pen-dipped-in-moonlight - Tumblr blog

[pen-dipped-in-moonlight]

oh, btw, that was me... that anon that said about ur url... i just accidentally did anon... hehe

haha, thank you!! 💕

[pen-dipped-in-moonlight]

when did u start this blog

According to my archives, my post was in January this year! I didn't really start posting until March, though.

[pen-dipped-in-moonlight]

Prompt #2774

“Stay still and let me get that thing off you!”

They twitched away, hands raised defensively. “I’m a mage. No normal human would take off my control collar, not even the enemy. I don’t- I don’t believe you. What do you actually want?”

[pen-dipped-in-moonlight]

Prompt #2773

“Sir, I’m going to be honest with you: I couldn’t intentionally seduce someone if my life depended on it.”

[pen-dipped-in-moonlight]

a writing guide to rivals (or enemies) to lovers + writing prompts

note: these are more rivals to lovers than anything, but you can use them for enemies to lovers as well. 

oh, you’re walking through this door? let me just ~politely~ slam the door in your face on the way out

i know we’re technically supposed to be fighting each other with swords, but you ended up on the ground and i fell on top of you, and woah… i never noticed how attractive you are until now, so let me just appreciate for a moment – wHY THE HELL DID YOU JUST SHOVE ME 

you’ve got me pinned against the wall and i’m not sure if i want to kiss you, or kill you. probably both 

‘’i know we’re, like… friends now, or whatever, but… i’d still kick your ass.’’ ‘‘like you could ever beat me.’‘ but they do, in fact, beat them.

so you’re just… not going to respect my take on this whole thing and go against everything i just said? that’s fine. i’ll just do the same thing and – oh, you didn’t like that? okay. O K A Y . and obviously, they’re doing it out of spite 

character A says ‘‘i’m going to kill you.’‘ and character B takes a step close, they’re so close now, if character B bends their head, they’d be kissing, and character B’s intensely staring into character A’s eyes, and character A’s like… shit . THIS DID NOT GO AS PLANNED ABORT MISSION ABORT ABORT ABOR —– 

OH NO – my love interest has said that they don’t care if anything happens to me, but now i’m about to die, and they’re risking their own life by running into a burning building to save me!!!!! also, did they just scream my name before bursting into the building??? god why do they sound so,,, worried???? 

okay, so… did we… did we just hug… dude. let, let go of me. let’s just. let’s just pretend this didn’t happen. *cough* i’m going to walk away now. okay. BYE 

‘‘is that a smile?’‘ ‘‘if you tell anyone about this, i swear to god, i’ll kill you.’’ 

so somebody ends up on somebody’s lap and holy shit maybe the tension is… unbearable 

when they share an intimate moment, or maybe even a kiss, and they’re both so confused by it, they completely derail. like, they just… stop working. because what the HELL just happened and then they just stare  at each other and nobody says a word until one of them turns around and SPRINTS out of the room 

‘‘go ahead, do it. if you’re so convinced you’ll kill me, do it.’‘ faster than a bullet, character A grabs a knife, handing it over to character B, who, of course, despite having spent the last couple of months claiming they would kill their love interest, and leave them for dead, can’t bring themselves to grab the knife, and actually do it

you ever just get so annoyed by a person, and what they have to say, that you snatch hold of knife and throw it into the wall behind them with all of your strength yeah me neither but maybe this fictional couple would

using seduction to try and throw each other off balance, usually by taking their clothes off in front of the other person, and it’s working

you just took a friend of mine hostage, and your crew’s been torturing them… i just found out about it, and i’m so disappointed, and there’s tears in my eyes, and the other character’s like, holy hell it fucking hurts seeing you like that… and knowing that my crew did that, that i did that to you… that i’m responsible… 

when character A is really sad, and just… out of nowhere, wraps themselves into character B’s arms and starts crying… and character B’s just like… what the hell…? we hate each other? but ok i’ll let it slide this time

there’s only one bed, but this time they’re arguing over who has to sleep on the floor, in which nobody agrees to do, so they end up in the same bed, incredibly annoyed that they have to share their space (it’s not like friends to lovers, in which they both awkwardly get into bed and laughs it off. this is straight up just. i will set this bed on fire if you don’t stay over on your side)

do these two do anything other than be at each other’s throats. like. can they hold oNE conversation without arguing over something

so you’re just. you’re just going to chain me up against this tree. okay. that’s fine. that’s totally fine. i’m fine. 

