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starry-night-author · 11 months

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Don't Run

(Prompt #21)

The snarls and wails could be heard distantly in the dark. A long low growl, before an utterly inhuman squeal and a thud. Then an almost ominous silence.

Hero, startled by the sound, jumped. "What was that?" They hissed, glancing around at their small group. "Why did they do that?"

"No idea," just the contours of Supervillain's form could be made out in the blackness of the night as they tilted their head. "It sounds like one of them was hurt."

"That's good, right?" Villain whispered from next to Hero. They had their hand on their shoulder, making sure they were alright. Trying to keep them calm.

"Maybe."

The little band of heroes and villains continued forward, keeping to the edges of the abandoned buildings and trying to stay out of the light. Here it was so dark that the group was entirely relying on Supervillain to guide them, following closely on their heels. Always on the lookout, hearts always thudding.

To Hero's mind, muddled with pain and the venom in their wound from an earlier attack, everything was especially terrifying. The sound of Superhero's breath behind them, the crunch of the gravel beneath their feet mad them jump. They were convinced it was another one of the monsters, coming to finish them off.

"How are you holding up?" Villain leaned over to whisper to them, their hand tightening around Hero's arm.

"I'm alive," Hero said, they knew their pain was evident in their voice. Their long wound running from their armpit down to their hip was bleeding again, the venom in the monster's claws making it reluctant to close. After they'd been attacked earlier that night, the rest of the group was trying to find a way to properly bandage it. If they didn't, Hero would bleed out by morning.

But for now Hero was alive and able to walk, so they kept moving with the others. Following Supervillain through the deserted town, trying to find a safe haven.

"Good," Hero replied. "Stay that way."

The group of four had been stranded in the deserted town earlier that day, traveling from one of the bigger safe cities to the other. Their brakes had stopped working as soon as they pulled into the town, and they'd been forced to stop. Ignorant to the danger in the daylight, they'd gone searching for anything that could help get them out of there.

It was when the sun had set that the monsters arrived, and now all the four of them could focus on was surviving.

They neared a flickering street lamp, trying to keep out of it's wide beam of light. Supervillain hesitated, squinting into the solid darkness around them.

The rest of them drew up short behind them, Hero jumped when they felt Superhero's hand on their shoulder. "What is it?"

"I'm trying to remember where we left the car," Supervillain pointed at a nondescript piece of blackness. "It was there, wasn't it?"

Superhero squinted, their hand slipping from Hero's shoulder as they moved to look. "I think so? But it's hard to start and the brakes don't work, I don't think-"

"It'll still be safer than being out in the open." Supervillain glanced back at them, eyes flashing yellow in the dark. Their gaze momentarily alighted on Hero, and the crime-stopper stiffened. "And we need to hide Hero. The smell from their wound is going to attract every monster in this town, it's a wonder we haven't been found yet."

Superhero put an hand on Supervillain's arm. "And... you'll be alright?"

Supervillain took a deep breath, their eyes closing. "I'll be fine."

To Hero, something in their voice had them shaking again. They took a step back, trying to put some distance between them and Supervillain.

The villain spoke again. "Here's what we'll do. Superhero and Villain, you two go see if you can get the car, come back and get us once you do. I'll stay here with Hero-"

"I don't trust you alone with them." Villain cut in immediately.

Superhero folded their arms. "Me either."

Neither did Hero.

Supervillain took another deep breath, and this time they backed away from Hero. "It'll be fine." They said again. "But we need some people to go and get the car, people who can run. And Hero can't right now. Besides, there's too many lampposts here, we can't risk one switching on and letting the monsters see them."

"So I'll stay back with them!" Villain moved to stand next to Hero.

"No," Supervillain shook their head. "Like I said, the monsters are going to be drawn to their blood, and if we split, Hero needs someone with them who can fight the monsters properly."

"Superhero-"

"Superhero can't fight them like I can." Supervillain's voice was suddenly louder, more stern. They took a third deep breath and continued. "I'll just be here to keep them safe, and it will be fine if you hurry. If- if things start to get out of control we can start moving toward you two."

