Hey! I’m Nicole, she/her, early 20s. I’m not new to the writeblr or whump community by any means, but I’ve been lurking for most of that time and I recently decided to just make a blog dedicated to this for fun. Here’s a quick rundown on what you can expect to see on my blog.
Sandboxes I end up playing in constantly:
Inspired by myths and fairy tales
Royalty and fantasy kingdoms
Superheroes/supervillains
Arcane cults
Tropes and dynamics I love:
blackmail and betrayal
Living weapons
Chaotic, uncontrollable, dangerous powers
Collars and power suppressants
Possession/mind control
Undeserved loyalty
Unhealthy obsession
Moral gray zones
Hero/villain ambiguity (neither is entirely morally correct)
Themes of abandonment and coercion generally
Romance
Body horror
Things you probably won’t find here:
Real world sickness/chronic illness: mostly because I don’t know enough about them. If I do play with it, it’s gonna be very abstract and magical and/or an extremely thinly veiled allegory for autism/depression/anxiety
Mental illness/disability as tropes: most of my characters are going to end up showing signs of autism/mental illness just because I am autistic and mentally ill, but I’m not really interested in labelling my characters as anything in particular.
Men/misogyny: this isn’t a hard line, I play in that sandbox on occasion, but mostly, I write about women and people outside the binary. I also tend to ignore the patriarchy in my stories just because it’s not fun to write about.
Other things you should know:
Almost everything I write is queer.
I love worldbuilding and creating new magical systems and I will never shut up about it
My asks are open! Feel free to pop in and ask questions, give prompts, or just say hey! Just be nice about it
a little too obsessed with those scenes in Tangled, Aladdin, and Sleeping Beauty, etc. in childhood
being an intense reader during elementary school, enjoying books with lots of angst and violence. re-reading certain parts because "they're just really well written chapters"
in early teens downloads instagram and pinterest and saves a bunch of hero/villain writing prompts and snippits for "writing inspo"
eventually downloads Tumblr and follows @the-modern-typewriter
finds out what whump is by following whump blogs and begins to like and reblog posts
discovery of ao3 and Graphic Depictions of Violence tag
rebloging too many whump posts on main, creates sideblog "just for reblogging"
writes a few of their own prompts/drabbles
finds amazing whump series and becomes obsessed with peoples OCs
starts writing own whump story
10,000 years later: autocorrect finally no longer corrects "whump" to thump, chump, whimper, lump, whomp, etc.
Whumpee is able to provide a little too much information about Whumper during team meetings. Details that seem too personal to be dug out of research alone... the kind one would only know if they knew Whumper closely.
Team begin to suspect Whumpee is a traitor, a double agent. They stop listening to Whumpee's advice and suggestions during meetings because they think Whumpee is trying to trick them into one of Whumper's traps.
Now imagine the look on the Team's faces when they're captured because they didn't take the precautions Whumpee told them to.
Imagine the look on their faces when Whumper walks past all of them and goes straight to Whumpee because "It's so good to have you back, darling. I've missed you."
Whumpee is one of many conditioned servants. They're not as perfectly obedient as they should be- they have their own mind, their own will, but they know better to draw attention to this. They keep their head down and act like all the others.
Until another one breaks free and makes a run for it, and whumpee finds themselves covering for them. Soon, they find themselves living a double life, helping the others to freedom while still acting the part of the perfect conditioned servant...
i think the quality of a drawfee episode is directly correlated to how much the hosts think it sucks while recording. by which i mean the more they say “this is for no one” i know this one is for me
Whump scenario: A villain working for a powerful entity who puts a magical brand on him - the more time it takes him to bring the entity's plan to fruition, the more the brand burns.
The party fighting the villain would begin to notice that he becomes more desperate and angry each time they interfere with his plans. Each time they see him, he looks just a bit thinner, the shadows under his eyes darker. Finally, when they deliver a blow that could crush his plans for good, he breaks down. There's denial at first, but surprisingly little anger. He has no more fight left in him - the pain becomes so overwhelming he just wants it all to stop.
With the discovery of the brand, deciding his fate proves to be not as straightforward as the party had expected.
Summary: Liadan is a magician bound with magic-suppressing runes and sold into the service of a cruel inventor. Oisin is a palace guard in a kingdom that doesn’t take kindly to magic. When their paths cross in a dark dungeon, neither of their lives will ever be the same.
