#my flash fiction

[uozlulu]

His name encloaks you almost like a spell. Those who reverse you listen to your every word. Those who fear you approach you intimidated or with too much confidence. You are small, you are weak, and you hate conflict, but you have his name and all the values he taught you.

You delay the armies. You outsmart the poisoners. You manage to bring both kingdoms to the negotiating table. You insist this is how it was always meant to be. You're the chosen one after all, a dragon whispered conflict resolution in your ear as a child. Never mind that dragon was your brother trying to make sure both of you survived.

Talks become treaties. You oversee it all and put your brother's name on paper. Everyone cheers and holds their breaths. Will peace last? Can it last?

Somehow it holds and you escape, returning to your name and yourself. People sing your brother praises. What a great Chosen One, truly wise beyond his years.

You breathe easier and live the life you desire.

Your hands shake as you approach the final battle. Everyone is confident you’ll win since they believe you’re the Chosen One. What they don’t know is the “Chosen One” was your older brother, and you’ve been using his name and identity ever since he died when you were 14

[marqaroll]

"Worth it" - An ECO flash fic

Igni's head slightly swayed from side to side in a bobbing motion. He sat alone on the fringes of the festivities, barely visible in the fires. Yet, he spotted the younger man stumbling towards him.

He had been noticed.

"Dance with me!" Vadeen slurred, his flushed face alight with the largest, silliest smile.

A small grin pulled at the corner of Igni's mouth. "Nah, I ain't in'trest—"

He paused when the younger man's face fell. All the joviality was gone, and his mannerisms of a wilted form indicated the offer meant something to him. That Igni taking up the offer meant something to him.

Well, Igni thought, his smile growing, s'not like it's gonna kill me…

He stood and took up the younger man's hand. The ocher eyes snapped up to look at him, shining with happiness and surprise.

Before he knew it, he was immediately swung into a playful dance. The man didn't even bother to bring him closer to the fires, perfectly content with dancing with him in the range of the music.

As he held the man's hands, Igni broke into a larger, fanged smile.

The man's smile, warm, silly. Slanted ocher eyes that held drunken but genuine mirth in them.

He moved alongside his companion with fluid grace.

...Worth it.

-----------------------------------------

Part of the world of my Hierarchy of Deities' subseries, Echoes of the Little Gods. Lookit my boys, falling in love... 😭 🥹

Is this even a flash fic? What do I know about writing short stuff... 😭

I know I'll make a better version of this, but not now...I made this up on the spot. 😳

...H-HOW?? WHO...WHO AM I?! 🤨

[gothamite-rambler]

"Weird Questions from a Weird City: Batfamily Edition

Duke Thomas: What’s your biggest fear?

Jason Todd: That I’ll never be good enough for anyone.

Tim Drake: Everyone hates me and talks about me behind my back.

Dick Grayson: Vampires.

Jason Todd: ...

Tim Drake: ...

Dick Grayson: I got turned into one once and nearly killed peoples. It's a bloodlust, you never know when you'll be fully quenched and every non-vampire is a succulent vessel... But I'm not a vampire anymore and that is in my past.

Dick eats his apple after that.

*silence*

Duke Thomas: Holy crap stick, Batman.

Tim: Can I change my option to Dick Grayson?

Jason: Same.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Secrets of the Bly

The canopy sailed over the horizon line.

The mother looked out the window, snapping the sheets as she folded them. Her clear gray eyes were the same color as the morning sky and just as gloomy.

“Closer,” she muttered. She seemed surprised she had spoken, and her hands slowed, fingers lingering on the fraying edge of her own bed sheet. She wet her lips. Said again, “Closer.”

“What’s closer?” the daughter asked.

The mother didn’t jump, but the air changed as if she did. Her shoulders stiffened. Her hands went back to work. “Nothing,” she said. Then, not being able to help herself, “The forest is growing quickly.”

“Teacher says that trees don’t grow fast. Only an inch or two a year.”

“You couldn’t see the Bly when you were a baby,” the mother said. Her heart stung. She knew her daughter wasn’t calling her foolish. Lately, when the little girl spoke of her teacher, something she never had, it makes something sour in her want to lash out. “Now look how tall it stands!”

The daughter came to the window. Her clothes were ill-fitting. She looked as if she tumbled in and then out of fresh laundry only to come up wearing a whole bedspread. The dress she wore used to be the mother’s from when she was young. Her eyes traced the horizon. “That’s faster than teacher said.”

