"I Wish I Wasn't So Weak."

A Man of His Word

(Context: Civilian has a friend that is well known for never breaking promises. This friend also just so happens to have a secret, and Civilian has figured it out.)

Cw: threat of death, knife violence

Civilian smiled across the kitchen at Friend. He was helping them put their groceries away, transferring things from the floor to the fridge. Plastic rustled as he removed milk from one bag and various cheeses from another.

“Thanks again for helping me carry these. You know how much I hate doing two trips.”

Friend sighed, rolling his head back dramatically as he replied, “I know you just keep me around for my arm muscles.”

Civilian glared at their friend, who was now flexing his biceps, for all of two seconds before a smile broke back out across their face.

“But really, it’s no problem at all.”

Breaking the comfortable silence after the amendment, Friend bunched up an empty bag, throwing it straight at Civilian instead of shoving it into the bag-of-bags looped around the pantry door handle.

Civilian gasped as they batted it away, instinctively going for the closest thing on the island that wasn’t breakable. They clutched the freshly-bought apple in their hand before throwing it mercilessly at their friend. Luckily, Friend caught it with a laugh, keeping the fruit from being bruised.

Civilian joined in with some light giggling of their own as they watched him take a bite with a satisfying crunch before continuing to stock the fridge while they conquered the pantry.

“Hey! That was supposed to be for a pie!” They protested.

“Please,” he started, pulling some scissors from the kitchen drawer and cutting open the plastic rings from a six-pack of soda they had broken into earlier. “I saved it from a terrible fate:” He finished, tossing the bird-safe remains into the trash, “The horrors of your baking.”

Civilian gaped in offense.

“No more birthday cakes for you!”

“The best gift I could ever ask for,” he winked, coming over to throw an arm over Civilian’s shoulders and ruffle their hair.

The normalcy sent off a pang in their chest.

A thoughtful, dependable, goofy guy. It was just so easy to believe.

It was a shame they knew it was a lie.

Friend had started to relay some adventure from earlier in his day, which Civilian tried their best to attend to. In the background, the TV in the living room was playing some stupid sitcom with a shitty laugh track that was definitely being overused. They leaned against the counter, basking in the peace of it all for just another moment.

Before it all went to shit.

Civilian made their move after the pantry was shut and they both headed for the next room.

“Hey,” Civilian checked their nails as they spoke, “I want to talk to you about something, but you have to promise me something first.”

An innocently confused, mildly concerned expression plastered itself over Friend’s face as he stopped short of the couch. Civilian’s stomach twisted at the sight.

“Yeah, of course. Anything.”

Friend crossed their arms and leaned against the pony wall disarmingly.

“You have to hear me out. Give me ten seconds.”

An awkward chuckle.

“What is this about?”

Civilian met their friend’s eyes seriously.

“Just promise me. Ten seconds.”

“Okay… Yeah sure, ten seconds,” he assured, shooting them an uneasy smile.

Civilian took a deep breath.

“I know who you are.”

And just like that, Friend was gone. Instead, there was Villain, pinning Civilian to the floor, holding a blade a hair’s width from their jugular.

Where he had hidden the knife, Civilian had no idea, not that was particularly important right now. Only one thing was.

“You promised!” They squeaked out, hating how helpless they were in that moment, how they were betting their life on there being a kernel of their friend left in the man on top of them now.

Inflectionless, he responded, “Nine. Eight.”

Civilian’s relief was very short lived. Shit, they should have said fifteen.

Trying so very hard to stay still, to keep that sharpened metal away from their carotid, they practically whispered their desperate plea to the stone face above them, “I don’t care. I swear to anything I don’t. You have a plan to take down Hero. In- in three days. I need to help.”

“Two.”

Frantically, they stumbled over their words as they added. “Oh! and um- dead man’s switch.”

Despite themselves, they scrunched their eyes shut as their internal countdown hit zero. When nothing happened, their eyelids fluttered open again to see utterly unchanged features. No reaction at all.

