HUZZAH!!! :3

he/it :) i’ll probably be really incoherent with posts, mb gang 🗣️

[silly-scroimblo-whump]

Pinned post?? idk… BUT YAH !! ^_^

Hii!! ^_^ I’m Scroimblo (not my actual name lmao) and I like writing, reading, and drawing whump stuff !! :D I’m incredibly new to posting my writing anywhere, but Tumblr seems like a good place to start :D!!

uuhhh i gotta actually make a masterlist onee second…

I DID IT !! yaayy..

Roux and Spooks

:D !!! my favourite (and only) little guys!!!

Lulu and Tobi!!! :D

again, no title because i’m incredibly eepy. augdsh..

Marcie and Teddy!!!!!! :(

[tracingthetapestry]

love it when whumpee is high as a kite on painkillers. their brain-to-mouth filter becomes non-existent.

caretaker is by their side, taking care of them as they babble and giggle and cry. caretaker tries not to let the things whumpee says get to them. a more honest idea of what happened to them is horrifying and heart-wrenching.

"oh, this doesn't hurt—" a little giggle, "Before, I had to stay still and. there were, veryyy big needles, and it would make me cry. but then I'd get hurt. more."

"blankets? for me? why? but I won't die if I'm not warm!"

"no, no, let me stay on the floor! please don't hurt me, please, I'll be good, don't tell—" choking on whumper's name, "—please. I'll do anything."

"hey, do you think I'm broken?"

"c'n sl'p?" mumbling drowsily, "y'u c'n thr'w me o'ts'd aft'r!"

caretaker has to endeavour to make their voice gentle and unassuming, their responses soothing. they can't let their anger or their sadness show. they can't.

[whump-polls]

spin the whump trope wheel

opinion on the trope you got?

love it, a favorite

like it

neutral, depends

not really my thing

hate it

nuance

results

Voting ended onJun 1

[whumpyyyy]

There is so much potential for villain whump where the villain develops a chronic illness.

Not something fixable, but definitely treatable. But because of their pride (or fear of supervillain deciding they’re useless), they do everything in their power to keep people from noticing. Noticing that they’re losing weight, that they run out of breath too quickly, that they now avoid direct combat.

I’ve mainly been thinking about this because I have developed gastroparesis and before I knew what it was my symptoms were HORRIBLE. Chronic dehydration is a big part of gastroparesis, turns out.

For a villain, I’m thinking gastroparesis caused by nerve damage sustained during an abdominal operation to treat an injury sustained during a fight.

Probably a more uncommon cause of gastroparesis, but diabetes is very hard to ignore without dying immediately (from my experience with a diabetic family member, maybe that’s not universally the case).

I guess hypothyroidism is also a narrative possibility but I think it being indirectly caused by the heroes is very whumpy >:)

But dealing with dehydration, malnutrition, and vomiting+stomach pain WHILE being tired to hell and back is very whumpy as well

[silly-scroimblo-whump]

> diabetes is very hard to ignore without dying immediately (from my experience with a diabetic family member, maybe that’s not universally the case)

hi omg diabetes mention! hello! type one diabetic of six years here!! it honestly depends on how far into ketoacidosis you are! from my experience, i felt ill for about a month — constantly drowsy + sluggish + thirsty (thirstiness led to me drinking lots of sugary drinks, which made me puke which is when we realised something was up!). by the time i was diagnosed, the doctors said if i had been hospitalised any later, my organs would have started to shut down o_O !!!!! but ya that's my experience ^_^!

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

reblog if you have skilled writer friends and you're damn proud of them

[chrysalis-thestateofchange]

An introduction of sorts.

── ⟡ ˙

Jeremiah is ten years old and he’s enjoying his summer.

The cool breeze that sweeps through the tree line combats the heat of the sun beating down on Jeremiah’s face. From where he’s perched on a branch midway up an oak, Jeremiah can see the church in the distance, past the stretch of the billowy green meadow. Even further past the church, he can see the outline of the little human town, empty and silent.

Much closer than the church or the town, are his parents and their sprawled out picnic blanket, lounging in the grass. Alastair sits close to their mother’s side, her hand smoothing out his hair as she swats a beetle out of his palms. Jeremiah hears her say something he can’t make out and then “Jeremiah” before giving Alastair a little shooing motion. Alastair nods obediently and begins to toddle towards the trees. Jeremiah takes that as his sign to scurry down the trunk, finding Alastair at the base, looking up at him.

