#writing snippet

[lux-aurea-lunae]

Prompt 16 - Hot Chocolate

“Do you have any hot cocoa? It’s freezing outside.” Villain rummaged through Hero’s cupboards.

“There’s hot chocolate powder in the cupboard closest to the fridge.”

“How do you turn on your stove?”

“Just microwave a cup of water.”

“Microwave? I didn’t know you had such terrible taste,” Villain said, affronted.

Hero cracked an eye open, but they couldn’t see Villain from their current position. “What’s the difference? It’s just hot water.”

“That’s another thing. You make hot cocoa with water?”

“Yeah, so?”

“It’s so much better with milk!”

Leave it to Villain to pick fights over the smallest and strangest things. “Milk is easier to burn and more expensive than water.”

“But it tastes better!”

“It tastes perfectly fine either way.”

“You sound so boring!”

“And you sound childish.”

“See, this is why we can’t be together!”

“It’s not because you’re a villain and I’m a hero?”

“No! It’s because you insist on settling for subpar satisfaction when there’s better options available to you! You can’t let yourself truly enjoy anything because you feel guilty every moment you’re not suffering!”

Hero stared at Villain, speechless. How were they supposed to respond to that? How did the argument go from hot chocolate preferences to Hero’s guilt complex?

“Woah, that got a bit heavy,” Villain said. “We really need to talk about your mental health, but that’s a conversation for another time. What I’m trying to say is, you should indulge yourself every once and a while.” They shoved a mug into Hero’s hands. “Here, just try it.”

Hero didn’t want to admit Villain had a point, but it did taste pretty good. “How about I compromise by microwaving the water until it’s boiling, then adding milk to it?”

“Fine, but you’re on thin ice.”

[saintsenara]

the war of the roses - a snippet

sirius black/severus snape explicit

december is the month of updating all my wips, it seems, so here's a wee look at the next chapter of the war of the roses... coming this week.

in which harry and sirius have a chat about voldemort.

‘That’s not how he works though.’

The chains of the swing rattle as he sits down.

‘He doesn’t - I don’t know how to put this - He doesn’t piggyback on random chance. He’s not spontaneous. Believe me, I know. I’ve seen how he freaks out when something isn’t going according to plan… He’s not opportunistic. He plots. He fixates. He obsesses… And everything he does is because he thinks it means something. He goes absolutely feral for signs and symbols and rituals and all those things… He said that himself. Last year. Wormtail wanted him to pick anyone - any old enemy, he’s got enough of them - to use as his blood donor. It would have had the same effect. But he had to have me.’

That’s… That’s true. Sirius remembers it - remembers how he’d sworn when Harry had described Wormy - Wormy who’d held him as a baby, who’d dandled him on his knee at his Christening and laughed when James pretended to give him a sip of his pint - slicing into his arm, remembers how he’d clutched Harry’s shoulder so tightly he’d worried he’d break it and still hadn’t been able to stop, because he’d needed to prove to himself that Harry was still there. That he’d survived this latest horror and was still alive, still flesh and blood and bone.

He’d just - he must have forgotten that part of the story after Harry said that James had emerged from - 

‘And it’s the same with the Prophecy,’ Harry says, still steady, still calm. ‘He could have picked Neville. But he didn’t. He picked me. And once he’d done that - once he’d decided it was about me - that was it. He’s never going to change his mind. He’s never going to think that the Prophecy doesn’t have to be fulfilled, that he could just ignore it and leave me alone. He’s going to spend the rest of his life trying to kill me… And that means I have to kill him first.’

Sirius looks up at him, and even through a haze of tears he looks… he looks okay. He doesn’t seem terrified anymore, not like he did when he was pacing around the drawing room, fiddling with the tat on the shelves and desperately seeking an escape route. But he doesn’t seem like some impossible golden idol either, something magical and untouchable, a tawny, memory-wisp vapour which cannot be grasped between two fingers.

He just seems sure. Like he’s alright. Like he knows what he’s doing.

Like he knows Voldemort. Like he understands him. Like he doesn’t think he’s the intimidating, unstoppable force of pure magic the Order talk about in hushed tones. Like he’s just some bloke, and Harry’s got him sussed.

And something reaches out and shakes Sirius, some realisation that - even though he’s such an enormous, malevolent presence, stalking his life like a hunting dog; even though he’s responsible for the worst thing which has ever happened to him; even though he’s increasingly convinced (not, of course, that he’s imagined it in any detail) that he and Snape are shagging - he can’t actually picture what Voldemort looks like.

He can recall reading Harry’s interview in the Quibbler - the one Snape, looking for the first time like he possessed a modicum of respect for somebody named Potter, said had made Dolores Umbridge nearly shit herself with rage - in picture-perfect detail. He can see how the light looked, and what sort of muck encrusted the table, and what dregs of whisky were in the glass in front of him. He can see the paper and the words and the cartoon of Harry on the front page.

