Lea Land

20’s | writer, whump freak, mmm yummy angst :3 | Cheer_lea_der on Ao3!

[leavley]

Droseraceae

Masterlist

Part 1: Prey

Part 2: Set

Part 3: Bait

Part 4: Limp

Part 5: Shelter

Part 6: Ache

~~~

Hi! This is Lea. To everyone whose read and enjoyed Droseraceae thus far, the kind words you leave behind on each new part are such wonderful encouragement for me to keep writing. Thank you so much <333

[leavley]

Droseraceae

Part 6: Ache

CW // torture, violence (a little scarier than usual overall)

~~~ 105 months ago ~~~

Down a dingy alleyway, a pair of legs dangled over the side of a rusted dumpster. The kick of their tattered shoes made gentle rattles echo down the pathway, joined only by a buzzing, flickering streetlight. Bloodstained sunlight escaped the sky, bathing the streets beyond in orange.

Beside the busied person, a small floating hand held an open pizza box on their palm. It glowed blue, speckled with golden dots, shimmering in and out of existence while the fingers twitched to maintain balance. Eventually the person flung themselves out of the dumpster, revealing a head of matted rose gold hair and a pair of hands clutching half-eaten food. They scarfed down the bruised banana, and tossed bread dotted with mold into the box their conjured hand took care of... until, it didn't.

The conjuration trembled, and with a small pop vanished, unceremoniously dropping the young person's haul to the concrete. They cursed under their breath, and knelt to collect it themselves.

"Piece of crap, can't even..."

They trailed off when a shadow overtook them. Still on one knee, Villain turned their head up to a man looking down upon them.

He seemed to have been walking by, body still turned to the sidewalk. His jet black hair was tidy, his clothes expensive, and the lines on his face, be they from age or stress, made it hard to discern if the man's expression were a simple, long glance or withering scrutiny. Above all else, the fleeting sun stretched the shadows far, casting horrible darkness upon the man's face which clung to his features far too naturally.

Villain didn't tear their eyes away. A strange compulsion warned them not to dare. Instead, they cleared their throat and spoke to break the pout in their lip.

"Uh... what's up?" they asked, "I in your way, or... somethin'?"

The man took a pause before speaking, a beat or two longer than what felt comfortable, "you are lost?"

"Wh... no, I'm not lost."

"You are a child."

"Yeah. So?"

The man glanced past Villain, trailing along the dumpster's open lid to the box of stale and spoiled food in their clutches.

"You smell of garbage and vomit."

"Thanks, asshole. You think I don't know that?" Villain said, their patience thinning by the second, "what, you never seen a homeless kid before? Do you just stare at every single person you walk p—"

"How old are you?"

"Go screw yourself."

"What is your power?"

"I said, go—"

From nowhere, an unseen force struck Villain in the chest and sent them hurtling down the alleyway. They traveled in the air for a second before hitting the ground, hard, and rolling against the concrete. They gasped for air, wind torn from their lungs, and frantically looked upwards to find the man approaching; slow, long strides with his arms by his sides. He did not wave a hand nor flick his eyes, yet when he passed the dumpster, the old metal crumpled like paper in a balled fist. Over Villain's head, the streetlight curved and bent forward, the incandescent bulb reaching far enough down to bring uncomfortable warmth to their skin.

Villain tried and failed to stop tears from welling in their eyes when they saw a pair of dress shoes a few feet from their face. A tremor burrowed into them, fear forcing their head down before the unchanged, tired voice spoke again.

"You want more power?"

