The Rain Is Coming Down Hard And Unrelenting. The Roads Are Muddy And Slick, Unlit And Miserably Cold.

I desperately wish to see more of this non-religious guy and his mom's prayer circle making garlic casserole and fighting vampires.

"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."

CW: violence

Felicity approached the apse and paid obeisance to the priestesses and the deities for which they stood. Set upon a dias was a hovering stone of glowing, shifting hues. Felicity paused before it with a detached interest.

She was just a cog in a machine. Another magic-user meant to defend the world from evil, as long as the evil wasn't the institution that raised her. She had served The Order since she was old enough to walk. She knew their secrets for years, but it was only recently she had discovered the depth of their evil. She also knew what happened to those who opposed the High Priestess, so she could not show she was disillusioned. Not until she had her familiar.

"Set your hand upon the stone, child," the High Priestess said.

Felicity set her hand upon the stone, heart hammering in her chest.

"Speak the words that will give your familiar form, and bind them to you," the High Priestess said.

Felicity paused, her heart full of bitterness and betrayal. She thought of the many years she acted as a puppet for the Order.

"The High Priestess," Felicity whispered.

"What did she say?" A priestess whispered. There was confused chattering among the priestesses.

But the High Priestess had heard. And she was white as a sheet.

"Y-you can't summon-- t-hat's not allowed!" The High Priestess shrieked. "Have you lost your mind?!"

However, that was the last thing she said before her head snapped back, eyes glowing and flashing different hues, a horrid wail wretched from her lips. The priestesses screamed and tried to pull her away, to stop what they knew was about to happen.

A horrible crack of bone and sinew. The High Priestess contorted in agony.

"Your f-fuTURE... will be FILLED... w-wiTH MISERY," the High Priestess growled. She clawed uselessly at Felicity.

Felicity stared, unable to look away. Repulsed yet vindictive.

"What have you DONE?" one of the priestesses cried. "You ruined us!"

The stone shook violently. Cracks formed on the surface.

"No! The STONE!" The High Priestess screamed one final time. The stone burst, sending a force strong enough to knock everyone back.

The High Priestess went limp, supported only by an invisible force. She lifted her head-- or, something did. Her eyes were empty and white.

The priestesses, hardly recovered from the blast, turned to Felicity. And then they lunged.

"Take care of them," Felicity said.

The High Priestess withdrew a ceremonial dagger. "Yes, my Queen."

When you turn 18, you go to the Chapel to summon a Familiar, then your future is decided based on its shape. All you can do is name the creature and then the summoning does the rest. After you name it, the priestesses all stare at you with horror in their eyes, then scream when it appears.

"Of course," you say, as if it is the most natural thing in the world. Her demeanor shifts-- she could tell something is on your mind.

She tips your chin, and you return her gaze with a heavy heart.

"What's wrong, darling?"

"I..." Tears prick your eyes at the idea of anything happening to your beloved. Instead, you draw her close, and kiss her passionately.

A moment of protest, but she melts, her arms wrapped around you languidly.

"If only the rest of the world could disappear," she whispers.

"I want to destroy them," you hiss back. "I want to destroy them all."

She recoils at your ferocity. You try for another kiss, but she holds up her hand.

"Tell me what happened," she says.

You struggle to meet her gaze.

"I was stopped on the way here," you explain. "Do you... Do you know what they call you out there?"

The queen laughs mirthlessly. "They've been saying that since I was born," she says. "Because of my lineage, because of who I love. It is what it is."

"You don't understand." You grab her hand and draw it to your chest. You try to gather the courage to tell her.

She's patient. So patient.

"They called me the chosen one. They said I... I will bring about your end."

She stares.

Laughs. Delighted.

"Oh, you bring about my end every day," she says fondly. "Every time you leave."

She nuzzles your chin. "Don't make me share attentions with the hateful and small-minded. They are hardly worth our time."

You kiss her head and breath in her scent.

You try to forget the words they spoke to you.

Three days.

In three days, you will bring about her undoing. You are the Chosen One.

You could hardly imagine a world without her. Much less, you couldn't imagine a world you wouldn't tear apart for her.

Especially a world that calls her the "Evil Queen".

Your hands meet and intertwine.

"I love you," she whispers.

You vow to crush her enemies.

Even if it kills you.

You, the chosen one, walk into the evil queen's throne room. The queen was sitting gloomily on her throne. She sees you and lightens up. She rises from her throne and kisses you. "Sweetheart, I am so glad you are back."

