#how long is a snippet?

[demaparbat-hp]

Oh, Lala...

[yorshie]

Safe With Leo

bayverse leo x female reader

SFW, reader in peril off screen, injured reader, Leo pining like a TREE, new nickname acquired, reader is not coping well after violence.

(I think the backstory me and @fuckedupcleric decided to go with was reader got carjacked then Leo did his own carjacking to get her back, but it's up for reader interpretation)

“Where do you think you’re going?”

His voice was low and even, at odds with the way his hands were clenched tightly into fists at his sides. Your gaze lingered on where the right was freshly bandaged, the strips of linen tight, the smell of ointment heavy in the air surrounding him.

The hallway where Leo caught you skulking wasn’t very wide. His shell blocked most of the light from the arcade around the corner. You tried, and failed, not to shrink in on yourself, despite the little voice screaming at you that it was Leo, the one person you always felt safe with. Should always feel safe with.

“Can’t sleep.” You told him, finally, honestly, too tired and too jittery to be able to stand the beeping and sterile cleanliness of the needle room. Your voice was a croaky thing, raw from screaming and sobbing yourself hoarse. Your ears rang, where you had deafened yourself in the enclosed space. Your palms and feet were raw, bruised from the concrete and trying to scratch yourself free. Your arms stung underneath where you were gripping onto your biceps in an attempt to hold yourself together. You could feel the deep cuts littered there, even through the bandages underneath the soft sleep shirt covering you. Covering you, you reminded yourself.

Safe with Leo, you told yourself again.

He let out a slow, heavy breath, the kind you were used to hearing directed at Raph, or Mikey, when either was being particularly annoying. It twisted something deep inside your gut, soured the saliva in the back of your mouth. The feeling of being trapped settled back in your gut when he swayed to the side, creating a space for you to slip past him.

He followed you, like a hound shadowing your footsteps, raising the hair along the nape of your neck. You heard him huff, the noise quiet, before he dropped back another step.

His voice was soft, but firm, when you reached the atrium, “Turn left, head to my room.”

You stalled, foot catching on the cold floor, a wince pulling at your mouth before you could hide the pain, “But-”

Leo shook his head, closing his eyes to dismiss your protest, “There’s no way you’re going to sleep on that couch, blossom.”

Blossom.

That was a new nickname. Before tonight, he’d always used your name, formal and polite, or on the rare occasion, if you were being especially sassy, he’d drop ‘princess’ in a smooth and silky voice that never failed to shut you up in a way Raph couldn’t when he teased you.

Tonight, however, Leo hadn’t whispered your name when he’d scooped you out of the trunk of the car hours before. No, it’d been blossom he’d pressed against your bloodied hair, voice wrecked and shaking as he’d cradled you in his arms and bared his teeth at Donnie when his brother had tried to take you away. It had been blossom he’d cooed at you while holding you still so Donnie could bandage the cuts on your arms, back and legs while you cried.

It’d been blossom he’d whispered when everything had become too much and you’d curled up into a little ball, the last word you’d heard when Donnie had ushered everyone out of the needle room.

Hearing it now, your feet resumed automatically, not ready to press and ask questions, not liking the newfound uncertainty that surrounded your feelings where Leonardo was concerned. 

He shadowed you all the way to his room, his normal, soothing demeanor gone, feeling more like a caged animal at your back than the friend you had grown to know these past two years. 

You stalled just inside the door, taking in the neat and orderly room that you’d only seen in passing before. “I don’t… think I should be here.” 

It felt sacrilegious. A privilege you hadn’t earned. An insight to Leo that made your palms sweaty and itchy and your stomach feel like lead. You wanted to be here…

You feared it.

He was watching you with an unreadable expression when you turned. “Do you want to go back to the needle room?”

Needle Room. Just the name sent a shiver down your spine, goosebumps and chills breaking out as you recalled the phantom smell of rubbing alcohol and disinfectant.

“No,” you whispered, too tired to keep the petulant edge from your voice despite the fact you knew he hated it.

Leo sighed again, his shoulders moving with the motion, and you idly realized his hands had yet to move, or unclench, from the rigid way he kept them at his sides. “Then, you,” He tipped his beak towards you, then to a point across the room, “bed.” 

