"You Poisoned Me." Hero's Hand Goes To Their Throat, Already Feeling The Burn, The Effect Of The Toxin.

The hero lay on the floor curled in on themselves, willing the pain to go away. The creaking and clinking from the other room told them the villain was rooting around in their stuff again.

"Ugh… Villain?" They called.

Silence.

"Villain, I know you're out there."

They groaned and tried to stand. Not a good idea.

"Villain, if you're out there, bring me my meds, will you? They're on the counter?"

A pause in the shuffling. Footsteps.

A pill bottle hit their face.

"Ow!"

The villain retreated.

Silence.

The hero shakily lifted the pills to their lips.

The villain returned with a bag of bread and a bottle of water.

The hero looked up at them questioningly.

"You're not supposed to take that on an empty stomach," the villain said simply.

"Who eats bread from the bag?" The hero grumbled, but they pulled out a piece to nibble on anyway.

"You're lucky it's not poisoned," the villain replied.

"Am I?" The hero groaned.

"Lot of pain, huh?"

"…Yeah."

The villain knelt down in front of them. "Good."

The hero glared up at them. "Any chance of giving me a break today?"

The villain snatched the half-eaten bread and bit into it greedily. "I think you forgot we're enemies."

The hero laid back down. "Yeah, okay."

Uncomfortable silence.

"So, uh, this normal for you?" The villain tried. "You look a little… Not good."

"I'm kicking your butt so hard when these pills kick in," the hero grumbled. "Can you at least get back to looting my house?"

"I mean, I could kidnap you right now," The villain said. "You're at your most vulnerable."

The hero threw the bread at them. "Just because I'm not up to fighting you doesn't mean I'm helpless."

The bag hit the villain's foot. They gave the hero a deadpan stare.

"I'll bite your ankles," the hero tried.

Then the villain kidnapped them, and they went to Urgent Care together.

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."

How the Turns Have Tabled

Hero approached the cell with all the feet-dragging reluctance of someone who was in way over their head. They dug through their pocket for the key, mumbling something about stupidity and youth mortality under their breath. A quick glance through the small window nestled in the door revealed a form unmoving laid out in the corner.

To their minor relief, it appeared their guest was still out cold.

The hinges squeaked as Hero slowly pushed open the door. They watched closely for any movement and saw none, so they continued.

Once inside, they dropped a bundle of fabric at the feet of the sleeping figure and left a plastic bottle and an aluminum package on the ground. They were back out the door quickly and the lock clicked back into place just as fast.

Hero turned away from the door and let out a quiet breath as they moved away.

A few steps in, a creak sounded from behind them.

Shit.

Hero froze, then spoke calmly into the stale air,“The exits out back.”

Lowly, a gruff voice responded, “Not that easy.”

Hero winced.

“Worth a shot.”

By the time their hand shot to their belt and they made to spin around, Villain had already closed the distance. Their knife was knocked from their hand the second it was drawn. The villain kicked it away in the same move he used to grab the hero’s wrist. Hero used their free hand to punch him in the face, landing a hard hit before Villain used his leverage to twist, forcing their arm behind their back and shoving them face-first into the wall.

Hero groaned into the cinder block, “Fuck my life.”

They would not have even realized that they had said that aloud had it not been for the confirmation of a deep but quiet chuckle.

Fingers curled lightly into their scalp as Villain spoke, “Other hand.”

Hero squeezed their eyes shut and offered up their free hand into the borderline-painful grip behind them.

“You want to tell me where the ties are?”

Hero turned their cheek against the wall so their jaw was free to move with the words.

“Second shelf from the bottom, other wall.”

They were lifted from the concrete and pulled backwards to the opposite side of the room. A plastic tie soon zipped into place, pinning their wrists together before the villain shifted his grip to their arm to lead them forward.

“In.”

They stepped through the door into the dimly-lit cell, and Hero scowled at the lock hanging broken off the latch.