Content warnings: fantasy slavery, chains, mention of (power suppressing) collars, threat of execution, female Whumpee, male caretaker, living weapon whumpee
Words: 1948
Notes: this is an idea I’m playing with, I’ll probably post more of it later. This world isn’t too fleshed out, I’m making it up as I go, but for the sake of this part, you don’t need much. This is a low fantasy setting divided into multiple kingdoms. Magic is born, not taught, and not passed down through bloodline. Magicians are seen as dangerous by most kingdoms, with varying reactions. Some kingdoms attempt to persecute all magicians, some keep magicians as slaves, using collars that prevent a magician from using magic against their owners, and some kingdoms fall somewhere in the middle. Liadan’s runic markings are quite unique and not a common practice. I think the rest should be pretty self-explanatory. Enjoy!
When the prisoner awoke, it was with a mangled scream. Oisin jolted to attention, hand going to his sword immediately. But the scream cut off as soon as it had started, dissolving into a fit of coughing as the woman curled into herself, trying to catch her breath. Her arms came up around her knees, and her sleeves slipped down, revealing a mess of symbols inked across her skin, swooping patterns and shapes Oisin recognised as some language but couldn’t understand. The skin around her shackles was red and raw; clearly, she’d put up a fight on the way here.
She looked up, and her eyes met his. He looked away immediately, returning to position, eyes forward, shoulders back, at attention, but not before her eyes could burn their way into his memory. They shone like molten gold, like the very tip of a flame, with no black center to hold them back. Part of him begged for a second glance, just to be sure he hadn’t fabricated them entirely, but he knew he hadn’t. He could never have dreamed them up, not in his wildest fantasies.
“Where am I?” She asked, raspy voice echoing in the silent dungeon. Oisin didn’t respond. Making eye contact was bad enough. Though she might not look like a threat, perhaps that was what made her dangerous. He couldn’t trust the quiver in her voice or her slight figure. It wasn’t his place to, anyway. He was here to guard her, not to cast judgement.
He kept his gaze forward, keeping her only in his peripheral vision as she got to her feet. The chains clinked against each other before going taut, stopping her just before she reached the bars. Silence fell once more.
“To whom does this place belong?” she tried, louder this time. There was an authority to her tone now, one commonly reserved for ladies of the court, and Oisin felt the words rattle down his spine. He resisted the command. It was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes from wandering.
After a moment, he heard her sigh. The chains rattled once more, and she left the boundaries of his vision. A shuffle, a clank, and a small thump indicated she had sat back down. Then, nothing.
This was far more agonizing now that she was awake. Each second took years, until he was no longer sure how long they had been there. He began counting the straw in the cell next to hers to offer up some meek distraction. It wasn’t enough. He took note of her every breath, finding that every fifth inhale or so seemed sharper. Every little move she made sent straw rustling, or iron tinkling. Every little move brought her back to the forefront of his mind, those burning eyes staring at him, through him, winnowing their way into his soul.
Finally, her breathing began to even out. She stopped shuffling around. He saw no flickers of movement at the edge of his sight. He waited for what felt like ages, listening for her to start up again, but nothing came. Tentatively, he cast a quick glance into her cell.
Those burning eyes stared back.
He looked away, feeling heat rising to his cheeks as she began to laugh, a hoarse, hysterical sound that bounced oddly off the cold stone walls. She was playing with him. Laughing at him.
And now he was fighting not only the urge to look, but the urge to smile as well. She was making his job quite difficult indeed.
Her laughter subsided eventually, and she moved back into his line of sight, leaning against the near side of the cell. “May I at least know your name, sir?” Far from commanding, she now sounded almost conversational.
When he didn’t respond, she let out a huff. “Please? My life may be ending in the morning. Would you deny a condemned woman the dignity of knowing her keeper?”
Oisin could feel the weight of her stare, the earnest plea in her voice. He’d rarely had a prisoner address him, and never with such humanity. On duty, he was no more than a tool, an object to dissuade dissent. Even guarding the palace gates, he was lucky to receive even a glance from passers by. It was an odd feeling, then, in the loneliest corner of the castle, to be so thoroughly watched. Watched by someone who wished to know of him, if only to know something.
He saw her smile slip as she turned away from him with a final, resigned sigh.
God, he would regret this.
“Oisin,” he answered, hardly above a whisper.
Her head jerked back in his direction. “What?” He could see the grin creeping back up to her face. There was no one here to see them.
Slowly, he met her gaze. “My name is Oisin.”
In full focus, she seemed much less impish than he’d first thought. Though her smile had a playful tilt, her eyes were weighted down with exhaustion. Her cheek was bruised, her hair matted and dirty. Still, she lit up under his gaze, looking for all the world like she was having the best night of her life. “Oisin,” she repeated, and the name was honey on her tongue. “What a lovely name. I’m Liadan.”
It suited her well. He gave her a nod, forcing his expression to remain neutral. At least he could maintain that.
“Are you always this chatty, Oisin?” She seemed to revel in the eye contact, almost daring him to look away.