“Hi, Alastair. Mom’s had enough of your creepy crawlies already?” he asks with a smile.

Alastair blinks up at him but doesn’t say anything, just reaching his hand up in a grabbing motion.

Jeremiah lets out a huff of amusement and takes Alastair’s hand in his own. “All right then. Off on our next adventure are we?”

This time Alastair nods and Jeremiah’s smile widens as he begins to march, keeping the pace slow enough for Alastair’s less experienced limbs to follow along.

They delve further into the trees which grow bigger and closer together. They reach a fallen tree, now rotting and covered in moss and fungi.

Jeremiah releases Alastair’s hand to leap up onto the trunk before pulling the smaller boy up with him. “Look Alastair,” he says, crouching down to get closer to the wood.

Alastair copies his movements and looks to where Jeremiah is pointing.

“Carpenter ants.” Jeremiah’s eyes follow the long trail of ants, each carrying a large chunk of leaf as they make their trek across the moss.

Alastair frowns and makes shapes with his mouth as he studies the insects.

“Or just ants,” Jeremiah says.

“Ants,” Alastair repeats.

Jeremiah nods and Alastair hums, mouthing the word to himself over and over again as he peers down at the ants.

Jeremiah stands. “That’s one discovery. Onto the next,” he says. He hops down from the trunk and grabs Alastair by the armpits, helping him down as well. Their hands find each other again as they march.

“Out of all of the trees in this mysterious forest, which tree is your favorite, Adventurer Alastair?” Jeremiah looks down at Alastair who has stopped in his tracks and is now looking around them, suddenly very concentrated.

Alastair releases Jeremiah’s hand and begins to walk away. He pauses and turns around, pointing up at Jeremiah. “Stay please.” He then wanders off, disappearing into the trees.

Jeremiah chuckles and sits down on the ground, legs crossed. A few minutes pass and the grass he’s picking at has been turned into a bare patch of soil now. Jeremiah begins to consider getting up and searching for Alastair. He hopes he hasn’t gotten lost.

Just then, Alastair’s little frame appears again through the shrubbery.

He marches up to Jeremiah and holds out his hand expectantly.

Jeremiah takes it and stands. “You’ve found one?”

Alastair nods.

“All right, lead the way, Adventurer.”

Continuing his march, Alastair tugs Jeremiah through the trees for a few minutes until they reach a rather large one, thick and twisting with branches that spin outwards and slope low to the ground.

Alastair pulls Jeremiah all the way to it and pats the trunk.

“This one? This is a good tree.”

Alastair pats it again, more insistently this time. He fixes Jeremiah with an expectant look.

“I’m not sure what it’s called actually. So let’s name it The Alastair Tree. Does that sound good,” he asks, kneeling down by Alastair’s side and putting his hand next to the smaller one on the trunk.

After giving it a long moment of thought, Alastair nods, seemingly satisfied.

Jeremiah beams. “All right then. This is now called The Alastair Tree. Would you like to climb it? The branches are low enough.”

Not looking entirely convinced, Alastair frowns up at the tree.

“I’ll show you,” Jeremiah says, standing again. He picks a thick branch that grows out and then droops down, low enough for him to sit on. He hops onto it and then pulls his feet up. He slowly stands, wobbling a bit until he’s upright, using the branch above him to steady himself. He then walks along the length of the branch, stopping when he gets to the trunk. He sits crisscrossed and smiles down at Alastair. “You try now.”

Alastair’s bottom lip juts out in a slight pout as his eyes scan over the branch Jeremiah had just walked across.

“Or I could just pull you up to sit with me,” Jeremiah says with a smile.

Significantly more pleased with the alternative, Alastair nods and moves to stand below where Jeremiah sits, reaching his hands up.

Jeremiah leans forward and grabs Alastair by the arms, tugging him up until he’s seated on the branch.

Alastair eyes the ground warily, his body tense.

Jeremiah offers a gentle smile and leans back to rest against the trunk, opening his arms. “I’ll hold onto you so you don’t fall.”

With shaky limbs, Alastair scoots closer and then turns around so he’s seated in Jeremiah’s lap, leaning back against him.