But - for some reason - the description Harry gave of Voldemort - skeletonised, serpentine, unholy - hasn’t ever solidified into an image in his mind.

And that’s - he supposes - because he couldn’t ever picture what he looked like. Even last time.

(Except for his eyes. You could never forget those as long as you lived. Even if you’d only seen them once, burning beneath the shadow of a hood, as they examined James across a battlefield.)

The Dark Lord flits across his thoughts like pigment, diluted with too much water, marbling and splitting and smudging on a page. Like a blurry long-lens photo, slithering across the fading newsprint still pinned to Reg’s walls, of a very tall, very thin man.

A shadow without a face.

And it comes back to him - being Harry’s age, being nagged until he rolled out of bed and put on his best robes, being dragged to Malfoy Manor, his mother hissing in his ear for him to behave, to not be flippant, to say nothing about politics, to not insinuate that Mr Malfoy fucks the peacocks, to refrain for once from embarrassing them all.

Such fucking bullshit - which he’s sure he must have told his mother, probably earning a night without supper for his trouble. His parents’ delusions that they were the most important on earth always vanished the second they came into contact with people with actual authority, inexpertly mutating into something muleish and plebeian and simple-minded and resentful.

His father was smug - his stupid face (Sirius’ face) even more punchable than usual - because he was being allowed to mingle with the great and the - well - not good. But it pinched at him too, it bothered him - you could tell - that - no matter how subtly it was expressed, no matter how fulsomely they would have denied it - Abraxas Malfoy and Romulus Lestrange and the elder Rosier and the elder Avery and the elder Nott and all the rest thought that he was beneath them.

His mother was the same. She was proud - went rapturous and spoke too quickly - of Bella and Cissy going from the draughty Georgian box Uncle Cygnus claimed was a country pile to palatial estates with ballrooms and conservatories and whole battalions of house elves. But she knew - and it bothered her too - that Valentine Malfoy and Agrippina Lestrange and the women they took tea with saw themselves as doing Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella a favour in taking their daughters off their hands, with not a word said - in public at least - about any insufficiencies in their dowries. Bella was too much of a bitch. Cissy had tanked her value on the marriage market by having a sister who’d wrapped her lips around a Mudblood’s cock. But they were beautiful, and Lucius was smitten, and Rodolphus was utterly disinterested in spending a long time on finding himself a woman (if the rumours were to be believed), and so the girls had wormed their ways in.

He remembers being shown into some magnificent sitting room or other - Reg marvelling at the ceiling (that’s called a squinch, Sirius, and that’s called an architrave) like a twat - as the house was a bustle of activity. He remembers piles of flowers being carried in, in anticipation of the wedding which would take place the following day, and Cissy sitting - perfect and pure in tiers of muslin - next to her fiancé, who looked as much of a prick as he always did. He remembers his mother - she’d shed her usual black for rose, it washed her out - perching delicately on the chaise beside Mrs Malfoy. He remembers Bella picking with transparent disdain at a cherry cake as the conversation turned to Cissy’s trousseau and her honeymoon in Paris and how romantic Lucius is. Her husband had returned home from their honeymoon a week early. To ‘attend to some business’ with one of the Selwyn boys.

And he remembers - he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget - the way the air changed. All the flowers’ perfume and the scent of cakes and honey and the blowsy humidity of young love vanished, giving way to something as cold and still as the grave.

And all because an elf appeared before Abraxas Malfoy and said that he was to come - and all the rest of them were to come too; the ones, he now knows, who’d let themselves be branded like cattle - to the library at once.

(And Reg had stared, enraptured, at the sight of the richest men in England hurrying to obey.)

[theeccentricraven]

The 15th Day of Writemas🎅🎄🤶🍒🤍

Another merry day of Writemas is here! Thank you @agirlandherquill for setting up this tag game/writing prompt/writer challenge for the holidays ❤️To find the rules of this tag, go to the invitation post. Today on Day 15 I chose the setting prompt "A stage". I figured I would use it to rewrite this scene from my YA Dystopia The Blood Cleaners. I was able to greatly improve this scene from the previous version. 👩‍💻

_________________________________________________________

Miriam’s gig was a family lounge. The tables and chairs were mostly filled by surfacer families. Administrators wore suits and dresses. Accountants and operations agents dressed in “business casual” attire. Some wore the surfacer version of uniforms for law enforcement officers, teachers, doctors, and couriers. Their children wore no uniforms, clad in jeans and cotton t-shirts.   

