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Prompt: “It’s no use.” (Explosion | Fainting | Trembling)

CW: magical exhaustion, bleeding out, near death, fainting (obviously)

"It’s no use," hero whispers. On his knees, he slumps forward, his hands shaking. "I can’t heal you. The wound’s too deep.” It’s too deep, and his power is used up. Weak and empty, he has just enough consciousness left to focus on breathing. He can barely get enough air. Even his lungs feel shriveled. Each shallow exhale puffs out in the cold, a little haze of fog in the dark.

“It was…worth a shot.” Villain’s skin has turned ash-grey. His hand, clamped over the bleeding wound in his side, tenses once and falls to his side, limp. "Too soon…for the pun?"

"Too…" hero starts, but a wave of weakness threatens to topple him, and he clenches his teeth instead. He doesn’t have the strength to smile anyway.

Villain smiles for him, a tiny curl of his bloodstained mouth. "It’s okay...you tried."

The encroaching darkness is so close now hero can almost taste it. Or maybe it's his own blood, his exhaustion starting to destroy him from the inside. "But…supervillain…"

"Supervillain...can go…to hell."

Villain’s words. The last thing hero hears before he collapses into…nothing.

Two words. Two syllables. So simple but can carry so much weight.

-Whumpee is delirious from fever or being drugged and doesn’t recognize their friend who’s come to the rescue. Maybe they’re fighting them, maybe they’re just terrified, as carer repeats, “It’s me!”

-Or whumpee is blindfolded and startles at their friend’s touch, only relaxing at the familiar voice. “It’s me.”

-Whumpee is hiding or actively fighting off bad guys when their friend comes to the rescue. “Whoa, whoa! It’s me!”

-Maybe it’s a phone call with bad news. The person who answers doesn’t need to even hear the call to know. They can tell by the shaking in the other person’s voice. “Hey. It’s…it’s me.”

Two words. Two syllables. So simple but can carry so much weight.

-Whumpee is delirious from fever or being drugged and doesn’t recognize their friend who’s come to the rescue. Maybe they’re fighting them, maybe they’re just terrified, as carer repeats, “It’s me!”

-Or whumpee is blindfolded and startles at their friend’s touch, only relaxing at the familiar voice. “It’s me.”

-Whumpee is hiding or actively fighting off bad guys when their friend comes to the rescue. “Whoa, whoa! It’s me!”

-Maybe it’s a phone call with bad news. The person who answers doesn’t need to even hear the call to know. They can tell by the shaking in the other person’s voice. “Hey. It’s…it’s me.”

Doctor Who: The Unicorn and the Wasp | No. 22 Toxic

"It's Cyanide. There's no cure, its fatal."

Doctor Who: The Unicorn and the Wasp | No. 22 Toxic

"It's Cyanide. There's no cure, its fatal."

Here you go, Anon! Hope you like it :)

From this Gothic words list.

Mirror

CW: inhuman/demon whumpee, general Gothic imagery

The last mirror, the only one that hadn’t been smashed, or clawed into oblivion, or ripped from the wall to land splintered on the marble floor. Whumpee’s eyes traveled around the edge of his reflection, tracing the outline of his features. His gaze inched to the middle, to his mottled, inhuman skin and protruding horns. Hideous. The stuff of his own fevered dreams.

“Erik?” His sister. She stood peeking around the cellar door, timid and concerned. “Please come upstairs—it’s freezing down here—”

“It doesn’t bother me,” he mumbled, not looking at her.

That reflection. That monster looking back at him.

Anger flared in his chest, down the length of his arms. He raised his fist—

Then he felt it: her hand on his spined back. Her reflection joined his, a pale, delicate figure standing stalwart next to him.

The mirror cracked with a roar of shattering glass as his head slammed into it. His sister shrieked and cringed away, a streak of red blooming on her cheek.

The last mirror, gone. And with it, the last of his humanity.

#15 from this Skyrim Prompt Challenge.

CW: general fantasy horror imagery

Darkness surrounded hero, deeper than he yet known until this night. A night without stars, without the moon, black as if the entire forest lay underground under the cold, damp earth. He felt his way through the trees like a blind man, one hand outstretching and fumbling, the other clenched tight around the hilt of his sword.

He should never have taken that job. What kind of madman would dare wander through these woods on a moonless, starless night?

A madman like him, apparently. A madman whose fear could be overcome by the promise of a great reward. He tried to fix his mind on it…but the rustling, crackling woods forced him to listen.

A crunch. The unmistakable snap of a dead branch under a footstep. Not his own. He drew his blade, heart pounding, his body tense as a readied bowstring.

Another rustle and snap. Hero’s ears filled with an erratic popping, like pair of giant knuckles cracking over and over again.

A point of green light blossomed in the darkness. As it grew, hero’s eyes widened, little by little, and his breath snagged.

A skeleton stood before him, surpassing his own height, bones smeared with ancient grime. It brandished a coal-black blade. Its chest cavity held a glowing emerald the size of a man’s fist.

So this was the enemy he had been sent to fight.

Hero took a deep breath, inhaling the pungent scent of decay, and lunged forward.

He was indeed a madman.

Whumptober 2022 | no 23: AT THE END OF THEIR ROPE

"I know it hurts... shh, I know..."

"Tell me it's going to be alright."

"Ugh--my head--"

"Whoa--why is the room spinning?"

"I-I-I'm so cold--"

"I don't want you to see me like this."

"I just--don't want to be alone right now."

"You'll feel so much better when it's over."

"I don't care--just make the pain stop."

"So much blood...."

"I'm here. I'm right here."

"You're--you're shaking."

"You can cry, it's okay."