Heyo heyo, this is just a small secret lil whump blog I have. Seeing scenes of characters getting beaten and/or almost dying has always itched my brain for some reason. It’s always been a guilty pleasure of mine, and I’m just now learning that there’s an actual genre for it. I’m new to Tumblr, so I’m trying to learn how to use it.
Pronouns: She/They
Tropes that I enjoy:
Medic whumpee
Changed whumpee
Paranoid whumpee
Idol whumpee
Addict whumpee
Stoic whumpee
Lonely whumpee
Exhausted Caretaker
Bad Caretaker
Addiction whump
Team whump
Rocky Recoveries
I don’t have a schedule or anything, I just post for fun lol
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please read this even if you're not indian. especially if you're not indian.
you've seen the jokes. india is "dirty", indians are "everywhere", why don't they fix their own country. ok. let me tell you why, and what's happening right now while nobody's watching.
first, the history you skipped: britain ruled india for two centuries and drained it. economist utsa patnaik's research estimates around $45 trillion in today's money was taken. the india that got independence in 1947 was one of the poorest countries on earth. every "why is india like this" question starts there. you don't get to profit off a robbery and then mock the crime scene.
now, what's happening RIGHT NOW:
in may the question paper for NEET leaked. that's the national medical entrance exam. over 2.2 million students took it. cancelled. years of studying, families' savings poured into coaching, gone overnight because someone sold the paper. students died by suicide after. these were kids who wanted to be doctors.
and out of that came a protest movement. a gen z group called the cockroach janta party, started by a 30 year old named abhijeet dipke, got 22 million instagram followers within DAYS. they've been doing a sit-in at jantar mantar in delhi demanding education minister dharmendra pradhan resign.
and then there's sonam wangchuk. if you've watched 3 idiots, he's the real engineer the character was based on. built solar schools in ladakh. invented ice stupas so himalayan villages have water. spent his whole life on education. he's 59 and he's been on hunger strike for 17+ days now. reporters went to see him this week and he was too weak to talk. and the troll armies are calling him "anti national" and "foreign funded". a man starving himself for other people's children. that's the thing here, anyone who asks a question is suddenly a traitor.
it's not one incident, it's everywhere you look:
• infrastructure worth thousands of crores failing within months of the ribbon cutting. tunnels collapsing in regions where heavy rain is a guarantee, not a surprise.
• youth unemployment near 10% for ages 15 to 29, 13.6% in cities. in a country of 1.42 billion where more than half the population is young.
• only about the top 3% of indians earn above 10 lakh a year. meanwhile billionaire wealth keeps ballooning and the headlines celebrate it.
• manipur burned for over two years. an ethnic conflict, tens of thousands displaced, and the prime minister barely said the word manipur while it happened.
• journalists raided. critics' houses bulldozed. activists sitting in jail for years without trial under laws like UAPA. our press freedom ranking has cratered.
• even the petrol is a fight now, ethanol blending pushed through while drivers complain about their engines and get no straight answers.
and through all of it, the PM, who came to power on religious polarisation (americans, sound familiar?), travels abroad for photo ops and has not held one single open press conference in over a decade. not one.
what i'm asking:
if you're not indian: share this. our media mostly won't cover any of it because the big outlets are owned by the same billionaires the government serves. the only reason wangchuk's fast is getting any coverage is people refusing to look away.
if you ARE indian: speak up even if you're comfortable. especially if you're comfortable. join the protests. add to this, correct me, translate it. staying quiet is a choice when nothing in this post touches your life.
india is not "dirty". india was robbed, and it's being robbed again, from the inside this time. but it's also the country where a 59 year old will starve for strangers' kids and 22 million young people will rally behind a party literally named after cockroaches, because cockroaches survive everything.
if you wanna of course, could you write a suicidal old parental whumpee? like, they live completely alone. Their kid is in college, and they barely reach out anymore. They’ve divorced their spouse. There are no pets. They feel completely alone.