when one of them realizes that they’ve gone too far, and they show up at their love interest’s door to apologize, but the following conversation happens; ‘‘why are you here?’‘ ‘‘i’m here because i want to apologize.’‘ ‘‘well, i don’t want you here, so go away.’’ followed by the character getting the door slammed in their face.

THE FIRST KISS – and total denial after it happened, and they’re convincing themselves that there’s nothing going on between them… and they pull away from the kiss, and look at each other, and they’re just like… yeah. just realized i’m head over heels in love with this person but if i speak i will die

when they’re having a moment, and one of the characters says ‘’you hate me.’’ and the other character replies with ‘’maybe i don’t hate you entirely’’

when character A’s crew has taken character B hostage, and character A finds out they’re to be executed, and suddenly it’s this race against the clock to try and save character B’s life, while also trying to not reveal to their crew that they’re head over heels in love with the enemy

it’s not enemies to lovers if the characters hasn’t tried to kill each other at least once, or betrayed each other, or put a friend or a loved one of the other person in danger 

literally, how much do i have to stress this, enemies to lovers, they’ve got to raise hell in each other’s lives, enemies to lovers is not about sitting around a campfire and singing kumbaya, enemies to lovers means i’m covered in blood, and if you’re not careful, it’s soon be yours

and rivals to lovers is, you’re covered in blood, but since you’re here, i’ll help you clean it up, but if you get blood on my carpet, you better run 

IF THERE WAS EVER A TIME TO SLOW BURN, IT’S RIVALS OR TO LOVERS. IT’S ALL!!!!! ABOUT!!!!! THE YEArning!!!!!! THESE ASSHOLES ARE FILLED WITH TOO MUCH PRIDE TO ADMIT THEY’RE IN LOVE WITH EACH OTHER!!!!!!

[pen-dipped-in-moonlight]

Prompt 149

“You can’t even deny it anymore? If you’re so set on being innocent, why can’t you even look me in the eye and deny it?”

A beat.

“Because I’m so tired,” Villain grits out, “of being accused of making excuses whenever I do.”

[pen-dipped-in-moonlight]

batch three

check out this post here to see what's going down for @gingerly-writing. feel free to use them as prompts or just enjoy them or print them out and set them on fire! this one is darker in tone, so tw for torture and blood.

pt. one | pt. two | pt. three

-----

The archer looked up as the tent flap opened, their eyes already filling with tears. They couldn’t do this again.

The general stepped inside, pulling their gloves off their hands, finger by finger, in a hypnotic motion. “I hear that you haven’t been talking.”

It wasn’t haven’t been talking. It was that the archer couldn’t talk. They’d never been able to talk. They had all the proper instruments for it, but never had they uttered a word, not even so much of a whimper, and oh, gods, how they wished they could, just at this moment.

The general’s hand hovered over the tools set on the little folding table just inside the tent. “Still nothing? Perhaps I can change that.”

Tears ran down the archer’s cheeks, their breath rasping in their throat as they tried, desperately to make a single noise. They wanted to talk, they did, they wanted to scream and cry and sob and talk about everything, anything the general wanted to hear, anything that would make the pain and torture stop, but they couldn’t.

Their screams were as silent as ever that night.

-----

“Torture doesn’t work.”

The general looked up, eyebrows slightly arched, and viewed the shirtless, shivering person strapped down to the table. “Hm?”

“Torture doesn’t work,” the young officer repeated, licking their lips as they eyed the variety of knives laid out on the stand next to the general. They’d never known so many different types of knives even existed. “Any information I give you won’t be anything useful. Just - Just whatever I think will make you stop.”