“Sit,” he ordered with a shove towards where the crumpled blanket rested on the stripped down cot.

The hero stumbled but did as they were told, settling with their back against the wall and feet planted firmly on the floor.

They watched as Villain dragged in a folding chair, flipping it around in front of him to plant a leg on either side and sit backwards, conveniently blocking the doorway.

“Kidnapping, huh?” The villain begun to question, “Is that what you do now?”

Hero leveled their eyes on the blank sheet that was the adjacent wall in lieu of a response. Villain tilted his head at the silence and leveled a disappointed glare at the hero.

“Don’t make me come over there.”

At that, Hero dragged their gaze slowly to the man in the chair.

“I don’t suppose you’ll believe you walked in here of your own free will?”

“Right,” the villain leaned forward, placing his elbows on the seat back and planting his chin on his palms. “And the lock was for decoration.”

“Obviously, given how easily it broke.”

The distaste shown on the hero’s face suggested that they would be having more than a few words with Masterlock customer service.

Villain grinned almost imperceptibly.

“I must say, this is giving my style, not yours.”

“Yeah, well,” Hero bit their lip and averted their eyes again, “shit happens.”

They took the time to notice all the numerous cobwebs in the room before Villain opened his mouth again.

Oddly enough, he wasn’t moving his tongue to push for an explanation.

“You know, they say mimicry is the highest form of flattery.”

Hero, taken slightly aback, could only find the highly dignified words, “Fuck off.”

Instead of lashing out like the hero had predicted with muscles tensed, Villain simply pointed out, “You’re the one who brought me here. I think I might just stick around and find out why.”

With that, he stood. The chair slid across the floor and into the wall as he pushed off.

“It’s in your best interest to answer, so I’d suggest doing that.”

Hero did not dare take their eyes off his form as he approached. He towered over the low-lying cot, and Hero may or may not have forgotten to breathe as he leaned in.

“Or have you forgotten your position here, now?”

Hot breath warmed their ear and Hero bit their tongue.

“You thought you could lock me up?”

“I…made an error in judgment.” Hero spoke carefully, suppressing a shiver.

Another chuckle had Hero silently begging for a Time Machine. An arm was planted on either side of them, leaving them feeling like a bird in a cage, or an ant under a microscope.

“I sure hope the five minutes of success didn’t get to your head,” Villain spoke with faux pity, lips slightly pouted in obvious mockery.

“I think they took five years off my life, actually,” Hero admitted, figuring it was probably clear at this point how they felt about their decision to… well, abduct the villain.

“It sure sounds like you’ve learned your lesson, then.”

Hero almost cheered when Villain rose back to his full height, out of their immediate personal space. That was, until he continued.

“But really, it is best to be certain.”

“How, exactly, do you plan on being certain?” Hero inquired carefully, not that they really wanted to know the answer. Their heart beat a rapid warning inside of their chest.

Villain tapped his chin thoughtfully before a familiar grin spread slowly across his face.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got just the idea.”

Worrying did not even begin to cover the fear that sparked in the hero’s chest at that statement.

“Sit tight,” commanded the villain as he sauntered out the door, not bothering to replace the lock or even so much as close the door.

The hero was left to gawk at his abrupt departure from their place in the corner, unable to gracefully rise and follow him with arms stuck behind them as they were.

A few seconds passed, and they slumped as the adrenaline finally started to drain out of them.

They breathed out into the quiet air as the villain’s footsteps receded, “I am going to die so young.”