“What,” Villain spoke, in a voice that Civilian no longer recognized, “does that mean?”

“If I live, your identity stays between us. If I die…”

A sharp pain lit up their arm as, presumably, the knife that had been at their neck relocated itself into their flesh. Civilian swore.

“Who,” Villain growled lowly, leaning close to their ear, “The fuck. Do you think you are?.”

“Someone with a will to live?” Civilian choked, no longer scared to take deep, heaving breaths to the side now that there wasn’t a blade directly above their artery.

“Clearly not. People who want to live keep their mouth shut and run far, far away,” he spit.

Their head was wrenched back into a forward-facing position via a hand in their hair.

“How long?” Villain demanded.

Civilian blinked. Right, the switch.

“Fifteen minutes.”

Suddenly, they were being hauled up by the collar, then unceremoniously shoved into the light blue accent wall, conveniently within sight of where their laptop rested closed in the middle of the room.

“Disable it.”

“I can’t. It's automatic, every 8 hours. No off switch.”

Spots arose in their vision as their arm was grabbed in a rather unfortunate location.

“Disable. It.”

“I can’t. I swear.”

“I can get the code one way or another,” Villain warned.

“I know you could.” Involuntary tears dripped down their face as they explained, “There’s nothing to get. The answer changes every time. It’s randomly selected. I don’t know it till I see it.”

“You’re lying,” he accused, and Civilian didn’t have to look to know that they were bleeding somewhere else now with just a swipe of his hand.

“I’m not! Give me the laptop, we’re running out of time.”

Civilain gestured wildly to the oak wood coffee table.

“The only person running out of time here is you.”

With that, Civilian was thrown back to the floor, Villain straddling their horizontal form before they could get their legs underneath them to scramble back. The knife returned, only this time it would not be pressed shallowly, and there would be no more counting, no more promises of time, no more hesitation.

”Look! Hero killed my parents, okay?!” They blurted, a last, desperate attempt at getting through to him before he ended their life.

Maybe there was a shred of Friend left in the villain after all, because Civilian caught the slightest moment of pause in his movements, a blip they might never have noticed having never spent time with the man.

“Please, I would never stop you,” they pleaded, searching for another blip deep inside their former friend’s eyes. They came away empty.

They didn’t really know how it happened, but somehow they ended up perched on the couch, laptop open and propped on shaking legs. Villain breathed down their neck every second, watching them like a starved hawk.

They were lucky they could even punch the code in with the amount of nervous movement in their fingers and hands.

“That’s it. We’re good for another eight hours,” they confirmed, slowly closing the lid of their laptop and sliding it back onto the table next to the coaster. “Guess we’re partners now,” Civilian laughed weakly.

“No,” Villain dissented, in a tone that left no room for argument. “You’re a temporarily-alive prisoner.”

He appeared in front of them, pulling them up and off the couch with an alarmingly harsh grip.

“Don’t forget it.”

"You chose a bad day to infiltrate my base," the villain says.

"Because you're planning something?" The hero demanded. "I've seen people in and out all day. What are you up to?"

"It's a holiday, Hero, in case you've forgotten," the villain sighed. "I'm just trying to survive my family."

"O-oh." The hero looked lost in thought. "I, um, forgot."

"You know what?" The villain put an arm around their shoulder. "You might as well join. Everyone else wants to poke their nose where it doesn't belong. You'll fit right in."

"Oh, no, that's okay." The hero's eyes went wide at the crowd they were being dragged to, digging their heels. "This is for family, and I really should be going--"

"I'm introducing you as my fiancee," the villain stated with a mischievous grin. "Aunt Bertha will hate you."

Lively chatter and the swell of festive music warmed the cold air. The protagonist had settled into a rhythm passing out food in the soup kitchen, greeting their guests with a smile, when they locked eyes with a certain unexpected visitor.

"T-this isn't what it looks like," their rival stammered.

The protagonist stared back, because how could they not. "I thought your parents were rich," they blurted.

"T-they... They are," they said, face burning red.

"Then why are you here?"

