#Whump meta

[valcaira]

Attention Whump Community!

Clogging disability tags is a massive problem that we need to address. Many tags, especially those surrounding permanent injuries, paralysis, vision loss and certain illnesses have become unusable due to being flooded with unrelated things. Yes, that includes your writing. Those tags are not for you. It's isolating, frustrating and depressing to try finding a community and other people who share your issues but all that comes up is whump, fandom shit, gifs, headcanons, etc.

I'm newly paralyzed. I have looked at many tags surrounding paralysis, trying to find support, a community, anything of people struggling with the same thing. Nothing. There's barely anything for us in the general disabilty tags. I am BEGGING you to understand and recognize how AWFUL it is.

So, I have a proposition. A tag you can and should use exclusively for disability content in whump writing. Not any other tag surrounding disability, lest you'll clog it up.

#disabled whumpee

It's tempting to use more specific tags, I get it. Due to being in the whump community myself I know #medical whump is already a tag. You have those tags. Use them. Don't use the disability tags. Don't clog up the few spaces us disabled people have.

[withywhump]

watching a new show

he's pretty

I really like this character

oh no he's hot

oh my god i love him

whump him hurt him shoot him cut him paste him save him load him check him quick rewrite him

[wollemi-whump]

being a whumper i am immune to stupid puritanical takes on fictional harm. "we need to talk about the violence-" HELL YEAH WE DO BROTHER IT WAS MY FAVORITE PART UP HIGH

[scrimblobimblowhump]

you know what i really love about whump?

when a character in a media gets into a specific Situation and you Know the exact scrimblo whumpy thing that will happen afterwards and you’re all excited about it

oh they got kidnapped? can’t wait for the montage of them bound and gagged that will come after this because of course the fuck it will

oh they fell into an icy lake? can’t wait for the montage of them wrapped in blankets later

oh they crawled out of a burning house, having inhaled a fuckton of smoke? can’t wait for the montage of them strapped to an ambulance gurney with an oxygen mask

[befuddled-calico-whump]

✨Content Tagging Guide✨

disclaimer: this is not directed at anyone, nor was it sparked because I've seen anyone mistagging anything. I just like lists and I'm going to make it everyone's problem :)

So you wanna write a story with darker themes, but are mayhaps a little uncertain about all the different content warnings you've seen.

Not to worry! Hopefully this quick guide will clear things up. To illustrate each level, I'm going to use macaroni and cheese as the content example. Without further ado...

cw: macaroni and cheese

^^this warning is very general. It tells the reader the content will show up at some point within the text, but doesn't specify the detail, use, or extent.

cw: macaroni and cheese (mentioned)

They drove through town, past the busy main street, and the factory where the local brand of macaroni and cheese got its packaging.

This warning tells readers the content will be mentioned; maybe in dialogue, or in a description, but not explored in detail.

cw: macaroni and cheese (discussed)

"I'm lactose intolerant," he said. "So I can't---well, I shouldn't eat stuff like that."

"But you did anyway?" they pressed. "I'm sorry, just... How did it feel? After?"

"Awful. I really should've listened to my common sense and ordered something besides mac and cheese."

As you'd expect, this warning tells the reader that the content will be discussed, either in conversation, or through a character's thoughts. Discussions can involve the moral implications of the content, how the content fits within the world, philosophies relating to the content, and the emotional or lasting effects of the content on a character.

cw: macaroni and cheese (referenced)

He tapped her shoulder. "Hey, I didn't see you after work yesterday, you okay?"

"Fine now," she said, shrugging. "I just had a bad batch of mac and cheese for lunch."

Very similar to "mentioned", this warning often implies a non-explicit, non-graphic mention of the content.

cw: macaroni and cheese (implied)

He frowned down at the bowl, then averted his eyes, appetite lost by the gooey yellow mass inside, and the heavy, creamy smell wafting off it.

This warning tells readers that the content is not outright stated, but the character's reactions and actions imply what's going on. If you could remove the context from the scene/paragraph in question and make it look like something else is happening, you probably have implied content. Note that there is a difference between simply "implied", and "heavily implied".

cw: macaroni and cheese (fade to black)

She took her seat at the table, queasiness building in her stomach. Her least-favorite food was to be served, and while she knew it would be rude to decline it, she wasn't looking forward to lunch. As the dreaded bowl was placed before her, she picked up the fork, and plunged it in.