Scraps

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

The medals we earn adorn their necks

The food we prepare they rend and scrape

Their clean homes, our cracked skin

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

The spreadsheets, waivers, all-nighters

The mandatory overtime, 'voluntary' vacation

As family, friends, community becomes strangers

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

They bathe excess in bleach

Destroy 'out-of-season' and 'imperfect'

Unwanted treasure that never trickles down

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

They shrink the box and raise the price

Formula and cinnamon with lead filler

Locked away from desperate hands

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

They take your words and art

Remove the feeling and the context

But most importantly, the watermark

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

Big words not meant for us

They'll pulverize until the pain means nothing

Your screams are taken as aggression

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

Cries in the waiting room, unheard

Life is precious, they'll say to bodies

Who in neglect, turned to corpses

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

In fear, they cut us smaller

Yet they shovel mouthfuls much too quickly

The scraps will make them choke

The Green Scarf

CW: blood, head wound, hospitalization

Gerard kept a brisque pace in the snow-covered sidewalk, the frigid air colder still as the sun sank into the horizon. It was hardly the time to dawdle, but something in the air seemed not quite right, almost sinister in its unnatural silence.

It was then his eye caught the little droplets of red scattered in the snow, leading up the steps to the main school building. Probably nothing, he told himself. Best keep moving.

He heard a soft whimper.

Reluctantly Gerard ascended the steps to a small bush, behind which lay a prone figure, face-down and much too motionless.

That scarf.

He'd know that obnoxious green scarf anywhere.

"Blair?"

His heart thrummed in his chest. He gently rolled the body over. Blair. The absolute thorn in his side since day one of university.

He shook him briskly.

"Blair!"

Scoff.

"I should leave you like this after the way you embarrassed me yesterday," Gerard said aloud, mostly to himself. "Serves you right."

No response. It settled like a lead weight in his stomach.

Blair's skin was much too gray, much too dull. His breathing, much too weak.

Red... Pooling from the back of his head. He wrapped Blair's stupid scarf around the wound.

He checked his radial pulse. Faint.

Gerard groaned and glanced around for anyone to shove this responsibility onto.

No one. Of course not.

"Blair. BLAIR." He patted his cheek insistently. "Wake up. I am NOT carrying you."

Why wasn't Blair wearing gloves? Or a coat? Where'd he get that head wound?

That wasn't his business, Gerard decided. Well beyond his business.

His rival getting hypothermia, on the other hand...

He called emergency services.

"High than normal call volume. Wait time is 2 hours--"

He screamed a curse.

Moving Blair proved tricky. Not just the dead weight, but he had no way to determine if there was a neck injury on top of the head injury. The stairs would also be tricky.

He needed something to drag him with, and there was really only one thing that would do.

"You'll owe me BIG for this," he grumbled, pulling off his overcoat. He rolled Blair onto the overcoat unceremoniously and began dragging him down the stairs. The snow kept bunching into piles, slowing the forward pull. The cold made Gerard's teeth chatter, and he kept muttering curses with each merciless gust of wind.

He reached his apartment and threw open the door, snowflakes scattering across the front entry. With one final pull Blair was in, and he kicked his legs out of the way to slam the door shut.

"God, even when you're unconscious, you're still trouble," Gerard grumbled, turning on a space heater with shaking hands.

He felt Blair's pulse. Weak, but still there. He assessed the head wound. The bleeding seemed to have slowed. His hands were cold. Gerard pulled him near the space heater and bundled him in a blanket.

With little other option, he gathered first aid supplies. Antiseptic on the head wound, proper dressing.

The warmth was bringing color back to Blair's cheeks. Gerard's eyes pricked with tears, and he picked up Blair's cold hand in his.

"You'll be okay," he muttered. "You'll be back to that obnoxiously chattery self in no time, right? I'd better enjoy the silence while I can."

He laughed at himself for that, and quickly wiped away a hot tear.

A voice in his pocket broke the silence, and he quickly dropped the hand.

"Emergency services. What is the nature and location of your emergency?"

Oh. Right. He'd been on hold. He picked up the phone and explained the situation to the best of his ability, a bit flustered.

Emergency services arrived. Gerard rode with him, because wasn't that the right thing to do?

Blair came to about an hour later.

"Blair!" Gerard started towards him.

A moment of relief cut short.

"Gerard?" Blair spat, a note of disgust.