Justin quickly noticed the difference between the warm, homely surface lounge from the cold, rusty tunnel lounges. He sat in a booth with Elena and Joselyn. They were a peculiar group in the crowd, no doubt perking curiosity over the two tunnel street cleaners and farmer girl. 

A skinny dark-haired man sat at a piano, playing a few folk tunes. He entertained the first hour as the patrons ordered their dishes. When the servers had served most of the patrons, the piano music stopped. The pianist stood up and held a microphone. 

“Hey, mis amigos! We’ve got a new dancer here tonight. You’re sure to love her!”

Miriam’s wobbly feet walked on the stage . She wore the lounge singer uniform for a girl her age - a pink dress with puffy sleeves and a skirt that went down to her knees. Her brown ringlets fell to her shoulders. Her feet fit in rhinestone covered pink slippers. The patrons applauded. Miriam looked down, hiding her blushing.

She turned her eyes to the booth where Elena, Justin, and Joselyn sat. Elena put her hands to her lips. Justin smiled and waved. He gave a thumbs up and mouthed, “You’ve got this.”

Miriam put on her grin and curtseyed. 

The pianist played the familiar tune of Corpa’s anthem. Miriam skipped on her feet and let out her tap dancing skills. She sang.

“We weep the tears of the wrongs we carry,

By our ancestors long ago. 

In the cruel wasteland there's a light of hope,

By the hands closing over our sorrow.

Our fathers break the chains,

Freeing us from pain,

Destroying misery and woe.

We build a new life,

Free from angst and strife,

Where the fathers would have us go.

May Corpa be a land of prosperity,

Kept by the hands of our fathers.

They give much to us and so we give back,

By our sacrifices and our labors.

Our fathers break the chains,

Freeing us from pain,

Destroying misery and woe.

We build a new life,

Free from angst and strife,

Where the fathers would have us go.”

She ended with her arms open wide. 

The patrons applauded. 

Miriam smiled as she skipped off the stage to backstage.

Elena’s face was bright, possibly because of the bowl of chicken soup, but Justin could tell Miriam impressed her mother.

“All of that practice paid off,” Elena said. 

“She’s good,” said Joselyn as she cut her chicken. “How often will she work here?”

“Once a week,” Elena explained. “She still has to go to school when it’s in session and work as a cleaner, but she will get to perform here every Saturday night. Possibly a couple of other nights when school is not in session.”

“I hope she doesn’t work too much,” Joselyn said. 

“I would never let her,” said Elena. “Between Miriam at this joint and Justin as a blood cleaner, we’ll make end’s meet, but I don’t want to lose either of you in the process.”

“Hey,” Justin spoke up, “Miriam knows what she’s doing and so do I. Not to mention, working at this joint will help her score entertainment positions in the aptitudes. She could get here full time.”

Joselyn rolled her eyes. “Unless the Fists say they don’t need any more entertainers.”

 “She’ll prove herself,” Justin said confidently.

“It won’t matter,” Joselyn said, looking down at her food. “Only they can choose her future. They won’t let it be what she wants if it’s not in the best interest of Corpa.”

Justin leaned over to Joselyn’s ear and whispered. “Jos, be careful what you say in a place like this. Someone could hear you.”

She whispered in his ear. “I’m far from what the law calls usurpation. People complain about the Fists all of the time.”

“You’ve heard the horror stories,” Justin added. “I’d never sing the anthem unless I get paid like Miriam, but if things stay as they are, they won’t get worse.”

“I know it could be worse,” Joselyn whispered back. “I don’t think we need to use that to dismiss when the Fists fall short of the promises they make in that anthem.”

“I hear you,” said Justin, “but they’re not our ancestors who dropped the bombs and they keep the lils from consuming this place.”

“Have they really helped with that?” Joselyn said quietly. “Or are they taking credit for our work?”

Justin  shrugged. “I don’t know Jos. It’s just….I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Joselyn smirked. “Jus, you worry so much about me. I should be worried about you.” She sipped her drink of cola while eyeing him.

“Hey,” Justin said grinning, “we’ll go break the rules on our own time.”

“Now, Jus! Shhhhhhhhhh!” she put her fingers to her lips.

Elena cocked an eyebrow as she looked up from her plate. “What are you two talking about?”

“Nothing,” Justin snickered as Joselyn chuckled under her breath.

Miriam walked up to the table. Her dress and smile glimmered under the ceiling lights.

“Miriam!” Justin declared. “You rocked!”

Joselyn clapped. Elena opened her arms. Miriam hugged her.

“I'm so proud of you,” Elena said. “I wish Deirdre were here to see you.”

“I feel like Deirdre is here, Mamá,” Miriam said.

“Oh, I feel the same,” Elena said as her tears fell to Miriam’s shoulders.