The general looked amused, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of their lips. “Is that so?” they asked, clasping their hands behind their back. The officer nodded, a jerky, quick movement. The general’s eyes drifted across their body, and they said, “I know that.”

The officer blinked. “You - You do?”

The general nodded, their smile sharper than any of the knives they had in their collection. “Torture doesn’t work for information.” They picked up one of the blades, as thin as their smile, and laid it against the officer’s shivering skin.

Leaning in, the general whispered, “But I don’t want information.”

-----

By the time the general realized his captured spy had been lying this entire time, it was too late.

His battalion limped back, decimated to no more than two or three teams, and not a single one of the survivors unscathed. Sentries called warnings to medics and the camp support staff scrambled to the assistance of their returning wounded, but the general ignored all the commotion and the persistent questioning and reports of his officers as he limped through the dirty snow to the prisoner’s tent.

They were right where the general had left them, tied to their chair with their arms pulled back, bruises peppering their shirtless torso, still-tender burns lining their limbs. They gave the general a gap-toothed smile as he stormed across the short distance. That feral grin didn’t disappear even after he backhanded them with his armored fist.

“So,” they asked, spitting out new blood to join the tracks down their chin, as they smirked up at the general, “will you kill me now?”

The general let out a hissing snarl, slamming his open palm into their throat, and then wrapping his fingers around it until the chair tipped backwards, the prisoner gasping for breath. He let them choke for a moment longer, watching the hope in their eyes, before he loosened his grip and they were able to take in a quick breath.

“No,” he said, softly, and that hope for death on the prisoner’s face, that smug triumph, turned to fear. “Not until I’ve taken enough of your blood to replace the men I’ve lost.”

[pen-dipped-in-moonlight]

batch one

aight well. i meant to get these done for @gingerly-writing's birthday, but anyone who has known me for approx. six months or longer knows that i never get anything done on time.

BUT

a while back, she made this post and i got ideas and while not all of them came to fruition, i did get a few. i intended to make prompts but they're uhhh a bit longer than that. ginger and/or anyone else, feel free to use them as - whatever you like! i'll be separating them into three batches. one will be allegedly humorous, one will be a bit more serious, and the third will have the darker themes.

pt. one | pt. two | pt. three

-----

“I’ll never talk!” the soldier boasted, to any of the enemy soldiers who would listen. They all just rolled their eyes as they sat him down in the tent, cuffed his hands to the sturdiest pole in the center, and made sure that rags padded the insides, so the manacles wouldn’t chafe.

“I mean it!” the soldier snarled. “Not a word!”

“I wish he meant it,” one of the captors muttered to the other, who snorted. They both stepped away and bowed as the general entered the tent. The general set down a little folding chair and sat down, in the patch of sunlight offered by the open tent flap. Then they dismissed their underlings with a wave, opened a book, and started reading.

The soldier eyed the general, huffed, then said, louder this time, “You’ll get nothing out of me!”

“I’m sorry?” The general didn’t even look up.

“I won’t talk.”

“Oh, good.” The general flipped a page. “Because I haven’t gotten a single minute of peace and quiet since this war started, and I’m rather looking forward to not talking at all.”

-----

The general rode at the front of the column, and she could still hear the prisoner’s voice, singing the same damned song he had been for the past three hours.

“We’re not even on a ship,” she seethed, as another round of nonsense about whales and ships began again. “What even is a wellerman?”

Her second-in-command shrugged. “It’s pretty catchy, though,” they pointed out, and ducked an angry swing from the general.

“If I hear anyone else start singing this tripe, I will cut their tongue out myself,” she snapped.

-----

The young lieutenant shook the manacles to ensure they were chained tight to the pole, then stepped back. The prisoner debated kicking them in the stomach, but then decided against it.

“Don’t worry, I can’t slip these,” they assured the lieutenant with a crooked grin. They tugged at the chains thoughtfully; it connected to the pole above their head, but they weren’t at least hanging there by their shoulders. “Thanks for the slack.”