"Oh, shut up," Gerard grumped. Sat back.

"What the hell are you doing here? And-- wait, is this the hospital?!"

"Well, it's not the morgue," Gerard snapped.

"Why the hell did you ATTACK ME?!"

"Me? ME?!" Gerard held back the urge to strangle Blair. "I just dragged your sorry ass across town, and you're blaming ME?!"

Blair felt the back of his head. "Well, SOMEONE hit my head!"

"It'll be me soon if you don't drop the attitude," Gerard growled. "I didn't do it. I hate your guts, but I would never stoop that low."

"You wouldn't?" Blair quirked his brow skeptically.

"You're so much cuter when you're concussed," Gerard grumbled.

Chattering down the hall.

"Your friends are here," Gerard said. "Maybe ask one of them who had enough of your bull."

He stood to leave, but Blair caught his wrist.

"No. Wait. You really didn't do it?" Blair searched his eyes. "What d'you mean, you dragged me across town?"

Gerard yanked at his wrist. "Let go," he said.

"You brought me here?"

He didn't want to meet Blair's eyes.

"You really brought me to the hospital?"

"You were in front of the school," Gerard didn't answer. Didn't meet his eyes. "Just... Did what anyone would do."

"Yeah. Okay." Blair let go. "...Okay."

"Get better soon, asshole," Gerard said. He stormed out just as the group of well-wishers rushed in.

Arrived home. Realized Blair's stupid green scarf was still on the floor of his apartment.

Blair would definitely come back for it.

He kicked it across the room in frustration. Then proceeded to wash it in cold water.

//AN Sorry for not posting much this last week! I've been struggling to write and not really happy with anything, but I felt I should try to post something. Anyway, I hope you're all doing all right in the New Year. Thank you so much for reading!!!

Traditional hand-drawn animation my beloved

I love the warmth of the pencil

Idk why quality is so bad 😔

The woman was barefoot and caked in mud and ash. Her eyes glared up at his. Glowing, hungry.

"Impossible," The prince huffed. "But an excellent bluff."

"They all are," she said, voice hollow, gesturing across the landscape.

She picked her way through the destruction, hardly breaking eye contact even as she stumbled.

The prince laughed, but the sound wasn't convincing, even to his own ears. "Save your breath," he said. "They... They must have moved farther east."

"...Without their helmets?" The woman said, picking up a partially melted helmet from the rubble.

The prince faltered. "That... That's my father's helmet," he gasped. He seemed to look at her with a new wariness.

"You know who I am," the woman said.

"Y-you're nothing more than a legend," the prince said. "You... You must have stolen the helmet. To trick me!"

The woman grew closer.

The prince's mount chuffed and backed away.

"S-Stay back!" The prince said.

The woman tilted her head, but she stopped. "Go."

"Go?..." The prince whimpered.

"Go back to where you came from, and tell your kingdom what you saw here."

The prince gulped. Nodded. Ran.

He did not pause until the woman completely faded from view.

"I knew he was afraid of my conquering army, but I didn't think he would be stupid enough to leave you behind." "Oh, no, you quite misunderstand. Your army's already dead."

Oh goodness, I'm here for these vibes and would love a part 2.

Prompt #82

By @writingpromptsworld

The villain swore they could smell the hero's very prominent cologne in the dark office, and they had to resist the urge and not take every little thing away with them.

But no, they were on a mission. And they needed to focus, or else the supervillain would-

"You're the recruit, aren't you?" Someone spoke up, the voice was deep and smooth. They sounded amused.

The vilian froze, in the process of sniffing the hero's coat that hung on the chair behind their desk. They look up, alerted. And take out their gun. The person walked closer, and their face glowed under the moonlight. The village's eyes widened when they saw who it was.

The hero grinned. "Relax. I'm in no mood to fight."