Justin looked around, wondering if any of the teachers nearby would step up to remind that spirits and ghosts don't exist. Miriam stepped up to him with arms extended. He opened his arms as she hugged him.

“Thank you big brother,” she said as she dug her face in his shoulder.

____________________________________________________________

Tagging!

@sleepyrxsetea @edstoriesblog @thecomfywriter @pen-for-sword @toribookworm22

@sunflowerrosy @furrywrit3r @wyked-ao3 @selenekallanwriter @drchenquill

@revenantlore @whatwewrotepodcast @jay-avian @constellationandcompendium @olivescales3

@ryns-ramblings @primroseprime2019 @illarian-rambling @kaylinalexanderbooks @kitty-is-writing

@kitkins13 @buffythevampirelover @willtheweaver @poethill @acmartin

@apolline-lucy @elizaellwrites @gioiaalbanoart @orphanheirs @pluppsauthor

@cowboybrunch @leahnardo-da-veggie @dandelion-jester @aalinaaaaaa @faeriecinna

@brynwrites @somethingclevermahogony @rickie-the-storyteller @raevenlywrites @winterandwords

@happypup-kitcat24 @the-golden-comet @ddgraywrites @autism-purgatory @mxxnwishes

@tildeathiwillwrite @screamingatanemptyroom @kbwritesstuff @spookyceph @pluto-murphy-writes

@talesofsorrowandofruin @kaylark @sleepywriter00 @americanfemcel @fairy-tales-of-yesterday

@inkednotebook @the-letterbox-archives @laureleavess @simonnebethel @forthesanityofsome

@melpomene-grey @creatrackers @stephtuckerauthor @theink-stainedfolk

@g0ttest0d @infinnative @little-peril-stories @lyneidas @late-to-the-fandom

and Open!

[angelbitezzz]

"The stars had long since become mundane to Comet. When you're surrounded by them, traveling in them, eventually it becomes something no longer worth finding wonder in. After all, what mattered was credits, what mattered was finding ways to extend the endless journey, to keep moving.

But this monster? It was as if he'd stepped out of a star himself, a comforting glow radiating from him. It was warm...friendly. Beautiful."

[save-the-villainous-cat]

“I’ll admit,” the villain whispered, their hand slowly sliding along the hero’s leg - from their knee to their thigh to be precise - “I’m a bit rusty.”

“You?” the hero asked.

“We haven’t seen each other in six months,” the villain said. “That’s enough time to rust.”

“I thought you would have gotten your fun elsewhere.”

“Well, I didn’t.” Softly, the villain pressed a kiss to the hero’s throat and the hero (stupidly so) forgot their responsibilities very quickly again.

The hero didn’t consider themselves particularly greedy in bed. They took what partners threw at them and usually, that was enough. With the villain, it felt different. They felt more confident, they felt terribly secure. The hero wasn’t a passive party anymore.

“Six months are enough to move on,” the hero whispered.

Their stomach dropped when they realised that the villain was giving them a hickey. Instinctively, the hero grabbed their enemy’s clothes but only got a hold of one of the bullet proof vest’s straps. Though the hero tried to pull them closer, the villain didn’t move until they were done on the hero’s throat.

With a wet sound, they parted.

“You’ll understand how desperate I am right now, then.”

“Is it smart to continue this?” the hero asked. Six months. Six. Often, their thoughts would circle around the villain. As if they were an addict.

“…do you want to continue this?”

“Well, yes…”

“Then what’s the problem?” Again, they leaned in and this time, they left a trail of kisses on the hero’s neck.

Within milliseconds, shivers ran down the hero’s spine and their brain fried. Their heart was loud enough for both to hear.

“I don’t know…maybe something changed, maybe you changed.” The villain looked at them, their usually focused and serious eyes suddenly soft.

“Love, what are you talking about?”

“Maybe there is someone else you…” The hero took in a deep breath. Six months were a long, long time and if the villain had found someone else during that time…someone who was simply more fitting, the hero didn’t want to stand between them. The villain was charismatic, chatty, nice when they had to be. Surely there had been someone who had shown interest while the villain was in hiding.

“You’re aware I am extremely picky when it comes to my partner.”

“Yes, I know. But—”

“And stupidly loyal.”

The hero didn’t know what to say to that. They knew what loyalty meant to the villain. It wasn’t a term they used carelessly.

“Don’t worry,” the villain murmured. They pressed an innocent kiss to the hero’s lips and continued with another one that was a little more daring.

The hero had almost forgotten what it felt like to be kissed. What it felt like to have the villain’s tongue in their mouth.

Even as the villain pulled away, the hero couldn’t form a single coherent thought.

“You’re my nemesis,” the villain reminded them. Two of their fingers traced an invisible path down the hero’s chest. “You’re irreplaceable.”