...

~~~ 104 months, 9 days ago ~~~

"How are they?" Supervillain said. The steel door clicked shut behind him, and he stalked forward to stand next to the doctor, an old man. Through a thick pane of glass, dirtied and scratched, sat Villain, hands on their lap in a chair with a blindfold over their eyes. They wore a simple gown, hints of cords slithering down their legs and to the floor below.

Although they remained motionless, a conjuration occupied the room. In place of a lone hand, a dancer elegantly spun about the room, fluid motions elevated by its defiance of gravity. Its shape resembled a pretty, young woman, her shimmering face smooth as a slab of marble.

"The patient has been cooperating nicely," the doctor said, "they've been especially receptive to the ingested tablets, taken with meals."

"Tell me about their power."

"It... isn't much, in truth. It's a type of mild conjuration, capable of little more than simple conveniences or sensory inputs. They seem to be... quite fragile, more so than most conjurer types."

"Tablets are useless, then?"

"Not quite. Growth has been achieved."

The doctor rested their palm against a button on the small panel before them, prompting a speaker in the ceiling to crackle to life.

"Patient, would you please demonstrate our 'heavyweight', please?"

Wordlessly, Villain rose from their chair. The dancer approached in a graceful leap to take the seat from them and place it aside. They vanished into thin air, and some quiet seconds later, a large slab appeared above and smashed the chair against the floor. Villain's hands had clenched tightly into fists, slowly easing as the conjuration vanished, leaving behind only a crumpled bundle of metal.

"Good work, patient. Thank you very much."

"Thank you," Villain said. The doctor looked to Supervillain, whose expression remained stoic the entire demonstration.

"What are your thoughts?" he asked eventually.

Supervillain sighed through his nose, "where does his power come from?"

"The hippocampus. Early blood tests observed the same strain of protein as other conjurers. This kind of power often relies on memory and learning environments to grow."

"I see," Supervillain said, and turned for the door.

"The same goes for telekinetics such as yourself, in fact. Summoners too, mostly ones who interact with their environments, they..."

The doctor trailed off as Supervillain stood at the open door. He didn't look back when the old man toppled to the ground, eyes wide in horror, blood leaking from his eyes. He only lingered in the doorway for a beat, then carried on. As darkness crept upon his vision, only the sound of one-sided shouting reached his ears, followed by a distant, singular bang.

~~~ 98 months ago ~~~

Supervillain leaned against a far and shadowed wall in the operating room while doctors swarmed the young person. They thrashed on the table against the restraints on their wrists, the pair emitting a faint glow. Sterile overhead lights buried them. The surgeons occasionally parted with their movements to reveal horrid wounds on their body, And a bag over their head.

For only a moment, one of the cuffs around Villain's wrists dulled. In that moment, spectral barbed wire exploded from the ground, tangling itself around half the medical experts and causing them to explode into screams. As quickly as it appeared, it bent out of shape and pulled away, stretched thin into the ground, and one of Villain's arms let out a nauseating crack.

~~~ 74 months ago ~~~

"I did not ask you to do much for your first job," Supervillain said, "even though you are very powerful."

Villain knelt before him, head turned down. blood stained their hair and face and limbs, yet they remained still.

"I'm sorry. It got out of hand."

"You need more?"

"No!" Villain cried, lifting their head. Their expression, their entire self shrunk back, and they said, "no, please. I can barely control what you've already given me."

"You get more."

~~~ 31 months ago ~~~

Villain hung by their wrists from thick chains, an inch too high up to stand on the soles of their feet. Cords and tubes stuck out of them by the dozen, each flowing with liquids. Supervillain stood in front of them, unacknowledged by their distant, vacant stare.

~~~ 17 months, 28 days ago ~~~

"I gave you your watch to come on time. Still, you are late?"

"I came as quickly as I could. I was busy."

"What were you busy with?"

"..."

"You have no answer?"

"...I'm going to die. You're going to kill me."

"That is a matter of strength."

~~~ 16 months ago: a Monday ~~~

Villain's breath hitched and caught while they sucked in breaths one after the other. The motion was forced to come manually, rain beating down on their back, while they limped away from the desolate warehouse. Blood ran down their leg, blending with the water as they sobbed in pain with every shambling step.

A trembling hand patted every pocket for something that wasn't there. Villain spat a curse into the night, then muttered a few words under their breath, repeated with the zeal to pass as a mantra.

