For Months, You Are Haunted By Vivid Nightmares.

Chips🥔

"You seem remarkably dispassionate these days," they said in a low voice.

The soft creak of the floorboards was the only sound. They seemed to shift towards you, and you recoiled from the brush of their fingers.

"We're strangers," you whisper, voice cracking. "We're practically strangers now."

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

The Beast (Part 4)

The soft hum of cooling fans and the clacking of keys were the only sound in the small and dimly lit room. A CCTV feed trained on a small kennel displayed on a screen in the far corner. The villain glanced over at the first sign of movement.

Their patient was waking up, but they would have to wait. The villain was on the verge of a discovery.

Their patient's blood had been genetically modified. Expertly, gorgeously. Though the effects seemed to be leveling out over time, their muscular growth was abnormally rapid. Any small injuries showed accelerated healing.

The growth affected their larynx, unfortunately. Given the patient was able to preserve a certain level of cognition, other organs adjusted appropriately...

Loss of speech was a... Strange side effect.

The bones and muscles were proportionately mutated, practically symmetrical. Organs matched the rapid growth of the body. Their patient grew into a theoretically sustainable form. The fact that they survived at all was a miracle.

Their patient might not be so lucky if they attempt to revert back.

Whoever was responsible did not stop at one. The mutation was much too precise and refined. This was a team and decades of research. Money.

So, who had the resources for this kind of human experimentation?

The MRI offered something of a clue. A small device, implanted at the base of the patient's skull. Whoever set this transformation into motion expected the patient to roam free. The villain extracted the device too late, well over 24 hours. It was active.

Someone would come to collect their experiment soon.

The villain best prepare for their guest.

-

The hero paced the kennel with growing panic. They had misjudged the villain's capacity for harm, clearly. They kept running their hands along the stitches on the back of their head.

Breath in. Breath out.

They needed a plan of escape.

The floor and walls were solid concrete. Thick iron bars reenforced the door. There was a small gap between the door and floor. A much larger gap between the iron bars and the ceiling. Not large enough to squeeze through.

The first rule of imprisonment, find your captor's motive. Their eyes flicked to the CCTV trained on their kennel. There wasn't enough room to escape, but their inhumanly long claws could reach the camera.

They smiled devilishly. If their captor wanted to spy, they'd have to work for it. They climbed up the iron bars and reached for the small camera. Their claws clamped around the device, and they yanked.

Wiring crackled as the connections snapped.

They threw the camera on the concrete as hard as they could. Surprisingly sturdy.

Good.

They grabbed the camera and beat it against the ground, over and over, until it cracked into was a mess of circuitry and plastic. They imagined the villain's skull.

Shouting down the hall, followed by a loud THUD.

Silence.

The hero readied themselves to lunge, but they stopped short.

Their breath caught at the unexpected figure before them.

"Hero, it's me. I've come to save you."

The hero sobbed in relief.

Superhero.

AN// Thank you so much for reading and asking to be tagged @sausages-things @whump-till-ya-jump @jumpywhumpywriter @galaxysmask !!!

lovely spin

guess whos gettin back into animatingggg

doin a comm for a friend. havent done this shit in forever but im getting there lmao. forgot how fun it is when you get in the zone

hero has a fencing sword. villain has a fencing sword.

hop to it

The swords were real. Not just for practice, even though that was what they were being used for. They could cut skin like paper. Paper like air.

Alive was not the right word they'd use to describe the hero. But alive they looked. Overwhelmingly so. The sweat-matted hair sticking to their face. The warm puffs of air let out with every exhale. The sun burning red into their cheeks. Overwhelmingly alive and there and existing.

(But they were not alive, they were very much dead. Dead and revived and more alive than they'd ever been actually alive.)

So alive was the hero, so painfully alive that they felt like a second sun burning the villain's eyes, that they wondered what would happen if they plunged the fencing sword into the hero's chest.

The villain managed to get the hero down on the practice ground, sword fallen away, staring up at them shadowed.

The hero glared up at them. The blazing sun made their eyes squint into narrow crescents.

The villain tipped the hero's chin up by the end of their sword. "Déjà vu much?"

"Not really," said the hero. Their breath came hotter than the air around them like it was winter. The villain hadn't touched them once, since the resurrection. "I'm rather hurt you're not treating me gently."

"I figured you needed something fresh."

"I do. Believe me, I do. I'm rather sick and tired of everyone treating me like I'll die again with one wrong shove. But I hoped that tough exterior would come apart. It's like you don't care about me after all."

The villain gripped their sword tight, and tipped the hero's chin up further so they could see their throat. Their sword left a red line up, but that was the only mark on their neck, and it was so painfully human and alive that the villain's grip on the sword threatened to go slack.

"How did you do it?" the villain asked, because their throat was as smooth as marble.

They'd found them with their throat slit, already dead. Too late to do anything. Hell-bent on revenge. Then they'd found them again, cleaning up the days-old blood on the same spot. They called it fucking social work.