The villain was methodical. They were gentle. Their hand stopped on the hero’s lower stomach.

“And now, be a darling and spread your legs. I’ve been craving the sounds you make for half a year.”

[automeris-io-moth]

Short #5

"Shush, you're okay," Villain soothed, a warm hand running through Hero's hair, mask long ago discarded on the floor, filthy with blood and dirt. 

Hero disagreed, grunting as a half-thought response, still navigating on the frontier of consciousness. Trying, and failing, to slap the other’s hand away. 

“They did quite a number on you, no one would believe they’re supposed to be your friends.” Villain whispered the last part, a hand reaching for Hero’s belt, taking their weapons out, and throwing them to the side. Hero’s hand could only twitch “One can only wonder what would have happened to you if I hadn’t asked for you unharmed.” 

Carefully, Villain brushed a single tear going down Hero’s cheek. They hadn’t noticed they shed it. 

“There’s no need to cry, with me you’re safe.” 

_

Masterlist

[avvail]

a villain that can hypnotise people through touch

The hero feels themselves tripping over their own two feet as the imposing figure advances on them, until their back hits the wall with a solid thud. They attempt to keep their breathing under control, but it’s a difficult game.

“Where are you going?” The villain asks simply, as if they don’t already know the answer to the question. The hero grits their teeth, baring them viciously.

“Stay back,” they hiss. “I mean it.”

“Or else what?” The villain chuckles humourlessly, their cold eyes not leaving theirs for even a moment. “You know you can’t win this fight.”

“No,” they shakily whisper, their eyes desperately searching for a way to escape. They are not ignorant to the power that the villain possesses. The power that had kept them trapped in their clutches for far too long. “Give me a ten foot pole and I’ll find a way to keep you away from me.”

The villain raises a brow. “You don’t have one of those, doll.”

“Yeah?” They spit. “Wanna bet?”

The villain takes a measured step forward, and the hero’s narrowed eyes suddenly widen, pressing themselves closer against the wall until they’re impossibly flat.

“No, please,” they breathe, their face wrinkling in fear. “The people need me, Villain. Please, let me go back out there.”

The villain laughs coldly, like that’s funny.

“You should see yourself when you cling to me,” they respond coolly, their eyes flashing with something dangerous. “It’s cute. You make these little doe eyes that drive me crazy.”

“That’s not me,” they choke, their hands pressing into their chest. “These gaps in my memory, not knowing how much time has passed, what you’ve made me do – it’s torture.”

“It’s far from torture, doll,” the villain frowns, taking another step forward. The hero’s heart hammers in their chest, lodging in their lungs and making it difficult to breathe. “You don’t see how much you’re spoiled.”

The hero chokes on a hitched breath. “You get off on this sick power play. You take away people’s free will, make them into—”

“—nothing?” The villain interrupts sharply. Their expression darkens. “You’d never understand what it’s like from my perspective. You’re thinking too hard, yet so little. Why don’t you come here?”

The hero instantly shakes their head. “No. Stay away from me.”

“Then I come to you.”

“Stay away.”

The hero makes a desperate lunge in an attempt to escape, but the villain’s hand seizes their wrist instantly, and they gasp. Tingles reverberate through their skin, and they desperately try to yank away. Their grasp is unrelenting, and with each second that ticks by, the tingles grow stronger, spreading through their body like wildfire.

“Stop,” they gasp, their knees weak when they’re tugged closer. “Please, please stop.”

“Shh,” the villain hums, a warm hand cupping their cheek, making the hero’s throat close up. Their mind goes haywire. But when the villain speaks, when their skin touches theirs, their thoughts begin to die out.

“That’s it, doll,” they purr, brushing a thumb under their eye when a stray tear leaked down their cheek. “Just like that.”

It’s always beautiful when the thoughts leave their eyes, when their weakening struggles die down, and they go slack and pliant in their arms. The villain’s eyes crinkle with a smile, admiring the dazed expression on their face. It takes moments until all the fight is drained out of them.

“There you go,” the villain hums, and their touch makes the hero go all fuzzy and lightheaded. “Let’s go back, shall we?”

The hero obediently follows them along.

[wordsofwilderness]

Found this beauty in my writing notes:

[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

[bookished]

( a collection of fun and adventurous dialogue prompts. adjust phrasing as necessary.) feel free to make edits to better suit your muse, but please don’t edit or add on to the original post <𝟑 if you like, please consider supporting me through tips, it's highly appreciated.

"Want to try sneaking into the movie theater?"

"There's this exclusive sky bar on the top floor. I bet if we act confident enough, we could just walk right in. Ready to blend in with the high rollers?"

"You know the 'Staff Only' areas in aquariums always look so intriguing. I've got an idea involving lab coats and clipboards. Interested?"