“Not even a teacher knows everything,” the mother said. Her own mother’s voice rang through hers. That made her jump. She thrust the laundry away from her and finally looked at her daughter. “Some truths are only learned while living—”

The daughter stared at her bare feet. Shoulders rounded. Lip jutting out so far the mother could see it through her hanging, flaxen hair. The mother’s heart stung different.

“The Bly is…different,” the mother said. It’s her own voice this time. Softer and more yielding. She kneeled so that the daughter could see her right away when she chose to look up. “It’s a secret I’d like you to keep.”

The daughter’s eyes darted up, meeting the mother’s. Her lip contracted a centimeter. “A secret?”

“Just between us two,” the mother agreed. Was the little girl old enough? She would give anything to bring her daughter’s chin up again. “Your teacher is right that trees grow slow. The Bly is different here. Only here.”

“Only here?”

“On our land. You see, the Bly is home to another kind of creature. Like us, but not. They are mischievous and kind and cruel. More importantly, they’re magic.”

“Fairies,” the daughter said confidently.

“The Good Folk,” the mother said in her own mother’s voice. Then to soften it, “And that’s not the secret.”

The daughter reached out to put her hands on her mother’s shoulders. She jumped in excitement, using her mother to steady herself. “Tell me! Please, tell me.”

The mother smiled and placed her hands over her daughters. She tilted her head forward and was rewarded when her daughter stopped leaping about and pressed her own forehead against hers. She whispered, “The secret is that once, a long time ago, I stole something from them. That’s why the forest grows so quickly over the horizon. They’re looking for what I took.”

“What?!” The daughter was amazed. “You said never to steal.”

“I did. I needed it very badly, mustn’t I have?”

“Yes,” the daughter said. Her quick mind tumbled through her mother’s confession. “So you’ve been in the Bly? What was it like? Teacher says there are wolves in there. What did you steal?”

For a moment, the mother was not there. She raced through dense old growth with her feet cut to ribbons and her skirts sticking wetly to her legs. Her breath came in cold clouds in front of her and she ran through them just as quickly as they formed. She could use only one hand to shield her face from vines and branches. Her other arm was curled around the bundle in her arms.

“One day,” the mother said. She stood but wrapped her hands around her daughter’s so that she knew it was only a necessary retreat and not a complete one. “One day, when you’re older, I’ll tell you all the stories I have.”

The girl’s lower lip was out again. “How old?”

“When the Bly hits the edge of our land,” the mother said. She held out her pinky. “Promise.”

The girl was suspicious. “It grows fast?”

The mother’s heart stung differently again. “Very fast.”

“Deal!”

---

(Patreon)

[clockwayswrites]

@cannedinternets @darkstarsapocalypse @idontcaboose Phantom + Young Justice, Heads, Blue cw for Miss Martian's mental manipulation

The hatch slammed behind Conner as he stormed out onto the roof.

She was—

She was going to—

He was so stupid! He really had though that love could be enough! Like life was some sort of fucking fairytale. Like life worked out like that. But that’s what Megan had sold him, wasn’t it?

Him and her, perfect together.

A teen romance like the movies.

Meant to be.

Conner clapped his hands over his mouth to cover the ugly laugh that bubbled free without his permission.

Meant to be as long as she could make him into what she wanted. As long as he didn’t disagree. As long as she didn’t have to be wrong.

He wasn’t, he couldn’t—is this what it was like to be out of breath?

He really didn’t like the feeling if it was.

His whole body felt weak. Black was creeping into the edges of his vision. His knees buckled under him.

But he didn’t hit the roof hard. He was lowered down gently. Someone was speaking to him.

“Con, hey man, breathe for me, okay?”

Gentle but almost impossibly firm hands actually managed to pry Conner’s hands away from his mouth. That narrowed the pool of who it could be down a lot, but Conner just couldn’t get his mind to work.

“Come on, like me.” His hands were pressed against a slight chest that took an exaggerate breath.

Conner did his best to follow along.

It still took what felt like ages for the black to recede.

“Sorry… I don’t know what…”

“Panic attack,” Phantom said. He was sitting (or floating) cross legged across from Conner. He still had his hands cradled gently. “Or that would be my guess. I think you had a panic attack.”

“Oh.”