"Like I'd let you know. Like you won't use the info to try and become immortal. Wreak havoc for ever and ever."

The villain twisted their sword, daring them to keep talking. But they didn't dig it in. Didn't dare push further. All that they were was morbid curiosity and no bite.

The hero grinned and threw sand at them. The villain shouted and dropped their sword, too, and felt hands roughly twist into their shirt, dragging them back and slamming them against the wall so fast and so hard that the villain had the wind knocked out of them.

The villain's eyes flew open as they felt the hero's chuckle inches away from their neck.

The hero leaned back, alive and well and overwhelming on the senses. A playful grin tugged at their lip. "Déjà vu?"

Anything else the hero said got snuffed out by the villain's ears as their gaze landed on the little cut on the hero's neck. They darted forward as if on instinct, pressing their lips against the wound.

(And they were so, so, warm and so, so mortal still. Their blood ran hotter than ever and the villain wanted for it to never go cold.)

The wound healed in seconds, moments. It healed with such force that the hero gasped and shook.

The villain drew back to the hero wide-eyed, breathing hard. They looked so rejuvenated and so shocked that there was no doubt that the villain's power had rippled through their entire body.

The villain tensed up against the wall.

"I see," the hero said breathlessly.

"You see nothing," hissed the villain, then choked on air as the hero darted forward and pressed their lips hard against the villain's neck. Stiffening up like a cat.

The hero held them there for a long moment, impossibly warm, burning hot. Then they let go and shifted to nuzzle at the underside of their jaw kittenishly.

"It's sweet that you care." The villain could hear the grin in their words. They tried not to shiver at the hot breath brushing at all their sensitive nerve endings. "That fear in your eyes was frankly delectable. I still won't tell you how I did it."

"I wish you'd stayed dead," they managed to croak out.

"You love me." The hero leaned back to tuck two fingers underneath the villain's chin and make them look. "It's sweet. Really. But don't let it affect practice, hm? We have a mission to complete, after all." They took the sword, threw it for the villain to catch, and picked up their own. In the heat, they looked like a godsent soldier.

They resumed practice.

The embarrassment never left the villain. Ever.

What I've read before, I've loved. What I haven't read yet, I'd love to.

Love how tumblr has its own folk stories. Yeah the God of Arepo we’ve all heard the story and we all still cry about it. Yeah that one about the woman locked up for centuries finally getting free. That one about the witch who would marry anyone who could get her house key from her cat and it’s revealed she IS the cat after the narrator befriends the cat.

The vampire wrenched away the religious bauble and tossed it aside. Their hair dripped with holy water. The hunter stumbled back, their injured leg giving out. They scrambled for any weapon left, but came up empty.

The vampire loomed over them. The hunter did their best to stand, using the wall for support. Cornered in an abandoned church. How fitting.

"A pity this should end so soon," the vampire said, tracing the hunter's jawline with a sharp nail. "You fought valiantly, my faithless little hunter."

"Quit stalling and kill me," the hunter spat, flinching from the hand and flattening themselves against the church wall.

"Ah. The faithless hunter is so quick to be martyred." The vampire laughed low at that. "Perhaps I want to make you mine. I have a weakness for the fallen."

"I won't become like you."

"Oh?"

"Your kind destroys lives with what you do." The hunter trembled. "You... You destroy homes and families. I'd rather die."

"You seek vengeance, but it will not absolve your grief," the vampire said, a shadow cast over their features. "Just as you seek death, though it will destroy your hopes for vengeance. What an exercise in futility."

"It is not futile to give others peace," the hunter bit back.

The vampire shook their head and brushed aside the hunter's hair. "Poor, faithless hunter. In the end you are still forsaken."

"I don't want to hear that from a creature who lives off stolen time," the hunter said, swatting away the hand. "How many have you killed for your miserable half-life?"

The vampire smiled wide, fangs glinting in candlelight. "Enough to survive. I live off the corrupt and self-righteous. When such prey wanders in so freely, why deny myself?"

"Because even monsters get lonely," the hunter said with a mocking smile. "How long must a beast live alone to beg for companionship from their hunter? How many came to pity you before your hunger reminded you of what you are?"

That struck a chord. The vampire's eyes grew wide, feral with fury. "If a beast is what you seek, it's what you deserve."

They pushed the hunter onto their bad leg, who then toppled sideways. The vampire gripped a fistful of hair and drew them close. They flailed, and the vampire wrapped another arm around them to hold them firm.

Fangs grazed their neck. Their pulse fluttered.

"What are you waiting for?" the hunter hissed. "Do it."

A droplet of salt hit the vampire's tongue. A single tear streaked across the hunter's face and down their neck.

"Do it," the hunter whispered, going slack. "I have... Nothing." Their voice soft and broken, a confession.

The vampire drew back, and wiped the tear from the hunter's face.

The hunter's eyes shot open in silent betrayal.

"Kill me, you coward," the hunter growled.