Villain could feel her mind go blank. God, she really said that out loud.

Hero was close, much too close, and her strong arms gripped her shoulders so, so tightly. She smelled a little like strawberries and musk, and her hair tickled her face a little. No one had ever gotten this close before. Villain twisted her wrists in the cuffs behind her back and tried to ignore the warm feeling in her gut.

"I… Um…" Villain tried, flustered. Her eyes flicked to Hero's lips. They looked soft.

Hero cleared her throat and put an arm's length between them. "Nice try, but you're still going to prison."

Villain's stomach did little somersaults. "You're, uh, going to take me there yourself?"

Hero blinked and seemed to avoid her eyes. "Well, um. Yes."

"And, um, keep a close eye on me?"

Hero flicked a glance at her and grabbed a walkie-talkie with one hand. "Hey, Superhero," Hero squeaked, voice cracking, "When's your ETA?"

Villain could see a little pink in her ears.

Static. Hero muttered a curse. Superhero always took his time answering.

Villain knew she should take the opportunity to try to run. Hero only had one hand on her shoulder. One warm, strong hand.

She pulled her shoulder back and barreled into the Hero. Hero, caught off guard, dropped the walkie-talkie and fell back. Villain made a run for it, jumping off the rooftop onto a fire escape.

"Hey! No, get back here!" Hero roared. She leapt onto the fire escape below Villain, cutting off where she was headed. Villain jumped off the fire escape to the ground, and Hero launched after her.

The full impact hit Villain square in the back, and the resulting fall knocked the wind out of her. Hero straddled her from the back and roughly grabbed her arms.

"Don't think I'll go easy on you just because you're cute," Hero grunted.

Villain's heart fluttered. She turned her head as much as she was able. "You think I'm cute?"

Hero reached for her walkie-talkie and came up empty.

"It's on the rooftop," Villain helpfully reminded her. "Does he normally take this long to respond?"

Hero seemed conflicted in whether to answer. "…Yeah," She conceded.

"With just you, or--"

"I really, really don't want to talk about it," Hero sighed tiredly. "Just… Please."

Villain hummed. "You deserve better," She said.

"So do your victims," Hero said, voice hard.

Villain opened her mouth. Shut it. "This seems personal," she said.

"It is," Hero said. "Superhero saved me from Villains like you. So now, I work for him and pay it forward."

"Funny," Villain said, voice lowering an octave. "Superhero is the reason I'm like this."

Hero was going to ask what she meant, but Superhero came flying from above. A short while later, a prisoner transfer vehicle arrived.

"Thanks for your help as always, Hero," Superhero said. He flashed a wide, toothy grin for the paparazzi as he secured Villain into the back of the vehicle.

"I have something important to take care of, so I'll see you back at the base, Sport," Superhero said, patting Hero's back. Hero slid into the passenger's seat quietly, knuckles white. She watched him laughing with the press as the car rolled away.

"Wow, he can't even help escort me back?" Villain said, smile sardonic. "Also, what was that just now? Is he stealing the credit from you?"

"I don't want the attention," Hero said. She looked down. "Justice is its own reward."

Villain snorted. "Oh, honey... You keep telling yourself that."

The driver flicked his eyes towards the backseat, and pushed a button to lock the car doors.

"Just ignore her," Hero said to the driver, flashing a smile. "Have we met? You don't look familiar."

"He didn't get in the car," The driver gruffed.

Villain sighed. "I know, I know, but proceed with the plan anyways."

"Yes, boss," said the driver.

Hero whirled around. "Hey, wait, what plan--"

There was a sudden sting in her arm as the driver injected her with an unknown substance.

"What th--" Hero ripped the tranquilizer from her arm and tried to grab the wheel.

The car veered and the driver wrenched her arm back. She elbowed him in the eye and grappled for the wheel. He pulled out a gun and aimed it at her.

"Hey, now," Villain said, reaching her arms through the bars. "I like her, so be gentle."

"Yes, boss," The driver said. He kept the gun ready, and glowered at Hero with his good eye. They were speeding down a gravel path. Hero tried the door but her hands felt weak.