Similar to implied, but instead of carrying on through the scene the content takes place in, fade to black builds up to the moment, and stops, often transitioning to the next scene before the content is given any kind of detail.

cw: macaroni and cheese (non-explicit)

For lunch, he was served a bowl of mac and cheese, one of his least favorite meals. He choked it down anyway, and hoped he wouldn't get an upset stomach.

This tells the reader the content will be present in some form, but not described in detail. It may have some active bearing on the character or plot, but won't be particularly graphic. While the character may be emotionally affected after the fact, the content itself is glossed over.

cw: macaroni and cheese (explicit)

The bowl was placed in front of him, steam still rising from the substance inside. He knew what it was before he looked. Mac and cheese. And he'd have to devour the entire bowl of it. He lifted the first forkful, strands of yellow cheese trailing from squishy curved noodles, all the way back into the bowl, even as he raised it to his mouth. Damn, it was extra cheesy. He knew his lactose intolerance just wouldn't hold up.

This is often used as the heaviest warning, telling readers that the content and the characters' reactions to it will be described in detail.

Again, this was something I mostly just wrote for fun, and to dramatize mac and cheese but I do hope someone out there finds it helpful. Let me know if there's a type I missed! :)

[whumpdoyoumean]

[comfy-whumpee]

Being in the #whump community bingo! How many do you get?

Full list of squares:

first whumperflies stories

“they have all of my issues lmao”

favourite trope version #3547

everyone knows I love whump vs. nobody can know

posted as screenshots on pinterest

posts that are one line but hit just right

tag games that take 5 hours to scroll past

beloved mutual going feral in the notes

found your new best friend via niche tropes

discussions on improving diversity

“dead. i’m dead. this killed me.”

extremely nuanced, developed characters called A and B

bad things happen bingo never completed

fighting the morality police

fanfic about the character with 0.3 seconds of screentime

ao3 links for the really saucy stuff

“bestie you forgot your readmore” “OH NO”

prioritising fun

one of your OCs is called Sam

sharing irl experiences to inspire each other

gifsets of shows you’ve never heard of

twelve reblogs deep in the au with the mutual

picking the trope to fall asleep thinking about

making a whumpee for your friend’s whumper and vice versa

blacklisting a tag your mutual loves but supporting them anyway

crack posts and shitposting about agony

anonymous asks for the most fucked up tropes <3

monthly challenges for almost every month

realism has no power here

an arcane but extremely detailed tagging system OR nothing

that one trope you will always reblog

misspelling it ‘whimper’

everyone from the discord server knows the plot twist

whumpee who gets every disease

intro post with 200 notes

watching the show from all those gifsets

[whumpfish]

Since we've been talking about it quite a bit recently, let me introduce an underrepresented part of conditioning: stupid shit.

Not everything you've been conditioned to believe will elicit a negative response to is going to trigger a full-on meltdown. Your whumpee likely has habits that only a caretaker who is looking will notice. Your caretaker might even make comments or tease them about it, because they're clearly not upset, so they're just being weird.

I was a prey kid, and my ptsd from that was probably closer to combat fatigue than strictly emotional damage. I did a ton of things nobody noticed, and the people who noticed never suspected why. I never sat with my back exposed, I always took the back row. I packed up all my worldly belongings and took them with me if I had to go to the restroom. I didn't answer to my name in the hall unless I recognized the voice. Failing to do these, I had learned, had catastrophic consequences; my life depended on them.

Conditioning changes your perception; it changes how your brain registers sound, for example. My brain just straight up discarded the sound of my name if it was someone I didn't know. I had no conscious idea that I was walking away from perfectly harmless people who were just trying to get my attention. I just didn't hear them.

Then I went and got myself an abusive girlfriend, because why not... and the opposite happened. I got told multiple times a day that I was walking wrong and sounded "like a herd of elephants." I didn't realize til we stayed with my aunt who has new hardwood floors that my footsteps sound WAY louder to me than anyone else's, and I wasn't taking actual steps but instead sort of sliding my feet along. I didn't notice until I tripped on a rug that nobody else was moving like this. This was weird. And I'm working on it, I've started to walk with the ball of my foot first like a Degas dancer. But if my heel hits the floor first it sounds like an earthquake to me.