"Nowhere for you to run," the detective said.

"You always do this," the thief said with a sly grin. "Always end up pinning me against walls."

"You always do this," the detective scowled. "You try to get me flustered when you're out of other options."

The thief pressed close, and whispered hot in their ear, "I also like seeing you flustered." And then, gently, nipped their ear.

The detective yelped and flinched away, face red. The thief pushed forward. They toppled. The detective's glasses clattered behind them.

The thief grabbed them first.

"Give those back," the detective demanded.

"I don't think I will." The thief teased.

They moved to stand, but the detective pulled them into a kiss. The thief, caught off guard, let go of the glasses.

"S-see? I can strategically disarm you as well," the detective said, pocketing their glasses.

The thief blushed and stared intently.

"I-- I'm so sorry," the detective said. "I shouldn't have done that. That was incredibly inappropri--"

They couldn't finish as the thief stole their lips. They melted a little in the warmth.

"I'd better run," the thief said. "Same time and place as usual." They grinned cheekily, holding up the detective's wallet. "You're paying."

Then they were gone.

The detective, a little dazed, went home to prepare for their date.

You don't even have to write responsibly yall, and best of all it's free

writing tip #3639:

did you know that you can write what you want and no one will stop you

Prompt (517)

“People don’t take me seriously enough,” the villain said. “How can I look more intimidating?”

“Well, for starters, you can stop inviting your enemies to lunch dates to survey them,” the hero said.

The villain chuckled sarcastically, but wrote the answer down anyway. The hero sipped their coffee. A wry smile curled their lips.

“You’re paying, right?” The hero asked.

“Shut up. Yes. Next question.”

#136

Not many villains are brave enough—or stupid enough—to come straight through the front doors of the agency, so the agency never thought to put up anything more secure than a barrier for heroes to scan through on their way in.

The villain saunters in, hops straight over the barrier, and loudly demands, “Which of you assholes is meant to be [Hero]’s boss?”

The heroes leap on them, of course, and twenty against one is barely a fight. The hero’s boss, it turns out, is just the guy they wanted to see anyway.

“Why are you just strolling through my agency?” the superhero asks incredulously.

“Someone's clearly dramatised my entrance. I didn’t get past reception,” the villain corrects with a scowl. “And it’s not my fault you lot have the same amount of security as a train station. Anyway, that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to tear you a new one.”

The hero standing behind them makes a noise dangerously resembling laugh. Even the superhero quirks an eyebrow disbelievingly. The villain is sitting in his office in cuffs, sure, but this is only the beginning of what will be an ass kicking.

“You villains are so violent.” The superhero tuts, opening a tin box next to him with a shake of his head. “Has anything happened to warrant this so-called new one tearing, or is this just routine?”

“I’m glad you asked. Did you not notice [Hero] was missing?”

“Oh, yeah I did.” A biscuit comes out of the tin and promptly disappears into the superhero’s mouth. “Are they with you then?”

The disgusted silence the villain leaves is a second too long. “… Yes.”

The superhero nods mindlessly. “Cool.”

This silence is even longer. The villain can hear the hero behind them shuffle awkwardly. “You don’t care,” they say flatly.

“[Hero]’s a rookie,” the superhero offers with a shrug. “Catch one of my best, and I’ll consider coming to visit sometime. I don’t send rescue parties for just anyone.”

The villain can only stare at him in disbelief as he nonchalantly fishes about for another biscuit. Villains would never do that. Villains leave no man behind. The idea that they could be trapped somewhere, in enemy territory, with no promise of at least someone coming for them, is a horror enough to haunt their nightmares.

The villain really thought they’d done something when they’d managed to catch the hero. The hero was scared, of course, but the villain had put that down to the usual. A hero in a villain’s grasp won’t be without injury for long. But the hero had had a certain defeated look in their eye as well, and it’s only now that the villain is realising that that was probably because someone like them disappearing into a villain’s lair means they aren’t getting out.

The cuffs rattle slightly, and the villain heaves a deep breath to stop their hands from shaking. “I've heard them crying every night, knowing you’re not coming for them,” they snap coldly. “You’re heartless.”

The superhero can just about be bothered to meet their eye for a second before his interest diverts back to the food in his hand. “You don’t become a superhero by loving everyone, [Villain]. Do we have a cell set up?”

