#creative angst here

[celestialwrites]

ೃ⁀➷ five word dialogue prompts

@celestialwrites for more!

♡ “it’s too late for us.”

♡ “you forgot us, didn’t you?”

♡ “i know it won’t work!”

♡ “(character) told me you left.”

♡ “i missed your smile, (nickname)”

♡ “please don’t leave me again.”

♡ “thank you, for trusting me.”

♡ “why did you stop living?”

♡ “part of me wants you.”

♡ “no one believed, but you.”

♡ “tell them! tell the truth!”

♡ “hold them accountable for it.”

♡ “i knew you were together!”

♡ “i miss her, you know?”

♡ “thanks to you, they’re dead!”

♡ “i’m sick of fighting you.”

♡ “thank you for your smile.”

♡ “who would ever leave you?”

♡ “i survived, all by myself.”

♡ “please stop fighting the inevitable!”

PLEASE REBLOG TO SUPPORT LOCAL WRITERS!!

[good--merits-accumulated]

really really want to write something w/ Todd or Neil being a doctor

[defectivehero]

warnings: suicidal ideation, conversations about death and morality, blood & violence

The hero looks out into the faces of strangers gathered around the coffin and takes a deep breath. The effort isn't easy, and it takes a few moments for them to calm their racing heart rate. This is all an act, they remind themself. It's all just an act—a farce, a trick, whatever one wants to call it.

When the agency had offered an olive branch to the villain, the hero's enemy, the hero didn't know what to think. They thought their agency was misguided—or, more likely, desperate—to attempt a truce with the villain. The hero knew their enemy well enough to know that a promise of peace wouldn't be sufficient enough to guarantee the city's safety.

Yet here they are, standing over their enemy's elegant black coffin. The agency had spared no expense in maintaining the act, it seemed. Beside the coffin is a photograph of the villain—one from their civilian life. And next to it stands the hero, who was chosen to speak at the funeral—to pose as a grieving friend. They initially opposed the idea, but eventually agreed upon realizing the charade was necessary to maintain the façade.

For this fake funeral to work, the hero had to learn about the villain. They learned more than they would have ever hoped to know—everything from the villain's upbringing to the circumstances behind their second job. The hero had studied up on Jordan: the person behind the villainous mask. Yet, as the hero stands over the villain's coffin, they can't help but think that they didn't prepare enough.

"Jordan was a close friend," the hero begins. The air is silent around them and the weary afternoon sun casts shadows across the malnourished grass. "A sibling to some, a coworker to others." The hero adds. They're doing well so far, they think. Out of the corner of their eyes, as they continue speaking, they can see nods of agreement.

The hero can't quite register what they're saying, as the words begin to escape them. They launch into a fake anecdote of sorts and their focus slips elsewhere. Their fists are clenched at their sides and their eyes refuse to leave the ornate coffin marring the center of their vision with a blackened smudge. They come back to themself at the end of the anecdote, recognizing that they need to find some way to wrap it all up neatly. (They need some way to finish this, please-)

"I can't imagine what my life would have been like without them," the hero realizes aloud. Indeed, their life would be very different if they had never met the villain. The hero glances at the coffin and a shiver runs down their spine. "And now that they're gone..." Their voice cracks at the end of that statement. Their eyes are unwittingly drawn to to the tree in the distance—where they know the villain to be hiding. Their enemy has enhanced hearing, and the hero knows they will be listening with rapt attention. The hero tries to focus on something else, but their thoughts continue to spiral.

The hero sees the villain's dead body sprawled across the pavement... They see dried blood stains sinking into the cement, the only sign of their enemy's existence... They see an empty glaze to the villain's normally bright eyes...

The hero sees themself waking up in the middle of the night and moving to the sink mechanically to wash the unseen blood from their hands, as they grow accustomed to nightmares where the villain revisits them... The hero sees themself slowly fading away into obscurity, their morality teetering on the precipice of something darker...