He waited, patient as the moon, for you to cross the room, silent as you pulled back the covers and slipped between the sheets. You weren’t sure what to make of the way his eyes lingered for a moment, or of the way tension seemed to bleed out from his frame.

“Get some sleep.” He offered, voice noticeably softer, closer to that rumble you remember from the nightmare of your rescue. “If you need me, I’ll be just down the hall.”

You watched, unblinking, as he turned and disappeared from the doorway, not even a scuff of his feet to announce his departure. 

Maybe you were dreaming, maybe it had been a fictitious Leonardo that had offered the one thing you’d dreamt of, the one thing that you were sure you’d never get to experience. The one wish you’d squashed and squeezed, hoping one day it would disappear completely.

You were in his space. You looked slowly around the room, taking in the little pieces of decor, and the way everything was set just so. It screamed Leo, down to the soft blue blankets you were curled up under. 

Safe. The room told you. Safe from prying eyes, from staticy emotion boiling off other’s bodies, from questions you weren’t in any state to answer.

Safe with Leo.

Your eyelids fluttered, tension bleeding out of your spine with every deep inhale, letting the stale scent of teakwood and jasmine on the sheets, the incense from across the room, the tea on the little table beside your head, swirl together, lulling you to sleep with the scent of Leo.

Safe with Leo.

[the-broken-pen]

Hello! Heard you were open for writing request? Had this idea in mind about a villain who's Russian and a hero who's falling for villain's accent? Maybe a bit of flirty banter as they fight 👀 your choice tho! Have a fun spring break ☀

The hero was pretty sure the villain was actually trying to kill them this time.

“Hey, don’t aim for the face, okay? It’s the money maker.”

The villain raised one eyebrow–and aimed for the hero’s face.

“Oh come on,” the hero groaned. “That’s just uncalled for.”

“Really? Is it now?”

If the hero had better judgment, they would have said something snarky back, or attempted to get the upper hand. Instead, in a move uncoordinated and wrought with embarrassment, they tripped over their own feet and blushed.

The hero was used to pretty. They were used to gorgeous.

But they had never expected to be attracted to someone’s accent of all things, and it was driving them mad.

“Yep, pretty sure it is,” they managed. They had to dodge halfway up the wall to avoid the villain’s next blow.

“You’re awfully chatty today,” the villain said, and the hero was going to lose their mind–

“Is this affection?” The hero blurted, and contemplated throwing themself off the building to spare both of them. “Because it feels like affection.”

“I don’t know,” the villain shrugged. Their mouth tipped up slightly, gone in a flash between one second and the next. “Do you want it to be?”

The hero froze. “You–I–” and found themself blinking up at the sky, the villain’s hand around their wrist. “Did you just judo flip me?” They wheezed, and the villain grinned.

“You’re blushing.”

“Yeah, because you just knocked the wind out of me. Excuse me for going red with oxygen loss–” the hero cut themself off with a cough, lungs protesting every word, and tugged the villain down to crash into the pavement beside them.

“Let me rephrase; You’ve been blushing this entire time.”

“It’s cold.”

“It’s July.”

“A very cold July.”

“If you’re going to lie,” the villain said, and truly, the hero was lucky they hadn’t had a knife pulled on them yet, “Do it well.”

The hero buckled the villain’s knees. Petty? Yes.

Satisfying? A good reprieve to try and get the blush that flared every time the villain spoke to subside? Also yes.

“Real smooth,” the villain rolled their eyes, pushing themself to their feet. “So, what is it.”

“Was that a question, or–”

“My winning personality?”

The villain was studying them with far too much care.

“Aren’t you supposed to be robbing a bank or something?” They said half-desperately.

“Smile? Laugh?” The villain paused for a moment, catching the hero’s punch as if it was nothing more than a mosquito–which was insulting, to say the least–before their face cleared of any confusion.

“Ah,” the villain said, and oh the hero was so screwed, because they knew that look. That look appeared regularly in their dreams. It was the villain’s signature ‘I figured something out and I’m going to use it to do nefarious things’ look. Their ‘I’m smarter than you and I’m about to prove it in an effortlessly ruthless maneuver’ look.

The hero saw it far too often.

“‘Ah’ what.”

The villain, damn them, grinned, releasing the hero’s hand.

“Accent.”