Give your whumpee stupid shit that stays with them even as they recover from the big stuff, not worked on or even noticed by their caretaker and maybe the whumpee themselves. Make it an inconvenience. Make it instinctive. Make it awkward. Conditioning is a spectrum of survival behaviors, and the milder end of that spectrum is just as important as the more severe end if you want to write it realistically.

[lizzydizzyyo]

I think what's really compelling about House's absolute unwillingness to bow down to anything or anyone (the ethical board, the law, extra rich CEO, vindictive police officer, and even the patients themselves) regardless of how absolutely batshit and downright illegal his actions are, is because it's coming from a chronically disabled person, in more ways than one.

He cannot walk without agony or his cane. His chronic and severe pain led him down the path of deep Vicodin addiction until he also becomes psychologically dependent on it too (once, Dr Cuddy gives him saline placebo and it "works", in that he is not feeling his leg pain anymore for a few hours).

He understands it deeply just how desperate people can be when they're in pain and nobody can (or are willing to) help them—at least, so far, until they land on his doorstep. Which is canonically the most extreme step patients take when everything else fails—you don't just go straight to Plainsborough Teaching Hospital and to Dr Gregory House MD's office; you have to go through dozens of other doctors in various specialties and failed treatments too.

(Although that's a separate discussion about how doctors, particularly resident ones, are overworked and underpaid and redtaped by shithead insurance companies even if they do know how to treat a patient and want to).

He knows, from the bottom of his heart, that having such a painful and life-limitting debilitating condition is comparable to hell on earth, because he has one. He knows, that despite his disability being visible to everyone, yet no one wants to put an effort to help him deal with it—is also hell on earth.

Cuddy simply throws money at him and turns the other way to his Vicodin abuse, like she is saying, "I don't care if he takes 10 Vicodin pills a day or more, and I have to pay at least $1M every year for lawsuits, as long as he gets the job done," (and when they decide to go into relationship, she immediately drops him when he relapses, even if the reason for his relapse is her—although, yes, there is another discussion to be had about keeping yourself and your child(ren) safe being a priority compared to helping an addict, recovering or not). Wilson, as loyal as he is to House, simply either enables him or lectures him without going into the root of the issue and thoroughly help House that way. His subordinates, especially after the original trio, are simply too scared, too ignorant, or too ambitious to even approach the issue and choose to keep their job than help House (also another discussion to be had about how you can't help people who don't want to help themselves and so on).

So when he sees a patient who has gone through hell trying to get a correct diagnosis and treatment, he becomes laser-focused on doing everything under the sun to get to the bottom of it and cure the patient. He doesn't care if he has to break into countless of houses (haha pun) and collect insane and probably biohazard samples to do it—he absolutely will, no question.

Yes, hate-criming and being a bigot is his favorite hobby (still livid at the asexual ep and the production's choice for the resolution, let's just say I still have beef with Hugh Laurie and the entire production team for it), and so is insulting patients in so many ways that Shakespeare would personally fly to New Jersey and shake his hands if someone manage to successfully perform necromancy on ol' Billy boy. But House is no one if not dedicated. "Yes, my patient is an idiot, everyone is an idiot too, but I WILL cure their condition like my life depends on it," is basically his middle name.

Besides, you can make the argument that he is more compassionate than all the other doctors around him, because despite his absolute disdain towards some of his patients' beliefs and stupidity, he still works his ass off to treat them. He will call your god an idiot in 7 different languages while putting you in a diagnostic machine he manipulated the whole hospital into letting him use so that you could get a test which weren't available to you before. He will tell you that your currently-happy marriage will end in a bloody divorce and your ex will leave you penniless so love is not real while injecting you with a medication he had to hack the CDC's database for.

There are even episodes that show him being truly earnest, like the clinic duty scene where he is snarky as usual to a girl who seemingly stupidly had unprotected sex until she lashes out, and House is like, "Oh shit, this is above my paygrade", and immediately goes to Cuddy with a very serious expression and no sarcastic dilly-daliying, demanding her to transfer the patient to someone else because he is not good with "curing" rape case (interesting choice on the writers' part to make the patient insist to have therapy with House, though).

There is an episode about a very workaholic woman executive in a fashion company who has tremor and partial paralysis, and later on it's shown that she seems to tie her worth as a person to her corporate success while band-aiding her deep psychological issue like her suicidal ideation, and House genuinely asks her, "Do you want to live? I cannot help you unless you want me to," or something along the line.