Someone in the crowd coughs, jerking the hero from their thoughts. They remember themself. "Now that they're gone..." The hero resumes, "...I don't know what to do with myself." Their throat is burning. They turn their head to the side and blink tears from their eyes, before taking a deep breath. With a shaky breath, they step away from the coffin and walk away from the funeral.

The hero would have walked straight past the villain, if not for the sudden grip on their arm. The villain tugs them off their predestined path and pulls them behind the cover of the conveniently large tree.

"Bravo," the villain says. It's only then that the hero allows themself to look up from the ground and meet their enemy's gaze. They're surprised to find the amused glimmer in the villain's eyes, the playful smile on their face. "That was rather convincing. Perhaps you should pursue acting."

"I-" I don't think I was acting, the hero thinks to themself. Imagining life without you genuinely made me feel... empty. "Ha, yeah." Their voice sounds off and the villain raises an eyebrow. There are a few moments of silence, but their enemy mercifully does not poke or prod at the subject any further.

"So," the villain drawls, burrowing their hands in their jacket pockets. The hero envies their collectedness and composure in this moment, but also worries for how unaffected they are despite it all. "I'm dead now."

"You're not dead," the hero feels the need to say. They're not sure who exactly that remark is meant for, but they have a feeling they uttered it to remind themself of the truth.

"Legally, I am," the villain points out. They cross their arms over their chest. "It's kind of freeing, in a way. Maybe I should pursue death as a long-term solution to all of my problems."

The hero's stomach lurches and everything around them seems to fall to silence. "Stop." They don't realize they've spoken until they see the villain's mask shudder around them, their eyes momentarily widening before returning to an expression of uncaring. "Stop it," the hero repeats, "I- Don't joke about something like that."

The villain regards them with interest. "Who says I'm joking?" They ask, nothing but sincerity in their voice. The hero is hit with a wave of nausea.

"That's- Please just- It's not funny. It never was." The words are crawling from their lips entirely of their own volition.

"I wasn't trying to be funny," the villain says softly, their voice almost a whisper. They're telling the truth, the hero realizes. And something in the hero just breaks. The frail string they had been hanging from simply... snaps.

"I don't want you to die," the hero finally chokes out. "Okay?" Is that what you wanted to hear—what you were trying to coax out of me? Well, I've said it. How fucking pathetic I must be, for caring."

"I wasn't acting. It was all real—real to me. I tried to imagine my life without you and I couldn't.

"I'm sorry," the hero spits, their hands shaking now. Tears are falling down their face now, blurring their vision. They feel deeply humiliated and embarrassed, especially in the wake of the villain's callous and uncaring gaze.

When they turn to leave, they don't expect a hand to fall onto their shoulder—and the hero certainly doesn't expect to be pulled into an embrace. The villain's arms wrap around them and the hero instinctively returns the gesture. Even if this is a trick, or some convoluted way to make them feel even more ashamed, they take comfort in the visceral feeling of the villain's touch and the physical confirmation that they're still alive.

"Don't apologize," the villain says, placing a hand on the nape of the hero's neck and hugging them tighter. The hero closes their eyes and leans into their enemy's shoulder. "I... I'm sorry for being so morbid." They say, an uncharacteristic depth of emotion present in their voice.

"I don't want you to die," the hero whispers into the villain's shoulder. It's a remark meant for only themself, yet their enemy hears it anyway. The villain stiffens for a moment, their shoulders tightening, before they grasp the hero with dueling tenderness and strength. Suddenly, the villain's hands are on their cheeks as the hero is pulled back to look at their enemy. The villain's gaze is determined and entirely honest.

"Then I won't die," the villain asserts. "Simple as that."

The hero knows it's illogical, knows that the villain will have to die some day—as everyone does. But the conviction in their enemy's voice is enough to dissuade them. The villain's grip is reassuring enough, real enough for the hero to breathe again.

©2024, @defectivehero | @defectivevillain, All Rights Reserved. reblogs are appreciated, just please don't steal my writing or share outside of Tumblr.