The lieutenant gave them a tight, nervous smile, close-lipped. “Yeah, you’re gonna need it,” they said, and brushed their hands off on their hips. “Uh. Your country do anything like, rites or something?”

“For leaving a person out to be sacrificed to a heathen monster?” the prisoner asked blandly, one eyebrow arching. “No, we leave that to you civilized folks. Back home, we’d just do the savage thing of, you know, not sacrificing people.”

“It’s not a sacrifice,” the lieutenant complained with a huff. They looked anxiously over their shoulder, at the equally worried soldiers at the edge of the clearing. None of them had dared come out of the treeline. “It’s - well, you’ll find out.”

“Thanks,” the prisoner drawled. “That’s comforting. Do I get anything?”

“Well, um, you got magic, right?” the lieutenant asked helplessly. Their eyes did not stop roving around, and they were clearly eager to get back to the safety of the trees. The prisoner didn’t know what was so terrifying that the lieutenant was the only one brave enough to bring out their not-a-sacrifice, but was somehow weak enough to be stopped by a few scrawny beech trees.

“I can make pretty lights,” the prisoner said flatly. The lieutenant forced another one of their awkward grins, already backing away. They gave the prisoner a pair of thumbs up.

“Well, that’s something?” they said. “Uh, if - if you live until nightfall, we’ll, um, bring you some dinner, okay?”

The sun was rising, and the lieutenant picked up their pace to make the trees before the sunlight truly filled the clearing. The prisoner stared at them, nonplussed, then said, blandly, “Yeah, sure, sounds like a date.”

[pen-dipped-in-moonlight]

Prompt #2762

“Ssh,” the supervillain whispered, hand clamped over their mouth. “Don’t scream, or you’ll get us both killed.”

“Both?” they murmured into his fingers. “More like just you.”

“Do you really think they’ll wait for you to get out of the way before they start shooting?”

[pen-dipped-in-moonlight]

listen up I need to talk about characters in pain alone. a fighter who won their most recent match but who goes home alone to a crappy little apartment where they're lucky if they manage to make some ramen before they pass out on the couch, only to wake stiff with bruises in a few hours. a vigilante who loses to the villain and gets left on a rooftop to pick themself up and try to stagger home without getting found, arrested, or passing out in their costume. the new member on a team who gets the dirtiest, hardest jobs as an initiation and who can't admit to anyone that they're breaking under the pressure because all their teammates will hear is weakness.

I need characters pasting bandages on injuries with trembling fingers as their vision blurs. I need characters desperately trying to haul themselves up just one more stair so they can stagger to their front door. I need characters who make it through that door only to collapse right behind it, watching the light in their bathroom blur and fade before they can get to their first aid kit. I need characters passing out in alleyways only to wake up hours later and know they still have to try to make it home on their own because they think they have no one to call.

[pen-dipped-in-moonlight]

hiya Jadey! for your follower celebration may I request a spy/hero or spy/villain snippet? thank you! <3

ooh, there were so many things I could have written that it was hard to decide, so this took my brain a while. but this is what ended up coming out!

“Bring them here.”

The spy was hauled, arms bound behind their back, towards where the villain sat, their face mostly concealed behind a mask. Knees hit the polished floor with a thud, and the spy winced. Their hair was falling loose, and their jaw ached and throbbed.

The henchmen were excellent at their jobs.

The villain regarded the spy. The spy had become good at reading their expressions using the scant inches of skin left uncovered, and they knew without doubt that the villain was very irritated. The spy could see the anger building, in the squint of their eyes and in the twitch of the left corner of their lips, and could only hope it wouldn’t get too bad too fast.

But it was a reasonable response, considering the spy had managed to climb to the third rank within the villain’s operations before this fateful day.

Slowly, the spy grinned. “Hello, boss.”

The villain’s jaw clenched. They waved their henchmen out of the room before giving the spy their full attention—and wrath. They rose from their seat and stalked towards the kneeling spy. “You are going to regret ever stepping into my base.”