There is also the cursed 9-year-old terminal brain cancer episode where Chase kissed the patient (ew), where at first it shows House being a usual misanthophe to Wilson and saying, "She is not brave, it's the brain tumor clot talking because it must be near the amygdala." Later in the episode, House sits near the patient alone, and compassionately asks her if she even wants to live, going through the rest of her short-lived but horrible agony, even if they catch the clot. The surgery to find and get rid of the clot is risky and can debilitate her even more, and this is why House is laying the decision to her hands. That she gets to choose. This is what truly reveals to him that she is genuinely brave (aside from the scan showing the clot to be so far away from her amygdala), but for the wrong reason. She is brave for her mom, willing to go through horrible surgery and drag out her already painful cancer-ridden life because, "My mom needs me". When everyone is congratulating her in the end, you can tell House has a bittersweet expression of both awe towards her bravery, and sadness that this 9-year-old sick girl has to bear the brunt of her horrible pain just so that her mother is not sad. That he couldn't convince her to be a child until the nearing end of her life.

The most interesting evidence of his compassion to me is the gunman hostage episode. It might sound weird because in the whole episode, he is depicted to first want to outsmart the gunman patient, then becomes laser-focused but only because he sees it as a puzzle, then absolutely selfish and dangerous because he volunteers himself as the last hostage and gives the gun back to the guy after the MRI. I do think it's true that his dedication to solving patients-are-just-puzzle-to-me conditions shines through in the episode, especially the scene of him returning his gun, but there is something else I catch when I rewatched it before.

When the gunman patient is put in the MRI because Cameron tells him a theory through the hostage call, the remaining doctors in the room including House are wary at the gunman but also hopeful. Yet, when the result shows up on the screen, he realizes that the theory is wrong and the guy let go his only bargaining chip for nothing. If you watch this part carefully, you'll notice that House actually looks pitying and sad at the gunman's disappointed demeanor and expression. He realizes he is going to be another notch in the guy's failed doctors list, and at this point (with the gun given away and even the best, most talented doctor also not finding out what's wrong with him), the guy has given up hope that he will ever see the day he will be cured, certainly not behind the bars.

Yes, his thirst for puzzle is House's big driving force in giving back the gun, but you'll be lying to yourself if you don't notice House's compassion for the guy because he doesn't want the guy to go out empty-handed, with absolutely no more hope because House knows once they step out of the door, this guy will never, ever be allowed to be in the vicinity of any hospital or doctor ever again in his life, aside from jail's bare-minimum exams and medications. House can't handle the thought of putting someone else through his own disappointment—that nothing works to help his leg pain. He especially doesn't want to be the cause for this gunman guy's case either. Even in the end when House realizes the guy is a fucking moron because he doesn't know that Florida is, in fact, in earthwide-horizontal tropical zone and this is what stumps most of the guy's previous doctors—House still gives him a subtle salute to the guy while being handcuffed and led away, almost to say, "Enjoy your healing and the defeat of your arch nemesis The Sickness™, glad to be part of it."

Majority of his drive to stop at nothing until his patient is cured is definitely thanks to his own fucked-up leg, even if there are some dialogues with Cuddy and Stacy Warner (House's ex wife) that seem to imply he has always been a misanthrophe whose hobby is getting into malpractice (or general) lawsuits. I wholeheartedly believe that after his leg clot rendered him disabled and with chronic pain, he became much more dedicated and obsessed with getting to the bottom of a patient's medical information, even for info that seems innocuous or irrelevant that always turn out to be important (probably more like a plot armor than established characterization, to be honest), almost like this is his method of relating to the patients in his own weirdly human way, and maybe a little bit (actually, a lot) of projecting.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

[killian-whump]

Any other literal caretaker whump-lovers out there who fear their real-life duties are starting to or will inevitably damage their appreciation of fictional whump?

Some of my favorite tropes have always been forced helplessness, where a whumpee needs help to function or is mentally confused due to excessive trauma. Now I'm caring for my mother, who's suffered a stroke and needs help to function and is often mentally confused.

My mind is in all kinds of weird places, and while appreciating whump has long been a comforting distraction from my real world struggles, I find myself struggling to enjoy the tropes I once did and avoiding the very things I used to love so dearly. They don't work as a distraction from real life when they mirror my real life in new and unappealing ways.

Just wondering if anyone else has experienced this and how they dealt with it. It's super uncomfy and I don't like it.