"You're sure?" Superhero asked.

"Are you okay with that?" Villain took Hero's hand.

No, Hero was not, but Supervillain was right. This was the plan that would work. They nodded minutely. "Yeah. Yeah, it's fine. Just... hurry."

With a few last worried glances, Superhero and Villain stole into the dark, leaving Hero and Supervillain alone, standing about two yards away. Neither of them tried to get closer.

"Can you... can you tell me if it's too much?" Hero whispered.

Supervillain nodded, scanning the darkness around them. They seemed intent on looking anywhere but at Hero. "Of course. But it won't be."

Hero didn't answer.

The reason Hero found this so terrifying was because Supervillain wasn't entirely... human. Sure, they looked and sounded like one, but the group had learned the truth only earlier that day, once the sun had set.

Supervillain, somehow, was part monster. And while it explained the superhuman abilities the villain seemed to have, it still came as a shock to the group. Hero had spent several years trying to capture Supervillain in their own city, and this explained why they never could.

It was why Supervillain was now in charge of the group, their semi-night vision giving them the ability to lead them. It was why Supervillain knew how the monsters thought, knew where to avoid them. It was why they were the only one who could properly fight the monsters back, their own retractable and venomous claws and fangs working as weapons in the weak spots that only Supervillain knew about. It was frankly why any of them had survived this long.

And it was why it was a terrible idea to leave them alone with Hero, who's openly bleeding wound leeched an apparently delectable smell of blood and venom into the air.

It was a terrible idea, but so far the best one they had.

In Hero's poison-addled mind, every movement Supervillain made was the beginnings of an attack. Shifting their weight from one side to another as they watched the darkness, turning their head to squint into the night. Batting at a fly near their ear- did Hero see their claws out? Turning to stare at the lamppost- were they facing away from Hero to convince them to let their guard down?

And did they keep breathing deeply to keep themself under control or to let themself taste the smell of Hero's wound?

Hero knew Supervillain wouldn't want to attack them, but would that really matter? They'd be dead whether Supervillain wanted to or not. Supervillain had told them about the possibility of them losing control as soon as they had Hero's wound patched up as best they could, and had spent the rest of the night trying to stay away from them. They'd been open and honest, and some part of Hero appreciated that.

But again, in the end if they did attack Hero now, what would that matter?

Hero severely hoped that Supervillain was looking out for monsters, because in the moment, all they could focus on was the monster standing right in front of them, hand on their hip.

"Hero," Supervillain said suddenly, minutes after the others had disappeared. Minutes that each felt like several hours.

"Y-yeah?"

The villain's voice came out as a growl. "Don't run."

"W-why? Is there-"

Supervillain turned around suddenly, and Hero instantly knew something was wrong. "Don't run," they said softly, and Hero took a step back. "Because then I'll have to catch you."

Hero very slowly backed away, their good arm out to protect them. "Don't run because that will make it easier for you?"

"No," Supervillain stood stiff, they looked like they were forcing themself to close their eyes. They breathed deeply once more. "I'll- I'll be less inclined to hurt you if you run."

Supervillain clearly wasn't doing well, so it left it to Hero, the poisoned one, to be the voice of reason. "Should- should we move towards Superhero and Villain?"

"Yes, that would be-" Supervillain took a step towards them, stopped, let out a breath. "Let's go."

The two set off in the dark, keeping a healthy gap of nearly three yards between them. Far enough that Hero could still see them, but they'd have a chance if Supervillain lunged suddenly.

Now Hero really kept an eye on them, taking into account every little bit of body language they could make out in the darkness. Supervillain was still intently not looking at them, and Hero could see their fingers clenching and unclenching.

All their fear and watching was for nothing however, because the froze the moment Supervillain looked at them. The villain whirled on them, eyes flashing, and suddenly Hero couldn't move.

Caught like a deer in headlights they could only watch, stiff and trembling as Supervillain approached. This was wrong, this was awful, they should do something to snap Supervillain out of it, but there was nothing they could do but watch.