The spy blinked up at them, grin dropping into something more contemplative. “I will? But I met you.”

They flinched as the villain’s hand shot out, grasping their jaw tight and forcing it up further. “Who do you work for?”

“You,” the spy said simply.

“Obviously not.” The villain’s grip tightened. “I would ask you if any of your ruse was real, but I already know. Nothing your kind spouts can ever be real.”

The spy held the villain’s gaze. “Which parts are you wondering about?”

Something flickered in the villain’s eyes behind that anger, and it was harder to read. “I let myself believe it when you said you were lonely—lonely too.”

“The night on the balcony,” the spy said softly.

The villain jerked their chin down in a nod, then sucked in a breath. Even with the unusual flickering in their eyes, the spy could not see past the cruel edges of their mask to the lonely child they had claimed to be.

The spy saw the moment disappear just before a swift punch to their cheek from the villain snapped their head around and sent their body toppling sideways. “You will regret—”

“The night,” the spy gasped, “on the balcony was true. You think I was lying? A spy’s job is one of the loneliest you can get. I could never let my guard down around the people I infiltrated, yet barely was allowed to know who hired me. Too risky. And proper friends, or a lover? Basically painting a target on their backs.”

The spy felt the fear settle in their bones. Just a little longer.

“We’re both lonely, [Villain],” they said. “So maybe it doesn’t have to end here. You’ve shown me...”

They struggled for words. “Something new.”

Three loud bangs interrupted the spy. The villain had turned away, and was summoning their henchmen back. They waved an arm as the same two people entered. “Take them away and lock them up for later. I cannot stand to see their face any longer.”

The spy closed their eyes as hands gripped their arms. The henchmens’ motions were gentler this time, carefully helping the spy upright and to their feet.

The spy opened their eyes, demanding the villain’s attention. “I wasn’t done. That night was true for you too. You really think you’re lonely. But you—you lie, cheat, steal, kill, and you think that any means are justifiable because you’ve been some sad little child. You get angry when your methods bring you no friends.”

“I said take. them. away,” the villain snapped.

The henchmen didn’t budge. Behind their back, the spy felt their bonds loosen.

“You’re not the only one with some sad story. You’re not special. But you took that, and used it to cross so many lines.” The spy laughed, bitterly. “Thousands of lines.”

“I lie and cheat and steal too,” the spy continued. “But not like you. Never like you.”

The ropes around the spy’s wrists fell to the floor, and the villain jolted, eyes going wide. The villain was smart. The spy saw them put together the pieces, but they were still too late. Neither would the villain have imagined that so many had decided to betray them. Not all, but enough that they could deal with the rest.

Carefully, the spy and their friends put more space between the villain and themselves. Any weapons in the room had already been removed or replaced, but they knew the villain still kept blades on their body. The villain pulled two long daggers out now.

“Your base is surrounded,” the spy said, as one of their friends pounded five times against the wall and their other friend handed them a weapon. “Look out the window.”

The villain did, their expression so stunned the spy almost felt bad for them. Mostly, though their face still throbbed, they felt triumphant.

The spy tilted their chin up and looked the villain in the eyes for the last time.

“You’re not lonely. You’re cruel.”

[pen-dipped-in-moonlight]

If you wanted, I'd love to read something about a god and their favorite priest. Maybe other priests thinking they're a heretic, or thinking they're not pious enough. Or the god and the priest having a disagreement about ethics.

Your brothers pray to me for your salvation.

Daniel shivered at the god's voice - always somewhere between familiar and unfamiliar, ever-changing and ever-them all at once. He couldn't say for certain if the great one spoke aloud or in his head or both. All he knew was that when the god was there, the rest of the world fell away. Gods were like that. They did not share with anything.

"Don't hurt them," Daniel said. "They do not know what they ask."

They call you a sinner. A heretic. They think that the devil has claimed you.

"I know what they say. I'm blind, not deaf. I still ask you to spare them."

