mm-markus

[mm-markus]

If a haunted house ever took me captive and never let me leave, I think I'd be fine with that. I hate going places, I wanna be home all day every day.

[mm-markus]

How ugly you've become.

CW: mentions of prosthetic body part, threat of violence, mentions of the global cost of living crisis (very brief)

It had been a quiet day at the shop, with customers few and far between. Civilian watched as evening crept upon the city, and the streetlamp in front of the tech store lit up. Light rumbling could be heard from the sky, accompanied by the heavy drumming, almost rhythmically, on the poorly insulated windows. 

The shop was supposed to be open all day around with moderate traffic, but at night it decreased drastically to one, or occasionally two, poor fools who had spilled stale coffee on the keyboard of their computer, or used the wrong browser to buy a few grams of weed. The night shift was usually a blessing. Nobody really liked the city streets anymore. Especially not at night.

Civilian had spent most of the earlier hours of their shift behind the counter, but by midnight they had gotten restless. By quarter to one, they had given up entirely, deciding on rearranging a shelf in the back instead. Nobody came to the store by this hour. Besides, if some idiot got desperate enough they’d hear them banging on the front door anyway. 

Civilian stepped out from behind the benchtop, heading for the door, to officially lock up for the night after a long evening of doing, and selling, absolutely nothing. Civilian yanked on the handle a couple of times for good measure after all four locks had been turned. Afterall, one could never be safe enough in this goddamn city. With the price of rent and the cost of living these days, people would sooner die of billionaires hoarding their fortune than villains and petty criminals even so much as glancing in their general direction.

They turned from the door, stumbling, as the mechanic parts of their leg whirled where it attached at their knee. The electric shocks running up their thigh nearly sent them sprawling on the floor.

“Fucking great,” they bit out through gritted teeth, their muscles cramping and seizing with every movement. 

The distance between the door and the desk back in the workshop only seemed to grow with every horrid inch, the mechanic prestetic protesting with every step and at the slightest of weight placed on to it.

“C’mon, we’re almost there,” Civilian grunted as they passed the counter. “You got this. You got this, you fuckin’ piece of shit junk!”

As soon as they hit the power button the tense muscles in his leg unlocked, shaking with the aftershocks of electricity. Civilian let out a sigh of relief, slumping in the, quite unfortunate looking and worn, wheely chair. They closed their eyes, letting the cramping of his leg pass. No shelf organising tonight, they thought. 

“I’ll  fix this stupid scrap of a leg when it stops twitching,” they sighed, heaving with the effort to relax their body. “I just need a moment.”

Their eyelids grew heavy as the unruly twitching of their left thigh calmed down. Sleeping on the job was never appreciated, but they figured that a little nap couldn’t possibly hurt if they’d already locked up for the night.

………..

Civilian startled awake at the sound of a chiming bell. They looked over at the cheap yellow digital clock blinking on their desk. 00:43 AM. Civilian rubbed their face, sighing. They hadn’t been out for long, half an hour at best. Thank god they locked up the shop…

The memory of the noise that had awoken them from their slumber smacked their brain out of its sleep-addled state. They’d locked the doors, hadn’t they? 

With the click of the button, their prosthetic leg whirled, less than soundlessly, back to life. Fixing whatever that caused the earlier tantrum could wait. If Civilian had locked the front door, then how the fuck did it chime?

Grabbing a turnscrew, Civilian stood slowly from the squeaking wheely chair. They inched towards the open doorway between the workshop and the counter. 

“S-Sorry pal, we’re closed for tonight,” they cursed themselves internally for the stutter. “You can come back tomorrow and I’ll fix whatever you need fixed, on the house,” Civilian said as they made their way through the narrow doorway into the front of the shop. And— Empty. 

“That won’t be necessary,” the chill of the distorted voice matched the cold steel pressing into the back of Civilian’s skull. As if on command, they raised their hands. “Drop the screwdriver, and I won’t break your arm.”

[mm-markus]

OMG I LOVE YOUR STORIES SO MUCH!

Could you please do one where the villian dies and the hero is all sad and stuff but then they find out the villian isn't actually dead?

Request #32

Ooooooo yes, yes, this will do nicely...

The bed was cold. Had been cold for the past two weeks.

The hero did what they'd now grown accustomed to doing and pulled a pillow against their chest, hugging it tightly whilst their eyes slipped shut - wishing it was something else. Someone else.

Sleep wasn't easy still, but it was getting better. The hero managed to drift off over the course of an hour, mind pointedly blank as they let the relief of unconsciousness wash over them. It was the only time they didn't think of them. The only time they didn't have to remember...

They woke up only three hours later. Or, at least, they thought they did. But when they felt a puff of breath against their neck and an arm draped over their waist - the embrace so warm and so familiar - the hero knew that they must be dreaming.

They turned around sleepily and tucked their head beneath the villain's chin, hiding themself away into the safest place they knew.

