#potential whumpee

[genesissane]

Writing Prompt 415

X forced a smile and wet a cloth.  They spoke gently to Y as they wiped away the ashes on their face.  All the while, Y refused to release their death-grip on the half destroyed letter.

#my writing #prompt #my prompt #my prompts #writing #prompts #ashes #letter #fire #death-grip #wet cloth #potential whumpee #caretaker #asked a friend for a word and they gave me 'ashes' #this was the result #so this is a prompted writing prompts

[urlocalwhumper]

living weapon whumpee who's never known anything but pain and violence.

their existence hurts. they were made to be effective, not happy, and their masters decided that keeping them in constant pain provided better results. they're wilder, more unpredictable, and the pain keeps them from thinking straight enough to question anything.

they're only given painkillers, only allowed a respite from their seemingly endless suffering, after a successful mission. it keeps them loyal, and most importantly, teaches their brain to associate acts of violence with relief and rewards.

everyone they've ever met has treated them as a tool, a monster, or both. they don't know how to be anything else.

that is until they're rampaging through a village, destroying, killing, whatever their masters demand of them. whatever will give them a few blissful hours of numbness.

one of the villagers steps out of a ruined building and looks them straight in the eyes. whumpee expects fear, hatred, disgust, the things they see in the faces of every person who's ever crossed their path. but they see something completely different.

compassion.

whumpee is so stunned, they don't think to move or do anything at all as the villager steps closer, gently reaching out a hand to cup whumpee's face.

"oh, poor thing." they murmur, taking in the creature in front of them - part human, part animal, part machine. "they've done a number on you, huh?"

whumpee blinks at them. pain continues to course through their body, but the gentle hand on their cheek distracts them, even if just a little. all the indistinct noise in their foggy, addled mind finally goes quiet.

caretaker had stepped out in front of the being destroying their home with the intention to get through to it or die trying, and the expectation to absolutely die trying.

they did not at all expect the seemingly feral mishmash of metal, fur, and flesh to lean so heavily into their touch that they nearly collapsed into caretaker's arms.

#whump #whump prompts #nonhuman whumpee #living weapon whumpee #mine #chariot shiori on the brain tonite #the intention here is for whumpee to be this genetically engineered fusion of human and animal #the general build and anatomy of a human #but they grow fur on their limbs and partially up their back. they have an animal's sensitive ears. sharp canine fangs and a prehensile tail #and beyond that they've been outfitted with machine 'enhancements' to make them better suited for combat and destruction #and they've never experienced a kind touch in their life #letting them feel comfort will make them crave it. 'not actively suffering' should be the best they can strive for #their masters never anticipated that having someone treat them with anything other than revulsion or detatched indifference would break them #bc they banked on no one showing positive reactions to the monster that destroyed their homes and potentially killed their loved ones #caretaker is just crazy <33

[bamber344]

TW: potential implied non-con whump, drugged whumpee, coercion.

whumpee who doesn't even realise they're being whumped perhaps?

They are frequently invited to whumper's house under the pretence of some other activity (bonus points if it's some sort of contract/obligation that whumpee is reluctant to back out of) and offered a glass of water or some sort of snack once they get there, but little do they know it's been drugged. Whumpee consumes the offering and subsequently is knocked out, leaving them at whumper's mercy for however long.

eventually, whumpee wakes up, perhaps feeling a little sore, and whumper chides them for not getting enough sleep. Bonus points if caretaker comes to pick whumpee up while they're still asleep and whumper has to scramble for an explanation.

The longer this keeps happening, the more concerned caretaker gets. They know whumpee is getting enough sleep, and whumper is looking more and more suspicious with every strange bruise that whumpee comments on finding once they come home.

who knows what whumper is doing while whumpee's asleep? Experiments? Posing them for photos? Something worse? Does caretaker or whumpee ever figure it out? the possibilities are vast

#whump prompt #whump #whumpblr #drugged whumpee #intimate whumper #part time whump #potential non-con whump #tw noncon whump

[inky-the-artist]

cw: panic attack mentioned, hurt/comfort, recovery

a small whumpee huddled in a tight space when having a panic attack or being overwhelmed

and a bigger caretaker who wants to comfort them somehow managing to squeeze themselves in too, making whumpee laugh because of how comically they had to fold their limbs

#whump #whump aftercare #whumpee #caretaker #panic attack whump #whump panic attack #whump prompt #small whumpee #good caretaker #hurt/comfort #recovery whump #potentially found family

[letitbehurt]

Whumper manages to get a hold of Whumpee’s phone number. Whumpee instantly recognizes the voice.