They say your name like it is a synonym for a problem, for some terrible unspeakable disappointment. I know you are angry too. I can taste it in you like poison that tries too hard to be sweet.

Daniel swallowed.

At first, the god had visited him only when he prayed, in the deepest recess of the temple. With time, though, the god could appear anywhere. In Daniel's dreams, or when he was tending the garden with the sunshine warming his skin, or sometimes the god would even speak with Daniel's mouth or move with his body.

The other priests always hated it when the god did that.

They wish to save you by cutting me from you like a cancerous limb. It is an insult. You are mine.

A god's favour was a dangerous thing in the wrong hands.

A careless vengeful whisper to a god could raze cities, if the god in question was inclined to be indulgent, and the god usually was when destruction and sacrifice was involved these days. Not enough to tip the scales, to suck dry the well of believers that gave them power, but enough to remind humans every so often that they were but temporary residents in somebody else's doll house.

A god's favour was a dangerous thing, because they did not suffer kindly those who would harm their favoured in any way.

A god's favour could swallow a human whole.

Their god was certainly a vengeful god, but Daniel could understand that. They shared the same fury. The difference was that Daniel buried his rage and the god did not believe in such things.

But the priests, after all, only whispered their untruths about Daniel. They preached their lies about the great one loudly like it was fact, so loudly that they never stopped once to listen in the temple silence. Their prayers were demand masked as entreaty. Their love was fickle, yet it did not occur that the god who made them might feel fickle also as the centuries slipped by.

To the other priests, the god's own voice was blasphemy.

Daniel removed his hands away from the temple floor and offered them into the darkness, to the velvet night that came before all things and had since been shunned.

The god took them.

You see me, and they hurt you.

The god's voice grew softer.

I could burn their eyes out for their blindness. Maybe then they will see. Maybe then they will not be so arrogant as to question my choices.

Daniel released another steadying breath, his heart pounding. "They will learn, with time. I am not asking you for their sake, i am asking you for mine. They will call you a demon and make you one with their convictions - I prefer you as you are."

Not good, exactly. But not bad either. Their god was a creature of balance, viciously protective, and hopelessly lonely. Screaming out in the dark not to be forgotten.

Daniel knew that feeling too.

The silence stretched between them, and then they felt the press of the god's lips upon their brow, or something similar. Something that mimicked humanity because it was the only way they could talk.

I will not hurt them. Not yet. But if they lay one hand on you...

The temple would run red with blood.

The priesthood had no idea how many times Daniel had saved their stupid lives.

[pen-dipped-in-moonlight]

You entered a forest filled with monsters. The exit constantly moves, you don’t age in the forest. When exiting, one person must stay unless they are the only one in the forest. Many a time you found the exit but let others leave.

For the first time, someone asks how long you’ve been here.

Prompt courtesy of @writing-prompt-s

The first time, Max laughed off the question with something witty and self-deprecating. The little gaggle of survivors she'd amassed all threw back their heads and laughed too, quick to change the subject. The kid who'd asked frowned and looked hurt. But then he eyed Max's spear topped with a landshark tooth, her arrows fletched in dinosaur feathers, her dagger that was just a single razor sharp claw wrapped in denim strips at one end. He shut up and did not make eye contact with Max again, not until they reached the exit.

One by one they shuffled past with heartfelt thanks and a pile of possessions left behind, the payment for Max's services. The survivors were returning to a world of abundant jackets and shoelaces and breath mints and all those other items on their backs and in their pockets. Soon they could replace, replenish, take for granted again.

The kid was last through. He muttered his thanks but paused as he emptied his pockets, holding out a slim plastic rectangle.

"Do you, uh, know what this is?" he asked.

Max smiled indulgently. "Yes, I know what a phone is, kid. Keep it. I've got, like, twenty and they're all basically trash after the battery runs out."

The kid gave her one last guilty look, but then dropped the phone and darted through the oily black portal. Sure enough, it sealed up immediately behind him. Someone else had come through somewhere else.