Softly, a hand came up to stroke through their hair, skilled fingers carding through messy locks: "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

The hero could have cried at the sound of that voice. Instead they simply cuddled closer, taking the small moment for what it was.

"You didn't," they said. "I'm still dreaming."

The villain hummed. "Is it a good dream?" they asked.

"It's perfect," the hero said.

A beat.

The silence between them was soft. Comfortable. A quiet sanctuary made for just the two of them to share - so familiar with one another that it seemed only natural that they should take a moment to indulge in that single embrace; natural to let all other things fall away if only to acknowledge a touch as if it were holy.

"I didn't plan to run," the villain said after a while. "Definitely not for that long."

The hero huffed, the sound of it bitter as it left their lips. "I wouldn't exactly call dying 'running.'"

"Woah, who said anything about dying?"

The hero froze.

Suddenly something seemed to dawn on them. Or, more accurately, everything did: the warmth of the bed, the villain's hand in their hair, their shared breaths, the way the sheets tangled around their legs...Too detailed, too specific, too - too real.

"What do you mean dying?" the villain pressed.

The villain who was alive, and here, and holding them.

Wait.

Wait.

The hero sat up and switched on the light, half expecting the villain to vanish with the room's shadows but instead they remained, dark eyes blinking up at them with more innocence than they should be allowed.

The hero's next breath came out shakily, voice no stronger than a hollow whisper: "How are you here?"

The villain's head cocked to the side, one hand reaching out...

The hero shuffled back. "You died."

Their partner froze almost perfectly, a tense second passing between them before their hand retracted back and they joined the hero in sitting up straight, brow drawing down in the same way it always did when things got serious. Always had...

Did - had; did - god the hero didn't know what to think anymore.

If the villain was alive then what had they seen? What had been plaguing their dreams - stealing the breath and tears right from them - for the past two weeks?

They had thought...God, they had thought...

In that moment, they truly didn't know whether they wanted to punch the villain or hug them.

"Hero, you," the other paused, eyes widening fractionally at the sight of the tears quickly gathering in the hero's eyes. "You didn't think I was dead, right?"

At the simple question, the hero's expression crumbled miserably.

A broken sob split free from their throat and they fumbled - still hopelessly torn between punching and hugging so they grabbed the pillow next to them instead, clutching it close and burying their face. The villain was everything to them; they had thought they'd lost everything.

"Oh, Hero, I'm so sorry." The villain's arms found them quickly, pulling them tight and close. "I'm so sorry, I didn't- I thought you would know. I thought you would - you always know me so well - and I...Two weeks. God, you thought I-- for two weeks."

Screw the pillow, the hero was too wrecked right now to do anything but cry. They pushed the item away in favour of clinging onto the villain instead, pressing in as close as they could manage.

"I'm sorry," the villain kept saying. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Good. They should be.

The hero hated them - hated them.

And they also loved them. So, so much.

Whatever had happened before didn't matter in that moment. The hero couldn't have cared less about how the villain had gotten there - how they'd come back, come home - because at the heart of it all they didn't have time to. The night was still pressing down on them: outside the streets were dark, the city lights shining coldly underneath a misted fall of rain and the sound of a rumbling unquiet...

And the hero was still so scared that they would wake up.

[mm-markus]

Short snippet #1

“Sneak out of the base, they said. It will be fun, they said,” Sidekick muttered as they roamed the seemingly abandoned back streets of the city. Their fingers traced the grooves between the thickly layered bricks of the alley wall, seeking any form of guidance in the blinding darkness. 

Sidekick had been wandering for hours, trying to find their fellow heroes in training who had convinced them to join their little escapade of roasting sausages on a disposable grill in the city park.

The sun had set hours ago, and thick, rain-heavy clouds cast their shadows over the city, locking the moon and her stars in a misty prison for the night.

“I should’ve just said no,” they murmured to themself as they leaned against the wall. Tiny droplets had begun drizzling from the murky shadow-grey skies. “No way there isn’t a single lamppost in this part of town.” 

They shot away from the wall as a sudden noise echoed from the path they had walked, effectively startling them out of their brooding. Sidekick willed their voice to remain steady as they turned in the direction of the noise. “Who’s there?” 

Silence 

“Must’ve been the wind,” they breathed into the quiescent air. “Yeah it’s probably just the wind and absolutely, most definitely nothing else.” they stammered, continuing down the alley path. 

Sidekick could’ve sworn they heard muffled footsteps following them. They were so occupied listening for any sound coming from behind them that they barely noticed the weak, yellowish light streaming into the opening of the alleyway. They looked back as they approached the dull illuminated bulb. 

If there was nothing there then why did they keep hearing footsteps? Were they just paranoid?

The glow from the lamppost flickered and then got dimmer, and as Sidekick turned to face the streetlamp their heart dropped into their stomach. Somebody was blocking the light. A very tall and terrifying somebody, dressed in Supervillain’s colours.