[the-bar-sinister]

I know something's deeply wrong with me because I genuinely find blorbo suffering through horrific agonies more emotionally comforting than blorbo getting married and going on coffee shop dates.

[straight-to-the-pain]

I’m not usually one for conditioned whumpees, and especially not for recovery, but I think I would really enjoy those types of scenes more if the trauma responses were allowed to be more nuanced and complex.

This isn’t a criticism of anyone specific, it’s just something I think I lack in the community, and I don’t think I’m the one to write it either, but I think that what puts me off is that I know what it’s like to be triggered by something, and it’s such a complicated and not always conscious process.

Like yes they might feel that someone they’re with is angry or upset with them and suddenly try to do anything they can to please them, but that might come with a wave of shame and self loathing once they’ve realised that nothing was wrong and they’ve just embarrassed themselves in front of someone close to them.

Or maybe they’re scared of that part of themself, and they’re so scared that other people will see it or hurt them again that they push them away, maybe they test their boundaries, maybe they hurt the people they love instead because they want to see what happens when they finally do get angry.

Maybe they hate that part of them that makes them become someone else, that makes them get lost in their mind. Maybe they resent how it makes relationships hard, how they try to move on but some small thing ignites a carefully buried spark of fear and the whole thing starts again.

I also wish there wasn’t so much of a power dynamic of whumpee and caretaker, where the whumpee is someone who is mentally ill and traumatised and not expected to ever be independent or live alone. No, I want them to have friends and partners and lovers, and struggle and find joy in equal measure, on their own terms.

There’s absolutely people writing this sort of content, and there are things I will read because I think they capture that complexity, and of course these are my personal feelings but I do urge people to think about this when they write, if they want to.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Creatives! rb this and put which of your characters you'd cosplay in the tags

[rizzoto-whump]

I remember when I first joined the whump community, I couldn't draw. I told myself that if I could draw, I would draw this and that: him beaten, her tied up, them in military uniform tortured, gore, etc

Now that I can draw, I'm just kinda lazy to do it lmao

[scrimblobimblowhump]

Biggest whump pet peeve (in film): when there’s a scene where whumpee is held captive or something and the restraints are SO blatantly fake. Like stop lying, we all know the “rope” is ridiculously thin and loose and you can tear out of it with one move 😭😭 or when the gag is a strip of cloth so thin their lips touch over it - istg if you don’t stop faking the forced ahh muffled noises, we all know you can talk perfectly fine 💀

[whumpkinpie]

Untitled Whump 1

A/N: The author has no notes, Just something I've been wanting to post for a while but I either A) Forget or B) Talk myself out of it. ╰（‵□′）╯?

TW: Manipulation, Intimate Whumper (SFW), Touch Starvation, Feelings of - Abandonment / Depression, Caretaker Whumper, Posessive Whumper, Captivity, Failed Escape. (Please let me know if I missed any It's been a hot minute.)

.⋆｡°✩ ~ ✩°｡⋆ ~ ⋆｡°✩ ~ ✩°｡⋆.

The mansion stood isolated in the woods, a solitary monolith surrounded by an impenetrable wall of trees, while the setting sun cast long, twisted shadows across its surface, accentuating the foreboding presence it held in the heart of the forest.

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, the only sounds of distant rustling foliage and the occasional cry of a nocturnal creature.

The mansion was a place forgotten by time, its walls holding secrets that had long been buried beneath layers of dust and despair.

Inside, the silence was more oppressive.

The dimly lit hallways, lined with heavy curtains that blocked out the waning light, led to rooms that had not seen life in years. Every step taken within these walls was absorbed by the thick carpet, leaving nothing but the memory of movement in its wake.

In the small, windowless room at the heart of the mansion, Whumpee sat on the edge of a narrow bed, their fingers tracing the worn fabric beneath them. The room was devoid of comfort, its sparse furnishings a stark contrast to the grandeur that the mansion’s exterior might suggest.

A single chair, a small table, and a bed were all that occupied the space. The air was stale, carrying the faint scent of something that might have once been fresh but had long since faded into something less recognizable.

Whumpee’s gaze was distant, their mind a whirl of conflicting emotions.

They could barely remember how long they had been here, how long it had been since the world outside had ceased to exist for them. Days, weeks, maybe even months—it was all a blur. The only thing they knew for certain was that they were alone. Abandoned.

