiatrist, specialised in geriatric psychiatry. 27 years of age.

Ms. Alazne Everheart: Adrian’s beloved mother, a writer. 60 years of age.

Dr. James Sinclair: Adrian’s mentor. 53 years of age.

Dr. Marissa Greengrass: An esteemed older colleague of James and Adrian. 68 years of age. Credit to @dreamer-in-sleep for this lady’s name!

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Trigger Warnings:

Please pay attention to this list.

Mentions and depictions of dementia.

Confused/disoriented character

Heavy emotional distress (character breaking down/panicking)

Loss of memories/identity

Please do not interact with this fic if such topics are your squick.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Taglist: @dreamer-in-sleep

Please let me know via DM/comment/ask if you want to be added to/removed from this list.

[wounds-seen-and-unseen]

Memorio Occultae, In Nubio Occultas- Intro post.

My first OC work!

Premise:

Dr. Adrian Everheart would himself say that he is one of the luckiest people in the world. A fulfilling career at a young age, a name that commands respect, a loving mother. What more, he would ask with a smile, would a man want?

Nothing more. And yet, as time goes by, all the happiness in his life seems to be slipping away, lost in the ghosts of the past.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Characters:

Dr. Adrian Everheart: A budding neuropsychiatrist, specialised in geriatric psychiatry. 27 years of age.

Ms. Alazne Everheart: Adrian’s beloved mother, a writer. 60 years of age.

Dr. James Sinclair: Adrian’s mentor. 53 years of age.

Dr. Marissa Greengrass: An esteemed older colleague of James and Adrian. 68 years of age. Credit to @dreamer-in-sleep for this lady’s name!

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Trigger Warnings:

Please pay attention to this list.

Mentions and depictions of dementia.

Confused/disoriented character

Heavy emotional distress (character breaking down/panicking)

Loss of memories/identity

Please do not interact with this fic if such topics are your squick.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Taglist: @dreamer-in-sleep

Please let me know via DM/comment/ask if you want to be added to/removed from this list.

[wounds-seen-and-unseen]

More notes, updated as of 15/10/24, with PubMed links.

The names of each study is written right next to the link, in case anyone is actually interested in looking them up.

Memorio Occultae, In Nubio Occultas- Adrian’s Notes

Tagging @dreamer-in-sleep @i-eat-worlds @abstractmarshmallow

Enclosed below are Adrian’s notes that he AirDrops to Elaine.

Will be updated via reblogs as I write further.