“It’s not so scary huh?” Jeremiah asks, giving Alastair a little nudge and chuckling when the boy sheepishly shakes his head.

They sit in comfortable silence for a long while. Jeremiah swears that Alastair dozes off a few times.

Suddenly, Alastair seems extremely alert, sitting up right and snapping his head up.

Jeremiah frowns and taps Alastair’s side. “What, what is it?”

Alastair grunts and points upwards with a faint smile.

Following where Alastair is pointing. “What? I don’t see anything.”

With a huff, Alastair frowns and throws his hand up in the air and shakes his head. He points again and makes a frustrated grunting sound. “Mm!”

Jeremiah looks again and sees a small brown bird twittering about on a higher branch. It hops and then flutters away.

Alastair whines and huffs, hiding his face in his hands with a groan.

“Hey, hey no. It’s okay, stop that,” Jeremiah says, slowly pulling Alastair’s hands away from his face despite the boy’s resistance. “We can find another bird, okay?”

Alastair pouts but nods slowly and Jeremiah smiles. “All right. Just look up and focus on the branches and I'm sure we’ll see one.”

Seeming reluctant but not offering any argument, Alastair leans back again, eyes fixed on the sky with a precise determination. Only a moment passes before another bird — a small blue one — lands. It’s closer this time, on the branch just above them, and Alastair taps Jeremiah’s arm furiously while pointing at it.

“I see it,” Jeremiah assures with a smile as Alastair moves his mouth noiselessly. “Take a breath. Think about what you want to say,” he coaxes as he watches the growing frustration on Alastair’s face as he struggles.

“The bird. You want to say something about the bird. How do you feel about the bird?” he asks, resting a hand on Alastair’s shoulder. “Take your time.”

Alastair’s eyes stay fixed on the bird as his lips twist into a purse and Jeremiah can practically see the cogs working in his mind. “The…bird. Pretty.”

Jeremiah’s eyes widen slightly and he grins. “You think the bird is pretty?”

Alastair nods vigorously. “I-I think the bird is pretty.” He seems surprised by his own success, looking shocked for a moment.

Jeremiah lets out a laugh and wraps his arm around Alastair tightly. “Yes. Yes, the bird is pretty. Good job, Alastair,” he breathes out, smiling at Alastair so proudly — wonderfully.

Alastair puffs up at the praise and smiles a real genuine smile with teeth and all.

“Oh you,” Jeremiah squeezes Alastair tightly despite the way the younger boy squirms. “I’m so proud of you,” he says as he pokes his fingers into Alastair’s ribs.

The young boy shrieks and giggles and kicks his feet and the bird is scared away by the sound but Jeremiah can’t find it in him to care as he persists.

Even as they topple from the branch and hit the ground with a thud, Jeremiah keeps his arms around his little brother – a giggling mess of squirming limbs, trying to escape his tickling restraints.

He eventually lets up and they both flop back into the grass, breathing heavily and letting out little laughs between moments of comfortable silence.

Jeremiah is ten years old and he’s never been happier.

── ⟡ ˙

TAGLIST › @cepheusgalaxy @paingoes @inhurtandincomfort @write-with-will @nightmaricwriter @inadequatecowboy @chiswhumpcorner @bioniclechronicles @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @doumidas @sugaredparchment @ieppiq @gr3yhellh0und

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

[pannacottaclub]

reblogged to save lives

[silly-scroimblo-whump]

</3 to copy and paste mwuahha

[silly-scroimblo-whump]

HI spoilers for song of the welkin moon act VIII BUT!!! THE AMOUNT OF ANGST IN THIS SINGULAR SCREENSHOT IS HAUNTING ME???

can someone please write a fic about wanderer resetting... PLEAASEE .. or send the link to a pre-existing one.. identity/memory loss and the subsequent angst that follows is my bread and butter... yumy... also because wanderer refuses to to take care of himself SO. other characters looking out for him would be extra sweet ughhghgh..

[whumpshaped]

“Okay. If you can’t tell me, then…” Caretaker picked up the stupid piece of basalt with googly eyes glued on. “Maybe you can tell Mr. Rock. I’ll just happen to be nearby.”

"Okay. If you can’t tell me, then…" Caretaker picked up the stupid piece of basalt with googly eyes glued on. "Maybe you can tell Mr. Rock. I’ll just happen to be nearby."

