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With Villainous Intentions
Troy | whump writer | he/him | ace | university student | don’t worry about the characters bleeding out they’ll probably be fine | asks and requests are always open
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friendly reminder that if i have ever befriended you and have not spoken to you in a while it’s nothing you’ve done wrong it’s just because i’m a piece of shit at keeping in contact with people and i still love you okay good
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iron sharpens iron
Roe "What do you mean I'm bleeding?" Caddel
Ed "He points to the floor and I kneel; a tool, a machine, his" Byrne
Will "I will leave such a mark, others will have to know me to understand you." Lockwood
Roe (she/her) engineering student, competitive and silver-tongued, and quick to talk herself out of situations. Until she can't.
Ed (he/they) rising star, who burned out as quickly as they rose, and who knows where they disappeared to? A shame, they had such promise.
Will (he/him) works with the Recreation agency and has a new pet project: half metal, half human-- there is not much left of Ed. Except he's taken it too far. He's given an ultimatum: fix it, or pay the full consequences.
#whump#whump writing#whumpblr#whump ideas#whump community#whump scenario#yeah these are my new characters#they;ve been living rent free in my head for a while#thoughts?#this story has so much potential in my head hhhh#idk if i should write it#it feels like if i try#i might damage it and itll turn out half mangled and not at all like how i imagine it#writing#wake up babe new ocs just dropped
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had a plan for balancing uni work with writing. did not stick to it. i really appreciate all the asks and tags I've gotten (have every intention of responding/ catching up on the stories) but I'm so so swamped and tired. I will get to everything but it might take a bit
#troy talks#letting yall know im alive#miss this blog i just have -20 energy always#as soon as i get a fuckin break ill catch up with everything#im so sorry guys
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I feel like this is a dumb question but I wanted to ask about like um boundaries & limits when it comes to using your prompts I guess?
I don't even think that's the proper word usage- (╥﹏╥)
I fear I don't have the attention span to scroll through your blog for that /╯﹏╰\
I don't mean offense by that though-
Sorry for the mild unneeded added stuff just really anxious...
I guess what I just generally want to know is if I want to use a prompt of yours what rules would I have to follow to use them-
/genq
-🧦-
hey dude i really appreciate this, youre very thoughtful and considerate for that 🫶
i don’t have any rules/ guidelines for using my prompts, go wild, i’m happy one inspired you and i’d love to be tagged if you use it in you’re writing (this goes across the board for anyone who uses my prompts—love to see what y’all write)
hope this helped!
#also guys i’m knee deep in midterms#so i haven’t been active like. at all.#but hey break is next week so i’ll be replying to the rest of the asks and just getting#caught up then#troy talks#answered asks
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A Good Day
this has been in my drafts for ages so voila
cw: messed up superhero agency and what happens to those who don't make it through training, minor whump (implied), crying in the backseat of a car, mostly just introductions to the characters, which are two brothers who've adopted this ex-hero-who-ran-from-training and the agency will do anything to get him back, also angst and scarring
____
Today is going to be a good day.
Teddy digs a hand into the cracked leather of the armrest, picking at the plush inside. He watches the blurring sky from the car window.
He needs it to be a good day.
On the radio, a song he doesn’t know is playing. The volume is set far too high. It’s blasting a hole through his head and he reaches over to turn it off, but stops when he realizes the teenager in the backseat mouthing along with the words.
If only excitement was infectious.
All Teddy can feel is panic. Today is going to be good. It’s going to be great…going to be good….
He sinks back into the seat, pulling the plush completely out of the armrest. He rips it into smaller and smaller pieces. Finding something to direct his growing anxiety on helps, a little.
The car slows at a stoplight, and his brother checks on him. “Teddy?”
Teddy waits, drawing the moment out until the light turns green and Elias has to keep his eyes on the road again. He brushes the last of the plush off his pants. “I'm good?” It comes out all wrong, like a question.
Any confidence he had earlier leaves then and now. Teddy picks the plush up from the floor of the car and starts to tear at it again. He keeps his eyes steadily on the window, watching the buildings fly past.