Conner didn’t how to take that. He didn’t… he was Superboy. He wasn’t supposed to panic.

“Conner… you, um, you were talking while you paced. What did you…” Phantom closed his eyes and took a breath he didn’t need. His eyes were bright when he opened them. “What did you mean about Megan making you into what she wanted? Like, was she trying to tell you what to do or—”

“She tried to wipe my memory.” The words were out before Conner could take them back. But he… he didn’t want to keep them inside him like rot. “She was going to use her powers to wipe my memory about… something.”

The temperature on the roof drops so quickly that Conner felt it. Phantom’s power crackled through it like the coming storm.

Like reckoning.

“She did what?”

[nikkilbook]

If I held still enough, the ripples wouldn’t break the illusion.

Even though my head knew that, my toes stretched out and dug soft, deep furrows into the underwater sand. Tiny bits of quartz floated up into the water and clouded the part right next to me, but there wasn’t a strong reflection there in any case. For a second, I let myself get lost in the feeling of stretching my feet as wide and far as they would go. I tried to will them into stretching even further, to the point where all the tiny joints would gently disconnect from one another before realigning properly instead of in whatever mess they normally were.

Still haven’t figured that trick out, but it’s nice to imagine how it would feel.

———

Read the rest on my Substack (free to read, donations welcome!)

[laurasimonsdaughter]

The dragon – astonishingly – was a surprise. Even in his worst nightmares there hadn’t been a dragon. But the chains were too well fastened to fight and he supposed that getting eaten was at least quicker than starving to death on this damn mountain. He closed his eyes, but the thundering shake of the ground as the dragon landed was as bad as having seen the claws dig into the earth. He closed his eyes tighter.

“Are you the seventh son of the seventh son?” The voice was inhumanly low and it shook the fear in his bones loose.

“Yes!” he screamed. “Yes! Cursed, blighted, whatever you bloody want! Just get it over with.”

There was a short, tense silence.

“I have not come to kill you, human. I want to offer you a deal.”

His eyes opened in shock. “You what?”

The dragon was sitting a few paces away from him, its scaly claws crossed over one another and its massive, shimmering wings folded behind its hulking back. The look in its glittering eyes was intelligent and calculating, but not unkind, certainly not threatening. It waited.

“What—what kind of deal?” he stammered, heart racing with a wild, terrified hope.

“I understand that you have been left here to die by your fellow humans, because you are an extremely rare type of human, that they are afraid of. Is that correct?”

He studied the dragon’s interested expression for any trace of sarcasm, but there was none. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“Well then!” the dragon exclaimed. “I propose to you this: I will break your chains and save you from the humans, and in return you will join my hoard and live in my nest.”

“I’m sorry. Join your—what do you mean live in a nest. Humans don’t live in nests.”

The dragon gave a sideways movement of its massive head, scales glinting in the sun. “There is plenty of room. It used to be a cavern in a mountain, of very respectable depth and dimensions, but during one of my hibernation some humans built a castle on top of it, so it is very suitable for humans.”

He was almost baffled enough to no longer be scared. Almost. “What happened to the people who built it?”

The dragon, somehow, managed to arch a nonexistent eyebrow. “They live there,” it replied, slowly, as if it feared that he was rather slower on the uptake than expected. “That was the start of my hoard, you see.”

He hadn’t misheard it. It did say ‘hoard’. “But...dragons hoard gold, jewels, riches…”

“Uninspired amateurs,” the dragon sniffed. “All very well for one’s hatchling years, but honestly.” The glittering eyes squinted down at him. “Do you not want to join my hoard?”

“I…” Living in a castle with a dragon for a protector sure beat being chained to a rock by feral townsfolk, there was no doubt about that. And what other choice did he have? He swallowed. “I do.”

“Wonderful!” Joyful sparks snapped off the dragon’s jaw as it gracefully leapt upright. “I shall do away with those pesky chains.” And he came towards him with remarkably light steps.

“Do you live very far away?” he blurted out, nervously watching the dragon as it studied the iron rings hammered into the stone. “Will I be able to—I cannot just leave my brothers behind!”

The dragon, who had just crushed one end of the chain to warped bits of broken iron in its claw, looked up distractedly. “Whatever are you talking about? All your brothers are at my nest already. Who do you think told me where to find you?”

His heart leapt in his chest. He didn’t even notice the heavy weight of the chains fall away as they slid to the ground. “You...you’d want to keep my brothers too?”