Whumpee took the rock gingerly and watched as Caretaker took a few steps back, turning around and pretending not to care. They looked into the googly eyes of the rock and almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. But they didn't. Because they had to tell someone.

"He whipped me," they whispered to Mr. Rock. "Every day. With his belt. He whipped me for no reason. With the buckle end of it. He whipped me until he grew tired or until I passed out. He never skipped a day. I—" They were choking up. "I can't even hear the sound of a belt being unbuckled without shaking and crying. Mr. Rock, I— I—" They devolved into tears, and Caretaker was immediately back by their side, to comfort them.

"It's okay," they soothed. "It's going to be okay. It's all going to be okay."

[falseficus]

everybody’s always on writing prompts like “what if there was a world where everyone had a timer ticking down to their death… but you met someone whose timer said infinity!” or “what if everyone had their cause of death tattooed across their forehead… but you met someone whose forehead said THE CREATURE!” Enough -

enough. stop with the shock value. there is no need to insert THE CREATURE; the benign concept of such a world is horrifying enough. not even in urgency, but just in banal, everyday interaction. imagine you meet someone and their timer says two years. not tomorrow, not urgently soon, but two years. enough to do quite a lot. they could fall in love in that time - could they get engaged? have a baby? you might otherwise get to know them, befriend them, but perhaps you opt not to, make a conscious choice not to invest in your own grief. what balancing act would every individual person have to participate in - I have ten years, is that long enough to be a good mother to children? is that long enough to secure a caretaker for my own mother? my wife will die a few months before me. my newborn’s timer reads nineteen years.

and cause of death. you interview for a job and emblazoned across the healthy, smiling face of the HR lady is MALNUTRITION. your country is prospering, safe, but every person you meet on the street from the babies to the old women read BOMB. BOMB. what kind of havoc would fate wreak on the world? what about the loss of privacy? how would that shape our notions of hope? idk man I think a lot of those ancient poems were right, and the fates are monsters. I’m interested by the framing of these ideas as trite horror tales when the premises themselves are so much more disturbing if simply taken to their logical ends

[khazafi-deactivated20260131]

no matter what comes of this ceasefire agreement, which is at the moment awaiting approval from the cabinet of the illegitimate settler-colonial entity before going into effect (x), the work is not done. we cannot stop fighting because the bombs stopped dropping. there is still food and medicine that needs to get into gaza.

the siege needs to be lifted. people need to be permitted in and out, for medical evacuations or to leave permanently if they wish. those who choose to leave must be allowed to return. gaza still needs to be rebuilt. families still need to be supported. the state of israel still needs to be abolished and those complicit in its crimes still need to pay. palestine still needs full liberation.

a ceasefire is not what ‘free palestine’ means so do not fool yourself into thinking it is. do not back out now. so many people abandoned the cause at the drop of a hat and never put any work back in when the last ceasefire was violated, all in the name of being fatigued. i am here to tell you that your compassion fatigue is irrelevant in the context of decades of palestinian suffering. do not look away now.

it is not the time to give up. remember what the palestinian resistance fought for. remember that the fight has lasted decades and is not over. the boycotts continue. the strikes continue. keep taking to the streets. it is not over until palestine is free. simply put, you do not get to give up on them and decide that this is the best they will get. our fight is not over

long live palestine, victory to the resistance, and glory be to the martyrs. تحيا فلسطين وعاشت فلسطين وعاشوا ناس غزة

[silvermoon424]

It's really rich that the same people who celebrated and joked about the suicide of a 17-year-old trans girl are now rending their robes and wailing about lefties being mean about Charlie Kirk getting got (look on Twitter if you dare).

They show total apathy about schoolchildren getting shot and outright glee at trans people dying, but act like the world is ending when they get a taste of their own medicine. Kiss the fattest part of my ass, lol.

[daemonsrhaenyras]

My heart does go out to the families of the kids in critical condition from Evergreen High School who will be forgotten in all of this chaos.

There was a shooting at a Colorado high school at around the same time as Charlie Kirk was shot.

[whumpxng]

reblog with your favourite whump trope!! - let’s see who’s active in the whump community 2025

i’ll start - hidden injury !!!