#there is so much potential for this trope #Whumpee realizing they aren’t safe anymore #Whumper smiling on the other end of the line #this trope is just good shit #whump

[dont-be-gentle-please]

Whumpee being scared of loud noises. Fireworks. Honking. A pan being dropped accidentally. Gunshots.

Whumper could take advantage of it, punishing their sweet dumb pet in the most harmless and amusing way possible. Entertaining their guest with a shaking and pale whumpee covering their ears.

#don't be gentle please #dont-be-gentle-please #whump promt #pet whump #scared whumpee #this has potential but im sleepy

[inkwell-and-dagger]

Caretaker comes from a noble bloodline, as does Whumper, who all specialise in hunting mythical creatures. This trait and activity is passed on for generations, but Caretaker has no interest in it and deems it as cruel.

Until Whumper hosted a "celebration" of this activity, where all who are invited are given the choice to bring their domesticated and captured creatures to show off, Caretaker had no clue what the mythical creatures looked like, nor how diverse the species' were.

Caretaker soon finds out. All types of mythical or otherwise unique animals, ranging from kneeling elves to caged fairies to declawed werewolves to chained dragons, among many more. Though, one stands out to them; Whumpee, frail and small amongst the crowd and activity yet tense and alert, sitting dutifully beside Whumper's seat.

#monster whumpee #monster whump #nonhuman whumpee #implied whump #multiple whumpees #multiple whumpers #human caretaker #human whumper #pet whump #potential: #living weapon whumpee #if you view whumpee as some sort of guard protecting whumper (probably out of conditioning) #also probably: #conditioned whumpee #whump prompt #whump idea #whump drabble #whump thought #whump #whumpee #whumper #caretaker

[echo-goes-mmm]

Ambrose and Elliot #27

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: oral dub-con, implied non-con, starvation, violence

Master and his friends had passed out, finally. After hours and hours of drinking and sex and entertainment, they had fallen asleep. 

It was late, but he couldn’t bring himself to rest. He lay on the floor, naked and cold, dried cum sticky on his sore thighs.

He stared up at the ceiling. His throat hurt, angry bruises blossoming over his skin. One of Master’s friends, Mr. Horneswood, had slammed his head against the floor, and it was only now that his vision had quit fading in and out and his nosebleed had stopped.

Master had never let them be so violent with him before. Beatings and getting choked was nothing new, and Master had chastised them for going too far several times. But not today.

He really thought they were going to kill him this time. He’d never passed out from being strangled before, and they had never hit his head until now, much less slamming it into the hard marble floor. Twice.

Hunger rumbled in his stomach.

He turned his head to see the table. It was half covered in near empty bottles and glasses, but there was food at the end.

He licked his lips. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday, and if everyone was asleep…

He slowly got up, wincing as he went. Master wouldn’t notice if a few rolls went missing. 

Master had put out so much food, and his friends were more interested in getting drunk, so nearly all of of it was untouched.

He ate cheeses and fruit, pastries and rolls, and even dared to sneak some of the delicious roasted duck.

It wasn’t until he was full, sitting next to the table, that he realized.

Master had forgotten his chains.

Usually Master made sure he was in shackles when his friends came to visit, just to be certain he couldn’t get away from their lust.

Not tonight. Tonight he was unrestrained. He hadn’t even noticed until now.

He looked back at Master and his friends. They were still completely passed out, sprawled out on couches and slumped in armchairs.

He could run. There was nothing stopping him.

Nothing, except… what if Master caught him? He would be so angry. Master would beat him to death if he left.

They’ll kill you if you stay, said a tiny part of him. You know they will. You can’t keep doing this.

He bit his lip. Master was all he knew, his everything. It was the only thing he was good at; serving as his slave was his entire purpose. It was what he was made for.

What else could there possibly be?

You are going to die here.

The tiny part was right.

He grabbed his discarded clothes, tugging on the threadbare shirt, boxers, and pants Master had allowed him. 

He stole a cloak off the coat rack and ran out the front door, pulling the hood over his hair.