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[sweetmapple]

Comic idea so good it sends you into a research frenzy

[the-broken-pen]

I love your blog so so much, everything you write is amazing, idk if reqs are open, if they arent, im sorry and feel free to ignore, but could i request a second part of that prompt you wrote where the villain poisons their little sibling hero w/o knowing its them, i just loved that prompt and how you wrote it SO SO much, i think i must have read it about 20 times just these last few days, you can make the second part however you want, sad ending, happy ending, its up to you!!! thank you a lot

Part One (Thank you so much Anon!)

The villain hated hospitals. There was always the threat of exposure—the promise of a fixed wound never meant just stitches. Inevitably, it meant the police.

But really, the villain hated hospitals because they had almost watched their sibling die in one, three years old and a stomach full of cleaning products. They had sworn their sibling would never, ever get hurt again.

Now here they were. Watching the painful rise and fall of their sibling’s chest, oxygen mask hissing alongside the beeping of a heart monitor.

The villain scrubbed a hand over their face, covering their mouth.

Their sibling—the hero—was so small. So pale. And it was their fault.

The villain was going to vomit.

The heart monitor stuttered, and the villain snapped their eyes to the bed. The hero blinked back at them, clammy and bleary eyed.

The hero blinked at them once, before clumsily dragging their oxygen mask off their face.

“You need that,” the villain said gently. The hero eyed the mask with distaste, before dropping it beside them.

“Okay.” But they didn’t pick it up. Their eyes dragged around the room, not quite conscious yet—before landing back on the villain. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

The hero’s brow wrinkled, then eased.

“I don’t feel bad?”

The villain laughed slightly. Their chest panged. “Yeah, that’s the morphine. They have you on the good stuff.”

The hero frowned.

Absently, one of their hands reached for their IV, and the villain caught it, settling it back by their side before they could rip it out.

“You’re an obstinate little thing, aren’t you,” but it was fond.

Their sibling grinned at them, and god, how had the villain not known? The hero had smiled at them, that exact smile, hundreds of times. Maybe thousands. And somehow, they hadn’t stopped to think it looked familiar. They hadn’t questioned that they had the same power.

They hadn’t bothered to wonder if the hero they were fighting was their younger sibling.

How many times had they hurt their sibling and not known?

“You love me anyways.”

The villain’s throat tightened.

“Yeah,” They choked a bit. “Yeah, I do.”

The hero frowned at them again.

“Are you okay?”

The villain cleared their throat. “Of course. It’s you who isn’t.”

The TV on the wall switched to a news segment, and they both watched with detachment as the reporter discussed the political climate surrounding powered people. The hero fidgeted slightly as they aired clips of the two of them fighting.

If their sibling didn’t remember anything about last night—

“The hero always loses,” the villain said slowly. They waited for the hero to look at them. “Why do you think that is?”

The hero bit their lip, anxiety creeping around the fog of pain medication.

“Because they’re weaker, I would think.”

The villain tipped their head a bit. “I don’t know about that. They always hold their own.”

Their sibling shrugged one shoulder, trying for casuality and failing. “Heroics and all that. Busy. Maybe the agency has orders…?” They trailed off, and oh, wasn’t that a terrible thought? Their sibling being ground into dust in the machine of the government.

“They never catch the villain, either,” the villain pressed. One of the hero’s hands squeezed into their blanket.

They stared at each other. The heart monitor beeped. Someone called for a code blue.

“You never catch me.” It was little more than a whisper, but the villain knew their sibling caught it. The hero went still, a deer in headlights.

It was almost like the villain could see them remembering the night before—the gala, the poison. Their big sibling, hurting them.

But they didn’t look at the villain with fear.

“No,” the hero said, and it was the firmest the villain had ever heard their sibling. “I don’t.”

Something began to burn in their gut.

“What were you thinking?” The villain hissed. The hero stared, stony eyed. Their lip quivered, just slightly.

“I was thinking that I love you too much to watch you die on the news.”

The villain jerked a hand through their hair, pacing to the other end of the room. The door snapped shut with a flick of shadow, the curtains following suit.