"22nd west, 3110... 22nd west, 3110... 22nd west, 3110..."

~~~

Villain is non-binary. They/them.

<< Part 5 | Masterlist | Part 7 (WIP) >>

Taglist: @stars-hide-our-fires @mercuriusprime @feytgirl @theoneandonlyech @elle297382 @aguasecax @bannanakinn @queerdealer @rainbow-nesquix @lelkokkay @jumpywhumpywriter

[leavley]

An amnesiac Whumpee remembering horrible truths all at once.

It hardly matters if the erasure of their memory was intentional or an accident, malicious or out of a kind hope. When everything rushes back, Whumpee will hit the ground screaming; clutching their head, tearing out hair, drawing blood with their nails.

If Whumpee had torture/trauma ripped from their memory, maybe they slip back into old habits. The bubbly type quiets down, and only speaks when spoken to. The gracious type reduces themselves to a servant. The clever/charismatic type goes full people pleaser, ditching their charm to ensure their safety.

And, imagine how upsetting it might be to have memories taken away from you like that (more specifically if they are good ones). Even if they were bad, discovering the added violation of having their mind tampered with could break down the trust Whumpee has (had) with whoever was responsible.

Lots of potential for dynamic-changing arguments or heartbreak.

[leavley]

CW // Suicidal ideation

~~~

Whumpee with a death wish. Depending on the character, the ways it will play out can wildly vary.

The loud and charismatic type wants one last blaze of glory to be remembered by. The lone wolf wants to find a quiet place and close their eyes for good.

After some time, maybe Caretaker notices Whumpee comes to them less and less, for injuries growing more and more serious. It can be a heartbreaking thing to discover about someone, and very difficult to break such a cycle of thought if it’s rooted into Whumpee’s everyday life.

If it has become a lifestyle, it becomes more of a monumental change in Whumpee’s life for every day they’ve lived it.

“I have to do this, Caretaker. I…”

“No. Please, please, I’m begging you… you don’t.”

[leavley]

This is rather specific, but I enjoy when Whumpee is the only one who didn’t get to know their parent(s).

“Oh, you’re [——]’s kid?”

Seemingly everyone Whumpee talks to has some kind of praise for them; they were so down to earth, so fun, so kind. It stings more when the parent(s) had someone in their lives they treated like their own flesh and blood… like Caretaker, maybe?

When Whumpee comes to harm and Caretaker does what they do best, the miscommunications lead to resentment and fights.

“You don’t really act much like them at all,” Caretaker says, “are you sure you’re really their kid?”

“How should I know?”

“What does that mean?”

It’s hard to admit someone you thought was perfect… wasn’t, especially when they aren’t around anymore, whether that means away or dead. However, when the evidence of neglect looks Caretaker in the eye and asks what they were like, everything they thought they knew about Whumpee’s parent(s) can feel different.

At best, strange and disappointing. At worst, sickeningly hollow.

[leavley]

Whumpee and Caretaker hate each other. However, Caretaker is still a professional, so they will take care of Whumpee if they are hurt.

They never said that, though, so Whumpee never visits.

[leavley]

Torment your whumpee with their past failures.

Was a life lost they could’ve saved? Did they push someone away who only tried to help? Were they just a bad person who now seeks redemption?

Imagine if you will a whumpee with a dead friend, drugged and locked in a hall of mirrors. You don’t even need to do anything else— every reflection they look into will have the ghost of their lost loved one looming over their shoulder.

If that past failure is still alive, trap them in a room together. Now, there’s palpable tension in the space neither Whumpee nor the other person can remove without some kind of argument sparking to life.

Give Whumpee time all alone, perhaps going as far as to restrict movement by tying them down. If you leave a Whumpee with a guilt addled mind for long enough, they’ll drive themselves insane.

Whatever happened, it’s at its highest potential when Whumpee can’t run away; a locked door, dosed with sedatives, debilitated via injury, etc.

(You could also make this sting by having someone close to Whumpee (Caretaker) mention it. It’s most likely the kind of thing that CT will immediately backpedal after bringing up… but they both know it was too late for regret the second they said it).

[leavley]

Whumpee learning to love again.

Maybe they had a love they lost a long time ago. Or, their love betrayed them and brought them to Whumper; their relationship was real, they assure Whumpee, but how could they believe anything they say now?