The villain’s heart beat wildly in their chest. They didn't lower the gun, scared and in awe at the same time. The hero was even more good-looking in person as if that was possible. They gulped, and when the hero didn't come closer, they lowered the gun slowly.

The hero's grin only broadened. "Care to tell me why you were sniffing around my coat?" The villain's face immediately went scarlet, their heart dropping in their stomach. '

"Uhh…" They started. "I was searching…for potential information about your- next mission?" They really hadn't meant for it to come out as a question, but it did anyway and they cursed under their breath.

"And what is this crucial information you would find in there?" The hero played along, cocking their head to the side.

The villain opened their mouth and closed it, not sure how to tell the hero they were…curious. Well, curious is putting it lightly, they were obsessed, really. "Good question." They said, a second later.

The hero looked more entertained by the minute. They took a few more steps that brought them right in front of the villain, meeting their eyes. The hero's eyes were gray, like the moon, and glowing with mirth.

The villain checked out the hero before they could stop themself, their mouth drying at the sight.

The hero chuckled, "You're terrible at keeping a blank face. A really bad quality for a vilian if I say so myself."

Okay. That's it. Everything they had read about the hero was wrong. The hero wasn't stoic and ruthless as listed in their 'bio', they were something worse: flirty and dangerously good-looking.

"He's been claimed by a Fae Lord, a Witch, a Demon Queen-- we made deals with one too many entities," the Queen explained with a heavy sigh. "Now, he's gone and got himself possessed by a couple ghosts, and apparently has some kind of arrangement with a Siren and a Dragon. I'm a little lost on his social life at the moment."

The Queen plucked out the sacrificial dagger protruding from her son's chest and tossed it aside with a hanky. The wound instantly healed.

"He's immune to just about anything," she continued. "Lightning, arrows, knives, cannonballs, being frozen or burned and... What was it? Oh yes, poison."

The Prince reached for the knife that lay discarded and began giggling and stabbing himself. The wounds gave off little sparks as they zipped the skin back together.

"Oh, my poor son," the Queen lamented. "In any case, is this God of yours powerful? They might need to be in order to claim him."

The Order exchanged glances. "We changed our mind," they said.

The Prince hopped up on the sacrificial altar and grabbed the leader by his robes. "No no NO you can't stop NOW!!" He giggled, "Beyooooond the time it took for set up, how RUDE it is to call a God only halfway, right when it's getting GOOD?!"

The Order grimaced. "The prince speaks the truth. Complete the spell in the honor of God. Only he can determine if this vessel is worthy."

The Prince flopped back with a smarmy grin.

The Order sunk the knife into the Prince once again and commenced with the summoning. The Prince began to float, and he hit the clergy with spitballs from where he was suspended.

The God appeared and looked over the clergy. "You must know this vessel is... Inadequate," he said, gesturing to the giggling prince. "I have never been summoned to a less suitable vessel."

"Suit yourself! You clearly don't know how to PARTY!" The Prince said, dancing around the floating apparition. "Like I want some boring old god taking up space in MYY flesh prison!"

"Dear, that dance is a bit unseemly," the Queen said. "Stop at once."

"YOU stop, MOM." The Prince pointed at the Queen. "Is she? Is she suitable? She's been offering me up this whole time!"

The Queen shook her head. "That's not necessary, Dear."

"Very well. It is done," the God said, and his spirit flowed into the Queen's mouth. The Queen shook briefly, then closed her jaw audibly.

"Goodness. I expected more," the Queen said, dabbing her lips with a hanky. "Truly a boring God. Let's go home, son."

"Wait, what happened?!" The Order cried.

"Oh, we are also a family of God eaters," the Queen said. "I must have forgotten to mention that. Did I? It's how we keep getting all these contracts."

The prince pointed to the sacrificial dagger in his chest. "Hey, can I keep this?"

When the eldest of the royal children was kidnapped and brought to the ritual table to be the new vessel for the cult's god, they seem oddly fine with it. It was in the middle of the ritual that the eldest royal revealed…