"You Seem Remarkably Dispassionate These Days," They Said In A Low Voice.

The Hero dodged. Too slow, the Dark Lord swung down his battle ax and cleaved a rock in half. The Hero went for his opening, but the Dark Lord parried. The Hero jumped over another swing, then feinted an attack. The Dark Lord anticipated the feint and swung at the Hero's sword's mid-arc, sending it flying. The Hero stumbled back from the blow, then rolled when the ax came down where he fell.

The Hero retrieved his fallen sword and smiled cockily. "I can do this all day."

The Dark Lord froze at that. The Hero launched into another attack. Dark Lord halfheartedly blocked his blow. Another attack. Block. It felt slow and deliberate, like a training exercise.

"What's wrong? Getting tired?" The Hero snarked.

The Dark Lord planted his ax in the ground. The Hero sensed something was different and stepped back. The two foes apprehensively waited for the other to make a move.

That's when the Dark Lord removed his helmet.

"I am," he said simply. He tossed his helmet to the side. "I am getting tired."

"You think it can just end? Like that?!" The Hero shouted. "After everything you did?!"

The Dark Lord's glowing eyes bore into his.

He picked up one of the skulls littering the ground around them, and tossed it to the Hero's feet.

"Whose bodies litter these battle grounds?" The Dark Lord growled. "Did you ever wonder?"

The Hero stared down at the skull.

"Ours," the Hero said lightly. He kicked the skull back. "A millennia of reincarnations made to come here and die over and over."

The Dark Lord stepped on the skull. It cracked, then crumbled into dust. "You're ready to do this for another millennia?"

The Hero faltered then. "As long as it takes," he whispered.

"As long as it takes for what?" The Dark Lord said.

"I... I just want to rest," the Hero admitted. "But time and time again, you razed my village and destroyed everything I love. You've taken everything, and now you get to call it quits and say you're tired? I've been tired this whole time."

"Your village turned away my people when we had nothing," the Dark Lord said. "We took what we needed by force."

"Don't you dare try to come off as the victim--" the Hero started in, but the Dark Lord interjected.

"We were desperate, and turned to forces we never should have trifled with. In turn, so have yours. Neither us have known love and peace since this started."

"Quit trying to act like we're the same," the Hero snarled, but there was a broken edge.

"We need to end the cycle," The Dark Lord said, and started towards him.

The Hero narrowed his eyes and raised his sword. The Dark Lord, undeterred, loomed above him. The Hero shook.

"Run me through, Hero," the Dark Lord said. "Slake your bloodlust. I will come back as many times as it takes."

The Hero held out his sword. The Dark Lord bared his throat and closed his eyes. A bead of blood dripped from where the blade grazed his throat.

The sword clattered to the ground.

The Dark Lord tilted his head.

"I don't want this," the Hero said.

The Dark Lord held out his hand. "It's time to rebuild, then."

The Hero took it. "I'll hold you to that."

You and the Dark Lord are destined to be reincarnated to fight fight one another throughout time. After 1000 years of fighting, the two of you decide to sit down and actually discuss an end to this conflict.

How the Turns Have Tabled

Hero approached the cell with all the feet-dragging reluctance of someone who was in way over their head. They dug through their pocket for the key, mumbling something about stupidity and youth mortality under their breath. A quick glance through the small window nestled in the door revealed a form unmoving laid out in the corner.

To their minor relief, it appeared their guest was still out cold.

The hinges squeaked as Hero slowly pushed open the door. They watched closely for any movement and saw none, so they continued.

Once inside, they dropped a bundle of fabric at the feet of the sleeping figure and left a plastic bottle and an aluminum package on the ground. They were back out the door quickly and the lock clicked back into place just as fast.

Hero turned away from the door and let out a quiet breath as they moved away.

A few steps in, a creak sounded from behind them.

Shit.

Hero froze, then spoke calmly into the stale air,“The exits out back.”

Lowly, a gruff voice responded, “Not that easy.”

Hero winced.

“Worth a shot.”

By the time their hand shot to their belt and they made to spin around, Villain had already closed the distance. Their knife was knocked from their hand the second it was drawn. The villain kicked it away in the same move he used to grab the hero’s wrist. Hero used their free hand to punch him in the face, landing a hard hit before Villain used his leverage to twist, forcing their arm behind their back and shoving them face-first into the wall.