He ran, and ran, and ran, and his legs hurt and his head pounded but it was better than death and blood and Master.

___________________

He should have stolen some shoes. He limped along, blood from the pads of his feet staining his trail. 

Dawn had come and gone, but he didn’t stop moving. Couldn’t stop moving.

He avoided the roads, instead sticking to the woods. He couldn’t risk being seen yet. Master had horses, and money, and might pay someone to look for him.

It was a hot day. Sweat dripped down his face and soaked his clothes, the salt stinging the cuts on his legs courtesy of the wilderness.

He tripped over a stone early in the night, and torn a toenail clean off, which hurt like hell.

His legs were sore too, knees on fire and thighs chafing from the dried cum and fabric rubbing the skin. 

Maybe it would be worth it to find some water and rest.

___________________

After hours of trekking through the woods, he heard running water. He picked up the pace, jogging towards the sound.

It was a small creek, secluded and quiet. Good.

He stripped off his clothes and waded in. It was freezing cold, goosebumps forming on his skin. He crouched down and drank some of the water, soothing his dusty throat.

He splashed some of the water on his face, wiping away the sweat. He washed off the best he could, and crawled out of the creek. There was a flat rock nearby, and he laid the cloak down on top of it. 

A few hours of rest couldn’t hurt.

___________________

He followed the creek after his nap. It would get to a river eventually, and maybe lead to a town where he could beg for some scraps.

He should have stolen the rest of the food at Master’s house. Idiot.

The creek did get bigger, but instead of bringing him to a river, it ran by a traveler’s campsite. The road must be close.

The campsite had just been used, fresh but cold ashes in the firepit, and fresh horse manure still buzzing with flies.

There were berry bushes nearby (unfortunately inedible ones), and he was struck with a thought.

His white hair was identifiable. No one had white hair, Master said so. Master said he was so pretty with white hair. It was why he was allowed to exist; it made him good enough to live despite being a stupid slave who couldn’t do things right.

Master could find him if his hair was still white.

He pulled off the berries, crushing them in his hands. He slathered his hair with them, staining the white to brown. Much better. He pulled his hood back up and followed the horse tracks to the road.

___________________

The road led to a city, and he kept his head down passing through the gates. The guards didn’t even look at him.

There was a tavern just next to the gates, and the smell of food made him hesitate. It was a busy place, even had some stables attached.

He bit his lip.

He didn’t have any money. He went around the stables, and there was a dumpster out back. He peered into the trash, but he couldn’t see anything he could eat. Damn.

The back door to the tavern opened, and he backed away. Not fast enough, because the tavern owner spotted him immediately.

He scrambled away, but she grabbed him by the arm.

“What’re you doing?” She growled. “You a nasty little thief?” She shook his arm, and he whimpered, shaking his head.

“I- I was just hungry-”

She let go of him and he stumbled backwards into the ground. “‘M sorry! I just wanted to look in your trash!” He started to cry.

“Hmph.” She crossed her arms, staring him down.

“Please don’t call the guard,” he begged, sobbing. “I’ll go away, I swear.”

“I don’t like beggars,” she said. “So come here.”

She was going to hit him, and he deserved it for bothering her. He shakily got to his feet, and limped forward.

“There’s a pile of dishes in the sink. Scrub ‘em.”

“W-what?”

“You scrub the plates,” she pointed at him, “and you get food. That way you ain’t beggin’.”

“Thank you! Tha-”

“Shut up.” She turned and walked inside, and he followed.

There was in fact a sink piled full of dishes, and he got to work scrubbing them clean. The kitchen was hot, but he didn’t dare take off his cloak. He was so hungry he was lightheaded, and the smell of food was torture to the gnawing ache in his belly.

The dishes kept coming, and he ignored the strange looks from the wait staff.

After a few hours, the tavern owner handed him a package wrapped with paper.

“Get out.”

He left without argument, opening the package and eating as he walked.

The sandwich was the best thing he ever tasted.

___________________

The second town he came across, the innkeeper let him sleep in the stables in exchange for scrubbing stains out of sheets. 

The third city tossed him out before he could offer anything, and he stole some apples from an orchard by the road before getting scared off by barking dogs.

He had a bad feeling about this next town. 

The innkeeper was at the counter, and it was not busy at all. It creeped him out. “How many nights?” asked the keeper, a flat tone to his voice as he scribbled in his ledger.

