fallingstormphoenix

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Don’t let them bury me as someone I’m not.

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Heyyyyy y’all! I’m back!

What characters do y’all want to see again now that I’ll probably be writing again!

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IF YOU ARE UNMARRIED, DON’T HAVE KIDS, AND HATE YOUR PARENTS PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD HAVE A FUCKING WILL

this has been a public service announcement from your friendly neighborhood probate lawyer

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“my child is fine” your child has long ebony black hair with purple streaks and red tips that reaches her mid-back and icy blue eyes like limped tears

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My cat: *sits on my parcel scale*

My cat: *realises that she’s hungry, hops down off my desk, and goes to eat*

My cat: *finishes eating, hops back onto my desk, and once again sits on my parcel scale*

Me: Yes, thank you for that information.

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This item is called "The Dingray"

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In the same vein of cave paintings having children’s handprints higher than their height suggesting them being lifted up or sitting on the shoulders of adults, there’s footprints in Australia dating to the Ice Age showing a group of adults and children walking to a body a water, and one child breaking away from the group to seemingly skip in a wavy path until rejoining the group

This is like 20 thousand years ago! And the joy and happiness of going to water made this child playfully skip along! It’s universal! Dancing their way back to their family!

In a language we will never hear, a culture we’ll never know, with thoughts and ideas we can only imagine! There are millennia of untold moments of happiness, of human connection and warmth that are gone forever. But they still happened! Did that family even notice the tracks they left? How could they have known that that one day their impossibly distant descendants would be able to see the imprints they made?

Another set of tracks in the same area shows three men hunting a giant kangaroo, running at incredible speeds, but one of them had only one foot! They jumped along on one foot, every so often an imprint from a stick appearing. How did they lose their limb? An accident? A fight? A predator? Was it completely gone or maimed? Was it from birth? Either way this person was cared for by their family and was able to heal and participate fully in life! They most likely felt grief when their family member lost the use of their limb! Who cared for them? Who gave them the stick to help them walk? What kind of joy did their family feel when they made a recovery? Did someone shape and carve the stick? They certainly worked all of their other wooden tools, something as essential that would have been too.

This was during the ice age when Australia became a brutally cold, dry desert. Their entire food system had to change. By all indications it should have been a stark and difficult life of little resources. But no! They worked together! They looked after their wounded and sick! The speed that these hunters were running at was incredible and means they were well fed and healthy! A millennia of helping one another and caring for one another and all we can get are tiny glimpses of these moments did they catch the kangaroo did they laugh and congratulate each other when they did how happy were they to bring it back to their families I just

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[footage of the inside of an ordinary Eastern-European home, taken with a handheld phone camera, the man filming is walking from the living room to the back door of the house]

man, narrating in russian: Every fucking year, this time of the year, the pond at my backyard gets infested. What do ponds get infested with? Frogs? Poisonous weeds? Geese? No. Not my pond.

[The man opens the back door, stepping out into a garden. Three or four nude, human-like figures dash from the borders of a pond back into the water.]

man: Rusalki! I don't know where they come from or how they get here, and I can't afford to hire an exterminator every year. I can't let my cat outside anymore. Last year a rusalka managed to drown a whole deer in my pond, the stench was unbearable.

[He walks as he speaks, approaching the pond. There are several eerily beautiful female beings peering at him from under the surface, their long hair floating in the murky water. Their eyes are gleaming in an unhuman way. The man holding the camera stops to film them.]

man, calm and deadpan: What the fuck are all of you staring at. Get jobs or something.

[One of the rusalki, smaller than the others and clearly not a fully matured adult, slowly reaches out of the water with her white, thin hand, grasping his ankle. He appears unconcerned.]

man: You can't drown me, you little idiot. You're too small. Shoo!

[A loud thud startles the rusalki, making them scatter. A second thud makes it clear these are the approaching footsteps of something massive. The man turns around and points the camera at what appears to be a house, walking past above the treeline with chicken-like legs]

man, now yelling: IF YOUR HOUSE SHITS ON MY YARD AGAIN I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD-

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If an alien race were the same size as these octopi, the females would be 6.6ft (2m) in height, and their males would only be 2.4cm tall.

Imagine seeing what you think is your alien comrade sitting alone with dinner, only to see a tiny figure dart across the table like a bug. It scurries up her arm and seems to plant a little kiss on her cheek. 

Surprise, she’s having dinner with her husband!