“You’re sixteen,” the villain snapped. The hero was fighting off tears, pressing their lips together like they were trying to hold in a sob. The villain had seen them do hundreds of times over the years.

“And you’re all I have left.”

The villain forgot how to breathe. Their sibling was trembling, just slightly.

“I’d never leave you,” the villain promised, voice cracking.

The dam broke, and a tear slipped down the hero’s cheek.

“But what if the only part of you left to stay is your ghost? I don’t—I can’t-“

And then their little sibling was sobbing. The villain tucked them into their arms between one second and the next, cradling them against their chest.

“It’s okay, I promise, it’s okay.”

“Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” the villain carded a hand through the hero’s hair. “I won’t.”

Their sibling was too young for this.

The villain was too young for this, too.

Being a villain paid the bills—but was it worth it?

The hero sobbed again, and the villain knew.

No.

It wasn’t worth it. How could anything ever be worth hurting their sibling?

It wasn’t worth their sibling almost dying, it wasn’t worth the heart ache, it wasn’t worth the pain.

But it was worth a month’s rent. It was worth school supplies and food on the table. It was worth a life.

Maybe not theirs—no, theirs was ruined already.

It was worth their sibling’s.

That was what mattered.

The nausea was back, deep in the villain’s stomach.

“Stop fighting me.”

The words stung on the way out, cutting the villain’s tongue. The hero jerked out of their arms as if scalded.

“What?” Their voice was rough with tears.

The villain swallowed, and it took everything in them to keep their face blank.

“Stop playing hero. You’re going to end up dead.”

If the villain couldn’t hear the heart monitor beeping, they would have thought their sibling’s heart had stalled in their chest.

“It won’t happen again,” they fisted their hands into the blanket.

“You’re right,” the villain agreed, and it hurt. “It won’t.”

The hero gaped at them.

“You don’t get to do this—“

“I do.”

“Stop it,” their sibling hissed. “Let me talk, I just want—“

“I want you alive.”

The hero went silent.

“And I want you happy, and warm, and well fed, because I love you, and it is my job.”

“Isn’t me being a hero to protect you the same thing? It’s love, not hatred or stupidity, can’t you see that?”

The villain could. They could see all of it. They could see their sibling, just a younger version of themself, desperate to keep their last loved one safe. They could see their sibling, helping the city because they cared too much with a too big heart.

They could see their sibling choking on poison, hunched over a toilet.

“I can’t let you keep fighting me.” The villain held the hero’s gaze. “I won’t, do you hear me?”

Their sibling was crying again, silently, chest heaving.

“I’ll fight you anyways,” but it was weak, and they both knew it.

The villain gave them a long look.

“You’re going to let the nurses help you. You’re going to get better. And then we’re going to go home, and you’re going to go to school, and I’m going to pay the bills, and put money on the table, and you’re going to pretend you don’t know how.”

The hero let out a shuddering breath, jerking their eyes away. Their jaw clenched.

“Do you hear me?”

“Fuck you.”

“Hero.”

“Yes,” they sobbed. “Yes, I hear you. Yes, I’ll watch you die and bleed out and I’ll do my math homework and pretend I don’t know why there’s blood stains in the bathroom.”

The villain wished they had been shot. It would have hurt less than this.

“Good.”

The hero shot them one last, desperate look. Like they had expected the last bit to mean something. Like they had hoped it would. Like they had needed it to.

Their sibling was just shy of hyperventilating when the villain tucked their oxygen mask back over their face. They brushed a piece of the hero’s sweat soaked hair out of their face, softening their eyes a fraction.

“I love you.”

The hero just blinked at them as the villain slid off the bed, tucking the blankets back around them.

The villain hesitated, just barely, at the door.

“Don’t—Don’t do this,” their sibling was crying again, voice wet with tears as they shook. Like the villain had grabbed something within them and broken it, something vital, and their sibling no longer knew how to be still. “Please don’t do this.”

Whatever they said next was a mangled sob.