Billboards.
People.
So many people.
Elias lowers the music. “You want to do this,” he repeats, confident “You’ve only been talking about it for the past three months.”
Teddy finds an unshredded piece of plush and rips it with a vicious twist of his fingers. “This was a bad idea...I’m not good enough.”
Shit.
He hadn’t meant to say that aloud.
Elias turns the radio off. Click.
Shit.
“I think you’re good enough,” he says.
Cut out the emotional sap.
But Elias goes on. “The Glenn Symphony won’t even wait until the end of the audition to hire you.”
“There’s tryouts after the audition too. Another round.” Teddy points out, vindication sharp in his mouth.
Elias lifts a hand off the wheel to wave his brother's concerns aside. “Which you’ll do amazing at. Don’t shake your head at me– Stop– you’re going to blow them away. You’ll go into one of your little trances and you’ll forget there are people even watching.”
Teddy’s fingers still. “I don’t go into a trance.” He just forgets about everything and everyone around him and it’s just the music– just the music— all around him, until he sees the notes playing under his eyelids….
“You’re going to do great.”
The banter goes on, and on, until the nervousness seeps out of Teddy’s voice. He smiles as the back-and-forth continues.
In the backseat, the kid laughs brightly, his voice charred and raspy enough to sound burned.
He talks in a slow cadence, testing the words before he says them. “I’m getting deja vu. But,” he points at Teddy and Elias, “the roles were switched.” Dark hair falls into his eyes as he leans forward between the seats.
“Yeah, I thought I would be sick at my audition.” Elias pauses for breath, then dives back into the conversation, “And Teddy, told me ‘you’re gonna be fine’. And? You were right.”
Rufus-- the teenager--jabs Teddy in the shoulder. “Your audition is going to go just as well.”
Elias turns again. “You tell him, Rufus.”
Teddy sighs. “If you guys say so.” He doesn’t sound convinced.
He doesn't feel convinced.
He doesn't want to be convinced.
“Good," says Elias, "Because we’re here.”
Teddy’s stomach drops as the car pulls into the parking spot. With the jolt of the stop, Teddy’s stomach drops even further. He freezes over his seatbelt, catching sight of the massive Art Center.
“Can we go in with you?”
Teddy wishes his brother could come. But the restrictions said only the applicant could meet the audition committee, so he shakes his head and unbuckles his seatbelt.
“I’ll see you in half an hour?”
Teddy nods. “Half an hour.” He shuts the car door behind him and stares up at the glass pillars of the entrance. The world seems to spin, for a moment. Unconsciously, he fidgets with his tie and buttons his suit jacket. Then his gaze is pulled to a billboard stationed above the building.
A girl with a halo of pink hair surveys a depiction of the city from the sky, stars swirling at her feet. Her skin bleeds into the night around her. Her eyes are alight with white flames.
Guardian Angel, they call her.
Protector of cities.
She’s a hero, a legend, a god.
Above her are the words: Savior. The heroes of tomorrow, today.
Teddy looks away, at the car, as it pulls out of the parking lot.
The Guardian’s eyes don’t leave him until he’s inside. Even then, he can feel them boring into the back of his head. They don’t leave him as he shakes hands with the audition committee. He can still feel them when he wipes his sweaty palms on his pant leg. Only when he sits down at the piano, with the black and white keys shining up at him, do the eyes of flame fade from his memory.
The half hour goes by in a blur.
The piece he’s memorized for this audition is his personal favorite. As he plays, all else drains away. He’s not on a stage anymore, he’s back in the apartment, and there’s no one watching him.
He feels good.
The nervousness vanishes.
Stage lights are blinding but the music drowns it out. He’s doing well, he knows it. The piano is deeper than his own and he is able to bring out sounds he could never replicate again.
He smiles, leaning over the piano, acutely aware of the tension in his hands as he holds a long chord, and playing the melody faster.
Just a little faster than the four four time required.
It feels so good.
Teddy finishes and stands. The committee promises that the callbacks will be within the week, and a few smile.