The dragon made an indignant noise, bowing down low and motioning rather impatiently for him to climb on its back. “What kind of dragon do you take me for! I must have the whole set.”

[whereserpentswalk]

Most interdimensional entities that humans consider horrifying demons and eldrich horrors actually consider humans pretty dangerous unless they're actively trained fighters. Your average extraplaner being isn't used to dealing with a species that evolved to hunt in groups, and developed to survive in violent scenarios.

Most final girl situations happen because young entities deeply underestimate that humans have such a strong will to live, and are willing to fight back agasint a stronger foe. Most older entities keep at bay for this very reason, which is why you just see them stranding around being creepy.

That pale long limbed cryptid you spotted in a subway station moved so quickly because it doesn't want to end up near you. That shadow person whose hovering over you in the woods is trying to observe you, but it will teleport away if anyone comes near it for a good reason.

And that doppelganger that's standing by your door at night just wants to observe you too. He was smart to try to copy your roommate's face, but he doesn't realize how good humans are at recognizing eachother's faces, and that his copy will be disturbing to any human who sees it. And he got way to reckless with his movements and bad attempts to imitate human speech. Trying to trick the human who he wants to study into coming to his dimensions is an even bigger mistake, especially since he didn't realize how quickly the human would catch on. He's soon going to learn things he should have read up on before hand: humans will try to attack things they're afraid of if they can't run away, humans can use almost any hard object as a weapon by holding it and swinging, and that those decorations on your wall are called 'swords' and were not originally designed as decorations...

[plushipaws]

“Dragon, I am not sure that I am a prince.”

“Of course not, you are my beloved pet.” “No, I mean… gender-wise.”

“Oh. Are you a princess?”

“No, I don’t think so.” “Alright, dear. Then, what are you?” “I think- well I’m not sure I am allowed.”

“You can be anything you want to be, my darling.”

“Well- and please don’t laugh- I think I’d like to be a dragon. … Like you.”

The dragon purred and wrapped its long neck around the smaller being and nuzzled its nose on their head. “Then a dragon you are, my love.”

“But I’m worried I’m not qualified to be a dragon. I don’t have scales or wings.”

“Dragons come in all sorts of kinds. Many are scaleless or wingless.”

“And I’m rather small and weak for a dragon…” They sighed. “I mean, I am already fairly small and weak for a human.”

The dragon studied the being who was now a smaller dragon for a long time before speaking rather gently. “I am rather small and weak for a dragon too you know… It is something I never told you, and you couldn’t know because you have none other to compare me to.” “What? But you’re so big and strong! You fly ten miles a day to hunt for us and you defend me from nosey knights who try to ‘rescue’ me!”

The dragon nodded. “Yes, but other dragons can fly for a thousand miles a day and hunt for an army, and they could fight off an army too. After fighting a single knight I become quite tired… This is why I live alone in this cave, away from other dragons. They harass me for my weakness, and try to push me to do more… they say what I am is not enough.” With this, the dragon lowered it’s head, seeming to feel ashamed. 

The smaller, human shaped dragon kissed the larger one on the snout. “Well, you are certainly enough for me. You might not be able to fight or feed an army, but your hunts keep us both full and your claws keep us both safe. And I always look forward to curling up under your wings at the end of the day. You don’t have to be alone anymore.” They frowned, their brow furrowing. “It makes me angry how you were treated.”

“It makes me angry how you were treated! That is what drew me to rescue you. I could see your society was treating you the same as mine was… Pushing you to do too much when you were tired, not appreciating you for who you are… but I appreciate you. You always know how to make me laugh, and all your little faces are so cute. I always look forward to feeling you press against my sides at the end of the day.” It nuzzled them. “You are dragon enough for me, better than any other dragon I have met. You are enough.”

The smaller dragon nodded. “We are our own sort of dragons. And that is enough.”

[radiotrophicfungi]

BLINKIE SET #66 . . . SELFSHIPPING!

a quick recolor set with lots of colors to choose from for your convenience! the original blinkie is the white one on the top left. I was going to make it a part of another lovecore set, but decided to do this instead!

[microsff]

"We were the first companion," the dog said, "the first ally and friend."

"Well done you," the cat said.

"After us, the humans befriended cows, sheep, goats, and pigs."

"Humans domesticated so many animals."