But even in their darkest moments, there was one person who remained constant, the only one who had not left them behind.

Whumper.

The thought of Whumper brought a shiver down Whumpee’s spine, a mixture of fear and an unsettling sense of relief. Whumper was their captor, yes, but also their caretaker.

Whumper’s voice was a constant in Whumpee’s life now, the only one that spoke to them, the only one that cared enough to stay. It was a twisted comfort, one that Whumpee could not fully comprehend but could not bring themselves to reject.

The door to the room creaked open, and Whumper stepped inside. Their presence filled the room, their shadow stretching across the floor to where Whumpee sat.

They were tall, with a calm demeanour that masked the darkness lurking beneath the surface. Their eyes, sharp and cold, scanned the room before settling on Whumpee.

“Are you comfortable, my dear?” Whumper asked, their voice a soft purr that belied the steel hidden within.

Whumpee nodded, though they weren’t sure if it was true. Comfort was a foreign concept now, replaced by a dull acceptance of their reality. But Whumper’s words were always gentle, always caring, and it was easier to agree than to question.

Whumper moved closer, placing a hand on Whumpee’s shoulder. The touch was light, almost tender, but it sent a wave of unease through Whumpee.

They looked up, meeting Whumper’s gaze, and saw the smile that never reached their eyes.

“You know I only want what’s best for you,” Whumper continued, their voice soothing. “I’m the only one who cares about you now. Everyone else… they’ve all left you. But I’m still here. I’ll always be here.”

The words dug into Whumpee’s mind like hooks.

They wanted to believe that someone out there still cared for them, someone who hadn’t abandoned them. But Whumper’s words were so convincing, so absolute, that it was hard to hold onto that hope.

As Whumper’s hand moved to cup Whumpee’s cheek, the room seemed to close in on them, the walls pressing closer, the air growing thinner.

Whumpee’s breath hitched, a tear slipping down their cheek as they fought to keep their grip on reality.

Whumper sat beside Whumpee on the bed, their presence dominating the small space. The oppressive room felt even smaller with Whumper so close.

They exuded a calm confidence that made it clear they were in control, their every word and movement carefully calculated to maintain their hold over the Whumpee.

As they placed the tray of food on the small table, they spoke in a tone so gentle it almost seemed caring.

“You must be hungry. I’ve brought you something to eat. You know you have to keep your strength up, my dear. I can’t bear to see you wasting away.”

Whumpee’s stomach twisted at the sight of the food, but they knew better than to refuse.

They reached for the spoon with trembling hands, the weight of Whumper’s gaze pressing down on them. Each bite was tasteless, the food just another tool in Whumper’s arsenal of control.

As Whumpee ate in silence, the Whumper began to speak again, their voice soothing but with an underlying edge that hinted at something more sinister.

“Do you remember the last time you saw your friends? How they promised to come back for you? They didn’t, did they?”

Whumpee froze, the spoon clattering against the bowl as memories flooded back—fragmented images of a life before the mansion, before everything had gone wrong.

They could barely remember the faces of the people they once called friends, but they clung to the memory of their promises.

But Whumper’s words cut through those memories like a knife, slicing away at the fragile hope the Whumpee held onto.

“They left you, my dear. They didn’t care enough to come back. They’ve moved on with their lives, while you’re here, alone. If they really cared, wouldn’t they have found you by now?”

Whumpee’s breath hitched, the spoon slipping from their grasp as tears welled up in their eyes. They wanted to argue, to deny the Whumper’s claims, but the doubt had already taken root in their mind.

The more Whumper spoke, the more those doubts grew, suffocating any hope the Whumpee had left.

Whumper leaned in closer, their voice a whisper now, as if sharing a secret meant only for Whumpee.

“But I’m still here. I never left you. I never will. I’m the only one who truly cares about you. You know that, don’t you?”

Whumpee nodded weakly, their mind a tangled mess of confusion and despair. They wanted to believe Whumper, to accept the comfort being offered, but a small part of them still clung to the idea that someone out there, somewhere, still cared for them.

Whumper’s hand reached out, gently wiping away the tears that had begun to fall down Whumpee’s cheeks. Their touch was soft, almost tender, but it felt like a brand against Whumpee’s skin, a reminder of the power Whumper held over them.