“I, um. I don’t have any money,” he admitted, “but um, is there anything I can do for you?”

The innkeeper slammed the book shut, and he jumped. The innkeeper looked him up and down, leaning back in his chair.

“I’m just hungry,” he said weakly, “do you have any scraps?”

“Nope. Get out.” 

“Please,” he tried again. “I’ll do anything.”

The innkeeper stood up. “I said leave.” He began to shove him outside, and he stumbled, bare heels digging into the wood.

“I’ll blow you,” he blurted, and the innkeeper paused. He held his breath. Why did he offer that?

The innkeeper grabbed him by the arm, dragging him into the back.

The innkeeper tossed him across the room. He swallowed, his mouth going dry. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The innkeeper stalked forward, and he dropped to his knees, tongue lolling out. The innkeeper unbuckled his belt and he knew what to do.

The innkeeper was rough and impatient, and he let the innkeeper fuck into his throat. He just wanted it over. The man grunted, finishing into his mouth, and he was hungry enough to swallow the cum without hesitation.

“Good enough,” said the man, tucking himself back into his pants, and relief flooded him. “Wait here.”

He got a hunk of cheese and a loaf of bread for the trouble.

“Next time offer your ass,” said the innkeeper with a nasty grin, “and maybe I’ll let you sleep the night.”

He scrambled for the door, laughter trailing behind him. There wasn’t going to be a next time.

___________________

There was a next time.

There were several next times, all of which he tried to avoid but couldn’t if he wanted to eat.

He didn’t sleep in the cities anymore, too scared after someone forced themselves on him while he slept exposed in the stables.

That time, the innkeeper was even angry to find him still in the hay the next morning, and had used a horsewhip to punish and chase him out.

He trudged along the road.

Gods, he was so hungry. He felt faint, a chill to his bones despite the sun beating down on him.

He’d been heading north the whole time, and now the cities and towns were few and far between.

The last stop was pleasant, the woman who owned the lodge only asking him to sweep the floor in exchange for a bowl of chicken and rice.

That was a week ago.

The berry bushes along the road were bare now, the birds plucking them empty. He chewed on tree leaves and ate dandelions when he could, but it did little for his stomach.

Please, he prayed to the gods, I know none of you care, but please.

Maybe he should have stayed with Master.

He shook the thought from his head. Anything was better than Master.

Even if it was starving to death in the wilderness.

___________________

The road became thin and rough. It narrowed down to a single cart wide and he wondered if he had walked to the end. But over the horizon was a blurry shape beneath the setting sun, and he dared to hope it was either a village or that he was finally dying and was hallucinating.

He kept walking.

It was a village, with an inn.

He stumbled through the door as nightfall fell.

The tavernkeeper was at the counter, and there was a small crowd in the dining room.

“Please,” he slurred, ready to offer whatever was left of him.

But the tavernkeeper held up a hand to stop him.

“I’ve heard of you,” he said, and his heart sank. Did Master know too? “You’ll do anything for a meal and a bed for the night, right?”

Not necessarily a bed, but he nodded, the effort making his head pound. 

“I want a private conversation with you in the morning,” said the keeper, his expression hard to read. “That’s all. I'll even throw in breakfast afterwards.”

He stared at the tavern keeper.

“Yes, sir,” he rasped. No one had ever offered him breakfast. Was it a trick? Too keep him here longer, so that Master would come and drag him away?

The keeper gestured for him to sit at the bar, and disappeared into the kitchen.

He returned quickly with a bowl of stew and a crust of bread, and, of all things, a mug of warm cider. 

He never had cider before. Master never allowed him to drink.

The tavern keeper told him where his room (a whole room? with a bed? and a lock?) was, and left him alone to eat.

The food was amazing, and he had to stop himself from scarfing it down and making himself sick. He’d made that mistake before, and completely lost his meal. He remembered crying over the vomit.

The bed was just as good as the food, but he couldn’t close his eyes.

What if the innkeeper told Master where he was? How long would it take Master to come for him?

He rolled over in the bed.

Surely the tavernkeeper wanted more than just talking.

If he were smart, he’d sneak out before dawn. But the keeper promised breakfast, and he wasn’t smart.

He couldn’t pass up two meals in a row. It was too tempting.