Once Whumpee is freed again, and they set on the path to recovery, love becomes a difficult topic. They don’t know how to react to affectionate touches or kind gestures, even if they’re only platonic. They convince themselves everyone who dares offer intimacy is out to get them, to betray them like Whumpee’s past love did. When someone turned on them while their bond was at its strongest, why wouldn’t strangers do the same sooner?

Caretaker works hard to fix this. If you want, they could even be the one who originally betrayed Whumpee, and give them redemption. Either way it takes many, many moments of fear, pulling away, high emotions, shouting, crying, hiding… until Whumpee will let someone in again. Maybe they hate how good it feels. Maybe they feel as comforted as they do nauseous cuddling with Caretaker in bed.

Knowing people’s true intentions is difficult. Some might argue it’s impossible. But, the risk of hurt is a part of love— it’s what proves the bond is real, so sometimes, you just have to take the leap.

[leavley]

Happy new year!

If you've previously enjoyed what I've posted on this blog, I want to do my best to pick things back up again. I sure have been craving that sweet, sweet anonymous online validation.

Jokes aside, writing whump is fun. Everything surrounding it, from the vulnerability to the opportunities for care and affection, are things I hope more people can come to appreciate as time goes on. I've had time to deal with what pulled me away from this blog in the first place, and so I'm going to do my best to rev the engine on prompts and the like (including the continuation of 'Droseraceae'!).

Every kind word about my work is encouragement toward my dream of someday writing for a living. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

[leavley]

I am taking time away from this blog. Updates will slow. I cannot currently get into the headspace to write for this blog without compromising my mental health.

I will come back when I am able. Thank you for your continued kindness and likes, reblogs, comments, and follows. I am endlessly grateful for every nice word about my writing.

[leavley]

Whumpee wanted nothing more at this very moment than to confess it all. In the midst of this tranquil social gathering, they wanted to tear off their shirt and expose their friends to all the horrible things that have been done to them. No matter how much they encouraged themselves, how close they came to really doing it... they couldn't.

Nobody would ever ask. They would never worry. If Whumpee didn't speak to them, they would forever assume Whumpee was perfectly well off.

"You knew, then, I guess..." Whumpee said.

They nearly dangled from the exposed pipe their wrists were tied to over their head. They connected with the floor by merely the tips of their toes. Ahead of them, Whumper stood on the edge of the shadows, rolling out a set of tools boasting distant, crimson stains.

"Knew what?" Whumper asked, their tone more indicative of a statement than question.

"Th... that they'd—"

"They'd never care?"

Whumpee gulped.

"That's not how I would have phrased it either, were I in your position," Whumper said, "but I'm not."

They turned around, the brass knuckles around one hand glinting in the sterile overhead light. Seeing the fear flicker to life on Whumpee's face was always a rush.

"It's pretty perfect, isn't it? They're so close by, yet our little dance will never have to end."

[leavley]

Whumper lying to make Whumpee feel trapped.

When Whumper never meant to let Whumpee get away: "letting you out to stretch your legs was such a good idea in the long run. There's so much more misery in your face than last time."

After Whumpee landed a weak punch on Whumper: "that really hurt, you know. Maybe I should spare us both the trouble and just cut that arm off. What do you think?"

^^^ later on, Whumpee lands a stronger hit. Whumper gets to enjoy watching their expression when they are unfazed.

While Whumpee's friends are tirelessly searching for them: "I haven't heard from any of your team for a long time now. I'm surprised— you said you were so close, I would have never imagined they'd give up so soon."

On the Xth day in a row of keeping Whumpee in stress positions/without food: "Yes, we won't be doing anything today. You can relax. You remember how to do that, right?"

Promising a Whumpee who hasn't seen daylight in weeks or months they'll go outside today, then pretending to forget.

When Whumper needs to relocate to avoid being found: "You're going to love this new place. I found an even smaller closet for you to spend your evenings in."

If Whumpee is Whumper's only prisoner: "I have lots of other people to work on, you know. I hope that doesn't make you feel any less special."

^^^ If Whumpee feels hope at the prospect of meeting these people, the loneliness will crush them when they find out they are well and truly alone.