"And you."

"Us?" the cat said. "We only domesticated one. Humans."

[watercolorfreckles]

Could you do a story where a guard of a Supermax prison befriends a supervillain, because he treats him like a genuine human being instead of an animal; and later, all the power-dampeners suddenly fail; and all these villains just revolt against the guards; but supervillain makes sure he’s safe since he was always kind to him?

I understand if you don’t want to!!❤️

Hello! This has been sittin in my inbox for many months during my huge writing rut, sorry about that! I know you also gave this prompt to @the-modern-typewriter and she's been making an incredible series with it on patreon! I changed some things around because I don't want to in any way attempt some sad copy of her interpretation, but I was still inspired by the prompt itself, so I've taken some fairly big liberties to avoid any significant similarities! Hope that's okay! Also, please manage your expectations, I do not compare to the magic that is TMT's writing 😆

TW: Brief depictions of body horror. Violence.

The power blew out in sections. The lights dissolved sector by sector with a sickening whine and click–one by one–in approach.

The commotion ripped Eloise from the fictional world she was lost in, aged page corners still pinched beneath her thumb. Her spirited storytelling abruptly died behind her teeth.

Somewhere in the distance, one person shouted. Two.

Her gaze flicked behind them to the door isolating herself and the bound supervillain from the other sectors of the Maximum Security Prison for Powered Individuals or, as everyone called it, The Max. Seeing nothing but black beyond the bullet-proof glass, her attention snapped forward again to the supervillain imprisoned across from her. 

Was this the start of some elaborate escape plan on his part? Why did it have to happen on a day that she was stuck fulfilling her community service hours instead of being something she could safely gawk at in the newspaper from a distance in a few days? Her stomach did a nauseated flip. 

“What are you doing?” she blurted, voice quivering only a little. Her fingers tightened around her book.

The villain made a show of looking pointedly at his restraints. Wrists strung taut and chained to either wall, he shrugged an innocent shoulder at her as if to say “clearly, nothing.” He was perched on the edge of his bed like a bird, tilting his head with a matching sort of probing curiosity. 

For all the chaos outside of the room, Artisan had not a hair out of place. He appeared perfectly unconcerned, though as thoroughly trapped as ever: ankles shackled, arms stretched uselessly apart from each other. The power-dampening collar wrapped around his neck still blipped a faint red light, indicating it was active. 

The prisoners were rioting. Surely they couldn’t get too far? Containing the most dangerous of powered individuals was, after all, the express purpose of the facility…

The lights above them flickered, dipping the room in and out of inky darkness before settling into a dimly lit haze. Eloise’s breath stalled. The imposing dark felt like a threat, as if the lights could keep the monsters at bay. It only made a little sense, in the way that a child feels safe from the monsters under their bed as long as their nightlight is plugged in.

Except that these monsters were real. The most dangerous in the country. And she was currently feet away from the monster that made even other monsters run.

He hadn’t seemed so bad in the time that she’d known him. Quiet, impassive, yet twisting her gut with pity any time she eyed his barbaric restraints. The least she could do–while crossing off her hours–was to read the supervillain a story every few days. She couldn’t change his fate. Couldn’t make him more comfortable. What she could do was rattle off, sheepishly, about fictional worlds and impactful characters in literature and the way that a well-crafted story could transport you somewhere better.

A crash, gunshots, a scream. Tension racketed through Eloise’s shoulders. More shouts chased thundering footsteps.

Things were going very, very, wrong. And she was very much out of her depth.

Eloise jolted as something struck the door, her special-edition copy of Mary Shelly's Frankenstein falling to the ground and skidding away.

Finally, the lights cut out. With it, every noticeable piece of tech died. All of the energy felt sucked out of the room as if vacuumed. The camera’s blinking light disappeared. Alarms that should have been wailing cut silent. Speakers, keypads, and security systems, all dead. The secondary generator hadn’t sprung to life yet. That meant that this was more than a simple power outage. This was a calculated revolt.

 Eloise’s mind raced through a list of everything else that must have been failing. Coms. Sedative gas. Shock collars. Layers and layers of security locks…

Power dampeners.

Panic clamped vice-like and suffocating around her throat. Artisan’s collar was no longer blinking. 

She froze in the eerie silence of the cell, afraid of shattering the fragile calm. Her heart thumped, rabid, against her ribs.

