muleart

[muleart]

Your friend always said “I’ll rest when I’m dead,” so much that it became his catchphrase. He says it again today when he came into work, going about his daily routine. This normally wouldn’t be concerning, if not for the fact that you attended his funeral two weeks ago.

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Susan Sontag from " I, etcetera ".

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📝🤍 https://www.instagram.com/p/CqFfmy4otsI/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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“Less morose and more present” 🗑 https://www.instagram.com/p/CizytZcIVHh3y91lCaLtfo2G3Zaa6Z85NMelSs0/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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Tel: 898 ➡️📞🔙 #aesthetic #vintage https://www.instagram.com/p/CddJvhWoJJN/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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Greeeeenn💚

[muleart]

mirror on the wall

The villain wants to be happy for the hero. He really does. He wants to be able to clap them on the shoulder and congratulate them for becoming the person he could never hope to be. He wants to be able to think of them, their childhood promises of fighting side by side without feeling nauseous. He wants to be able to talk to them, or hell, simply look at them without seeing what they could’ve been. It’s so incredibly painful seeing them.

The best part is that the hero remains blissfully unaware of this. Clearly, they’re not affected the same way the villain is. This begs the question: were they expecting this from the outset? Were they expecting him to become a villain? The villain carries these thoughts with him every single battle he has with the hero, until one day, they slip out from his careful grasp.

It’s a cold and rainy night. He had the foresight to wear a jacket with a hood, luckily. Still, despite the jacket, the villain still feels cold. He’s still cold, still tired, still exhausted and chilled and bitter.  It’s this bitterness, this sheer exhaustion that leads him to say things he shouldn’t. The foolish chill forces hope into his thoughts and words, and it is painful and disgusting and absolutely revolting.

Why aren’t you upset? falls from his tongue before he can stop it. It’s murmured quietly against the rain hitting the pavement, yet the hero hears it anyways. Furthermore, they understand exactly what he is trying to say, despite how vague the question is. He isn’t sure if he should be grateful or terrified of the fact that the hero can so clearly comprehend his speech and, consequently, himself. 

“I’m not sure,” the hero responds truthfully. Their honesty is so virtuous that it hurts the villain’s ears to listen to. It buzzes and rings in their ears, clawing at his chest until his breaths are stolen from his chest. 

Your mere existence is a constant reminder of my own failure oozes from his lips like poison. He can’t stop speaking, the words falling onto his tongue before he can stop them. “Do you know the moment I’m speaking of? Fuck, do you even remember?” His voice is cracked and raspy, broken just like his heart. That day, a promise was whispered between breaths under the warm light of the afternoon sun. That day, a covenant was made. A covenant that he would grow to break. A promise that he would fail to keep. 

“Of course I remember,” the hero replies. Their visage is hidden behind the hood of a raincoat and the downpour falling from the clouds above. The villain can’t see them, but he can still see the offended look on their face, their widened eyes and uptight frown. “How could I forget?”

“Then how are you-” the villain tries to say, only for his voice to fail him. 

“I moved on,” the hero whispers. The answer is entirely expected, yet it still sends tremors through the villain’s body. He’s not surprised, but his heart falls from his hands and shatters into pieces on the ground below regardless.

“I see,” the villain says, even though he doesn’t. He doesn’t see- he can’t. He can’t see how the memory weighs so heavily on him, yet means so little to the hero. He can’t see how his childhood friend can stand across from him and stare at him so defiantly, knowing full well they made a promise and swore an oath to always stand beside each other. The villain doesn’t see, and he curses his useless eyes for being able to see everything but this. Everything but what he truly needs to see and understand. 

Suddenly, the hero launches themselves at him and he doesn’t fight back. He dodges their swings, redirects their magic until he’s panting with overexertion. He doesn’t allow himself even a moment to just stop to recollect his breath because he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve a moment’s rest. He doesn’t deserve a break. He doesn’t deserve compassion or empathy or pity or sympathy or any of it. 

The hero’s first few attacks miss, but their fourth one doesn’t. The villain swallows hard, watching as the familiar blue magic sparkles and glimmers as it draws inevitably closer. The last thing he sees before falling unconscious is the horrified expression on the hero’s face. 

Keep reading

[muleart]

prompt #43

tw: forced marriage

“You can’t do this,” Hero snapped, their voice mixed with a lace of animosity and terror. The henchmen’s grips dug into the skin of their arms, dragging them up onto their feet. Hero had lost the strength to stand up straight in front of their mentor, who was watching them with a cool gaze. 