Supervillain slowly closed the gap between them, eyeing Hero like the delicious prey they were. They licked their teeth, showing off a set of fangs that seemed to shine in the darkness. Their gaze never left Hero.

"Supervillain," Hero managed to squeak as the monster came to stand in front of them. Still unable to move out of fear, they gasped as they felt Supervillain's hand rest on their shoulder.

Supervillain didn't respond, Hero knew they weren't entirely... there. They closed their eyes as they felt claws against their neck, their breath hitching as they just stood there and took it.

Suddenly there was another hand on their chest, sliding downward until rested just above their heart. Sharp claws pricked into their shirt, and Hero whimpered.

Even as they did so the hand on their neck tilted their head further to the side, the claw on their thumb digging into their skin. Hero gasped, eyes flying open at the pain. It hadn't quite pierced through their skin, but it was close.

Head turned to the side, they could just see out of the corner of their eye Supervillain's head slowly lowering towards their neck, fangs bared. A low growl started in their voice.

Was Hero really going to die here? In this tiny town in the middle of nowhere where they'd simply stopped for repairs? They'd be torn apart by Supervillain, the monster unable to control themself?

Hero didn't want to die here. But by now there wasn't much they could do to stop it.

They felt the brush of fangs against their neck, digging in in a way that almost felt gentle. Hero knew it wouldn't be gentle for long, and they squeezed their eyes shut, their tears forming as they shuddered at the touch.

"Supervillain."

Hero jumped, startled by the voice that sounded in front of them. Their eyes flew open and a wave of relief flowed through them as they spotted Superhero standing a few feet away. They wouldn't let Supervillain kill them, Hero would be okay.

"Supervillain," Superhero's voice was stern, commanding. "Supervillain, back up."

That seemed to snap the villain out of their trance, they suddenly straightened. Hero let out a relieved breath as Supervillain quickly backed away from them, head down.

"I'm so sorry, Hero."

Hero didn't have time to answer as Superhero rushed to them, holding the side of their face, checking them over for injuries. "Are you alright? They didn't hurt you anywhere?"

Hero shook their head. "N-no, I-I don't think so."

Superhero spotted the little nick on their neck, squinting close in the dark. "I don't think they got through your skin here," they assured them. "There's nowhere else you think they did?"

Hero shook their head.

There suddenly came a low snarl from Supervillain, and the two heroes jumped, glancing up to face them. They hadn't already lost control again, had they?

But Supervillain wasn't looking at them, they were glowering at something in the night surrounding them, turned away from the heroes. They bared their fangs, their body in a low defensive stance.

And to the utter mounting terror of Hero and Superhero, there came an answering deep snarl from somewhere in the dark.

"S-Supervillain," Superhero pressed Hero to stand behind them, putting themself between Hero and the unseen monster. "What should we do?"

"Don't run," Supervillain told them. "You take Hero back to Villain, or at least just get out of here."

"W-what about you?" Hero stammered as Superhero began pushing them away from the monster.

"I'll be fine, I'll deal with this and then come find you. Now go!"

The last thing Hero saw was Supervillain leaping into the blackness, and a shadowy dark figure rising to meet them, before Superhero was pulling them away into the night.

#yeah no idea what this is #it's based off of a very weird dream I had but. hey it's fun #hero x villain #villain x hero #hero #villain #writing #prompt #writing prompt #hero x villain community #heroes and villains #starry-night-author #supervillain #superhero #monster supervillain

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nocentis · 5 days

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Black Arum ┆ Siegrain

Content warning: main character death, cannibalism, gore, toxic/unreliable narrator, highly canon divergent character portrayal. Read at your own risk. You will probably take psychic damage from this.

╳┆A lure was stuck in the soot between his lungs. Many times he'd felt the tug — enough that the wire fray had worn a rut where his ribs met — and many times he'd found her on the other end, reeling for remnants of him that no longer existed. She would aim to break him open, sift around in the cinders for those specks of him she wanted to confiscate, keep for herself, so that she could finally be rid of him. Once those flecks were washed and panned, the remains would reek like plough mud closure. For that reason he would come to her whole, every whit of ash accounted for.