“I love you,” the villain repeated forcefully, more weight on those three words than they had ever put on them. Maybe, when the hero was older and the villain didn’t need to commit crimes to keep them afloat, when there was no danger for their sibling, they would tell them they hadn’t wanted this either.

They would tell them they had wanted them to be a hero.

They would tell them they were sorry.

But for now, the villain said nothing. The door clicked shut behind them like an oath.

The villain managed to make it all the way down the hallway before they started sobbing too.

[the-oracle-of-the-lost]

i'm actually pretty far into my Picard-era Voyager reunion fic (about 6k out of.... probably 9k or so) but i'm a bit insecure about it because every other longer fic i've written has been a little more insightful & deeper whereas this feels too surface level for my tastes. like i enjoy writing it. and i'd enjoy it if i was just a reader rather than a writer. it's fun to catch up with these characters and figure out how their relationships have changed and write some banter but idk it's just not clicking the way my other recent published fics have.

[suspensefulpen]

Mine & Mine Only

TW: Stockholm Syndrome, Bad Caretaker, Discussions of Torture, Manipulation

Since I didn't do Febuwhump, I decided to write a special for Valentines Day for the amazing Whump Community. A very strange story for a very strange holiday. An insanely mad happy Valentines Day from me to all of you <3

Whumpee frowned in disgust at the calendar. February 14, Valentine’s Day. Ugh, they hated the very thought of it. Sometimes, they hated the month in general. This was the day Whumper so tirelessly prepared for, just for Caretaker. This was the day Whumpee suddenly didn’t exist anymore. This was the day Whumpee realized how much they actually hate Caretaker. 

Ever since she came around, Whumper paid less and less attention to them. That was unless Caretaker gave them attention, Whumper would at the very least acknowledge them. But it wasn’t long before she stopped giving them attention too. Whumpee became irrelevant, almost like they were a ghost casually hanging around the house. No, they weren’t a ghost. They were sure the couple would be more likely to acknowledge them if they were. 

It felt as if they were indirectly saying Whumpee didn’t matter anymore. 

No, they were sure it was directly. Whumper used to leave them little gifts on Valentine’s Day as a reward. He even did it for other holidays. Whumpee hadn’t seen a gift with a name even remotely close to theirs written on it in six months. This was no mistake. This was a message. Even if Whumper gave them half baked apologies for forgetting about them, they still haven’t gotten a gift since. And it was all because of Caretaker. 

Whumpee scoffed and walked away. Whatever. They were going to just ignore everyone else too. For the entirety of tomorrow and maybe even the rest of the month. They didn’t acknowledge Whumpee, so why should they acknowledge them? 

“What’s wrong Darling?” 

Whumpee instantly brightened when they heard Whumper’s voice behind them. They turned around only to find Whumper wasn’t even looking at them. He was on the phone, presumably talking to Caretaker. 

“Are you sure? You sound upset.” 

Whumpee grimaced as Whumper walked by them without glancing over. They stomped out of the kitchen with a huff to finish the rest of their chores. 

When they got the mail, a package was placed on the porch. Curious, they picked up the box and shook it lightly. Whatever was inside had some weight to it and was sealed tight enough not to move around. It was addressed to Whumper, maybe they should ask what it is. Opening the mailbox, they shrieked when a large bouquet of roses popped out. They knew exactly who those were for. 

Would Whumper get angry with them if they threw the flowers out? Who were they kidding, of course he would. He’d probably yell at them and beat them and… 

Wait… If they threw the flowers away, they’d get yelled at by Whumper! And if they got yelled at, they’d get attention! Yes! That was a perfect idea! 

Whumpee paused again. No, that wasn’t a good idea. How long would it be until he noticed the flowers were gone? Hours maybe? No. Whumpee didn’t want to wait that long. They wanted attention now. 

They marched back into the house with the mail, making their way to Whumper’s office, holding their head high. He briefly acknowledged them when he pointed to the empty space on his desk. Without a second thought, Whumpee dropped the box on his desk. Whumper’s gaze instantly snapped away from the computer screen. 

“Whumpee! What the hell is wrong with you?!” 