Max started gathering up her haul quickly, but with a distinct sense of unease. She knew what a mobile phone was because a woman in a business suit had explained it to her once, years ago. Since then people were always producing newer and newer versions that bore less and less resemblance to the phones Max remembered using.

But there was nothing to be done about that. There were people to save, another exit to find, monsters to hunt. Max tucked the kid's phone in her pocket and headed out.

...

The second time someone asked the question it was a person Max's age, or around the age she still thought of as hers. He was brave in the calm, practical way that was so very rare when people are truly scared for their lives, good at keeping the others focused and moving.

He asked the question late at night, when they were on watch together. Don't you sleep? he said with a concerned smile, then How long have you been here? Again Max sidestepped the question.

This time, when they get to the exit, she is ready. At the first tremor from the group when they realize they'll have to walk into that oily black circle blind, Max is quick. Anton will go first, she announces and everyone is calmed. Except him, caught flat footed. As the others empty their pockets, shuck off sweaters and shoes, he slides up to Max. She says the things that will keep him moving, promises to be right there at the other end of the line - if no one else needs her help.

When the portal closes in front of her, sealing her off once again on a new mission, she tells herself the heaviness she feels is relief.

...

The last time someone asks the Max the question it's an old woman - quite old, snow white hair and all, moving light and quick inside her strange armor of electrodes and smooth plastic plates that cradle and support her limbs as naturally as an exo-skeleton. Max is too tired to dance around the question and just ignores it. The woman shrugs and asks no more and Max is foolish enough to think that was easy.

But when they find the exit and the others go through in their daisy chain, hand to augmentation to hand, the portal does not close. Max turns around to find the old woman sitting on a tree trunk behind her.

"Go on then," the old woman says, making a shooing motion with her hands. "Git."

"No, ma'am." Max glances around for some kind of help. But of course everyone else is gone. "I stay."

"I'm sure you do, in a forest where you do not age." The lady leaned back in her plastic armor, gave the piece wired across her diaphragm a pat. "I've gone to a lot of trouble to live, young lady, and I can handle myself. I think it's time you let someone have a turn."

"No." Max clenched her fists. Her breath was coming in short bursts. "You're just saying that to make me think I'm doing you a favor."

The lady crossed her arms. "Why is such a brave young woman so afraid to return to the world?"

"I'm not afraid!" Max shouted. Her eyes filled with tears as she shook her necklaces of teeth and claws at the old woman. "Just look! I've held off the giants of the north, defanged the river hybrids, killed countless beasts and monsters all alone! I've saved so goddamn many people I can't even count!"

"Good," said the old woman dryly. "Then it will be easy to save yourself, yes?"

Max collapsed. Sat down in the dirt, put her head in her hands and sobbed like a baby. The lady, thank God, did not attempt any comfort, sitting in quiet sympathy until Max pulled herself together.

"What do I do?" she said into her hands.

The old lady raised an eyebrow. "Same as you did here. Learn to fight your monsters. Then get better at it. Though," she added thoughtfully. "If I may suggest one change, you may prefer to tackle what comes next with friends. A great many people owe you their lives, I hear. It wouldn't kill you to let them repay the favor."

Max nodded and added her bow and spear and knife to the pile of treasures. The lady offered her a strangely heavy white metal cylinder in exchange. Max tucked it into a pocket and turned to face the portal.

"Go get 'em, kid," said the lady, already sighting down the spear.

Max squared her shoulders and strode chin first back into the real world.

[pen-dipped-in-moonlight]

Prompt #2760

“You’re staring. What, have you never seen a supervillain before?”

[pen-dipped-in-moonlight]

A depressed hero sits alone, gazing at a scrapbook full of newspaper clippings entailing his past battles and rise to fame, which all seem meaningless now as he considers retirement, he hears a knock at the door and finds his arch-nemesis, with a pack of beer and the goal of changing his mind.