Hero groaned into the cinder block, “Fuck my life.”

They would not have even realized that they had said that aloud had it not been for the confirmation of a deep but quiet chuckle.

Fingers curled lightly into their scalp as Villain spoke, “Other hand.”

Hero squeezed their eyes shut and offered up their free hand into the borderline-painful grip behind them.

“You want to tell me where the ties are?”

Hero turned their cheek against the wall so their jaw was free to move with the words.

“Second shelf from the bottom, other wall.”

They were lifted from the concrete and pulled backwards to the opposite side of the room. A plastic tie soon zipped into place, pinning their wrists together before the villain shifted his grip to their arm to lead them forward.

“In.”

They stepped through the door into the dimly-lit cell, and Hero scowled at the lock hanging broken off the latch.

“Sit,” he ordered with a shove towards where the crumpled blanket rested on the stripped down cot.

The hero stumbled but did as they were told, settling with their back against the wall and feet planted firmly on the floor.

They watched as Villain dragged in a folding chair, flipping it around in front of him to plant a leg on either side and sit backwards, conveniently blocking the doorway.

“Kidnapping, huh?” The villain begun to question, “Is that what you do now?”

Hero leveled their eyes on the blank sheet that was the adjacent wall in lieu of a response. Villain tilted his head at the silence and leveled a disappointed glare at the hero.

“Don’t make me come over there.”

At that, Hero dragged their gaze slowly to the man in the chair.

“I don’t suppose you’ll believe you walked in here of your own free will?”

“Right,” the villain leaned forward, placing his elbows on the seat back and planting his chin on his palms. “And the lock was for decoration.”

“Obviously, given how easily it broke.”

The distaste shown on the hero’s face suggested that they would be having more than a few words with Masterlock customer service.

Villain grinned almost imperceptibly.

“I must say, this is giving my style, not yours.”

“Yeah, well,” Hero bit their lip and averted their eyes again, “shit happens.”

They took the time to notice all the numerous cobwebs in the room before Villain opened his mouth again.

Oddly enough, he wasn’t moving his tongue to push for an explanation.

“You know, they say mimicry is the highest form of flattery.”

Hero, taken slightly aback, could only find the highly dignified words, “Fuck off.”

Instead of lashing out like the hero had predicted with muscles tensed, Villain simply pointed out, “You’re the one who brought me here. I think I might just stick around and find out why.”

With that, he stood. The chair slid across the floor and into the wall as he pushed off.

“It’s in your best interest to answer, so I’d suggest doing that.”

Hero did not dare take their eyes off his form as he approached. He towered over the low-lying cot, and Hero may or may not have forgotten to breathe as he leaned in.

“Or have you forgotten your position here, now?”

Hot breath warmed their ear and Hero bit their tongue.

“You thought you could lock me up?”

“I…made an error in judgment.” Hero spoke carefully, suppressing a shiver.

Another chuckle had Hero silently begging for a Time Machine. An arm was planted on either side of them, leaving them feeling like a bird in a cage, or an ant under a microscope.

“I sure hope the five minutes of success didn’t get to your head,” Villain spoke with faux pity, lips slightly pouted in obvious mockery.

“I think they took five years off my life, actually,” Hero admitted, figuring it was probably clear at this point how they felt about their decision to… well, abduct the villain.

“It sure sounds like you’ve learned your lesson, then.”

Hero almost cheered when Villain rose back to his full height, out of their immediate personal space. That was, until he continued.

“But really, it is best to be certain.”

“How, exactly, do you plan on being certain?” Hero inquired carefully, not that they really wanted to know the answer. Their heart beat a rapid warning inside of their chest.

Villain tapped his chin thoughtfully before a familiar grin spread slowly across his face.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got just the idea.”

Worrying did not even begin to cover the fear that sparked in the hero’s chest at that statement.

“Sit tight,” commanded the villain as he sauntered out the door, not bothering to replace the lock or even so much as close the door.

The hero was left to gawk at his abrupt departure from their place in the corner, unable to gracefully rise and follow him with arms stuck behind them as they were.

A few seconds passed, and they slumped as the adrenaline finally started to drain out of them.

They breathed out into the quiet air as the villain’s footsteps receded, “I am going to die so young.”