Chains rattled and clinked to the floor.

Eloise bolted blindly for the door, smacking her palm against the DNA scanner while frantically swiping her “Volunteer Staff” badge through the card reader. When neither miraculously came to life, she resorted to banging on the door.

“Let me out, let me out! Guard!”

The door could only be opened by one person inside the cell and one outside simultaneously unlocking the security checkpoints. Even if the power were on, if the guard on the other side was gone…

The emergency floodlights kicked on, bathing the building in startling fluorescence. Eloise flinched, briefly stunned.

Hands grabbed her firmly from behind, yanking her backward.

Eloise yelped. “No, please–!”

The spot that she had been standing in exploded, steel door and concrete chunks collapsing into the room in a barrage of shrapnel. Something–no, someone–landed, bones crunching, at her feet. The guard who had last been standing on the opposite side of the door lay motionless. His blood puddled the floor, staining the soles of her Converse sneakers.

A horrified sound choked in Eloise’s throat.

Another supervillain strode in, eyes alight with hatred and something more–power. His lip curled, waving a mocking hand–engulfed in green energy–at the guard’s corpse. “God. I’ve wanted to do that for far too long. That one always got on my nerves.”

Artisan looked unimpressed. “You’re making a mess in my cell.”

Eloise’s breath caught. Hearing the supervillain’s voice was jarring. Artisan rarely spoke. Not that any of the other staff had ever actually attempted conversation with him… But even in news clips and YouTube videos, he carried himself with the kind of self-assured quiet of someone who had absolutely nothing to prove. His lethal efficiency did more for his reputation than any words could.

The other man was a villain named William Frenzy, a telekinetic with a gleeful taste for violence.

Faced with Artisan’s startling calm, Frenzy… paused. Faltering on a tight rope he had moments before been strolling across. 

“Yes, well. It won’t have to be your cell much longer, will it? They can’t stop all of us.” He smirked at the dead body on the floor. “Some of them can’t even stop one of us.”

Eloise shrank back toward the corner nearest the door, agonizingly slow, willing the ugly shadows from the artificial lighting to swallow her up while the supers focused on each other. She was the kind of person that people tended not to notice; a background character in the perimeter of a story that the protagonist would meet once and never spare a thought again. She wished, then, that invisibility really was her superpower.

Artisan said nothing, his steely gaze fixed upon Frenzy.

Frenzy floundered beneath the scrutiny. The smugness buffered on his face. Finally, he huffed, crossing his arms. “I made you a nice and easy door out. You’re welcome.” He flicked a hand toward the gaping hole in the wall.

Eloise inched further toward it.

Artisan tutted, and while it wasn’t aimed at her, it shot a cold thrill up her spine. She froze, briefly, before continuing her tantalizing escape. She listened to Artisan speak again. 

“I did not need anything from you. I’ll be getting out regardless. You on the other hand…” 

Eloise stared as Frenzy’s skin shrank taut against his bones, the frame of him creaking and groaning like an old tree in the wind. The air choked out of him, fingers grabbing at his jaw as it stretched open too wide. The corners of his lips tore, slitting his mouth into a gaping maw.

The faintest of smiles graced Artisan's lips as he continued, soft as ever. “Say sorry.”

Eloise didn’t wait to see the carnage through, slipping out into the hall and running.

The other sectors were washed in the same sterile glow as Artisan’s cell was, blue-tinged and horrible, like the lights in a dentist's office. She kept to the edge of things as best she could, clinging to the walls and dark corners.

There was brawling in every sector—guards with weapons drawn mowed to the ground by the creatures they had wardened for so long. A villain fell as shots rang out. Another grabbed the guard from behind, cracking his skull against their knee. 

The smell of blood stung Eloise’s nostrils. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe.

She turned to flee down another hall, but two fighting inmates crashed into the doorway in front of her.

Eloise squealed, jerking backward into the belly of the room's chaos.

Don't notice me, don't notice me, don't notice me.

Everyone was so occupied by their chosen prey, maybe she could fade into the background. Maybe she could–

Her heel caught on something and she tumbled, gracelessly, to the floor. It took her several moments to register the lake of blood seeping warm and sticky into her clothing. 

Terror blurred her brain in a white flash bang.

Disappear, disappear, disappear…

“Mm. What do we have here?”

Eloise couldn’t bring herself to lift her head. She clamped her eyes shut, another child’s illusion of protection. 