“What… What do you mean sir?” They asked dumbfoundedly. 

“The box clearly says fragile. Why the hell would you drop it on my desk like that?” 

It did? Whumpee glanced down at the box, now noting the red stamp. When did that get there? They didn’t respond, staring silently at Whumper. He stood from his chair, his hand connecting with Whumpee’s cheek in a swift motion. They were sure their face was bright red now. But that didn’t matter. They got attention! They kept their head turned, hiding their smile. It was quick to dissolve when they were thrown against the wall, the same hand going around their neck. 

“Don’t start acting up because it’s almost Valentine’s Day Whumpee. You forget, I can still put you in your place. Just because I’m not paying attention to you doesn’t mean I won’t do it. I’ll put you back in the basement and leave you down there to starve. Is that what you want?” 

What?! No! That’s not what they wanted! Whumpee rapidly shook their head, wheezing out their words. “No sir!” 

“Then you better start acting like it.” 

When Whumper let go of them, Whumpee almost felt sad at the loss of contact. The warmth from Whumper’s hand was gone and they wanted it back. 

“Whumpee get out of my office. Now.” 

They quickly scampered away. 

~~

Whumpee watched as Caretaker “helped” them tidy up. It felt more like she was trying to be in the way. She already was in every aspect of Whumpee’s life. She was just there. Taking up space. Existing. They frowned and glanced at the glass vase next to them. An idea instantly formed in their head. 

They swiped at it, knocking it to the floor. The shattering sound almost made them feel satisfied. They needed that to happen to Caretaker and her relationship with Whumper. They wanted to see it up close and in person, falling at their feet just like the glass. 

They picked up a shard, allowing it to pierce their hand. They dropped it and screamed in pain as Caretaker rushed over. 

“Whumpee, what happened?” She gasped when she saw the blood. 

“I don’t know! I’m sorry! It’s all my fault!” Whumpee cried, forced tears rolling freely. 

“I’m sure it was an honest mistake. Step this way so I can clean that cut.” She ushered Whumpee to the couch before leaving to grab medical supplies. Whumper stood in the doorway, glaring at Whumpee. He only shook his head before rolling his eyes and walking away. Whumpee didn’t know what that meant, nor did they like that. 

Caretaker came back and began patching up the wound. Whumpee glanced around before lowering their voice. “I hate you.” 

Caretaker didn’t react. “The feeling is mutual.” 

Whumpee stared at her in shock before frowning. “Clearly not if you care so much.” 

She smiled and raised her gaze. “You really think I care about you, Whumpee? You really think you matter to me?” She laughed. “I only do this to make Whumper’s hobby more fun. He gets the satisfaction of breaking you like a brand new toy.” 

They narrowed their eyes. “So you’re only here for his sake?” 

“Why no, of course not. There’s always more.” 

“Well I think you should leave. You have no place here and you don’t deserve Whumper.” Whumpee smirked. “Wait till I tell him how phony you are.” 

“Me?!” Caretaker repeated. Her surprise was very obviously fake. She laughed. It quickly turned into a fit of giggles, leaving Whumpee beyond confused. She took a deep breath and smiled again. “You really think that’s going to work? Oh Whumpee, you’re a lot more hopeless and pathetic than I thought.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Listen to me Whumpee, I have your precious Whumper wrapped around my finger. He’ll listen to anything I say, no matter what it is. He’s never going to give you what you want. Even if that is just his attention. You’ll never get it. Because Whumper is mine.” 

“Well I had him first. He was mine before he was anybody’s.” Whumpee frowned. 

Caretaker giggled again. It weirded them out. Why was she laughing? Whumpee was being serious. It wasn’t meant to be funny. 

She exhaled, still smiling. “You really are pathetic, aren’t you? You really think Whumper cares about you? You are nothing but a toy. A plaything. A servant. A maid. That’s all you are and that’s all you’ll ever be. You don’t matter. If something ever were to happen to you, you’d just be replaced by someone else. You’re not as important as you think you are. Just because you were first doesn’t mean anything. You only keep him entertained. These feelings you have for him aren’t being reciprocated. Because he does not care about you.” 