“Don’t make this difficult, Hero,” Superhero spoke, standing in front of them with an unreadable expression. “Do as you’re told.” 

The hero violently yanked at the henchmen’s grip, desperately trying to rip away. 

“You can’t barter me away like I’m some bargaining chip,” Hero cried, hot tears flooding in their eyes. “I’m not a peace offering! Superhero, please, don’t let them take me.” 

The henchmen abruptly dragged Hero back, almost knocking the wind out of them. 

“I don’t care what you think,” Superhero frowned, finger hooking under the hero’s chin and tilting it backwards gently. “You’re going to marry Supervillain, for the good of me, and for the good of your friends.” 

“No,” Hero sobbed, heels dragging uselessly against the ground. “Please, please, no…” 

Superhero didn’t utter another word as the hero was carted away.

part two

[muleart]

Snippet #10

The villain didn't know how long they'd been there for. They were knelt, ropes binding their thighs to their calves and forcing them to stay in place. Their arms were bound too - hands tied behind them - whilst even more ropes stretched across their chest, keeping them anchored to a metal pole which ensured they kept their back straight. They'd been holding the position so long that their thighs were starting to shake, the exhaustion and ache of staying that way beginning to take it's toll.

Around them, all they could see was darkness. There was only one light source within the room and they were at the centre of it, seeming to practically glow when compared to the black emptiness around them. 'Art' was the word the hero had used when tying them in place - more than art: they'd called the villain a masterpiece.

And they were.

The villain's eyes slipped shut as they let out a small whine - the sound quickly muffled by the gag in their mouth. They twisted a little, fighting their bonds in an attempt to stretch but they barely moved. They couldn't close their legs, couldn't break the tension that had built in their body over minutes of kneeling there - hours perhaps. Their head felt light, and there were times when the villain closed their eyes that they could have sworn they were floating.

Footsteps sounded to their left. The villain tilted their head to the side, glimpsing the hero as they walked across the room - the white of their uniform just about breaking them apart from the shadows. The closer they came, the clearer the villain saw them, and when they finally stopped in front of them the gag could barely contain the whimper that rose from the villain's throat. Soft hands caressed their cheeks and their eyes fluttered shut, barely noticing the sudden absence of the fabric in their mouth as the hero came to hold their chin, forcing their gaze upwards.

"Tell me, Villain," the hero said. "Do you remember what it was I said to you yesterday?"

The villain shivered as they met the other's gaze, leaning into the touch as much as they could. "You said that I should get on my knees and surrender...like a good villain."

The hero hummed in confirmation, bringing their hand up to stroke through the villain's hair - a blissful sigh escaping the other's lips at the small reward.

"And what did you say?" the hero asked then.

A few seconds passed and the villain didn't respond, completely lost in the waves of sensation that were washing over them in that moment - pain and pleasure so deeply enmeshed they could hardly tell the two apart. The hand in their hair paused then, the villain whining at the loss only to gasp right after - the hero's soft touch suddenly becoming a rough tug that pulled their head back, snapping them back into focus.

"What did you say?" the hero repeated.

Finally, the question seemed to register in the villain's mind as a small spark of recognition lit up in their eyes. They remembered exactly what they had told the other - recalled perfectly the consequences that it had brought them afterwards.

Two words: that was all it had taken. Two little words and the hero had fulfilled every fantasy the villain had ever had...

The villain looked up at the hero and smiled, some hint of their former rebellion still managing to shine through as they repeated the words they had said:

"'Make me.'"

[muleart]

Normally, the human brain edits out blinks. But not yours. When you blink you catch a microsecond glimpse of another place. Sometimes beautiful, sometimes horrific.

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You ended up in a utopian parallel world. The catch? People are so good in that world, that you’re now literally the most evil person alive.

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You suddenly wake in a room, filled with people who look, sound, and even act like you. Happy, realising these are all the different universe versions of you, you spark up conversations with them all. That feeling falls flat though, when everyone works out that you have achieved the least.

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[muleart]

flapjack my beloved

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https://www.instagram.com/p/CbCZGddNPSn/?utm_medium=copy_link

[muleart]

have you ever re-read a favorite book of yours and thought to yourself "yes, this is what coming home feels like"?

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A serial killer who wishes to terrorise a town. However none of their victims stay dead for long and don’t seem to remember them being killed. In this town lives a serial necromancer who unbeknownst to the serial killer is ressurecting every victim.