Whumpee sat on his living room couch, the red couch he'd purchased with his ex-wife, working on a crossword puzzle. It was the only thing keeping him sane at the moment. Number five, across: 'matchmaker's weapon'. He tapped his pencil against his mouth, chewed on the rubber at the end of it. Matchmaker's weapon. Nine letters. Huh.
He tried not to think much about anything else but the crossword clues. He tried not to think about the fact that his kid was grown now, in college, and she barely ever reached out to talk. They hadn't spoken in at least a month. She was having her exams right around this time, so Whumpee told himself she must've just been busy with studying. He missed the times when she'd called just to talk about her day. He missed the times when she was still living at home. He missed the times she was a little toddler, clinging to his pant leg.
He sighed. Matchmaker's weapon. Nine letters. What could it be? Who was a matchmaker again? He knew this one, he was sure. He didn't have any letters to guide him, the squares standing as empty as his heart.
He missed his wife. The divorce had been nasty — she had accused him of cheating and emotional unavailability. She forced his hand in selling their old house and splitting the profits right down the middle. That was the money he used to rent out this small apartment, more than enough for a man in his forties to be living in alone. The only thing he took was the red couch. The couch they'd bought together. He couldn't bear to part with it.
Matchmaker's weapon. Oh, of course. Who was a matchmaker? How silly. It was Cupid. And what did Cupid have? A bow. He stopped chewing on the end of his pencil and quickly wrote the letters. CUPIDSBOW.
One of the last conversations he'd had with his daughter, she encouraged him to get a pet dog. He was never really a dog person. Nor a cat person. He didn't really want the responsibility and the vet bills. He told himself he would rather be alone, that being alone wasn't all that bad, that the fact the only connection to the outside world he had was work, where he barely talked to anyone outside of empty pleasantries, was okay.
He set down the newspaper. It was six o'clock. He stood up to go to his tiny kitchen, where he kept all his medicine. He was taking sedatives now; doctor's orders. They had said he'd gone through a breakdown following the divorce, and they needed to get him on these. The only thing that did was make him consider taking… more than prescribed. It was a small little bottle, with thirty pills. He'd just opened it yesterday. He wondered if it would be enough to send him to the hospital, or to the morgue. He wondered if his family, his ex-family, would care.
He poured out a single pill into his palm. It was so unassuming, that little pill.
The phone rang. Whumpee downed the pill immediately and rushed to pick it up, not even looking at the number it displayed. Not many people called him — this had to be his daughter. "Hello?" he asked.
"Good afternoon! I'm calling to ask you a couple of questions for a survey we have going on. Would you happen to have two minutes for me?"
Whumpee didn't respond. He hung up without a word, then walked back to the red couch and sat down. That lady on the phone deserved at least a 'no', he thought distantly. He shouldn't have just hung up.
He buried his face in his hands. It would take another twenty minutes for the sedative to kick in, and even that would just make him sleepy and more depressed. Just how low could a man sink?
"Get yourself together, Whumpee," he muttered to himself. Sure, maybe he was alone. Sure, maybe he felt like nobody would miss him if he was gone. Sure, he felt a little low. But that wasn't a reason to completely despair, was it?
He stood up and went to the bathroom to take a shower. One of the only little pleasures he had left in his life. He wondered if his daughter would've picked up for him if he tried calling again — after three unsuccessful attempts, he'd kind of just given up. He wondered how his ex-wife was doing with her new fiance. Whether she was happy. Happier than him. He hoped so. He had no ill-will towards her, despite how the court case had gone. He got to keep the red couch, and that was all that mattered.
He let the water drip down his short hair, drenching him in pleasant warmth. He wouldn't kill himself tonight. Maybe if his daughter didn't call for another month, he'd reconsider it. Maybe then, he'd make a decision as final as this. But until then, he would just take showers, go to work, solve crossword puzzles. And pretend he was just a man in his forties, living life to the fullest.