He thought about the mysterious generosity of the cider, and the sweet taste of the apples used to make it.

This could be his last night alive before he died by his Master’s hands.

He cried himself into a fitful sleep.

taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair @paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @starfields08000 @littlespacecastle @mylovelyme @whump-cravings @zeewbee @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @keepingwhumpwiththekardashians @fanastyfinder @roblingoblin285 @whumpzone @snakebites-and-ink @astrokea @magdalena-writes @latenightcupsofcoffee @tobiaslut @whumpsoda @loserwithsyle

#part one of this series has always bothered me since i started getting better #so heres the fix and some bonus content. #this was going to be an extra but i actually liked this more as an actual flashback chapter #If you haven't read any extras i highly recommend it #you get (1) an example of Ambrose and Elliot as seen by a villager #and (2) Ambrose just after his husband left #plus (3) a potentially canon future chapter #so check them out if you havent #ambrose and elliot #my writing #whump #slavery whump #multiple whumpers #intimate whumper #runaway whumpee

[whump-is-love-whump-is-life]

What about a hero whumpee currently captured by the villain whumper, and villain gives them a scar for each person killed by villain or their henchmen {or just non-natural cod} while hero’s there.

Of course, it’s not actually their fault but nevertheless; the hero blames themself for each death and it’s only reinforced by the villain cooing “you deserve it.” right in their ear as they cut each and every scar

#and don’t even get me started on the potential aftermath #oh bonus if someone they care about dies #anyways #my posts #my whump #my prompts #whump #how do I tag this #tw victim blaming #in a way #hero whumpee #villain whumper #captured whumpee #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #ah. heroes who blame themselves for everything… #what no I have no one specific in mind— #nope

[hittingthebrainsfunnybone]

Affrimations for your whumpee! By whumper

inspired by/paraphrased from good old George Orwell 1984

Faced with enough pain, no one is a hero. They'll give you up for relief, and you'll do the exact same.

I'll spend my goodwill by tolerating your struggle or granting you the ocassional moment of solace. Be grateful and choose wisely.

The only proof of your pain is your own perception of it, and your mind is so easily deceived.

You'll never be your old self, because I didn't remold wet clay. You were a cracked pot, already passed through the fire and ruined, so I crushed everything you were to dust and made something nicer to keep on display.

It's not easy becoming sane, but you're a particularly slow learner, and I'm losing patience.

If you're not even strong enough to hold two contradictory beliefs in your mind, you're not strong enough to handle reality.

If you never forget what you are, you'll never be punished for rebelling, and if you never rebel, you'll never forget who you belong to.

The only way you'll be able to hide your obvious secrets and glaring flaws is by lying to yourself so thoroughly that you forget the truth.

Assume I'm always listening, always watching, and you'll never have to be afraid of doing something that demands punishment.

You're your own worst enemy. The nerves, the imperfections, the weaknesses- the very impulses of electricity from your brain to your body guide my hand.

Don't give me a reason to exercise greater control over you. There's no reason I should ever give it up once I have it after all.

If tell you a comforting lie, take it as a gift and make it your comfortable truth, because it's the only comfort I'll waste on you.

Your story isn't a tragedy. A tragedy has an audience and a cartharsis. There's nothing satisfying or sympathetic about watching your same stupid mistakes over and over. And you begged me not to bring an audience.

Never again will you be capable of ordinary human feeling. Everything will be dead inside you. Never again will you be capable of love, or friendship, or joy of living, or laughter, or curiosity, or courage, or integrity. You will be hollow. I will squeeze you empty, and then fill you as I please.

Love,

Whumper

#whump #whump prompt #whump prompts #whumpee #whumper #whumpblr #writing #psychological conditioning #conditioning #conditioning whump #conditioning tw #pet whump #kinda pet whumpy? but just in case #dehumanisation tw #dehumanizing language #intimate whumper #im not sure how to tag this but it feels like the negativity has a lot of trigger potential but idk how to describe #whump writing

[pixelatedraindrops]

Mm I think I'm slightly into makoyuma/yumako.

But I like them platonically. I just love them together in general.

As brothers or friends idc they are the duo ever.