The hero behind the villain clears their throat. “We do.”

The superhero waves them off, and that’s the end of the conversation. The hero shoves the villain into a cell, and several hours later finds the back of that cell blown clean out with the villain’s friends at the detonator.

The villain never had a doubt they would be set free—they always are. Villains may not be looked upon favourably, but having a posse of like-minded outcasts can make some real ride-or-dies.

-

The hero wipes their eyes when they hear the door at the end of the corridor opening, rubbing their sleeve against their nose in an attempt to look a little less pathetic. They glance up to realise it’s not just the villain, but several of their friends too, all watching them with curiosity. Their stomach drops.

“You got it bad, huh?” the villain says lightly.

The hero doesn’t know what to say to that. They turn their gaze down at their hands to avoid everyone’s burning stares.

There’s a heavy clunk, and out the corner of their eye they can see the cell door swinging open. The villain shoots them a smile as they look up confusedly.

“We were wondering if you’d like to come with us,” the villain continues. “I mean, you’re welcome to stay in here, in the cold and the damp, like a hero. But, y’know…”

The villain shrugs. “We don’t leave people behind, I’ll say that much.”

A hero should never consider an offer from a villain. It’s a trap, the superhero always said. It’s common sense, it’s the right thing to do, it’s what a hero would do.

They didn’t think heroes were left at the mercy of their enemies by their own either, but here they are.

The hero wipes at their face again and clears their throat, painfully aware of how much they’ve been crying. “Um,” they say, their voice a horrible rasp. “O-Okay.”

They all cheer as the villain reaches in to pull them out. Someone hands them a thick jacket. “Put it on,” someone else says. “You’re in the gang now!”

It almost feels like they’re happy to see the hero as one of them. It’s a new feeling, and one the hero finds they like.

Look, writer’s block is not some giant, mysterious monster. It’s you, in your head, holding yourself back because you’re afraid what you’re writing sucks. And here’s the truth, yeah, maybe it does suck. But you know what? That’s okay. Writing something bad is still better than writing nothing at all. You don’t wait for inspiration to strike, you show up, write the garbage draft, and then fix it later. Writing isn’t about perfection, it’s about getting it done. Even if it’s one crappy page at a time.

God, I just love these little pink munchkins and this tired lil rodent mom

It's hard being a single mom of four to eight kids (she's bad at math)

Also self imposed design challenge to design an infant rodent that doesn't look like eraserhead baby

Peter stared warily at the creature towering above him, nursing his many wounds. "My ex sent you, I'm guessing," he sighed.

"Yes, Master," the horrible monster said.

Peter cursed. "Okay, fine," he said. He tried to stand on what he thought was the better of his two legs, and fell back in a cry of pain.

The monster gingerly gathered him and picked him up.

"Yeah, could you take me to the hospital?" Peter grunted.

The monster nodded.

Two wolf men blocked their path.

"The boy stays, ugly," one wolf man growled. "Or do you think you can take us both?"

"I'll make you regret interfering with us," the other said. "Just wait until--"

But the second wolf man didn't finish as the monster's fist hit him squarely in the stomach and sent him flying. The other wolf man puffed up and yelped.

The monster held up his fist again, and both the wolf men turned tail and ran.

Peter sighed, non-plussed. "I could've done that," he muttered.

"Yes, master," the monster said.

"Oh, shut up," he pouted.

They reached the hospital, but the monster couldn't quite fit in the entrance.

It was then Peter saw her approach.

"Great work, my lovely," said Angelica. She plucked a gem from the monster's eye.

The monster smiled, then dissolved into a pile of mud. Peter fell unceremoniously on the ground.

"Peter, darling, it's wonderful to see you, truly it is. I've been worried sick," Angelica said. "No phone calls, no notes, nothing."

Peter groaned. "I've been a little busy," he said. "Also I broke up with you. Many times."

"And now you have..." Angelica held the gem and seemed to scrub the air. "What was that, werewolves after you? Bad form, Peter, fighting dogs."

"Well, wolf men," Peter corrected. "They stay in that form all the time." He again tried to stand and regretted the effort.

"Oh, Peter, please try to rest," Angelica sighed. "I'll fix everything." She slipped into the building. Peter could see her talking and gesticulating at him through the glass.

Peter stared up at the sky, willing himself to be struck down by lightning.

A horrible monster has been following you for a while now. It finally has you cornered. You hear it speak. "Master… I've finally found you…"