"Child lock," Villain said.

Hero bit her tongue to stave off the unnatural woozy feeling in her head. "You'll... Be... S-sorry," she said.

"Don't worry, shh, I'll take care of you," Villain shushed, petting her hair gently. "I just can't let you interfere with my plans. Okay? Okay? Sleep."

Hero's eyes went heavy. She leaned into the soothing hand despite herself. Her vision went black.

Prompt (440)

The hero clicked the handcuffs over the villain’s wrists. “You’re done terrorizing the city. Any last words?”

“I think I’m in love with you,” the villain said.

The hero turned the villain around. “What?”

"I hardly sleep, and when I do, I am plagued by nightmares."

"I can help, but the price is steep."

Chips🥔

how do requests work? what can we ask for?

You are my first ask, so you get a special prize! 🍀 It's a clover! Congratulations! You have +1 good luck now. I take requests for hero/villain content. I don't feel comfortable working with other people's characters. I generally stay SFW. If you want spicy I will try and will likely disappoint you. I also draw pictures sometimes, but I have burnout and very rarely want to.

I also work very slowly on average. If you want a mediocre five sentence Halloween themed story with no satisfying conclusion you should ask for it now.

I work for free though, so the return on your investment of time is decent, all things considered.

All in all... Try your luck, ask a question and see what happens?

Anyway, have a good day.

The pact was signed between the King and the Fairy Queen, 1,000 years of prosperity for his kingdom, in exchange for his yet-to-be-conceived first born. The Fairy Queen however did not expect the king to slit his own throat and die on the spot seconds later.

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.

CW: Death

but this advice lives in my mind rent-free

some of the best writing advice I’ve ever received: always put the punch line at the end of the sentence.

it doesn’t have to be a “punch line” as in the end of a joke. It could be the part that punches you in the gut. The most exciting, juicy, shocking info goes at the end of the sentence. Two different examples that show the difference it makes:

doing it wrong:

She saw her brother’s dead body when she caught the smell of something rotting, thought it was coming from the fridge, and followed it into the kitchen.

doing it right:

Catching the smell of something rotten wafting from the kitchen—probably from the fridge, she thought—she followed the smell into the kitchen, and saw her brother’s dead body.

Periods are where you stop to process the sentence. Put the dead body at the start of the sentence and by the time you reach the end of the sentence, you’ve piled a whole kitchen and a weird fridge smell on top of it, and THEN you have to process the body, and it’s buried so much it barely has an impact. Put the dead body at the end, and it’s like an emotional exclamation point. Everything’s normal and then BAM, her brother’s dead.

This rule doesn’t just apply to sentences: structuring lists or paragraphs like this, by putting the important info at the end, increases their punch too. It’s why in tropes like Arson, Murder, and Jaywalking or Bread, Eggs, Milk, Squick, the odd item out comes at the end of the list.

Subverting this rule can also be used to manipulate reader’s emotional reactions or tell them how shocking they SHOULD find a piece of information in the context of a story. For example, a more conventional sentence that follows this rule:

She opened the pantry door, looking for a jar of grape jelly, but the view of the shelves was blocked by a ghost.

Oh! There’s a ghost! That’s shocking! Probably the character in our sentence doesn’t even care about the jelly anymore because the spirit of a dead person has suddenly appeared inside her pantry, and that’s obviously a much higher priority. But, subvert the rule:

She opened the pantry door, found a ghost blocking her view of the shelves, and couldn’t see past it to where the grape jelly was supposed to be.

Because the ghost is in the middle of the sentence, it’s presented like it’s a mere shelf-blocking pest, and thus less important than the REAL goal of this sentence: the grape jelly. The ghost is diminished, and now you get the impression that the character is probably not too surprised by ghosts in her pantry. Maybe it lives there. Maybe she sees a dozen ghosts a day. In any case, it’s not a big deal. Even though both sentences convey the exact same information, they set up the reader to regard the presence of ghosts very differently in this story.