"There's a secret passage in this art gallery that leads to a hidden exhibit. I overheard the curator talking about it. Shall we go exploring?"

"I've always wanted to see a movie from the theater's projection room. I've got a friend who works here – you get what I mean?"

"So, that exclusive restaurant is fully booked for months, but I may have 'borrowed' a couple of names from the reservation list. Feeling adventurous?"

"The old amusement park's been closed for years, but I know a way in. Imagine having all those rides to ourselves under the moonlight."

"I heard there's an underground speakeasy in this library. Apparently, you need to whisper a password to the librarian. Wanna try our luck?"

"Remember that fancy pool party we weren't invited to? I've got two waiter uniforms and a brilliant plan. You in?"

"There's a secret rooftop garden on top of that skyscraper. I bet we could talk our way past security if we pretend to be lost interns."

"I know this sounds crazy, but I found a hidden door behind the museum. Want to see where it leads after closing time?"

"The local TV station does live broadcasts from that studio. I bet with the right timing, we could sneak onto a set during a commercial break. Ready for your 15 seconds of fame?"

"I discovered a hidden hot spring in the woods just outside town. It's a bit of a hike, but imagine a midnight dip under the stars."

"There's a secret room in the library that's usually locked. I copied the key while volunteering. Want to see what forbidden books they're hiding?"

"Remember that fancy cooking class that was full? Well, I may have found a way for us to observe from the kitchen's back entrance. Hungry for some culinary espionage?"

"I know how to get onto the roof of the tallest building downtown. The view of the sunset from up there is incredible. Shall we?"

"There's a masquerade ball at the governor's mansion tonight. I've got two masks and a wild idea. Care to crash a high-society party?"

"My friend works at the zoo and says we could help feed the penguins after closing time. Interested in a secret animal encounter?"

"I heard this old theater is supposedly haunted. Want to sneak in after hours and do some ghost hunting?"

"There's a secret beach hidden behind those cliffs. The catch? We'll have to climb down a rope ladder to reach it. You up for it?"

"I found an old map of the city's underground tunnels. Fancy a subterranean adventure date?"

[barbwritesstuff]

I'm procrastinating hard right now, so here's a couple of pages I wrote for a potential Blood Moon Thicker Than City of Monsters Hunter Sequel.

[lux-aurea-lunae]

Prompt 4 - Revenge

Hero found Villain sitting on the edge of a roof. They sat down beside them, trying to see what was so captivating about the view that Villain hadn't noticed their arrival. Finding nothing, they decided to break the silence. "Your end target is Superhero."

In the year they've been chasing Villain, they noticed that their schemes seemed to be building to something, but Hero had never been sure of what. "If you're here to talk me out of revenge, it's not going to work," Villain stated bluntly, not taking their eyes off the street below.

"No, I wasn't going to. I know what they did to you. I'm sorry that happened. No one deserves that." Villain finally looked at them.

"Then why are you here?" they asked sceptically.

"To talk you out of murder?" Hero asked hopefully. Villain scoffed. "Think about it. If you kill them now, they'll be regarded as a hero who tragically lost their life to a villain. I know you'd hate that."

Villain mauled that over. "What are you suggesting?"

Hero relaxed a bit, relieved Villain was hearing them out. Now they just had to sell their idea. "Instead of killing them, why don't you destroy their reputation? Expose them for the fraud they are?" Hero handed Villain a flash drive. "That has a bunch of Superhero's incident reports on it: property damage, civilian casualties, the works. Everything you need to ruin their image."

Villain looked between Hero and the flash drive in their hand, a vindictive, triumphant smile spreading across their face and an unmistakable fondness directed at Hero. Then they declared, "I don't care if I'm legally a criminal. I'm going to find a way to marry you."

[thepenultimateword]

Prompt #254

Hero wrapped the emergency blanket around Villain's wet and trembling shoulders. "You know, when I let you escape into the woods, I didn't know you were going to get lost. Or that you sucked so bad at wilderness survival."

Villain managed a half-amused exhale through their clenched teeth. "And you know so much?"

"Actually, yes. My camp is about a mile over that ridge. You think you can make it that far?"

Villain fought their stiff legs into the standing position, stumbling a bit on the way up. "What, you can carry traumatized civilians, but can't spare a bit of muscle for your nemesis?"

Instead of quipping back, Hero suddenly scooped them into their arms. "I certainly can if you need me to."

[villain-enthusiast]

The hero coughed blood.

Fucking shit, they thought frantically, hand pressed over the gaping wound in their side. Their new opponent packed a serious punch, more than what the agency had expected when they sent the hero out to stop them. Somehow they’d escaped, but not without the nasty stab to their stomach.