[whumpalicious]

Hidden injury here as well😍

[whump-tr0pes]

Either "whumpee thinking they'll be hurt by the caretaker"

Or "rescue when whumpee was sure they were left for dead"

[newbornwhumperfly]

oh gosh…probably when a whumpee looks dangerous but is so, so vulnerable 🥺🥺🥺

[f1shs-b0nes]

Omfg you two. You get it

Yes. Scary, dangerous whumpee scared shitless by caretaker

[silly-scroimblo-whump]

EXACTLY WHAT EVERYONE ELSE SAID !!! AND DELIRIUM ^_^ !!!!!

[palinoiahart]

𐔌 . CALLING WHUMPBLR / WRITEBLR!

i’m looking for active whump and writing blogs. it feels like my dash has been so empty lately, with less and less interaction between blogs. if you run one, and especially if you have ocs you’d like to share, reblog or comment on this post.

i follow you, you follow me back! we can interact on each others stuff and boost our work. send asks, learn more about each other’s characters and stories, etc.

if that interests you: INTERACT WITH THIS POST

[silly-scroimblo-whump]

HI im kind of inactive but!!! i have heaps of ocs... mwuahhaha

[whumpsoda]

I’d imagine even tho Gen and Nev never really go back to normal, there’s some nights especially after they reunite where Nev comes over and they just cuddle :(

“Nevan?” Genevieve wiped her tired eyes, adjusting to the bright light of the kitchen after her nap. “I’m sorry for sleeping so long, I really didn’t mean to-,” gaze landing on Nevan’s pin straight, trembling frame, she paused. “Oh.”

With shaking eyes his vision met her’s, smile ragged and forced. “I, I, I, um, you’re okay. Sleep however long you, you like.” With a voice soft yet cracking, he seemed to be looking right through her. She’d seen that look in his eye before, and it never proved a good one.

“Are you alright?” She bit her lip. “Did… was I asleep for longer than I thought? Is something wrong?” Hesitating to move forward, she dared not to touch him, rather keep herself calm and steady. “You can tell me Nevan, I promise.”

“Tell you…,” For a flash of a second he nearly went limp with docility, before blinking out of it. Gen hated the way, even if only for the blink of an eye, he could still fall under a long dead monster’s trance. “W- well, I tried to help Amara eat and she, she got angry with me, and we made a mess, an’ I tried to clean it up but now, now, now I’m all dirty-,”

“Hey.” This time, she let her hand carefully intertwine with his. “It’s okay. I can tell that something is off right now, and it might have something to do with…,” she cleared her throat, “well, Darius.”

Flinching the slightest at the drop of the name, Nevan went cold, nodding frantically. “Yeah. Y- yeah. I think so.”

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” Gen asked, brushing her thumb over his, and he opened his lips before swiftly shutting them. She softened. “You don’t have to, of course. You never have to. We can talk about something else. Or nothing at all, if you’d rather.”

“Can, can, can, um,” stuttering, he ran his free hand anxiously through his tangled hair, “can we lay down? For a bit? My head hurts.”

“Yeah, totally.” she said, nodding along as she guided him by the hand to their bedroom - or, what became her bedroom after he had been taken. While it used to be one that the two shared, an intimate space, now he chose to sleep on the couch with Malak.

Her hand lie atop his back as his quivering frame climbed under the covers, helping him to rest. She resisted the urge to peck him on the forehead before sitting awkwardly to the other side of the mattress.

After a drawn out minute, she found the courage to ask, “Do you mind if I lay with you?” thankfully, he nervously gave her the tiniest of nods.

And after she lay atop the blankets to give him a barrier - just incase he needed it - Nevan started, “Um… may I hug you? Please?”

“Yeah.” She mumbled, heart bursting from her chest.

Ever so kindly Nevan placed his arm over her shoulder, wrapping around her bust. “Is this, this okay?” He made sure not to do anything he thought she wouldn’t want, and she couldn’t tell if it was solely from consideration or also fear.

“Mhm.”

Neither moved for a good while, Nevan’s face buried into her shoulder blade until he eventually nodded off to exhausted sleep. Genevieve didn’t so much as let the thought of leaving enter her mind until she needed to, just to find Amara asleep on Malak’s lap with a book in hand.

[clinical-space-podcast]

Reblog if your art project has not, does not, and never will make use of generative ai at any point in your creative process.