Any air that the hero had managed to regain after the judo flip escaped from them like they were a sinking ship.

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

“No,” the hero said, cursing every single moment of their life that had led up to this one. Maybe they really should have become a lawyer– “I’m just flabbergasted by how dumb that sentence was.”

Flabbergasted. Flabbergasted. Who the hell says flabbergasted?!

“This is cute,” the villain remarked as they drew a knife. They gestured with it towards the hero’s undoubtedly fire engine red face. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this flustered.”

“I’m not flustered, I’m–”

“Flabbergasted?” The villain suggested wryly, and truly, the fact that this situation was funny in a hopeless and pathetic way was not helping. The accent absolutely was not helping either.

The hero truly had nothing to say to that, staring at the villain, the two of them impromptu statues.

“You like me,” the villain teased. “And my accent.”

The hero was not proud of what they did next.

Considering their life, it wasn’t the worst thing they had ever done out of embarrassment.

A close second, though.

The villain smirked, and in a move far more elegant than they had ever thought themself possible, the hero slid under the villain’s arm, snagging the knife from the villain’s hand as they went—and planted it into the villain’s side.

The villain blinked, hand going to their side. The hero blushed—

Finally, in the single coherent thought they had managed in seemingly their entire life, they did something not embarrassingly pathetic.

The hero bolted away, into side streets and alleys, to the sound of the villain’s pained and endlessly amused laughter.

“Real smooth,” the villain called after them, voice echoing between the buildings. “You’re handling this quite well.”

The villain was never going to let them live this down.

[kouraissant]

The Sun is dead and love is an unbearable thing (On Yudrein Aile & Grief)

(Above) KOURAISSANT / (Aeschylus: The Oresteia, Aeschylus & The Oresteia: Agamemnon, The Libation Bearers, The Eumenides, Anne Carson) / Things Haunt, Joshua Jennifer Espinoza / Chapter 514, Turning, 쿠유 / Morning in the Burned House, Margaret Atwood / The opposite of a haunting is something very lonely, heavensghost / A Rosario Castellanos Reader:  ‘Memorandum on Tlatelolco’, tr. Maureen Ahern / Sue Zhao / The Song of Achilles, Madeline Miller / The Empress Yamato Hime, tr. Kenneth Rexroth / Spring and All, Cathy Park Hong / UNDER A STAR CALLED SUN / there is no absolution for the fallen, only the dying, p.d / Chapter 1, Turning, 쿠유 / Lesbos (From Ariel), Sylvia Plath

(Below) The Haunting of Bly Manor (2020), dir. Mike Flanagan / 6CHO1

[wikiangela]

wip wednesday

tagged by @kinard-buckley @bidisasterevankinard 💖

istg this fic will be done and posted tomorrow (hopefully lol if not, forget I said anything🙈) I just need time to finish it and I have a day off tomorrow so let's hope I get motivated tonight haha

prev snippet

___

“Genuine question, do you want me to go up to him and punch that stupid mustache off his face?” he asks, just as softly, and Tommy barks out a surprised laugh. “I’m serious, I will, even if it costs me my job.” He doesn’t know what he can do or say right now, so he just wants to cheer his boyfriend up, and if Tommy’s willing to, they can talk about it all in more detail later, at his loft, when they’re alone, without friends and coworkers around. When it can be just the two of them, and they can be as open and vulnerable with each other as they want.

“Evan.” Tommy says with that fond exasperation that seems to be reserved for Buck.

___

no pressure tags: @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @diazpatcher @monsterrae1 @weewootruck @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @nmcggg @rogerzsteven @giddyupbuck @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @buddieswhvre @fortheloveofbuddie @daffi-990 @hoodie-buck @aroeddiediaz @thewolvesof1998 @exhuastedpigeon @underwaterninja13 @spotsandsocks @hippolotamus @your-catfish-friend @dangerpronebuddie @neverevan @loveyouanyway @tizniz @theotherbuckley @diazsdimples

[prince-liest]

First draft of 666 #11 is complete! +^+

[thinkof-england]

Several Sentence Sunday

Thank you to @kiwiana-writes, @duchessdepolignaca03, @tailsbeth-writes, and @eusuntgratie for the tags today!