He smiles back, fidgeting with his tie. The music is gone, replaced with uncomfortable small talk. Teddy nods, and says thank you so many times, he thinks he’ll be unable to say anything else the rest of the day. He’s saved by a text from Elias and it takes all of his self control to not run from the building.
Teddy doesn’t look at the billboard, in fact, he does his best to forget it's there. He gets in the car, keeping his back to it.
Elias pulls down his sunglasses. “The piano man survived!”
Rufus leans forward, shoving the last bit of an ice cream sandwich into his mouth. “How’d you do?” At least that's what it sounds like. Teddy can’t exactly tell– Rufus’s mouth is completely full.
Teddy laughs. He can’t help it. It’s over, and he’s out of the auditorium, and as Elias drives forward, the billboard is gone.
Teddy pulls off his tie completely and lets it fall to the floor. “I survived, yeah. I think it went well.” He’s distracted by the assortment of wrappers on the floor. “Did you guys get me any ice cream?”
Rufus hands him a bar.
The taste of chocolate and vanilla pushes away the last remnants of the burning eyes.
He leans back in his seat, sunlight playing across the bridge of his nose.
Some of the vanilla trickles over his hand, sticky.
Even stickier when he licks it off.
It’s melting all over his hand when he hears the sirens.
Loud and shrill enough to cut through metal. The sun is still bright, but the temperature drops all the same.
Police cars have surrounded a house set by the road. Their lights flash red and blue and red again, bright enough to blind the whole street. Someone is dragged out of the house, the door hanging slightly off its hinges.
It’s kicked and the door falls off completely, slamming into the porch.
Someone is shouting– cursing. Cursing Savior. It’s loud enough to be heard over the sirens.
Elias’s hands clench over the wheel and in the backseat, Rufus turns to stone, silence creeping up and strangling all three of them.
“Get in the backseat with Rufus.” Now. Before they see him.
Teddy says nothing and crawls over as quickly as possible. He moves to sit on the side closest to the window, shielding Rufus with his own profile.
Elias speeds up.
Rufus is trembling as Teddy wraps his arms around him, pulling him close. Dark braids shield his eyes but he’s whispering something over and over again.
Rufus, who had been laughing and joking not a moment before, presses shaking hands together. He buries his face into Teddy’s shirt, and Teddy brushes back his hair, holding him tight. The word Rufus whispers is a plea.
All it takes is a moment for the day to fall apart.
One moment.
“Please please please please–”
They’ve driven past the house, but Rufus continues to tremble. And beg.
The begging is worse than anything.
Vanilla and chocolate drip over the leather seats.
Savior. The heroes of tomorrow, today.
#whump#whump writing#angst#whumpblr#whump community#troy talks#whump scenario#hero whump#mostly just thoughts and plot#teddy is a musician and elias is a dancer#guess whats going to happen to them#they're going to lose the most fundamental aspects of their personalitiessss#oh teddy likes to play piano? good luck with broken fingers#>:)
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Every single fic update there is an author trying frantically to find the right balance between a nonchalant aside of "leave a comment if you enjoyed =)" and clinging desperately to the coat tails of a random stranger, dragging along behind them on the street wailing "Please, please! I have to know what you thought! I'm desperate to talk to people about this! Ask me about the alliterative repetition! Ask me about the symbolism!"
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So I’ve had this story idea in my head for a while, it’s changed a lot lately but there’s a new version kinda that I think will stick—unnecessary precursor to this post.
I posted abt it yesterday with a question that someone answered so I deleted the post, also irrelevant. But I mentioned that there’s main characters—Prince, Thief, and Soldier (Some have names so far but for the sake of organization rn they don’t in this post). And also Servant. It’s a fantasy world, so there’s powers. Anyways, I know it’s overused, fire powers and royalty, but sue me.
So the royal family has fire powers. While I was fleshing this idea out a bit, I was thinking back to my prompt from a while back about branded handprints.
Can you see where this is going?