“I’m not meant to engage with prisoners.”
That brought a shadow over her face, even as her smile remained frozen. “I see.” She lowered her voice then, some of the bravado peeling away. “Thank you for making an exception.”
It occurred to him, then, that he may have brought about an end to their short little conversation. He would end his shift at dawn, she would be seen by the court and dealt punishment, and they would never see each other again. And remarkably, he found he couldn’t stand the thought. He wanted her to keep talking, to ask him questions and poke holes in his facade. He wanted to ask her even more, about the strange markings and why she was here and why she would be so desperate for the name of a prison guard.
None of this he could say. “Thank you for asking,” he said instead, hoping his tone might convey what his words could not.
Her eyes widened ever so slightly, smile fading, and she was back to the frightened girl she had been when she’d first awoken. She gave him a nod. When he didn’t look away, something strange began to collect behind her eyes. She didn’t meet his gaze as she said, “Might I ask one more thing of you, Oisin?”
A part of him warned that this was what she’d been getting at all along, making him pity her for the sake of stupidly made promises. The rest of him had already forgotten his training entirely.
“If I am able, I will answer you,” he offered, a feeble compromise. There were few things he wouldn’t tell her in this moment.
She took a while to compose her question. “Your king,” she began. “At least, I assume you serve a king.” Oisin nodded. “Do you know what he should want from… from someone like me?”
His heart twisted. “You don’t know why you’re here?” Perhaps it was naive of him, but the lack of a collar had led him to believe she might have done something, anything, to end up down here.
She simply shook her head. “I’m not certain I know where I am. Not Arboran, surely.”
“Ilia.” There could be no harm in telling her. She’d learn come her audience with the court in the morning.
She inhaled sharply, though her face showed no surprise. “Ilia,” she repeated. “Well, I regret to say I don’t know much about your fair kingdom.”
“There aren’t many of your kind here.” She winced, and he paused to soften his voice before continuing. “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure of the punishment for witchcraft. It’s been years since anyone was charged.”
It was quite some time before she responded. He watched her jaw work against itself, her breaths coming sharper, if evenly.
Finally, she turned back to him, and though there were tears in those fiery eyes, she smiled. “I do apologize,” she said, her voice on the verge of breaking. “I know I’ve asked quite a lot of you already, but I have one more favor to request.”
He inclined his head.
“Would you tell me a story?” Her hands were trembling in her lap. “Anything will do. Tell me how a little boy named Oisin grew up to be a palace guard. Let me forget myself until the morning.”
He considered it for longer than he would’ve cared to admit. It was more than just a few responses she was asking for; there was a high chance he’d be caught, especially when he was entirely unsure how long they had until dawn. It would mean punishment for him, of course, and a harder sentence for her.
But the chances of her seeing the next sunset were slim even without his aid. If this was what she chose with which to occupy her last few hours, he couldn’t deny that to her to save himself a few lashes.
So he told her the story of a baby left out by the river, wrapped in an ornate woven blanket. He told her about the sweet woman on the kitchen staff who brought him home and decided to raise him as her own. He recounted his first time seeing the prince, barely a year older than him, and how he’d longed to be the boy who could steal from the kitchen preparations without a beating. How he entered training as soon as he was old enough, itching to fight and protect. How he learned that the greatest feeling in life was in swordfighting, when your mind at last surrendered itself to instinct, and the worst was the silence of friends turned soldiers in a line. When he at last came to accept that he could not have one without the other.
She hung onto his every word. Eventually, her gaze became distant, and he could almost feel her next to him in the memories, holding his hand in the palace halls. Company, even in the loneliest nights. He wondered if this was the magic of witches. He wished he had more than stories to offer her, when she was giving him such a gift, even on her deathbed.
The sun paid no heed to his story’s conclusion, and golden rays began to glimmer through the narrow window above just as he’d begun to tell her about his first love, an errand boy from the city proper. The words died on his tongue. He straightened once more, realizing for the first time how far he’d drifted from his position against the opposite wall. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, no longer daring to speak any louder. “We’re out of time.”
She gave him a smile, genuine and mournful and terrified all at once. In the breaking dawn, silhouetted by the first specks of sunlight, she looked like a specter, an angel from above.
“Thank you,” she said. Then, quieter, almost as if to herself, “Oisin.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, and just this once, he allowed himself to return her smile. “No, Liadan. Thank you.”
The heavy clanking of the metal door echoed down the hall, and he hardened back into stone.
Riot broke into a palace. King - killed. Queen and the infant heir escape through the secret passage.