Alright so it's been A MINUTE since I've posted anything from my @aroyallybigbangrwrb fic "Kiss Me, Just Once (for luck)", so this is what we're going with today! Reminder, it's loosely based off of the Idea of You (LARGE EMPHASIS ON LOOSELY), Alex is in a boyband, Henry is 39 and father to a 16-year-old, Amelia. Enjoy some dad!Henry and too smart for her own good Amelia!

“Sweetheart, I don’t think it’s a good idea. Think about the implications of this, I’m your parent and I’m also in charge of your two friends. All three of you are underage and all four of those boys, those men, are all over 21. What kind of parent would I be if I let my teenage daughter and her teenage friends galavant around with rockstars?”  “Okay, first of all, they aren’t rockstars, they’re just regular guys, remember?” Amelia gave him a look, calling back to their earlier conversation, and he wanted to smack himself silly for setting himself up for that. “And second, who cares about the implications? You’re our chaperone, right? And you’re also invited? We won’t leave your sight, we won’t try to drink or leave with anyone. And if there are any drugs, we’ll come get you immediately and we’ll leave.” Amelia looked back at Ruby and Brent to confirm and they both started nodding so hard Henry worried they’d get whiplash.

No pressure tags below the cut!

@hgejfmw-hgejhsf @affectionatelyrs @anincompletelist @agame-writes @blueeyedgrlwrites

@bitbybitwrites @bigassbowlingballhead @caterpills @captainjunglegym @cha-melodius

@england-would-fall @firenati0n @faketrex @freyjaexplores @getmehighonmagic

@heysweetheart-writes @inexplicablymine @indestructibleheart @judasofsuburbia @littlemisskittentoes

@miss-minnelli @notspecialbabe @nontoxic-writes @orchidscript @onthewaytosomewhere

@priincebutt @porcelainmortal @softboynick @statueinthestone @theprinceandagcd

@taste-thewaste @wordsofhoneydew @whimsymanaged @zwiazdziarka

[seiwas]

three-part honesty (shouto x assistant!reader) snippet #3

.

He wonders if he should say it, if he should ask—

“Don’t move.” you tell him, raising your phone to eye-level.

Shouto stares at you, hands in his pockets as he watches you tap on your phone.

“Look to the side.” you instruct him again, and he follows, albeit a little confused. 

When he turns to face you again, the smile on your face is beaming, glowing as you turn your phone to show him the photos you took. 

“The lighting was nice. See!” 

And when you point to the way sunlight streaks highlights onto the redness of his hair, down to the slope of his nose and the width of shoulders, he can’t help but agree. 

Now, he wonders—

“Do you want a photo with the flowers?” Shouto asks, because it makes no sense that you deem him worthy to be pictured in perfect lighting when there’s you, looking like you do—the walking subject to the backdrop of greenery behind you.

[wttcsms]

horribly short summary of what im trying to accomplish here, but if you were to read a fic featuring character, a soldier honorably discharged and is officially off the battlefield and yet he can’t seem to shake off the war from clinging to his body, and he’s basically a bit of a mess and feels incapable of returning to ordinary life and there’s you, the sweetest thing in the whole world, and he keeps trying to tell you he’s no good and you’re there to help him with everything (and it kills him a bit, to see you wasting your time to help him, and it kills him because he feels like he shouldn’t be the type of person who needs help) and !! just slowburn and falling in love and just read the tags for the vibe ok, who would it be for

[keeperthemultiversemom]

Nyxie, why are there black tears streaming down your face???

[wispscribbles]

When I finish my ghoap Christmas oneshot that I started way back in start December, and have been struggling with since, then it’s over for you fools 🎅

[alilbatflies]

Just Cake #3

by popular demand (2 people asked) (hello) (thank you for commenting! it means a lot even if I don't manage to answer perhaps)

Part 1, Part 2

... ... ...

“Look who we’ve caught,” an entirely too sweet voice said. “Well, aren’t you two adorable?”

The villain was growling now. A low, guttural sound which the henchman has only heard in life-threatening situations, usually forced out by the desperate struggle of survival. Now it was a promise of violence, get closer I dare you, a promise of slaughter and doom.

They tried to angle their head to glimpse whoever had the honour of experiencing such a threat.

The person shuffled to the side, no doubt measuring them in turn. They were all cloak and magic glowing through two bright orange eyes.