“You’re safe here with me,” Whumper murmured, their voice laced with false warmth. “No one else can hurt you now. I’ll protect you, keep you safe from the world that has abandoned you. You don’t need anyone else, my dear. You have me.”

Whumpee’s heart ached at the words, torn between the desire for comfort and the nagging doubt that still lingered in their mind.

They were so tired, so drained from fighting against Whumper’s manipulations, that it was easier to just let go, to allow themselves to be drawn into the false sense of security being offered.

Whumper’s arms wrapped around them, pulling them close in a mockery of an embrace. Whumpee leaned into the touch, seeking solace in the only place they could find it, even though it came from the very person who had shattered them.

As Whumper whispered words of love and devotion, Whumpee’s resistance crumbled further, their sense of reality slipping away. Whumper’s lies were becoming their truth, and Whumpee was too broken to fight it anymore.

Days passed in a blur, Whumpee losing all sense of time as Whumper’s manipulations continued. The small room became their entire world, the outside a distant memory that no longer held any meaning. The only reality they knew was the one Whumper fed them, a carefully constructed web of lies designed to keep them in a state of perpetual dependence.

Whumper’s tactics grew more insidious with each passing day. They would leave Whumpee alone for hours, sometimes even days, letting the silence and isolation gnaw away at their sanity. The room, once merely a cage, became a living nightmare, the walls closing in on Whumpee as their mind spiralled into darkness.

When Whumper did return, it was always with the same sickeningly sweet words, the same false promises of love and care. They would bring Whumpee food and water, sit with them, and speak in a tone that dripped with condescension as if Whumpee were a child in need of guidance.

“You’re so fragile, my dear,” Whumper would say, their voice a honeyed poison. “You need someone to take care of you, someone who won’t leave you like the others did. You can’t survive out there on your own. You need me.”

Whumpee’s heart would break a little more with each word, their mind-twisting itself into knots as they tried to reconcile the person they used to be with the shell they had become.

They knew, deep down, that Whumper was lying, that this was all part of some twisted game. But the more they heard those words, the more they started to believe them.

One day, Whumper entered the room holding a small envelope.

Their smile was cold, calculated, as they handed it to Whumpee.

“I found this while I was out,” they said, their tone dripping with false concern. “It looks like someone finally tried to contact you.”

Whumpee’s hands shook as they took the envelope, their heart pounding in their chest. It had been so long since they had seen any sign of the outside world since they had even dared to hope that someone still cared.

The sight of the envelope, with its familiar handwriting, sent a surge of hope through them, a small spark in the darkness.

But as they opened the envelope and read the contents, that spark was quickly extinguished. The letter was brief, its words cold and distant, as if written by someone who no longer cared.

The message was clear: they had moved on, leaving the Whumpee behind.

Tears welled up in Whumpee’s eyes as they read the letter over and over, the words blurring together as their vision swam with tears.

It felt like the final nail in the coffin, the last shred of hope being ripped away from them. They had truly been abandoned.

Whumper watched with sick satisfaction as Whumpee broke down, their sobs wracking their fragile body.

They moved closer, wrapping their arms around Whumpee and pulling them into their chest, offering the only comfort the Whumpee had left.

“There, there,” Whumper cooed, stroking the Whumpee’s hair with a sickening tenderness. “I know it hurts, but I’m here. I’ll always be here. You don’t need them anymore. You have me.”

Whumpee clung to Whumper, their tears soaking into their captor’s shirt. They were too broken, too defeated to fight back, too desperate for any semblance of love and comfort, even if it came from the very person who had orchestrated their downfall.

As Whumper continued to whisper sweet lies into their ear, Whumpee felt their resolve crumble completely.

The small part of them that had clung to the hope of rescue, of escape, was snuffed out, leaving nothing but a hollow shell behind.

At that moment, They were no longer the person they once were; they were whatever Whumper wanted them to be.

Whumper smiled, pleased with the outcome. They had won, their twisted version of love and devotion finally taking root in Whumpee’s broken mind.

The days blended into each other as Whumpee slipped further into the abyss. They had lost all sense of time, all sense of self. Whumper was their entire world now, the only person who mattered, the only one who hadn’t abandoned them.

They clung to Whumper’s words, finding solace in the lies they had been fed, because the truth was too painful to bear.

But somewhere deep inside, a small spark of resistance still burned, buried beneath layers of despair.