“And what makes you think…” Whumpee trailed off, confused when Caretaker grabbed their hands. They watched in silence as she brought them up to her neck. Panic rushed through their body as she used their hands to choke herself. Whumpee did their best to remove their hands. While they hated Caretaker, they wouldn’t hurt her this way. 

Caretaker pushed Whumpee away and gasped loudly, standing from the couch. “Whumpee?! What’s wrong with you?!” 

“I didn’t—” 

Whumper instantly appeared in the doorway, a deep frown on his face. “What happened now?” 

“They tried to choke me!” Caretaker cried. 

“No I didn’t! She’s lying!” 

Whumper grabbed Whumpee’s shirt, almost picking them up from the couch. “I’ve had enough of you lately.” 

“Sir, I didn’t do anything! Honest!” Despite all of Whumpee’s earlier attempts at getting attention, this was not the kind of attention they wanted. Whumper looked way angrier than they’d ever seen him. 

“No, don’t act like that now. You want my attention, right? Well now you have it.” He let go of Whumpee. 

The last thing they saw was Whumper’s fist and the world went dark. 

~~

Whumper sat furious, frowning deeply with his hand propping up his head against the arm of the couch. Caretaker who was putting away her new present, noticed the look. She sighed and scooted closer before wrapping her arms around him. “You shouldn’t let them bother you.” 

“I’m not. I’m just…pissed. I should force them to fix it.” 

Caretaker glanced at the jewelry box she’d gotten. The mirror inside had been shattered, thanks to Whumpee dropping the box. Despite how calm she looked on the outside, she was furious as well. “We can always get another one.” 

Whumper didn’t respond, still staring into space. A smile slowly grew on Caretaker’s face as a devious thought came to her. She tried her best not to laugh. That’s a perfect idea… 

“I really should drag them back up here and make them fix it. Then strangle them until they’re unconscious, starve them–” 

“Actually, I have a better idea…” 

Whumper turned his head to meet gazes, his frown briefly faltering. “What’s that?” 

“I think you should get a whole new plaything.” He raised a brow but didn’t interrupt. “Clearly, Whumpee has forgotten their training. Why don’t you just start fresh? A clean slate.” 

Caretaker grinned widely as she watched the gears begin to turn in his head. 

~~

Whumpee perked up when they heard Whumper open the door to the basement. It was obvious that he was still angry with them. His stomping made it evident. Yet, instead of any kind of scold, Whumper began to unchain them. 

What was going on? Were they going back upstairs? Did Whumper change his mind about punishing them? What was happening? 

Whumper placed handcuffs on their wrists and Whumpee raised a brow. “What’s going on?” 

He raised his gaze. “You’re leaving.” He pulled them up and began dragging them to the staircase. 

“Leaving?! You’re getting rid of me?!” Whumpee tried their best to break free. Before they could think, they were thrown to the floor. Tears filled their eyes as they looked up at their captor. 

“I’ve had enough of you Whumpee. Acting out just because you’re jealous of Caretaker and you want attention. Clearly you’ve forgotten your place in this house. You’re only a servant. A maid. Your job is not to beg for my attention, it’s to do what I asked you. But I see you can’t remember that. So since your memory is getting so bad, I’ll just have to get rid of you.” 

Whumpee couldn’t believe the words they were hearing. There was no way Whumper meant anything he was saying. He couldn’t mean it. That wasn’t something he would say. Their gaze shifted to the doorway, catching Caretaker grinning smugly. 

They frowned deeply. Of course they weren’t Whumper’s words. 

They were hers.

[sleeve-sleeve]

ok first murder drones now spooky month depression

[averlym]

4 on the angst list with Araleyn please I need them to suffer

4 : "but it's my fault, right?" (prompt list here)

[huntingrays]

Send me a number between 1-100 (either in ask or reply) and i’ll write a lil (valgrace) fanfic based on my 2023 Spotify Wrapped

i’m bored and just wanna write some cute/angsty lil quick fanfics

if i can’t do one with that specific song (for whatever reason, such as too raunchy or by an artist i no longer support), then i’ll skip it and go up or down a number

tbh, most of these sounds are kpop and t swift so this’ll be interesting!