Class two villain my ass. The hero grunted as they stumbled into an alleyway, nearly slamming their shoulder into one of the brick walls. They slipped into damp corner and sat down gingerly, their breathing shallow. Cold sweat broke out on their forehead.

They shook the sputtering communication device on their wrist. Busted. The hero suddenly realized with disturbing clarity that they would die here if they didn’t get help soon, bleeding their guts out on the floor.

Blinding pain shot through their torso, and they closed their eyes, muscles clenching. They couldn’t stand up, not without passing out. And with their internal bleeding, pressure to the wound would be largely ineffective.

They were so totally fucked.

“Hero?”

The hero’s lids snapped open. The cloaked figure before them dipped and swayed, but they forced themselves to concentrate. No, that wasn’t their assaulter, that was—

“Villain,” they rasped.

“What are you doing all the way out here?” The villain’s tone was mocking, but could the hero hear a hint of concern?

The hero attempted a sloppy smirk as they approached. “Oh, y’know, just decided to get stabbed and die today. Regular hero shenanigans.” Shit, their words were slurring.

The villain didn’t respond, crouching down in front of them. Their fingers brushed over the throbbing cut on their cheek, ghosted over the bruise on their jaw—it was funny, the hero noted, how the villain's first instinct was to check their face—before trailing down to the still-bleeding wound at their side. Their hand paused.

The silence was so thick that the hero could hear their wavering heartbeat in their ears.

“Who did this to you.” The villain’s words were quiet. Deadly.

The hero choked on a disbelieving laugh. “Like you care,” they wheezed, but even they could hear the doubt in their own voice. When the villain continued to wait for an answer, they added, "One of your lackeys.” Their eyes fluttered as a wave of fatigue overwhelmed them.

The villain snapped their fingers. "Hey, stay with me." They gently removed the hero's limp hand from their side, examining the gash. They swore under their breath.

"That bad, huh," the hero huffed.

“This looks like [other villain]’s work,” the villain muttered. “Destroying your comms, letting you escape with a fatal wound, making you think you’ve gotten away when really,” their eyes slid up to meet the hero’s detached stare, “you’re on the brink of death.”

“How kind of them.”

The villain shook their head. “Why were you even fighting them? They’re superhero’s responsibility. You’re supposed to be going after me.” They paused, gaze darkening. “And only me.”

The hero shrugged minutely. “Agency assignment.” Their muscles clenched as white hot pain rattled through them again, leaving them weaker than ever. “Can you just kill me already? That’s what you came for, isn’t it?” They titled their head back against the wall and closed their eyes, feeling their body grow more distant by the second. “Just fucking do it.”

They heard the villain move, and they waited for the knife against their throat or the gun at their temple, but instead, gloved hands slid under their back and legs, lifting them up.

What? The hero shifted weakly, but the villain shushed them and bundled them closer to their chest.

“No questions. I’ve got you,” the villain murmured, holding them tightly as they sprinted down the alley, making sure they didn’t jostle their injury. “You can sleep now. I’ve got you.”

And the hero, somehow feeling safe in their enemy’s arms and too tired to wonder why they were being saved, succumbed to the pull of unconsciousness not a second later.

.

part two

[writersagony]

Writing Prompt 120

Villain's face was smashed between Hero's sharp talons, their pupils wide as they watched Hero's face contort as they processed what they saw. Villain grinned slightly, their free hand - the one not being pressed into the wall behind them by Hero - reached up towards Hero's face to poke at their cheeks, letting out a giggle.

Hero's brows furrowed even more, then took note of the smell surrounding Villain.

"Are- are you fucking high right now?!"

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Curiously enough, it was quite easy to get into the villain's lair.

On their way in, the hero had made sure to dress as their civilian persona - simply, to avoid as much attention as possible. Additionally, (they weren't proud of this) they had asked some of their colleagues to stage a bank robbery, with their best friend even wearing their suit.

It was a necessary measure, even though the hero felt horrible. Everyone included was just acting; heroes and civilians alike knew that it wasn't real. So, they hoped no one was actually getting hurt by accident.

Once the hero was in the villain's lair, they followed the dark hallways and hoped they wouldn't end up being cut into pieces by hidden lasers. They looked behind themselves every now and then to make sure they were alone but their paranoia was unfounded.

It was just them.

Eventually, they came to a stop in front of a giant metallic door and prepared themselves to somehow break through it. However, it opened immediately, without them having to lift a finger. They hurried through the door and found themselves in a giant hall with several workingspaces - one looked like a lab filled with several ongoing experiments, one was clearly for machine construction and the last one, full with monitors and here, the hero found them.

They were watching the live footage of the "bank robbery," but they didn't seem to be invested.