[leavley]

Droseraceae

Part 5: Shelter

~16 months ago~

When Villain awoke, pain was the first thing to wish them a good morning. Hero was second. It came in the form of a withering frown; the kind Villain found dreadfully pitying.

“Can you not look at me like that…?” They rasped.

“I thought you were going to die,” Hero said.

Villain tried to sigh, making it halfway before a stabbing pain made them jolt upright and cough into their closed fist. It was dry and painful, like sandpaper glided up their throat.

Hero moved forward and placed a hand on their back, unconsciously rubbing circles between their shoulder blades.

“Hey, hey… take it easy.”

“Where is this?” Villain asked.

“You’re in my apartment,” she replied, “you showed up at my doorstep, covered in what I can only assume is your own blood.”

“Right…”

“Also, you’ve been ghosting me for…” she checked her phone, “four and a half days now.”

“Mhm…”

“And you haven’t shown your face to me in person since that café you recommended we go to.”

“I know, Hero,” Villain said. Irritation was light on their tone, but present all the same.

“Thought I’d remind you in case you forgot.”

Villain groaned in pain as they moved to sit on the edge of the couch, their gaze away from Hero.

“What do you want? An apology? I’m sorry I didn’t try robbing any banks or mugging any old ladies.”

They waited for another snide response, then glanced up when none came. Villain was caught off guard to find tears brimming in Hero’s eyes. Her nose and brow were wrinkled, and she did a poor job concealing the quiver in her lip.

“You were covered in it,” she said, “blood. I thought you were going to die.”

Villain rest their hands against the couch cushions, shoulders tensed high as they locked eyes.

“I didn’t know what to do for so long. And seeing you in a hospital gown… makes me wonder what exactly I missed.”

A new, foreign feeling wormed into Villain’s gut. It made their insides twist, and their throat close.

They opened their mouth, then closed it again. Eventually, Hero’s efforts to remain calm caved in on her, and she dropped her head into her hands, quietly crying into her palms. She hoped desperately for Villain to find words to break the miserable silence separated only by sobs. None came.

A warmth drew near and gently pulled Hero’s hands away from her face. They cradled her head in one hand, and rested it against their chest…

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

“I’m okay,” Villain said. “Thank you for helping me.”

Hero’s composure shattered entirely, and she buried her face in Villain’s ragged gown to cry loudly, clutching them close to her. Villain’s one hand remained on the back of her head, but their other arm hovered. They let Hero cry until she exhausted herself, then laid back down on the couch, both of them giving quickly into sleep, cuddled into each other.

…

Two days passed for Villain to recover. Hero managed to secure brief time off after a long conversation with Superhero in a place Villain wouldn’t hear her.

‘…All right,’ Superhero said through the phone, ‘I’ll tell the intel team to hold off. You’re the one to make the call when you want this to happen, Hero.’

“Yes, I know,” she replied quickly, pacing back and forth on her apartment balcony, “I appreciate it. I know there is more information I can gather.”

‘I trust you. Just remember— the sooner Villain is behind bars, the safer we’ll all be.’

The phone hung up without another word.

In most of the time Hero and Villain occupied her apartment together, the topic of Villain’s clothing when they’d arrived struggled to come up. They changed as soon as they were able, then changed the subject every time they caught on to it. On the night of the second day, Villain made dinner. They cooked up a mushroom sauté on top of risotto, which the two sat on opposite sides of the table to eat in silence.

Villain tapped their fork into their dish hesitantly, prompting Hero to pause and stare at them.

“Not poisoned,” Villain said without looking up, “scout’s honour.”

“Why were you in a hospital gown.”

Villain didn’t visibly react beyond a shift in their eyes. Hero’s voice and face were deadpan.

“You don’t need to know.”

“I disagree.”

“How about this, then,” Villain said, looking up, “you don’t want to know.”

“Yes, I do,” Hero said, anger creeping into their voice, “and above all else, I deserve to know.”

Villain shrugged.

“Why are you being so stubborn about this? Villain, I want to help you. Do I still need to prove that after… everything that’s already happened this week?”