The villain opposite her chuckled. He ripped her volunteer badge off of its clip against her chest. Her eyes snapped open again. She recognized him as a ringleader among superpowered thieves. They called him Volt.

“Volunteer, eh? A pretty thing like you should know better than to willingly set foot in a prison full of men with nothing left to lose. It’s been a long sentence, darling. I could make excellent use of your volunteer services. Get up.”

Numbly, ears full of static, Eloise shook her head.

Volt frowned, electricity jumping to life in his palms. “No?” He reached for her, hand nearing her throat.

“Keep your hands to yourself or I will remove them.” 

Artisan’s voice was calm. His eyes were not.

The room quieted.

Spatters of red decorated Artisan’s prison uniform. A few drops dotted his face and he brushed them away with his knuckles, smearing the crimson across his cheek. Almost lazily, he popped his neck and stretched his shoulders, no doubt sore from the strain his restraints kept him in.

The villain across from Eloise paused, sparks still dancing across his fingertips. He regarded Artisan with the same wary caution as Frenzy had.

Before he'd been… Before Artisan had…

Eloise swallowed back the nausea climbing her throat.

Finally, Volt’s hand lowered. “She's yours?”

“She's hers. Step away.”

The man hesitated a moment too long. Artisan didn't offer a second warning. 

As if puppeted, the man's fingers raised to gauge at his own eyes. He screamed, the faint evidence of Artisan’s power shimmering over him. He clawed, next, at the skin on his face, peeling it back like wet wallpaper. 

As promised, his wrists crunched and bent, wrenching all on their own at impossible angles.

Eloise covered her ears, unable to bear the screaming. She felt sick.

“Stop,” she whispered finally. “Please.”

It did. The man collapsed into a sobbing, bloodied heap.

When Eloise managed to look at Artisan, she startled to find his attention fixed on her.

They stared at each other for a stretch of silence that itched. She imagined being forced to choke on her own lungs, or her skull constricting in on itself until it squashed her brain into pulp. For being so bold as to run, he might snap her legs and reaffix them the wrong direction, or splinter her bones to poke, grotesque, out of her skin. They always did say that his victims were his personal works of art, bodies twisted into shells of monsters.

He crooked a finger, beckoning her.

The edges of her vision swooped fuzzy and vertiginous. She rose onto wobbly knees and pushed herself to her feet. When she swayed, Artisan caught her elbow, slipping an arm around her waist to lead her forward.

He did not look back at the others, with complete confidence that no one would challenge him.

No one did.

Eloise was barely aware of taking one step after another. When they arrived back in the villain’s cell, the bodies of Frenzy and the dead guard, thankfully, were gone, though the floor was streaked with the drag lines of their blood.

She wrenched her gaze away.

Artisan’s hand moved further down her arm to her wrist, gesturing that she sit on his bed. When she shifted to do so, his grip tightened, tugging her to a stop. She frozen and tried to read his face. 

His dark brows were furrowed, suspicious eyes flicking from hers down to her hand.

He pulled down her sleeve and held her wrist up between them, revealing the power-blocking cuff clamped around it. His head cocked. He waited.

Eloise swallowed. “I’m not a super. I mean- not a super-super. Just a…..no one.”

“A no-one who volunteers at The Max? With a power-dampener?”

“They’re terms of my probation,” she blurted. “A thousand hours of community service here and a power-inhibitor for a year. I think they put me here to threaten me with where I could end up if I continue on like… Um…”

“Me.”

“A villain,” she clarified, as if that was better. 

Her gaze flitted from the fingers wrapped around her wrist and up to the villain’s face again. The harsh lighting haloed him, dimly silhouetting his face. He looked haunting. He looked lovely. A beautiful house, old and creaking, wrapped in ghosts like a bride’s veil and left to rot. 

“What did you do?”

“I…” Eloise felt very small. “I lied about being powered on my documents. So that they wouldn’t put me on the registry. When they found me out, I tried to run away.”

Artisan’s scrutiny burned her cheeks. He let go of her wrist.

“...What can you do?”

“Nothing special,” she said, cradling her wrist–wholly uninjured as it was–in her other hand. “It doesn’t even work most of the time. My power is sort of…blending in. Going unnoticed. When it’s working, I could stand in a the White House and people’s attention would glide over me as if I belonged there. Not quite invisible, but… It just tricks your brain into not thinking twice.”