A cherry little game they'd play. Her with flint and steel, eager to reignite that paltry spark of "good" that flickered freely for a lapse before he remembered himself. Him with tinder and kindling, letting it light only to call on the rain again. Her with just enough hope. Him with just enough time.

That resolve was so very compelling. More than her beauty, her candor, and even that glow he so loved to bask in — that luster he wanted to hold between his teeth and bury under his nails — more than that, her tenacity was a toothsome temptation, and he wasn't keen to deny himself anything.

So when he felt the pull, he caved to the beck and spooled the lisle. That day, the line seemed lighter, thinner, than it ever had. It should've been strong. Tensile. Instead it felt gossamer fine and just as frail, poised to tear at an ill touch, and he wasn’t exactly renowned for his gentle hands. Still, he gathered it with both palms and wrapped it proudly around himself like a ceremonial sash, grin scrawled across his face something devilish.

╳┆He found her lying in the shade beneath a long-lived magnolia, still and silent as she never was, with the color of her namesake spread around her head in halo streaks. Battle-torn, as she so often was, and yet uncannily... passive.

Anything he'd planned to say went out the airlock. Instead, he stood there with an anchor in his stomach, reaping the benefit of doubt.

Not a frown nor a sigh when he darkened her sanctum, only heavenward eyes tearless and unblinking and a resigned breath just short of peaceful. That worn tether waned phantom thin, light as helium, and the tension in his chest went slack.

There was no definite snap. No dramatic severing or ear-popping moment of clarity. Only the vague sense of loss so fresh a wound that denial was a numbing salve.

“Get up,” his voice a command, sandgrit against whetstone, thickened by an unnamed antigen.

The silence felt like mockery. A placid scene void of chittering fauna, clouds' drum, or even the most timid breeze. It wanted him to hear the absence of her breath and the stillness of her chest. It wanted him to hear the hollow. The empty. The nothing. Wanted it to resonate; to find the furthest reaches of his mind and clean them out until all that was left was this icy, clarifying silence.

He knew the end when he saw it. This was something much worse. It was robbery.

Her life wasn’t for the world to take. It was for him to hold in his hands.

Something wet and pathetic slicked his tongue — some whiny, pleading thing — and it was stubborn as oil. The authority slid to the back of his throat and left him choking, “You are the indomitable Titania. You’ve laced fingers with Death time and again only to rise and slay and conquer, so get up.”

Her warmth was set to a slow drip, spilling from her in tired beads and seeping soundlessly into her chosen ground. Little whispers of her lost to greedy loam, sullied, never to be returned.

A waste of precious love. The sod won’t drink of her as he will. It will take of her and give back what? New “life” so fragile and fleeting? A feeble weed will take root, bloom its days few, and curl itself inside out? Pathetic. An insult to her legacy. An insult to the diamond-split sharp of her bladesoul.

His heart boiled over — popping, sticking, simmering sicksweet saccharine. It colored him cloying, flooded his mouth, and forced him to kneel at her altar.

"Please," he keened, hollow and morose, and his own pleading sickened him, “Say something.”

The sun trickled through the leaves like ichor, lighting up her black-blown eyes and the thin ring of honey surrounding them. Dim, distant, and dead as the moon.

His hand carved a path to her face, fingers featherlight against her fading flush. He brushed her bangs from her eyes and forced an unbroken breath through his quavering mouth. He traced each scar too faint to see and the parts of her skin their star kissed. Memorized the map of her face — each curve and crease, each fine hair, and every eyelash. He would carve out a space in his mind in her shape and fill it with the thousand sweet nothings he kept in his pockets.

He gathered her hand and threaded it with his own. When he opened his mouth, a rickety twine escaped from the deepest point of his chest, so he forced his jaws shut to keep the grief corked. He uncurled her fingers and pressed his cheek into her palm, trapping her there against his own scarred skin. His eyes fell shut as he breathed in this borrowed touch — this moment fated, stolen from him by this world's insatiable avarice.

He kissed her palm directly in the center; held it against his mouth and felt his own ruined breath echo back to him from the deepest grooves of her skin. Again, he begged, “Please, Erza.”