Anyways all of the royal servants are branded with the king’s handprint. It’s supposed to be a symbol of “honor”, but really it’s just a sign of authority, in case any of them decide to try to flee or run away it’s a quick way to return them to where they belong.
So Servant is assigned specifically to Prince, and their relationship is about what you expect. Prince is second in line for the throne after his brother, so he’s bitter and power hungry and poor Servant is just trying his best but it’s never enough.
Traditionally, it’s only the king’s handprint, but Prince doesn’t think that’s enough. So he brands Servant with his own. Multiple times.
This happened a few years before the story would begin, and Prince has grown a bit in maturity. He’s no where near “good”, but he’s no longer as impulsively cruel—so he tries to mend the relationship a bit. He’s also fairly bored and lonely, and Servant is always around, and it’s a little awkward trying to make amends with someone who is scared to walk too loudly around you.
Idk I wanted to share because I love finally giving a vague context to the prompt and also like this story is buzzing around my brain but I can’t write it so I wanted to share it with someone
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GUYS holy hell
😭😭 i can’t even thank you guys enough but i’m so grateful for this (kicking my feet and giggling a little)
i never thought i’d have over 100 followers so i’m blown away rn
y’all are the coolest 🤟🤟🤟
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Could you reblog this if you enjoy seeing your writer friends ramble about their wips on your dash?
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Take the character with endless optimism and put them in a scenario that their optimism can’t withstand.
Take the character who is strong enough for anything and put them in a scenario that they aren’t strong enough for.
Take the character whose pride never falters and give them no choice but to beg.
Take the character who can think of a solution to any problem and make their intelligence useless to them.
Take the character who can talk their way out of anything and give them an enemy who well and truly does not care what they say.
Break the most fundamental parts of your characters and see if they can still be put back together again.
#fuck#well fuckk#call this the checkovs gun of whump#i’m frothing at the mouth#actually#so. so. good#this right here is the character development we love to see#whump#whump prompt
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guys.
new story idea just dropped
kinda excited might not ever write it but the characters are so cool and there’s so much whump potential
it features a mechanic who’s reserved and uses her words and hands like the weapons they are.
a guy named Will with strange abilities and a god complex. they wants to create something new, something different. metal and man combined and entirely forged through fire. illegal experiment? more like illegal cyborg.
cyborg in question? a guy who’s been missing for years— used to be one of the sophisticated elites and now creeps in the shadows, broken and twisted.
#it’s called metalwork#whump#troy talks#whumpblr#whump ideas#theoretically ask me stuff about them and i’ll even more theoretically answer
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when a powerful figure is reduced to kneeling. when the lord is forced to bow. when the exile stumbles into an unwelcoming bar. when the “beast” is chained by their horns. when a god is dragged behind their enemy’s chariot, a captive and trophy. when the loyal “guard dog” character is muzzled and the silver-tongued thief falls silent in horror.
that’s the shit
it’s about the contrapasso. the reversal of roles and the sudden, plunging terror of being unable to hide.
#did i write a scene with unknown characters where this happens#mmm#maybe#whump#whump writing#whumpblr#whump prompt#whump ideas#whump community#whump prompts#troy talks#whump scenario#thoughts?
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"What the fuck did you do? The boss told us to rough 'em up a bit, not to kill them!"
"Don't worry; they're alive. Look, they're still breathing."
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if you've got a character who gets into fights a lot then giving them a scar or several is a good way to signify it, but if you're looking for some variety try giving them a few bruises or half-healed scrapes. batter and scuff them up a bit. make their body look lived in.
#ooo#this hits different#in a ‘trying oat milk for the first time’ kinda way#so. fantastic#love scars#whump
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Scars described as:
ropy
faded
jagged
marring
twisting
thick
scars around wrists and ankles. on vulnerable throats. hidden behind layers of clothing. scars on their back, only visible when their shirt is ripped away. scars that slash across their face. scars that split lips. scars from missing fingers and limbs. scarred ears, the tips shredded and hearing forever impaired. tiny scars that could only have been knife work, up and down on their forearms and legs.
scars that forever mark them and mark the hell they went through.
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