Look, writer’s block is not some giant, mysterious monster. It’s you, in your head, holding yourself back because you’re afraid what you’re writing sucks. And here’s the truth, yeah, maybe it does suck. But you know what? That’s okay. Writing something bad is still better than writing nothing at all. You don’t wait for inspiration to strike, you show up, write the garbage draft, and then fix it later. Writing isn’t about perfection, it’s about getting it done. Even if it’s one crappy page at a time.

a sluge 😔

New Year's Day

"I don't matter," the hero said, hollow.

"Of course you do. You've saved so many people," the civilian argued. "You've done so much."

"You've known me for 15 years," the hero whispered. "What day is it today?"

"New Year's?" The civilian asked, a note of confusion. The hero huffed a breath. Nodded.

"Well, I should get going," civilian said. "Chin up, okay? You look better when you smile."

The hero watched them leave. Stared at the falling snow with detached interest.

A click. The barrel of a gun brushed the back of their head.

"Well, well, well," the villain said. "You should be out celebrating, darling. Not brooding on some snow-covered bench."

"Can you get to the threats?"

"Touchy today," the villain said. "Down on the ground." "There's snow on the ground," the hero said. "Can we skip that and go straight to the kidnapping?"

"Well, fine," the villain sighed. "Since it's your birthday."

"What's that?"

"It's your birthday. Get in the van."

The hero paused and turned.

"You think these bullets are blank?" The villain pressed the barrel to their temple. "Get in."

The hero laughed. High-pitched, a little bitter.

The villain was getting angry now. "What's so funny?" They snap.

"You're the only one who knows it's my birthday," the hero said.

"It's New Years Day. How could anyone forget that?!" the villain sneered, a little flabbergasted.

The hero shook their head and got in the van. After the interrogation, after the threats and the monologue and the random tangent about Christmas commercialism, the villain brought them a cake.

An enormous cake. It was collapsing under the weight of its own hubris.

All the henchmen came out wearing party hats. They sang Happy Birthday loud and off-key.

The hero tried not to smile. Tried not to cry. Failed at both.

They sang karaoke. Danced. Played party games.

The villain patted their shoulder heavily.

"My birthday is next month, by the way. Don't forget or I'll end you."

The hero laughed.

"I'm serious," villain said. "No peppermint. I hate it."

Scraps

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

The medals we earn adorn their necks

The food we prepare they rend and scrape

Their clean homes, our cracked skin

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

The spreadsheets, waivers, all-nighters

The mandatory overtime, 'voluntary' vacation

As family, friends, community becomes strangers

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

They bathe excess in bleach

Destroy 'out-of-season' and 'imperfect'

Unwanted treasure that never trickles down

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

They shrink the box and raise the price

Formula and cinnamon with lead filler

Locked away from desperate hands

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

They take your words and art

Remove the feeling and the context

But most importantly, the watermark

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

Big words not meant for us

They'll pulverize until the pain means nothing

Your screams are taken as aggression

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

Cries in the waiting room, unheard

Life is precious, they'll say to bodies

Who in neglect, turned to corpses

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

In fear, they cut us smaller

Yet they shovel mouthfuls much too quickly

The scraps will make them choke

The villain sprawled languid, more somber than usual, on the rooftop of a towering business building. Their head rested on the wall leading to the stairwell, legs dangling precariously over the edge. Staring down at the street with an intent that made hero's blood run cold.

"V-villain," Hero murmured with some measure of trepidation.

Villain leaned back, gazed at the hero from upside down, and smiled slow.

"Hero! How on earth did you find me?"

"I'll tell you i-if you come down," Hero said with a note of urgency.

"And why would I do that? I can hear you perfectly fine up here!"

"P-please come down."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were worried about me," the villain said, tapping them teasingly. "Scared of heights? Or think I have something up my sleeve?"

"I know you saw what the mayor said," Hero said. "I... I don't even know where to begin."

"So don't," Villain said. "After all, you agree with him, don't you? You just stood there and let him say everything. Of course you'll deny it and feign being neutral--"

"No, that's not--"

"Because that's so much less messy, isn't it?"