Supervillain.

They were so screwed. Utterly fucked.

The supervillain measured them both.

They seemed… wary. Ridiculous, given that the two potential threats were trapped in a power-suppressing net. Ridiculous, given that the supervillain was a supervillain for a reason—spectacular amount of magical skill and all.

Although the henchman could admit they wouldn’t want to be facing their villain’s growling and claws either. Even through a net. There were holes.

“You’re not superhero.”

The confusion triggered by such statement startled the villain out of their instinctual reaction. They stopped growling, although they were still baring their teeth.

“I was not expecting anyone else,” the supervillain said. “Perhaps that pesky hero who lurks around them sometimes, but not a fellow criminal.”

Fellow criminal, huh? The henchman assumed the supervillain was trying to convince them that they’re all on the same side. Perhaps the idea of a potential furious threat unsettled them, no matter the current cage around it.

Well, it wasn’t like they particularly wanted to stay in the bloody uncomfortable trap.

“In that case,” the henchman said, “I suppose you wouldn’t mind getting us out of the net?”

“Should I?”

…the henchman had assumed wrong.

While they probably were on a similar kind of boat regarding their criminal activities, the supervillain hadn’t had any proper motivation to let them go. They weren’t especially close or anything.

And yet, still standing there. Still watching the two criminals swinging in their net as if they somehow held the answers to the universe.

The supervillain had options.

First, they could let them out. The best outcome but severely unlikely.

Second, they could close a bargain of some kind. I’ll only let you out if… which was less favourable, but it would still mean getting out relatively quickly.

Third, they could leave them trapped.

It occurred to the henchman that while there was little chance of them making it out then, the supervillain couldn’t possibly know that. Their villain’s powers were speculated on so many levels it had led to more confusion than clarity in the industry. That could work out in their favour.

The henchman was no mind reader. They couldn’t possibly know how much of a threat did the supervillain consider them at the moment. Nevertheless, the supervillain was still standing there.

Nevertheless, the supervillain didn’t seem entirely convinced leaving them hanging was their best option.

They could work with that.

They decided to play their cards according to their instincts. The villain still hovered over them, a display of teeth and taunt like an arrow ready to take flight and slaughter. Their most wild card, a whisper of carnage. A terrifying ace.

The henchman loved them so.

“You had no quarrel with us before this… incident,” the henchman said. They focused on keeping their tone light, conversational. “Although, now that the situation has changed, perhaps you’re excited to find out how we settle the score, hm?”

Their look met the orange eyes. The supervillain probably found them crazy, threatening from within the containment. They felt insane. They felt the thrill run through them.

“Let us go, so the beast doesn’t have to claw its way out.”

On cue, the villain growled.

The supervillain hesitated.

It was a brief and finely concealed blip of emotion, barely slipping past the dangerous façade. Surely the villain couldn’t be so terrifying as to startle them. And yet.

The supervillain drew a smile, entirely too sharp in its flawless elegance. “Of course.” Then they proceeded to pull shears out of nowhere.

The henchman tried not to be impressed too bad. They hadn’t had much time to ponder about the practicality of the supervillain’s pockets relevant to such level of preparedness, since the net was cut down. There was little regard for the fact they would hit the ground.

The henchman couldn’t care less about the fall as their magic roared to life inside them. It pushed along their bones and crashed into their skin from within. It settled then, nesting in their body like a monster in its cave.

Belatedly, they realized the villain shielded the back of their neck and head from impact with their arm.

There was absolutely no dignified way to get out of the tangle of ropes.

Once the henchman managed, they realized the villain was standing over them protectively, placing themselves between them and the supervillain.

The villains stared each other down. It seemed a stalemate.

“I appreciate you understand plans fall through sometimes,” the supervillain said. “It was not my intention to harm you.”

“As displayed,” the henchman noted quietly.

The villain considered this. They nodded in acknowledgement.

The henchman itched to get out of another’s territory. They were sure the villain didn’t want to linger either.

“Could you give us directions from the forest?” they asked. “We would dislike to meddle with any of your other… endeavours.”

The supervillain tilted their head.

“What I mean is…” The henchman pulled the net up from beneath their feet, holding it out. “We wouldn’t want to mess with your handiwork.”