"No." The vampire cradled their head and gently laid them across the floor. They knelt beside them and cupped their cheek.

The hunter lunged, or tried. The vampire caught their wrists and held them there. The hunter screamed raw and anguished.

They fought the vampire's hold until they exhausted themselves.

"I've lost my appetite," the vampire said, and stood.

Their soft steps echoed through the old church. They paused to pick up and toss back the religious bauble. The hunter caught it.

"Perhaps one day you'll find some use in that," the vampire said. "If only to remind you of the day a beast took pity on you."

And then they were gone, leaving the hunter alone with their thoughts.

Part 2

"You have misunderstood the lore, hunter. It is neither crucifix, nor rosary, nor holy water, nor any other trapping of faith, but faith ITSELF that is anathema to my kind. And yours has proven to be. . . insufficient."

They found you in the outskirts of town, mucking out stalls in indentured servitude. The Imperial Mage was collecting his mare from the stalls and pointedly berating you for the smell and to do your job properly, when he saw the birthmark on your forearm, and recognized it for what it was. The mark of the Emerald Phoenix, fated to bring an end to the Obsidian King. In an instant, he paid off your debts, you were whisked away to the castle.

The King himself ordained you as the Emerald Phoenix, the Chosen One, and you were given the robes and insignia to denote your unique station. Attendants set to work removing the years of muck and mire on your skin, burning your tattered tunic in lieu of sumptuously embroidered court uniforms. You were paraded through the streets, celebrated and revered by the people who once spat on you. For weeks, they trained you, pampered you, like their vast resources were but a pittance. For weeks, they gave you feasts, as if they could make you forget your hunger.

When the time came for the Great Battle, they fitted you with chainmail and plated armor with the crest of the King. They brought you forth and rallied behind you, a beacon of hope. And when you called upon your true power, like releasing a chained beast, the crowd cheered. A fierce cry tore from the back of your throat, and you were encompassed with flames. The plated armor on your back sloughed off, now hot molten metal. The fire erupted at all sides. The cheers faltered, and scattered into screams. Too late they ran, too late they all ran, but the fire scorched and melted and cremated like a crucible, and it consumed everyone, even you.

The prophecy fortold you would end the Obsidian King. No one seemed to question how.

You awaken in the ashes of your kingdom. The silence of ruin is engulfed by a moaning wind. The embers have died. Pools of molten metal, now cooled, surround you. Your skin appears foreign, new. You are reborn.

You are so hungry.

When you were selected as the Chosen One, you were showered with gifts, training, and a new cushy room in the castle. The Kingdom thought you would automatically be on their side, but the memories of your impoverished childhood will never fade.

how do requests work? what can we ask for?

You are my first ask, so you get a special prize! 🍀 It's a clover! Congratulations! You have +1 good luck now. I take requests for hero/villain content. I don't feel comfortable working with other people's characters. I generally stay SFW. If you want spicy I will try and will likely disappoint you. I also draw pictures sometimes, but I have burnout and very rarely want to.

I also work very slowly on average. If you want a mediocre five sentence Halloween themed story with no satisfying conclusion you should ask for it now.

I work for free though, so the return on your investment of time is decent, all things considered.

All in all... Try your luck, ask a question and see what happens?

Anyway, have a good day.

Prompt #82(pt. 2)

(Y'all begged for a part 2, so here it is! Enjoy ;)

Part 1

By @writingpromptsworld

The villain huffed, their cheeks tinting a shade of red. They hoped it wasn’t noticeable to the hero. They were already feeling so embarrassed. “What do you know about being a villain.” They tried to sound annoyed.

The hero didn’t stop, though. They snorted, taking another step forward. “I was one, a long time ago.” The villain looked into their eyes; all they could see was honesty. 

“Right, sure. I believe that.” They babbled. How could the number one hero ever have been a villain? From what they could recall, the hero had endangered their life more than multiple times to save the civilians. 

The hero’s lips widened again, their eyes crinkling at the corners. It was hard not to stare at the hero. The villain licked their lips nervously. 

“You’re rather cute, you know that?” The hero teased further. 

The villain swallowed. “You–...what?” Their eyes widened, caught off guard. They were about to lose their cool and fall to their knees. It wasn’t fair– what the hero was doing. Using the villain’s inexperience to their advantage. 

“What? You are. First of all, you come in here, again,  sniffing my coat rather confidently. And lying about it–you’re not hard to read even in the dark. Then you ogle me shamelessly. I mean, how cute can you get, you know?” 

The villain let out an involuntary whine. 

The hero brought up a hand to the villain’s cheek, and the villain immediately nuzzled into it. “You should leave.” 

The villain didn’t move. 

“So desperate, it’s almost pathetic.” The hero mused, their thumb gently caressing the villain’s cheekbone. The villain sighed in response. 

The villain opened their eyes; their faces were a breath away. They stared at the hero's lips. The hero smirked, before closing the gap and kissing them.

The villain, in fact, stayed there the whole night.