In progress: 29

To write: 99, 14

Finished Numbers:

12 - S-Class

27 - illicit affairs

71 - The Archer

Couldn’t Do:

72 - The Horse and The Infant

[bluestrawberrybunny]

Also quick sketch page of my HCs/effects SMG4 suffers in the Apprenticeship AU regarding SMG4 Doesn't Meme for 1 Second:

Meme powers more unstable

Erratic mood swings

More trouble sleeping

Bouts of apathy

Nightmares

Meme guardian with SMG3 changed

Stronger? Weaker?

Severe migraines when using meme powers and sometimes "randomly" (will be explained more in the Apprenticeship fic)

Bouts of short term memory loss

More bouts of aggression

Shorter temper

[duskholland]

i just spent three hours writing a 2k outline of a fic. am i back.

[eatyourmaker]

I don't know how to word so I just. Send hug gif

I hope you don't mind me sending these kfdngskdfn

🫂 thanks

Sorry if I bummed anyone out

It just kinda sucks

I was so excited to have a place that felt!!! So accepting!!! And it felt like everyone was just toying with the characters in their own creative way, whether that be ships, blogs, rps, etc.

A place where a weirdo like me could thrive.

But

Idk lately this place is starting to feel as draining as any other aspect of my life. Idk what changed... in reality it's probably only me that's changed.

Like I'm constantly scared of something,,,

Maybe I'll just disappear until the next ep drops again fjdksndkdnns

[somedudewithantlers]

ya girl Steve is not doing all that great in college work life

[snowshowerwriting]

Peace

TW- Implied PTSD

@epiclamer Incase this fits your hurt hero palette?

Despite all the days the hero had gotten off, nothing had truly relaxed them. Even when there was no constant sound of the city that reached into their room, their mind would be loud enough to fill the silence. What was once peaceful nights now became muddled memories and loud reminders of past mistakes.

When the Villain was defeated and done for, sent to a correctional prison in another state, there was quiet. Quiet but not peace. Celebratory fireworks and festivities in the name of Hero that followed felt false. What peace was there to all those who Hero hadn't been able to reach in time? So much rubble and debris covered the city in the aftermath of the Battle. So many civilians crushed and so many innocent blood had coated the Hero's hands. Whether people admitted it or not, they had caused as much destruction as the villain in the name of justice and heroism.

How could the hero celebrate with civilians when they should serve the same time as the villain in a penitentiary, if not more?

As years passed, doctors told them it was from the stress of their past. The fear, the lives they burdened, the pressure that crushed them. It was all an excuse for something that could've been avoidable. Sympathetic words tried their best to comfort Hero.

Let go of the pain. Even if their pain was gone, getting rid of the ghosts of those who cried wouldn't leave them.

It's in the past. It seemed as if the entire world forgot about everything except for them.

Look at your life now. What was there to look at? A hero past their prime. A sword in the age of machines. Legacy wasn't what they sought for. Their names on a plaque did little to soothe the turmoil that furiously boiled on the worse days and quietly simmered on the best.

Move on. The hero tried. And at some point, they did move on. Truly. Pain became bearable. The dull ache in their chest began to hurt less. Eventually, it came to feel lighter. The city became tolerable once again. Far from having the love and care that hero once wanted to protect, still. But at least now they could deal with it.

Healing was hard, and sometimes, Hero had taken two steps back with every two they went forwards. The world sped by them so fast, as if someone had changed the speed of life to go by much faster. And yet, the hero felt as if it couldn't be slower. Time at work felt sluggish, as if they were being dragged through mud. Through it all, they truly managed to recover.

Despite all the healing, and all the time that had passed by, peace and the gentleness of life never seemed to make itself familiar with the Hero.

[thatbendyfan]

fun little doodles of The Goop