"I--"

"Listen, sit back, grab some popcorn, and I'll make a show of it just for you." They stood, one foot on the edge, one arm holding a pole as they dangled over the rooftop edge. "Your life will be sooo much better if I just--"

"VILLAIN!" Hero yelled. They climbed up and grabbed for their collar, but Villain dodged, spinning gracefully to the other side of the pole. Hero lost their balance, and Villain grabbed at their collar to steady them. "Careful, darling, we're high, high up. You don't want an accident, do you?"

"V-villain, please--"

"Aren't you afraid I'll push you?" Villain said. "Poor, sweet, trusting thing."

Hero sucked in a breath. Looked down below. That was a mistake.

"Villain, please, get down from here," they pleaded. "Please, I need you, please--"

Villain sneered. "You need me? What sentimental hogwash are you spewing now? You've never needed someone like me. Besides, you should worry more about yourself." Villain gripped their collar tightly, eyes wide with a hungry sort of malice. "Aren't you letting your guard down too much?"

With a yank, they swung Hero over the edge, toes barely holding the rooftop's edge.

Hero SCREAMED, panted, scrambling for as much purchase as possible.

"You're pathetic," Villain said. "Weak and trusting and SO easy to manipulate. A good little puppet for the mayor up until now."

"VILLAIN--" Hero screeched, voice cracking.

"But now I hold the strings," Villain said. "And it's time to make you dance."

They shoved Hero's feet off the edge. Kicking air. Crying. "Please please PLEASE--"

"Say it. Say I'm a monster, you COWARD. A filthy creature that needs to be eradicated--"

"V-villain--"

"An infestation on an otherwise fine society--"

"VILLAIN, NO--"

"You coward," Villain spat. "Say it to my face."

"Y-you're not."

"Liar. I'm a monster. Say it."

Tears fell from Hero's face.

"N-no. You're right. I'm a coward."

Silence.

Villain drew them back to the ledge.

"The m-mayor... Is the monster. I s-shouldn't have let it get this bad. We can't let him keep on like this."

There was that same somber look on the villain's face.

"I-I should have stood up to him," Hero sobbed. "I-if you... J-jump... It would end me." They hiccuped and buried their face in their hands. "I... I c-can't... I..."

"Hey, uh..." Villain gripped their shoulders. "Let's get down... Okay?"

"I'm a coward," Hero sobbed. "All this time... I just kept quiet... And for what? I almost lost you."

Villain patted their shoulder gently.

Hero looked up at them with watery eyes.

"I... I care about you. You're so used to being the villain you can't picture anything else."

"Heh." Villain shook their head. Put some distance between them, back turned. "You martyr. I just threatened your life."

"They're calling for your blood and disrespecting your life's work, and I stood by and let them. I betrayed you."

"It... Hurt," Villain said, hugging themselves. Head hung. "More than I care to admit."

"I'll make it right," Hero said. "Most don't see it, but your motives are good. I'll make them see it."

"I'm a villain, darling," Villain said with a sad smile. "My motives hardly matter."

Hero closed the distance and laid a gentle hand on their arm.

"They matter to me."

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.”

Oh my god I am so obsessed with ‘A Man of His Word’ could you please continue it if you have time? Thank you sooo much i love your writing so much.

Happy to! Thanks for the kind words, hope you enjoy :)

Pt. 1

-

A Face with Two Hands (A Man of His Word pt. 2)

Cw: childhood parental loss, interrogation + previous warnings

“11:59,” the clock read.

It was digital, so no ticking could be heard from where it was reinforced into the wall. Civilian was just as silent where they stood in the center of the utterly empty room.

Around them, cold gray walls closed in, broken only by a thick metal door. It was painfully cliche as far as cells go, appropriate for a cold-hearted villain to stash away all their problems and inconveniences.

Like Civilian.

The quiet was peaceful, for a moment.

Silence, however, tends to beg to be broken, and Civilian’s mind was more than happy to oblige the whims of the stale air around them.

As easy as breath filled their lungs, the voices of their Mom and Dad flooded their head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Midnight,” they had promised, with eyes full of love. “You should be asleep by then.”

But Civilian wasn’t.

Instead, they were camped out in the kitchen, nest of blankets keeping them separate from the hard laminate floor. They refused to give in to the sleep that pulled relentlessly at their eyelids, gaze stubbornly locked on the little green numbers that glowed above the oven and spelled out broken promises.

They clutched a small stuffed panda in their arms, waiting for the familiar sound of the garage door opening. Their eyes watered as they rested their head against the wooden table leg.