It was a faint, fragile thing, but it was there, refusing to be completely snuffed out. It whispered to Whumpee in the dead of night, reminding them of who they used to be, of the life they once had.

One night, when Whumper was out of the room, Whumpee made a decision.

They would try to escape, to break free from the chains that bound them, even if it meant risking everything. They couldn’t continue living like this, trapped in a nightmare with no end in sight.

Their hands shook as they fumbled with the lock on the door, their heart racing in their chest. They knew that if they were caught, the punishment would be severe, but the thought of spending another day in this hell was unbearable.

They had to try, even if it was a futile effort.

The door creaked open, and Whumpee slipped out into the dark hallway. The mansion was silent, the only sound the faint rustling of the wind outside. Whumpee moved quickly, their bare feet silent on the carpet as they made their way toward the front door.

But as they reached for the handle, a cold hand clamped down on their wrist, freezing them in place. Whumpee’s heart stopped, their breath catching in their throat as they slowly turned to face Whumper.

Whumper’s eyes were cold, devoid of the false warmth they usually displayed. Their grip on Whumpee’s wrist tightened, and Whumpee winced in pain, their mind racing as they tried to think of a way out.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Whumper asked, their voice low and dangerous. “Did you really think you could leave me? After everything I’ve done for you?”

Whumpee stammered, trying to find the words to explain, but Whumper cut them off with a sharp tug, pulling them away from the door and back into the darkness of the hallway.

“You’re ungrateful,” Whumper hissed, their voice dripping with venom. “After everything I’ve done to keep you safe, to protect you, this is how you repay me? By trying to run away?”

Whumpee’s heart sank, their brief moment of hope shattered by Whumper’s words. They had been so close, so close to escaping, but now they were back in Whumper’s grip, with no way out.

Whumper dragged them back to the small room, their grip never loosening as they pushed Whumpee inside, the door slamming shut behind them with a finality that echoed in Whumpee’s ears.

For days, Whumper refused to speak to Whumpee. They left them alone in the room, with no food, no water, no contact. The silence was suffocating, the isolation driving Whumpee to the brink of madness.

They had no idea how much time had passed, only that they were alone, abandoned by the only person who had ever shown them any form of care, twisted as it was.

When Whumper finally returned, Whumpee was a wreck. They were weak, dehydrated, and delirious, their mind fraying at the edges. The sight of Whumper, with their cold smile and cruel eyes, was both a relief and a terror.

Whumper knelt beside Whumpee, their touch gentle as they brushed the hair from Whumpee’s face.

“You’ve learned your lesson, haven’t you, my dear?” they asked, their voice soft and condescending.

Whumpee nodded weakly, too broken to resist, too desperate for any form of comfort to care. They would do anything to avoid Whumper’s wrath, anything to stay in their good graces, no matter how twisted those graces were.

Whumper’s smile widened as they pulled Whumpee into their arms, cradling them like a child. “Good,” they murmured, their voice a sick parody of affection. “I’m glad you understand now. I’m the only one who truly cares about you. No one else matters.”

Whumpee buried their face in Whumper’s chest, clinging to them with the last of their strength.

They were too far gone to fight, too broken to see the truth. All they knew was that they needed Whumper, needed their twisted love and care because it was the only thing keeping them from falling apart completely.

Whumper held Whumpee close, their hand stroking their hair as they whispered words of false comfort. Whumpee had learned their place, had accepted the reality Whumper had created for them, and that was all that mattered.

Whumpee became nothing more than a puppet, their strings pulled by Whumper’s skilled hands. They were no longer a person, but an object, something to be controlled and manipulated, molded into the perfect image of what Whumper desired.

Whumpee lay in Whumper’s arms, their body limp, their mind numb. Whumper stroked Whumpee’s hair, their touch tender in a way that would have seemed loving to anyone on the outside.

But within the walls of the mansion, that touch was a symbol of ownership, of control. Whumpee was theirs, and theirs alone.

As Whumper whispered words of love and devotion, Whumpee closed their eyes, letting the darkness take them. They had nothing left to fight for, no hope, no future.

Whumper smirked, pleased with the outcome.

In their twisted mind, They had succeeded in breaking Whumpee, in remaking them into something new, something that belonged entirely to them.

And as they held Whumpee close, Whumper knew that this was the only kind of love that mattered.

.⋆｡°✩ ~ ✩°｡⋆ ~ ⋆｡°✩ ~ ✩°｡⋆.