A long beat passed. Ultimately, Villain shook their head. They laid down their cutlery, stood up from their chair, and shed their jacket. Hero asked what they were doing, but went ignored while Villain reached up and removed their shirt.

Vicious scars crawled up and down Villain’s torso. Old wounds of all shapes and sizes marked them like an artist’s last strikes at the canvas before madness could take them. Hero felt strangely lightheaded looking upon them.

“My powers were weaker, a long time ago. Far weaker,” Villain said, “I never quite minded them that way, but… someone else did. I had about as much freedom to say yes or no as I did movement while strapped to an operating table.”

“What… are you talking about?” Hero asked.

“My powers have been artificially amplified against my will,” Villain answered simply, “I’m a template. A project. I was taken from the worst time of my life and subjected to hell on the promise of heaven. Lately, it’s reached the limits of what my body can handle. He… he still won’t stop trying to push it further.”

“H… how long has this…”

“Years.”

“Wh… who?”

Suddenly, Hero wished she hadn’t asked who.

She wished she hadn’t asked at all.

“Supervillain.”

~~~

<< Part 4 | Masterlist | Part 6 >>

Taglist: @stars-hide-our-fires @mercuriusprime @feytgirl @theoneandonlyech @elle297382 @aguasecax @bannanakinn @queerdealer @rainbow-nesquix @lelkokkay

[leavley]

Time loops. One of my favourite tropes ever.

So much potential for both physical and mental torment. For the physical kind, it usually depends on exactly how the reset happens. For example, Whumpee wakes up in bed screaming after they "had an uncomfortably lucid dream" of getting hit by a car, or falling, or being murdered, etc. It takes another loop and ~12 hours of déjà vu to realize it was all too real when it somehow happens again.

Emotionally, time loops are the closest equivalent to taking your Whumpee's sanity and wringing it like a wet towel. It would only take a few resets to drive them to panic— make them desperate to break whatever cycle they've gotten stuck in.

How does Whumpee act after the tenth reset? After the hundredth? Do they give up and spend their day rotting in bed, worrying the people in their life? Do they resort to desperately explaining their situation to friends and family over and over again in hopes they can help?

How much better (or worse) can their loved ones make this ordeal? Imagine the despair of Whumpee's explanation being brushed off as a prank. They'll have that same response every time around, too, unless Whumpee pulls that successive "prediction" trick. Even then, they might not buy it. How much will it take to make their friends believe them?

Besides, what good could Caretaker realistically do here? Whumpee will always reset to the same state physically (in most cases. This can vary). What's the point of performing first aid on someone who is going to wake up in perfect health (or critically injured) the next loop anyway? If Caretaker knows about the loop, their relationship with Whumpee could take a pretty dark turn if CT's solution is mercy killing them so they wake up healthy and alive at the beginning.

Also, I'm obsessed with Whumpee's fear of death and harm totally vanishing after a certain point. They've suffered a grisly end countless times already, it's honestly pointless to keep begging for their life when they know by now how it will end. Not to mention, if they don't immediately die, how horrifying would it be to Caretaker when Whumpee has little reaction to losing a limb or disembowelment? They most likely have no idea how much Whumpee has gone through to reach this point.

To add to that, what happens when Whumpee escapes the loop? They wake up, and nothing is how they've gotten used to it being for the last few weeks, months... years. If they've grown comfortable with the loop, what are they supposed to do now that everything has changed?

Oh my god, and, the mental strain if the loop is more than a day. If you play games, you might be familiar with the frustration of losing progress when you forget to save. Now, picture Whumpee going back to the beginning of a 7-day loop. They'd managed to convince their friends, they tried to get help, they did all they could in all kinds of new ways... and they're still back here. They have to do it all over again if they want another chance at breaking free.

The outside perspective. Whumpee was a kind and joyful person yesterday, and they've undergone a complete transformation seemingly overnight. They don't have any bags under their eyes, but their resting face has become haunted and distant, the light gone without a trace. Their smile is a tired frown, and they speak quietly in a deadpan tone. If Whumpee's reset point is mid-conversation, and they die screaming, everyone around them will be startled and confused when Whumpee randomly shrieks bloody murder and collapses to the ground.

One more thing: if the setting your time loop takes place in involves lots of fighting (perhaps by magic or superpowers), Whumpee would be by far the most frightening opponent to come across. Because, if you belong to the timeline where they survived, you are guaranteed to lose. Whumpee would appear to those around them as this unstoppable force of nature, when in reality they're only where they are because of their boundless tenacity.