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whumpee who's on the edge of reaching out. they've found themself on caretaker's doorstep with a hand lifted to knock five times already, but they've always turned back. they've driven to the ER a couple times even, only to drive off. they're right there. they'd just need to reach out. help is at their fingertips. and yet they can't do it.
whumpee who should be getting better, yet theyre getting worse. theyre safe now. they should be recovering. but their panic attacks just get more frequent. their paranoia is through the roof for no reason. and caretaker has no idea how to fix it.
whumpee that’s autistic and just tired. whumpee that’s going through autistic burnout and just lets whumper do as they please because it’s too difficult to do anything, even beg to stop the pain.
or alternatively caretaker that saves whumpee, but the burnout is still there. caretaker taking whumpee out to cafes and watching movies but it feels almost worst than the torture, because whumpee knows caretaker is (unconsciously) expecting them to mask and smile and even just sitting is too tiring. atleast whumper let them collapse and ‘rest’ on the floor
ways for a famous whumpee's whump situation to be revealed:
in an interview: they answer a question honestly, not realising what they've said is incredibly fucked up and should never have happened to them because, for whumpee, it's so normal.
social media: someone secretly takes a video of whumpee being hurt. the next morning, whumpee's phone is blowing up and footage of their blood is everywhere.
public collapse: whumpee is walking the red carpet, accepting an award, acting on stage. they're the centre of attention, and they're not feeling good at all. every camera is on them when they hit the floor.
being recognised: it's an emergency, whumpee has to go to a&e, there's no other place for them. the hospital staff try to find them somewhere private to wait, but not before half-a-dozen people have snapped a picture of whumpee to tell their friends.
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Whumpee who is so mentally unwell they start giving in to their intrusive thoughts and start doing impulsive, random, strange and, of course, harmful things. Because it's gotten to the point that they stopped caring about it.
Sleeping in the bathtub full of water, clothed, and with a blanket;
Burying knives anywhere but in the chopping block. In the walls, on the ceiling...;
Trying to get a plate from the cabinet and pretending they didn't see that it was about to fall to the ground;
Banging their head or their fists against the wall in a constant, morbid pattern;
Having less sense of space and, sometimes accidentally, sometimes not, bumping onto things;
Unplugging and plugging electronics again and again;
Things that go against basic survivability: crossing the street without looking two ways, using the washing machine while it's plugged in and while barefoot when the floor's wet — also includes turning the shower on and off repeatedly while barefoot —, keep standing up even when they know they're about to pass out...
Imagining a sick character coming up to their friend/partner and, rather than announcing that they're sick, simply leaning against them like a cat. Cue the other's exclamation of "wow, you feel warm," and the sickie mumbling "I know" into their shoulder. Bonus points if they're not usually this touchy feely.
content: past trauma, suicide, parental whumpee, guns
whumpee should be fine. he even has a family now, who know about his trauma and accept it. but it still is too much. so one day after he wakes up and kisses his wife and daughters goodbye, he walks to the edge of the forest instead of work. he has a gun. his family has no idea it was his last goodbye.
Whumpee who has just accepted/realized that Caretaker was actually not going to hurt them and genuinely cared about their well being, and can’t wait any longer. They curl into Caretakers lap or lean against them on the sofa, so touch starved that they don’t even care. Caretaker stroking their hair back out of their eyes, unsure what changed but perfectly willing to go along with it.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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lmaoo i just saw someone talk abt whump awakenings, my whump awakening was when i would imagine myself falling into the pool as if someone pushed me and i was bleeding to death BAAHGAGHGHAHGDAHGSD I JUST KNOOOWW HOW STUPID I LOOKED LMAOO, and how i found out about whump was when i searched up "roleplay starters" when i was thirteen, and as i dug deeper and deeper i would find whump prompts, and you have no idea how much my mind was BLOOOWWWNNNN WHEN I FOUND THAT OUTTTT
big fan of when a character is dead and the narrative frames them in a very angelic, soft, gentle manner but then it turns out not only are they still alive (plot twist) but theyre alive in the most gruesome and horrific way. your loving kind mentor who motivates you to fight in their memory came back wrong and theres blood and dirt under their fingernails from clawing they way out of the grave.