The only surviving royal guard closes the hidden door behind their backs, rushes to the opposite side of the corridor, listening to rebels' footsteps approaching. He stands before the insignificant door and pretends he just shut it, shouts "Run, Your Majesty! I'll try to hold them!"
Then he defends this door like he means it, untill his hand can't even grip the weapon. He's down, bleeding, exhausted, covered in wounds.
The rebels finaly open the door, and there's just a mop closet.
They beat the shit out of him, he spits blood and laughs. He won.
Their leader stops the beating, commands to get him urgent medical help. They need him alive for the interrogation. He knows where'd the royals go.
Another mutual hero/villain whump scenario that I think about constantly is the revenge plot.
So villain was a normal guy, until one day, they lose a loved one. It’s awful, it’s devastating, and Villain blames Hero for putting that person in danger/not saving them. So they become a villain. They bury their grief in revenge plots, build underground connections, and build up a reputation, all to be able to claim Hero as their mark so that they can be the one to kill Hero.
And then one day, Villain (as a civilian) comes face to face with Hero and something forces them to spend a decent amount of time with each other. And Villain is forced to see them as a person. And some of that blinding rage just sort of… turns back into grief.
Maybe Villain stops seeking out fights with Hero. Maybe they continue to see Hero as their civilian self.
It doesn’t matter. One day, one of Villain’s connections offers them a surprise: Hero, bound and gagged in their basement.
Villain can’t bring themselves to hurt Hero, but they’re in too deep. They know too much about the city’s underworld to just back out quietly, and if anyone heard they’d let Hero go, Villain would be dead in a week. They just stare at their captive, watching the fear turn to recognition turn to betrayal on their face. And Villain starts to regret everything they’ve ever done.
Ok but my favourite hero/villain dynamic when it comes to whump is the simultaneous villain/hero whumpees. These two people who can’t fucking stand each other have ended up in the same situation and this is the only comraderie they have.
There’s so many good versions of this, I might go into more of them later, but here’s one of my favourites:
The hero is beholden to a federal authority that views all people with powers as threats, the only difference between hero and villain being who’s willing to use their powers in service of the state. Hero captures Villain, and Villain is faced with the horrors of the system. Interrogations, starvation, torture, etc. Then Hero learns something about the state that breaks their belief in it, and rather than attempt to explain themselves, the state just cuts their losses and locks Hero up too.
When Hero sees Villain again, Villain has lost most of their will to fight back. They say nothing, do as they’re told, come back from interrogations looking worse and worse anyway. And Hero is horrified. Even with how much they hate Villain, and always have, they can’t stand to see them like this.
And when Villain sees Hero here, they can’t even be happy about it. Because if Hero couldn’t escape this, what chance does Villain have?
Scrolling through 70,000 words of fic to double check if I ever actually made the headcanon I have about my AU canon or if I’m about to randomly drop that this character’s parents were the victims in an unsolved double homicide in the last chapter with no warning
Insane update I have brought up this character’s parents and apparently my headcanon has been wrong this whole time. They’re dead of natural causes. What the fuck.
Scrolling through 70,000 words of fic to double check if I ever actually made the headcanon I have about my AU canon or if I’m about to randomly drop that this character’s parents were the victims in an unsolved double homicide in the last chapter with no warning
Character A is a high profile person and has had someone protecting them at all times for years. When it happens, it’s over quick.
Some people who clearly planned this tried to take advantage of a perceived weak point in security to try and grab A, but their team was on top of it and got A out.
A’s personal bodyguard, B, however, was the collateral.
A’s protests and demands to have all efforts be put into finding their bodyguard are ignored. Everyone finds it much more important to guard A from another attack.
It takes a couple days until B’s body turns up. Beaten, electrocuted, stripped, starved, and that’s just what’s visible on the surface when the groundskeeper finds B at the edge of the property.
The first time since B was taken they get any attention and it is the paparazzi stumbling over each other to get pictures as the ambulance wheels B past them and A is grasping B’s hand in tears.
Hero with an insanely stiff moral compass but in all the wrong directions. They can’t let Villain keep running around on the street and putting people in danger, but they know if they turn Villain in to the authorities, Villain is facing the death penalty, which Hero sees as murder.
With no other options, Hero looks down at the defeated villain and decides, fuck it. Hero’s basement is big enough. They can reform this Villain into an upstanding citizen with the right tactics. Maybe they can even fashion Villain into a hero of their own.
At first, Villain is almost grateful. Taking matters into their own hands means Hero will be too righteous to punish Villain in any meaningful way. They’ll escape within a few weeks.
Villain learns the hard way that when the goal is reformation, there are very few cases where the ends don’t justify the means.
Why do I do this to myself why do I put whumpees in positions where I have to be able to write about the boring everyday crap of medieval palace life ughhhhhhh