~~~

I can understand when people don't like this trope. It can be especially hard to innovate upon when repetition unto insanity is the entire gimmick. I, however, have not gotten tired of it years later :3 it'll always be very special to me.

If you read all that, thank you! I tried my best to keep this short, I really did.

[leavley]

Droseraceae

Part 4: Limp

~16 months ago~

‘Text me when you’re back home, OK?’

‘Read Friday’

Hero sighed, sliding her phone across the counter. Leftover takeout did circles in the microwave, her suit still halfway on her body. The sleeves draped over her legs and revealed a simple undershirt, dirt and grime of the late patrol still fresh on her face.

It was Monday evening. Her phone remained opened to her messages with Villain. Try as she might to ignore it, anxiety and worry crawled up and down her back like an army of vengeful ants.

She didn’t need a lifetime of experience in hero work to know long silences never meant well. The nerves irked her for the extended duration of her patrol. What had normally served as an on-the-clock way to relax became a disorienting, overstimulating mess. She nearly slipped from a few dangerous heights because she was buried in her phone screen.

Hero tried her best not to check too much. She honestly did. The microwave beeped, and she grabbed her food. Her phone had yet to dim, and she gave it another tentative glance.

‘Read Friday’

Bastard.

She reached over to click it off when a knock came at the door, nearly startling the leftovers from her hand. Hero placed the wobbly dish down, shuffled to the door, and opened it without so much as a peep through the eyehole.

Perhaps it was wishful thinking to believe Villain would be standing there, the usual shit-eating grin plastered across their face. Perhaps, more so, to think they would make their entrance unscathed.

“Oh… you’re home.”

Villain’s eyes rolled into the back of their head as they toppled forward, nearly taking Hero to the ground with them as she stumbled to catch them in her tired arms.

“V…Villain? What happened?”

They tried to speak, but their strength had faded so quickly they could only muster a groan. She was forced to summon the myriad plants around her apartment to help her carry Villain, scooping them off the ground and shutting the door before making for the couch. As soon as Hero found a moment to breathe, she examined them.

They were bleeding, badly enough that it was obvious even through their clothing. They were strangely dressed— a baggy jacket poorly concealing a hospital gown. Their face was flush, and sweat beaded down their forehead. To top it off, Villain parted further from lucidity with each passing minute.

“Hero, I… ughn…”

Villain’s breaths were laboured, changing erratically between gasps for air and weak rasping inhales. One hand clutched at their leg. Taking their hand off it and peeling back the hospital gown to as far as it could respectfully go, the worst of Villain’s injuries were there.

“Good god, how did you walk on this?” Hero asked, running into the other room around a corner. She crouched down and rifled through the medicine cabinet for the first aid kit, throwing aside anything in the way with a resounding clatter.

“I… js’ did…” Villain rasped.

“It was a rhetorical question, please don’t talk right now.”

“‘M sorry, Hero… didn’t mean t—”

“Villain,” Hero replied. Her tone was terse, yet shaky with fear, “that wasn’t a suggestion. Save your strength. Please.”

Their prolonged silence was enough of an answer. Hero did her best to patch up the criminal, uttering apologies when they would whimper or convulse at an especially painful part of the wound. It was messy, but she got the job done, and the bleeding eventually stopped. Her couch was ruined, as was her undershirt, and her hero suit would need a bit of its own time to get the crimson stains out of its normally slate and green colours.

Hero was in her bathroom, washing her entire arms when her phone vibrated on the counter’s edge.

A call. Superhero.