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Occuldous, the first Starwitch I created. Art by Ghost of Sharon

#whump community #whump trope #whump blog #whump #pet whump #pet whumpee #starwitch

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Wild Little One

Wolf paced the kennel, following the path worn into the packed dirt by 23 years of his small feet shuffling or stomping over it. Dust didn’t stir up anymore like it had for the first few years he’d been there. He’d been younger then, and would lunge at the bars of the pen, baring his teeth and snarling at anything that moved. He was older now, slower, didn’t have the energy for such pointless displays of aggression. He didn’t have to in order to scare people now. The scars that littered his little 3 foot tall, 45-pound body did that for him.  No Darkwitch with that many scars should survive a fight.  Not many could.  But Wolf did.  And that made him *terrifying*

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Can I just say I love Storm & Stella so much!!!

Awww thank you so much 😁😁😁

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Restraining Ideas

First, Kinds of things to restrain with:

Obviously we got rope. but there’s also really rough rope, like the kind that even if you touch it you get little bits of fiber stuck in your hand

personally I like barbed wire but just plain old wire is great too. it cuts into the whumpee’s skin with ease if pulled on too much

classic handcuffs 

zip ties

duct tap

chains

also mental restraining, like if the whumpee moves even a muscle then the whumper will kill their friend or whatever. my favorite is when the whumpee is being whipped and has to hold themselves to the post, otherwise someone else will be punished for it.

next, how they’re restrained 

my favorite thing for a while was the whumpee being suspended from the ceiling, their toes just brushing the floor. honestly it’s still one of my favs.

whumpees being hogtied is great. there’s a movie called Barracuda that has a great hogtied scene in it. however, if I’m remembering correctly, the movie is in french. but I’m also pretty sure you can find it for free on youtube.

the whumpee’s wrists are tied and pulled to each side of the room. pulling their arms apart and forcing them to stay on their knees

also just being tied down on their knees.

I like it when necks are also restrained. like the whumpee is tied to a post with the rope also around their neck, keeping them from moving their head. or maybe the neck is the only thing that is restrained. the whumpee putting them on a leash or leaving them chained up with the cold metal tight around their throat. ugh imagine the bruises.

only having a leg or a wrist restrain with juuuust enough slack to almost reach the door.

also what if the whumpee was being restrained by the neck but like, if they move they get hung? or hanged? hung…..? anyways, the whumper puts them up on a stool or something of the like. the whumpee has to fight after a while because the fatigue is starting to get to them and if they fall off then their dead. or the whumper puts them on a stool and begins the torture. the whumpee can do nothing but stand as still as possible so that he doesn’t strangle himself

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The Art of Humiliation: Prompt

Eyes glued to their task, the whumpee tries their hardest to concentrate as their whumper saunters around the room occasionally distracting with snide remarks. All of a sudden, their blood runs cold as they feel the weight of a chin on their shoulder and prying arms slithering around their waist.

“W-What are you?-”

“Last time I whipped you, you were a lot more receptive, you know?”

“I-I didn’t-”

“Almost like you wanted it.” 

The whumpee’s words fail them as they stammer defensively, trying to justify themselves to the sick accusation. 

They didn’t want it. They never wanted it. How could they? 

But the whumper is relentless in throwing jab after jab with their convulsive, cruel laughter as the whumpee gets increasingly agitated, tears pricking at the corners of their eyes.

“You’re a twisted little masochist, aren’t you?”

“I’m NOT!-” The strangled cry leaves them, eyes lowered as they struggle against the grip.

The whumper is leering, a grin stretching from ear to ear as they crush the whumpee’s body against their own, keeping them hostage to hear each succeeding blow.

“Little freak, aren’t you?-” 

“Stop!-”

“Look at you getting all flushed, why didn’t you just tell me from the beginning?” 

Their thrashing is useless. They lost the game. 

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Whump Prompt #4

After yet another brutal session of torture, the whumpee sobs into the whumper’s shirt as they gently stroke their hair, whispering soft words of comfort into their neck. They quiet their hitching sobs with a gentleness so unlike them and smooth a hand over their tear soaked face. 

“Oh,” they whisper adoringly. “Keep going. You look so much better like this, love.”

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Whump Prompt 43

“Repeat your rules back to me.”

Whumpee’s breath catches in their throat, but they manage to let out a slow stream of air. “…Never speak unless given permission by Master. D—Do not fight back when Master is punishing me. Never… Never beg unless Master desires it. Let Master use my body in—in w-whatever way he pleases. Do not ever leave Master…”

“Very good. Now, repeat your truths to me.”

Tears begin to stream down Whumpee’s eyes. “No one is looking for me. No one—No one wants to find me. If I try to leave, I will die. If I am punished, it’s because I deserve it. My body is not my own. If I am good for my Master, my Master will be happy. And… And I want him to be happy.”