The supervillain grinned as they took the cluster of ropes, a little feral, a little genuine. They did point the two in a certain direction. They tipped their head at the villain before seemingly dissolving back into the forest and vanishing.

“Bloody hell.”

The villain inclined their head. Then they turned and started away. “Luckily not.”

“Luckily not,” the henchman huffed in echo, following short behind. “Extremely insightful as always, boss.”

“Hm.”

They luckily didn’t stumble into any more traps on their way back.

The henchman was so not sleeping that night.

...

Part 4

[aston-axo]

Niki Lauda convincing everyone he was anything but as insane as the rest of them was the biggest con he ever pulled. I'm enamoured with the workings of his mind.

Something in me broke when I got near the end, and he was like "No, I WILL take time out of my book to complain about people stealing my clothes, the house never having yoghurt, and this one guy trying to sell me a meadow above market price, but I ain't having it."

Also,

>barges into rival's room >today i vin ze championship >refuses the elaborate >leaves

[the-broken-pen]

could you write a snippet where hero and villain both show up at the same time to rescue civilian from supervillain please?

The hero’s pulse pounded in their ears, panicked and so loud–there was so much blood, oh god, they couldn’t tell where it was coming from–that they didn’t hear the villain behind them until they were slamming their elbow back into their ribcage. The villain caught it with one hand, running their gaze over the hero and their blood slicked hands as if assessing for injuries. When they did the same to the civilian, the villain went so still the hero wasn’t sure they were breathing.

The hero felt a little dizzy, actually, and they were trying incredibly hard not to cry, because that was their friend on the floor and they were never supposed to be involved in this–

“Hero,” the villain’s voice was stern, but not unkind. “Breathe.”

They choked on their next inhale, and the villain pressed against their chest with one hand until they breathed out again. There was something about the villain’s face, smooth and unyielding like stone, that pulled the hero into focus enough for them to suck in another breath.

“They need help,” they managed to gasp. The villain gave them a singular nod in confirmation.

“Yes. They do.”

“We need to–”

“You,” the villain interrupted, “need to calm down.”

“They’re dying.”

“And that’s not going to change if you’re too panicked to see straight. So take. A deep. Breath.”

Miraculously, the hero did. It was easier on the next breath, and the next, until their vision was clear and they could see the horror in front of them with all too much clarity.

The civilian was still breathing.

The villain released the hero’s elbow as soon as they realized the hero wasn’t about to panic again, grazing their fingers over the civilian’s tattered clothing in search of the worst wounds. They prodded something and the civilian winced, face bruised and entirely, blessedly, unconscious. “Pressure,” the villain gestured, and the hero. complied.

The hero knew better than to let up when the civilian, abruptly half-lucid from pain, tried to bat their hand away, but bile still rose in their throat.

“How are you so calm,” they said, and even they could tell their voice was slightly too close to hysterical. The villain glanced over at them, eyes dark, before ripping a makeshift tourniquet to tie around the civilian’s leg.

“I panicked once,” some memory, deep and dark and full of pain, flashed through the villain’s eyes. “I promised I wouldn’t do it again.”

The hero took the wad of cloth the villain handed to them, pressing it back down over the civilian’s stomach. It turned red under the hero’s fingers far faster than they would ever have wanted it to. Not that they would ever want it to, but if someone was bleeding they would at least want it to be slow–

“Oh,” they managed, voice strangled, and the villain took a moment to assess them once more. 

“Breathe,” the villain reminded. “They’re not dying. They’re beat up, but they’re stable. Emergency services are already on their way.”

The hero watched more blood well up around their hands. Pressed harder.

They would be digging red flakes out from under their nails for weeks.

“You’re normally calmer,” the villain remarked casually. If the hero’s brain wasn’t so stuck on the image of their friend bleeding below them, they would have recognized this for the distraction that it was.

“They didn’t choose this,” they whispered, throat raw. The civilian didn’t have powers, and they hadn’t chosen to use them for good or evil. They just lived, so kind and so normal.

“Neither does any other bystander,” the villain said.

“They’re my friend,” the hero willed the villain to understand, somehow, the enormity of this. The pain of knowing that it should have been them on the floor, that supervillain had done this because the civilian had been there and the hero had not.

A mistake of epic proportions. The biggest failure of their life. Not being there.

“So?”