Hero stared at it blankly. If she wanted to get this operation over with— bring Villain into custody and send them off to maximum security prison— she could answer the phone and explain the last hour and a half as concisely as possible. She considered it, for a moment, but the few seconds offered by drying her arms brought another thought to the surface.

No one just… got the jump on Villain. They were among the agency’s top 3 most wanted criminals. A renown so grand didn’t simply come from raw strength. The different facets of it often varied by the criminal. Power. Influence. Territory. Working numbers, if they hired henchmen.

And… elusiveness; the most important, in Hero’s opinion. The only reason criminals like Villain were still roaming free was because they knew how to evade the long arm of the law, and each other. Such made it all the more confusing to her on how their most notorious escapee was on her couch, unconscious, at least a quarter of the way dead.

Simple street encounters were off the list immediately. Everything below mid-grade heroes or simple thugs wouldn’t have stood a chance. It didn’t leave many options, but… someone caught Villain by surprise. That alone made them a credible threat.

Hero wanted to speculate, but she knew better than to lose precious sleep when she could ask Villain themselves what happened. So, she let the call go to voicemail. One didn’t come in. She received a text.

Something about findings from her intel team. Statistics, location data, Hero’s mind was elsewhere. Besides, she knew Villain’s whereabouts, now.

Ultimately, Hero decided to roll out a few blankets on the floor near the couch where Villain rest, and watch them for a while. They would wake up eventually.

When they did, they’d have hell to pay for scaring her like this.

~~~

<< Part 3 | Masterlist | Part 5 >>

I was gonna post this in the morning, but… well, where’s the fun in that? Good night <3

Taglist: @stars-hide-our-fires @mercuriusprime @feytgirl @theoneandonlyech @elle297382 @aguasecax @bannanakinn @queerdealer

[mylifewhump]

Whump community Reblog if you hate AI

it ruins the whole point of art

[leavley]

Got this in my inbox, so I figured I should make my stance clear.

AI has no place in the creative industries, nor will it ever. People have been telling stories since before we learned what it meant to be remembered. Using high-efficiency word regurgitation disguised as intelligence to do your writing for you is harmful to creativity.

Writing is more of a skill than a talent. In my opinion, the same could be said for all forms of art. If you want to be a good writer, learn. Write as much as you can. I’m not done learning, and I’ve written entire novel-length projects I’ll never show another living person.

Art exists for personal expression and to create wonderful memories. AI will never be able to express you in the same way you can.

[leavley]

Whumpee with a crush on Caretaker.

"Are you sure you're all right? Your heart rate's spiked."

"Y...yeah, I'm okay."

Caretaker thinks Whumpee hates them. Or worse, fears them. They get nervous when Caretaker's near, they squirm under their touch, they never make eye contact despite doing so perfectly fine with anyone else. Caretaker is very aware of the trauma Whumpee's been through, and they can't help but suffer the thought that they might see Whumper in them.

In actuality, they're impossibly head over heels for Caretaker. Their touch is so soft, their voice is so gracious, their laugh... it sets the heart monitor they're hooked up to into overdrive. It's especially cute when Whumpee realizes they've healed enough to fret over something so domestic. After all of the trauma and torture they endured on a regular basis, it can feel like a privilege for your greatest concern to be if your feelings for someone are reciprocated or not.

When Whumpee's recovery is far enough along, perhaps their usual excuse to see Caretaker every day doesn't work anymore. Caretaker thought Whumpee would never set foot in the infirmary again after being discharged, and yet here they stand, tripping over their words in an effort to explain why they had to come here for a paper cut.

~~~

Here's two ways you could take this!

Option 1: it gets better. Whumpee either gets over their feelings through the passage of time, or a friend of theirs comes to the rescue. Regardless of Caretaker's response, getting it out of your system can lift a tremendous emotional weight.

Option 2: it gets worse. Whumpee is recaptured, and at some point, Whumper finds out about Whumpee's feelings. Their next form of torment will be far worse than what ever came before.

"Do you hear that voice in the other room?" Whumper asks.

Whumpee strains to hear it. Then, a pained cry drains the blood from their face.

"No, no, I... please, anything but them."