Of the armors innumerable now haunting this hallowed ground, this one least befit her.

He revered Death. If there was a god, surely it was Death, he thought, for Death asks for nothing but life. The dead don’t know that they’re dead. They know a split second of euphoria and then a sharp, definite end. Isn’t that the work of a gracious god? One last stroke of color whether in peace or peril, and then eternal rest. Back to the dust you sprouted from.

But now he couldn’t see any of that beauty he often waxed poetic about. All he could see was change yet to come. All he could see was her, and he wanted her back.

He wanted her back, yet he knew better than anyone that there was no such thing as resurrection. While Death might be gracious, it was not generous, and it was not to be reasoned with.

The thought of her buried deep, bathed by the dark and abandoned to rot — it washed his mouth acid sour. It ate straight through his tongue and lingered in the roots of his teeth, burning, raging redhot in his jaws’ marrow. A grave didn't suit her anymore than a pyre.

Soon she would be cold. Stiff. A feast for flies and their insatiable young. In the days to come, she would bubble and bloat and sallow. Her skin would loosen and slough off. The sun would bleach her bones. The meat of her would melt into oil and fat and bogspit. She would mix in with the soil, the groundwater, and this thankless magnolia would thrive.

It was tall, thick, with branches spread in all directions. The lowest of its limbs showed off the varied deep greens of its large waxy leaves, their undersides a chalky brown. A few white flowers bloomed, palm-shaped petals open in praise like they'd come to witness and worship. There was no question why she'd chosen to crawl here. It must've reminded her of home.

Despite its beauty, it was hardly worthy of her. Nothing in this ravenous world was. Her grave should be carved within his chest. There, he could keep her warm. He could host her in his veins. One day, they would wade the waters of woe together. Until then she could live under his skin.

He wouldn’t allow her to spoil. Wouldn’t place her gently into time’s whittlesome hands only to lose her peel by peel by rotting peel.

This world has taken much from you. Do not allow it to take her too.

A carnal ache etched itself into bone, a depth of passion he hadn't felt since he wrought for a false Heaven.

She is a fruit, ripe as a plum and twice the taste. Peel her open. There is a seed at her core. Plant it in your soot-field chest and watch her bloom anew.

What are these hands for if not this?

Flesh like sheets of silk. Muscle like rope. Blood like honey. Bone like an ivory trove. The splitting, the squelching, the straining, ripping, snapping; it burrowed marrow-deep and lingered there. Her chest peeled apart like jagged teeth, jaws croaking their rusted tune, and inside that redslick maw was the center of the universe.

The heart upon its throne, still as she, shielded by her precious lungs. It slid into his palm like it was always meant to be there. Raw, rich, and so very scarlet. Its sinews strained against his pull — those hollow vines that fed even the furthest parts of her — so he wrenched them free and draped himself in them like matchless finery.

Eat. Eat ‘til you’re sick. There’s a hole the size of her in the pit of your stomach. Eat until you fill it.

What are these teeth for if not this?

Tough as leather; smooth as rubber. His teeth slid right off the rind and clicked together with nothing but metallic sheen between them. He gnashed at that ink-dripping muscle until he found a spot weak enough to tear apart. It tasted of rare meat and iron; a heady gore thick enough to drown in. He swallowed, gasped, and that first new breath felt like a blade.

The child inside him saw her split-open ribs as his cradle. He wanted to crawl inside, curl up, and die. He wanted to paint himself her color.

He lost his vision to the hot, angry wash. His own sobs were a distant sound, muffled by meat and blood and his own desperate fingers. He was numb in the mouth and in the shake of his hands, but he forced himself to eat, eat despite the choking, the gagging, the wet, weeping remorse.

Don’t you dare throw her up. Be grateful. Swallow and say thank you and finish what you’ve started.

He bit into his own palm, indistinguishable from her core, and he cried out in sour relief. His hands spread raw grief over his face, through his hair, and down his neck.

You’re no better than this starving world.

He curled into himself, hands clutching his own aching chest, and despite the cloudless sky, he called upon the rain.