“So it's my fault,” the hero’s voice broke, and they ducked their head down to hide the tears as they welled in their eyes. Distantly, they could pick up the barest trace of sirens, almost out of reach of their enhanced senses.

“Hero,” the villain said, voice gentle. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

The hero shook their head–

“No, listen to me,” the villain’s voice gained an edge to it. “It’s not your fault. I pissed supervillain off this week. They know the civilian is my friend. This was deliberate to hurt me, and I need you to get it through your thick skull that there was nothing you could have done to stop this.”

The hero wasn’t sure who the villain was truly saying this to–the hero, themself, or the version of the villain that had panicked so long ago, and suffered for it.

“I could have–”

“You couldn’t.” The villain’s stare was all encompassing. The hero wanted to believe them. “Stop blaming yourself for the pain other people are causing.”

“That’s kind of my whole thing,” the hero tried for something light, airy. The both of them watched it fall flat off their tongue.

“No, it’s not. Your thing is saving people, not beating yourself up over everything you think you could have done better.”

The hero didn’t have a response to that. Just stayed staring at the villain as the ambulance skidded to a stop, the red lights flashing off the villain’s hair and eyes.

Someone reached for the hero’s hands, still pressed tightly to the wound, and they flinched away, gritting their teeth. 

The paramedic raised their gloved hands as if comforting an animal. “I’m here to help,” they said slowly. 

It felt terrible unclenching their hands, letting the paramedic take their place, sliding the civilian onto a stretcher an unending minute later.

The hero swallowed hard, knees numb against the pavement, and let the villain hook their arms under the hero’s armpits to haul the upright.

“Alright, there we go,” the villain murmured easily. The hero tracked the paramedics as they closed the doors of the ambulance. 

“I should–”

“No,” the villain interrupted. They seemed to be doing that more often than usual, the hero thought slowly. “You need to get cleaned up, and eat something.”

“I need to go to the hospital, I can’t just leave them alone,” the hero argued. They tried to jerk themself from the villain’s steadying hold, and failed.

“Trust me, they’ve got a whole team keeping them alive. They’re in good company.”

“I’m failing them.” It was an entirely irrational thought, but it stung in the hero’s chest, burning its way into their ribs as an ‘almost’ truth.

“You’re taking care of yourself so that you are able to take care of them. You can’t pour from an empty cup, and you're at empty. So, we’re going to get you some clothes that aren’t covered in blood, a sandwich, and go from there.”

The hero realized between one blink and the next that they were exhausted–bones aching and made of stone, dragging them down further with every second. By the time they reached the villain’s car, the only thing that was holding them up was the villain; the weight of panic and a too long day spent trying to save the entire city pressing down on them.

They were dumped into the passenger seat without fanfare, and if they weren’t so tired, they would have protested about the blood, or question how the villain had gotten their car here.

The villain slammed the door, settling themself into the driver’s seat a moment later. They dug through the center console, too dark for the hero to make out what they were grabbing, before they scrubbed the hero’s hands with a baby wipe. 

They had the engine started before the hero had a chance to look down at their own–now clean–hands.

“It’s not your fault,” the villain said again. Their tone left no room for argument.

“You keep saying that,” they watched as the city lights flickered through the car windows. “Why?”

The villain’s jaw clenched in the periphery of their vision. When they answered, it was so soft and quiet the hero almost didn’t catch it.

“Because nobody said it to me.”

The hero let their head slump against the window, half-asleep as they watched the roads vanish behind them.

“Hey,” they said quietly. They didn’t have to look up to know the villain’s attention was solely on them.

Sleep pulled on them until their voice was little more than an exhaled breath. 

“It wasn’t your fault.”

The villain sucked in a shuddering breath.

“It isn’t your fault.”

Before sleep managed to swallow them whole, the hero swore they caught a single tear streaking down the villain’s cheek.

[marlynnofmany]

I just shared the first bit of fiction that the main character from The Token Human appeared in with the $10+ patrons. Hard to believe that I wrote it eleven years ago! Of course I had no idea it would go anywhere, much less to a novel with a sequel in progress, and an endless series of short stories that shows no signs of stopping.

High five to my past self for scribbling down something worth playing with a bit more. And a bit more. And maybe some more...

[awesamforehead]

Dnap first date snippet :)