With each minute that ticked by, Civilian’s heart dropped a little lower.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Looking at the clock now, Civilian couldn’t help but feel the same sense of dread.

They shook off the memory, coming back into the present with a disorienting blink.

It was three hours till the next switch check in. As far as Civilian could tell, Villain wouldn’t be back until then.

Plenty of time to take inventory.

Physically, Civilian had little more than the clothes on their back.

The cuts Villain had inflected still laid open and untreated. Clearly, he didn’t plan on them living long enough for infection to become a problem.

They tried to tear strips out of their jacket in hopes of maybe tying some fabric around their wound but quickly deemed the weave too thick. Out of necessity, they moved onto the thinner cotton of their T-shirt, tearing off the hem with a degree of difficulty and gripping it with their teeth to tie as tightly as they could manage.

They really did miss having Friend’s extra hands and muscles around.

Mentally, they were about at the same level, except there was no shirt bandage that would stop the echoing in their mind.

Prisoner.

The word sat like cold iron wrapped around their heart, the weight like a death and betrayal all in one.

Civilian didn’t know how they could ever forget a feeling like that.

They were painfully aware that there was nothing but an awkwardly blurted secret and three days of planning keeping an old friend from spilling their blood across the unforgiving concrete of what they could only assume to be some kind of basement.

They took a deep breath and glanced at the clock again.

Well, two days now.

Unexpectedly, a sharp wave of anger crashed over them. Did their friendship truly mean nothing? They were so, incredibly, irrevocably stupid! Now they were probably going to die, stuck in this stupid place he brought them to (because of course he had a place-!)

The door opened with no warning, the loud clicking and snapping of the lock sending a sudden jolt through their heart and taking several more years off their life.

The man that entered seemed nothing but cold and distant.

He wasted no time stepping towards them, and in turn Civilian wasted no time falling flat on their ass trying to back away from him.

“What was your plan?” He questioned without preamble, freezing his movements and allowing Civilian a precious second to think.

Unfortunately, even with the immediate threat paused, they still lacked the clear-headedness to answer.

What was Villain talking about? He was the one with a plan to take down Hero. Civilian just needed to help work out one little kink-

“What?” They asked the stone-faced villain.

“After ten seconds.”

Oh, that plan.

“Hope for the best?” They squeaked.

Civilian’s attempt at a self-loathing chuckle ended in nothing but a weak cough.

Once upon a time, Friend would have laughed heartily with them, bent over, one hand holding his stomach. Villain did no such thing. Eyes that could never have belonged to Friend cut them a dangerous glare.

“Okay, then. We’ll start with the harder questions,” he spoke level, but Civilian knew a dangerous tone when they heard one. Slowly, they started crawling back, but it didn’t matter.

Villain descended and Civilian shrunk with the knowledge that his hands were not empty.

“How the fuck did you figure out who I am?”

As much as Civilian tried to ignore it, the way he spit the pronoun stung.

Civilian was not unfamiliar with pain, nor were they unfamiliar with those close to them inflicting it upon them. What they felt now, however, was a level far beyond anything they had felt before.

They supposed he, of all people, would be an expert in inflicting pain.

In a matter of seconds, Civilian was sure they didn’t have nearly enough shirt left to bandage everything. Their tongue loosened with the stinging. They had no question this was intended by the man holding the sharpened knife.

“Die,” they blurted as a result, in that oh-so elegant manner that Villain had a habit of bringing out in them.

“Excuse me?” Villain challenged, eyebrows raised and hand poised to continue cutting.

“My plan,” Civilian grit hard through their teeth, “was to die.” They clarified, rolling over to groan. “I made peace with it.”

Villain considered them for a moment, rising to his full height and staring down at them with a confusing mix of condescension and possibly pity. Or perhaps he was just smug. Civilian certainly didn’t trust their ability to read him anymore.

He tilted his head slowly, only adding to Civilian’s confusion as he smirked.

“Did you make peace with this?”

To that, Civilian said nothing.

His face evened out again, and Civilian recognized the masked anger, familiar as the taste of blood, as he reached down. Villain pulled them up by the collar, wrestling their arms roughly behind their back as he leaned over their shoulder.

“That was not your best plan,” he whispered, before pulling them out the door.