Artisan’s eyes narrowed.

Eloise flinched back a step, stumbling back over her fallen book onto the bed. She stared at him.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Some of the tension eased from her shoulders, but she still waited for the catch. “Why aren’t you out there with the rest of them? Trying to escape?”

The villain considered her for a long moment. He sat down beside her, and the hard cot creaked beneath his weight. “Mm. That’s just it. No one inside the prison could have blown the power-dampeners. They require someone with powers to turn them off or on, and the security is impenetrable. My team has tried. Besides, if this was a simple power outage, the inhibitors would still be on. But they’re not. This was premeditated–and no one imprisoned here could have done it. No one on the outside could have done it. So. Process of elimination. Who’s left?”

That was the most Eloise had ever heard Artisan speak, and she could only sit and listen intently–As he had when she’d read him stories. Her brain whirred in a jumbled jigsaw of puzzle pieces. 

“It… It could only be an inside job.” She wet her lips. “The heroes- The higher-ups- They want the prisoners to break out so that they can kill them. A clean massacre. Justified under the law. The world’s most dangerous criminals could never be allowed to escape…”

Artisan smiled and it swirled something in her insides. “A convenient way to get rid of all of the pesky criminals clogging up the system. I’d bet anything that there are 50 snipers surrounding the building, waiting to slaughter anyone who steps foot outside.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Artisan agreed, his smile easing into something softer; something with less feral teeth.

“Thank you for helping me,” Eloise whispered. “What do we do now?”

Artisan hummed. He bent down and swept up her book, dropping it into her lap. He laid back against his pillow and crossed his arms behind his head. The bloodspots on his skin and clothes glittered in the lowlight. 

“Keep reading. I want to know how it ends.”

Part 2

[ruvviks]

THE EVIL WITHIN 2 ➤ [10/?]

[gothamite-rambler]

Harley smirked, "I earned my psych diploma, boys."

Harley (analyzing the wayne boys): You have depression, daddy issues, mommy issues, chaos issues, insomnia, attachment issues, anger issues and a constant need to make people happy even if you struggle with it.

Dick, Jason, Damian, Tim looked at each other wondering who's she's referring to.

Harley (tight smile): All of ya, it refers to all of ya.

Dick: I don't have attachment issues!

Harley: Jason and I talk a lot, you do. Tim and I talk a lot too, you do. It's perfectly normal though.

Dick glared both his brother who averted eye contact with the man.

Cass: What about me?

Harley: Oh you're perfect.

Dick: She has all of the shit you told us we have!

Harley: She doesn't have insomnia or anger issues, and she's fixed her daddy issues thanks to Bruce.

Cass clapped happily.

Duke (pausing a show on his phone): I was good with my mom and dad, but what would you give me?

Harley: Traumatized, social anxiety, no parent issues, but guilt for not savin' them and a tad bit of depression.

Duke (happy): A tad? I'm doing good then!

Duke returned to watching his show.

Tim (bothered): That's not fair.

Harley: It's not my fault you and ya brothers deal with cripplin' depression brought on by numerous traumatic episodes which leads ya to being easily startled at times, avoiding specific situations and leaves the three oldest sexually confused due to switchin' your pain to pleasure.

Damian sighed relived at the last part while the three oldest Wayne boys blushed because she was right. Duke chuckled slowly, turning into loud laughter.

Duke: Didn't miss a beat, did she?

Dick (blushing): I'm not... that into pain.

Harley (doubtful expression on her face): Don't lie.

The brothers left annoyed that Harley was right, while the therapist pats herself on the shoulder for her therapy skills sticking.

Harley: Joker insanity or not I still got it! I'm getting accepted by better help soon enough.

Duke laughed harder causing Cass to shake her head with a smile.

pt 2

[fanofspooky]

Favorite horror movie characters 28/♾️

Jonesy - Alien

[copia]

THIRTY-ONE DAYS OF GHOST ⛧ DAY ONE

first song you heard — Mary On A Cross

September 1969; Papa Nihil and the beginning of the Ghost Project take to the stage at the Whiskey a Go Go club in Los Angeles, under the watchful eye of Sister Imperator. Fifty-three years later, in Tampa, Florida, Papa Emeritus the Fourth performs Mary On A Cross, unaware that he is singing the story of his parents—and that of himself.