"...hey," the hero said. They couldn't believe their voice was shaking.

The villain turned around in their chair and looked at them, brows furrowing.

"That's quite a bit of trouble you went through to see me," the villain said. They stood up but the hero's eyes were still on the screen, following their friend's moves. It wasn't until the villain came to a stop right in front of them that they looked up at them.

"Oh, yeah. I...I really needed to speak with you in private. Thanks for letting me in." It would have never been easy to get into this place if the villain hadn't observed them the entire time. The villain gave them a once-over and it was almost comical how the both of them looked like two normal people.

Both in jogpants.

As if there was anything normal about this relationship.

"My pleasure." The villain stared at them, their gaze boring into the hero with curiosity. "You look a little pale."

"Yeah, sorry. I..." God, the hero didn't know where to begin. It was so embarrassing, so stupid that they were here. They supposed it was a mistake to bother the villain with something this trivial, this unnecessary. "I...fuck."

The hero let their gaze wander to the ceiling, desperate for the uprising tears not to drop.

"Hey, easy," the villain said. Their voice was gentle and the hero felt - even though they shouldn't have - so incredibly safe in here. Wasn't that stupid, too? That the hero felt safe with the villain?

"This is so stupid," the hero whispered under their breath. They hadn't expected to get this emotional. They usually never did when they talked about it. They closed their eyes and pressed their palm into their eye socket, taking in a deep breath. "I kinda need your help with something."

They took out their phone and showed the villain the picture.

"This person is stalking me," they said. Their voice was thin. They swallowed. "It's creepy. It's weird. They somehow got a job within the agency last week and it's been getting worse. A month ago, I saved them from, I don't know, something and ever since they have tried to get closer to me. Now, they know my identity, where I live, my friends, my pet, they know stuff from my past and they follow me around, they take pictures of me, I can't-"

The villain's gaze on the picture hardened.

"I can't get rid of them. I can't really defend myself. If the public finds out that I was rude or even aggressive towards a fan..."

"Do you want me to kill them for you?" the villain asked and the hero blinked a few times.

It dawned on them that they didn't really know why they were here in the first place. Sure, they wanted this problem of theirs to be gone, but they didn't know if they wanted this person to be eliminated.

"I don't know, I...I just can't do this anymore. I have talked to the agency and they told me they can't do anything without evidence. And I can't kill them, I can't...I'm just so tired of it. I am scared they will leak my identity or my address. Or they will take pictures of me when I am not careful enough. I've never felt this powerless in my entire life."

"This charade-" the villain pointed at the footage of the hero's friend with their thumb "-is to distract them, I presume?"

"Yeah, I've asked my friends and they are willing to help me, but they can't do anything either. I don't want them to get into trouble."

The villain was quiet for a moment. They stared at the screen where the hero's friend announced heroically that the danger was over.

"I understand if you don't want to get involved. Or if this is too much trouble for you. I don't expect anything," the hero clarified. "But if you have an idea or a suggestion on how I could deal with this, I'd be more than grateful."

"They think the both of you are friends, right?"

"Something along those lines," the hero said. It was actually more than that but they didn't want the villain to know about the repulsive flirting. The hero took a step towards them and reached for the villain's forearm.

Something to hold onto. Something to stabilize them.

"I'm...I am sorry," they said. They looked at the ground, embarrassed, and turned towards the door. "I shouldn't have come here."

The villain grabbed their hip.

"If you truly think I will let you walk back out there after everything you've just told me..." Their eyes were boring through the hero, demanding attention. "...if you truly believe I will let you be exposed to such abhorrence, you're truly dumber than I ever anticipated."

The hero stared at them, eyes wide.

"I...I can't ask you to kill someone for me. It's not right, it's not, it's-" The hero swallowed. They truly didn't want to cry in front of the villain. "What kind of hero does that make me? Some fucked up hero who asks their nemesis to kill people they don't like?"

"Do I look like I need to kill someone to get my point across?" the villain asked. They smiled gently. "Let me take care of it. You can stay here if you want to. For as long as you want to. I'll pick up your cat. I can get some stuff from your place."

"Don't you think that's pathetic?" the hero asked. "That I can't deal with this? I mean, I'm supposed to be one of the most powerful people in the city and sometimes I feel like I can barely breathe when I see this person."

The villain made a grimace, almost as if the hero had just asked them a question that deserved a slap.

"You tend to forget that you're human. Power doesn't replace fear. Most people think it does. But power only fuels anger. Or in your case..." The villain had never looked softer. "...kindness."

Silence.

"I believe it takes great courage to ask for help. And you being here means it's really bad," the villain said. They touched the hero's cheek, careful not to make any quick moves. "I won't kill them because it's your wish. But I will take care of this."

It was decided, then.