They make me happy 💜

#pixel txt. #rain code #rain code spoilers #yuma kokohead #makoto kagutsuchi #makoyuma #yumako #they are really cute okay?? #the silliest sillies of all time #im too ace for romance shipping #I enjoy their dynamic potential even more than the NDA #like nah thats his found family to me I like them that way <3 #but makoto? idk I feel like these two could be...something lmao #plus both of them being my whumpees since they are essentially the same delicate little rain soaked napkin I have my bias ;w; #I see them more as 'selfcare' then 'selfcest' #either way I love them and need more of them in my life #they're both comfort characters to me <3 #ALSO PLEASE SUPPORT THE ARTIST OF THE GIF IT IS NOT MINE

[generic-whumperz]

#whumpblr #whump #whump writing #whump stuff #just whumpy tings #whump scenario #whump drabble #whump blog #whump community #whumpee #whumper x whumpee #whumper #whump potential #whump poll #whump tropes #whump fic #Whumpee’s revenge #three cheers for sweet revenge #better than revenge #revenge era #do revenge #vengeful #character arcs

[urlocalwhumper]

whumpee has a very close brush with death or dies temporarily (and is resuscitated or resurrected/revived by magic or scifi means)

and caretaker soon finds that the only way they can get any decent sleep anymore is laying with their head on whumpee's chest. the steady pulse of their heartbeat acting as a constant reassurance that they're okay, they're still here.

and then one day caretaker wakes up to silence.

#whump #whump prompts #character death #(potentially!) #(whumpee could have just gotten up. or caretaker shifted in their sleep and couldn't hear the pulse as well from the new position) #(if you wanna give them a momentary panic but have everything turn out ok) #resuscitation #resurrection #near death experience #caretaker x whumpee #mine

[leyswhumpdump]

Loud mouthy whumpees are so much fun, but I also love a defiant whumpee who is clever about it.

Clever defiant whumpees who know that talking back is dangerous, so they stay quiet. Whumpees who know they can’t fight their way out of the situation, and will only make their captor angry if they do.

So they play along.

They pretend to “give in” to the pet trainer’s attempts to condition them, knowing they’re less likely to lose their whole selves if the whumper is satisfied they’ve been brainwashed. They pretend to dote on a creepy whumper. They pretend to be broken.

But they aren’t passive. They quietly resist everything that happens to them. They mentally recite the things the pet trainer wants to condition out of them. They learn the creepy whumper’s buttons, their insecurities. They learn how to manipulate their situation, turn it to their advantage. All the while staying relatively unharmed and perhaps even growing to be trusted.

After all, once the whumper trusts them, sabotage becomes easier.

#whump #whump tropes #whump ideas #i for one would love to see more bbu where the whumpee plays along with their conditioning #because the more you openly defy it the more likely they are to completely break you #and i like that trope #but i feel like clever defiance is underrepresented too #this is totally not inspired by my thoughts on what i'd do if i were in these situations #also there is so much potential here for a whumper turned whumpee #because a whumper is more likely to be exasperated by an openly defiant whumpee #but if the whumpee is really subtle and insidious #the whumper might not know what to do #or even that it's happening

[secretwhumplair]

Whump prompt XVII

Fake relationship but it's a prisoner and a guard. The prisoner desperately needs some favours. The guard enjoys the "affection" and power play.

Until the guard starts falling for their own lies and starts thinking that maybe, they both mean it. They break out the prisoner to start a new life... what will the prisoner do, now that they are free and the guard whose whims they've had to entertain for so long is no longer protected by their surroundings?

Bonus (It Came To Me In A Dream): It's a fantasy death row, and the guards have some say over who gets to be this week's public entertainment on the gallows, making the whole thing a literal life-or-death matter for the prisoner...

#whump #whump prompt #forced relationship #whumper turned whumpee #potentially >:) #implied non con #though I cannot stress enough how much this is not (only) about sex #doesn't have to be at all

[letitbehurt]

“Do you think you’re the first one I’ve kept, whumpee?” Whumper kneels in front of them. Whumpee makes a small noise, scrambling back against the wall, but Whumper only snatches them by the collar, hooking a few fingers underneath the leather to keep them there. “You think this little thing makes you special? Keeps you safe?”

“No, sir,” Whumpee answers quickly, shaking their head. And of course they hadn’t. The collar had never kept them safe from Whumper—not truly. But it had kept them alive.

#Whumpees seeing certain objects as synonymous with safety >>> #the whump potential when whumpee is rescued >>>> #whump