Prompt courtesy of @writing-prompt-s

"No," the hero said simply and tipped back the bottle. He rarely drank, and when he did it was rarely beer - all empty carbs and wasted calories. Tonight it tasted amazing. He squinted at the bottle, looked over to his nemesis. "Are you doing that?"

"I'm doing nothing," the villain replied snippily. "Except trying to talk you out of the biggest mistake of your mistake-ridden life." They were on their second beer as well, and getting more drunk by the moment. Both of them with the power to level cities and both of them a pair of lightweights.

"My left hip hurts," the hero admitted. He shouldn't be confessing his weaknesses but hey, what did it matter now? "All the time. Sort of a buzzy feeling all the way down to the knee. Nerve damage, actually."

"Oh, boo hoo," the villain muttered, slumping dramatically across the hero's couch. "You're a little sore and you quit?"

"I have microtears in my ligaments, eight bones that hurt when it's about to rain." The hero put a smile on their face, an action so familiar it barely felt forced and false anymore. "There was always going to be a point at which my body just couldn't do this anymore. When I become, well..."

"A liability?" the villain finished for him. "Oh, don't look surprised. You know I know how you think. How you justify things to yourself."

The hero put his beer down and cracked his knuckles. "Are we doing this?" he asked, rising to his feet. "I thought this was some kind of twisted social call but if you wanna go a few rounds..."

"I'm not here to fight you," the villain said, kicking their shoes up on the hero's cheap Ikea coffee table. "I'm here to help, actually. It'll kill you, trying to work a day job, watching other heroes battle me."

"That's definitely not true," the hero muttered.

The villain put their drink down and leaned forward, eyes gleaming tiger gold in the lamplight. "Quit the Agency. Work for me."

The hero burst out laughing. The villain let him, drumming their fingers patiently. "Oh wow," he said finally, still gasping for breath. "Thanks. I needed a laugh."

"Not as a henchman, of course. I do know you better than that." The villain leaned back again. "On my legit side. I need a director for my community outreach and partnership program."

"That you run as a self-aggrandizing tax shelter," the hero fired back.

"Wouldn't you like to prove that? Get inside my organization, take me down from within?" The villain steepled their fingers, gazed intently over them. "All while using my money for the good of that public you claim to love so much. And using my health insurance! Did I mention my truly killer benefits package?"

The hero wasn't laughing anymore. "Why?" he said. "I mean, no, obviously no. But... why would you offer that to me?"

The villain shrugged. "Call it a race to see if I can corrupt you with money and power before you can find something incriminating enough to take me down."

"Bullshit," the hero said softly.

The villain's gaze drifted towards the scrapbook. The hero braced for mockery, but instead the villain picked it up, started paging through.

"They say you know a person by their enemies," the villain said, turning the pages gently. Lingering over the pages featuring themselves, of course. "Fighting you has challenged me. Changed me. Made me better."

"Like, a better person?" said the hero with trepidation. "Or better at being evil?"

"You've always underestimated yourself," said the villain, closing the scrapbook with a stroke of their fingers across the cover. Their voice took on a hypnotic quality. "You're much more than a pretty face and some truly impressive muscles. I haven't nearly finished defeating you yet."

"Stop that." The hero gripped the arms of the chair, repelling the brush against his mind. It was a weak effort from the villain, easily shaken off. "You can't reverse psychology me into joining you."

"But I'm not ready for our game to end yet," the villain cooed with mock sympathy. They flicked their hand and a creamy white business card appeared between two fingers. "Neither are you. Even if you aren't ready to admit it yet."

The hero clenched their fists, regretting those beers. "Time for you to go."

The villain smiled fondly. "You always have to do things the hard way." There was a burst of light behind the hero's eyes and he yelped as the image of the card, just a phone number and an initial, burned into his mind.

The villain stood, tucking their card away. "Keep the beer. I'll see you when you're ready."

In the end, the hero lasted 11 months before he broke down and called the number.

[pen-dipped-in-moonlight]

Prompt #2755

“Are you…molting?”

The winged hero went bright red. “Look, it’s not my fault you captured me at the wrong time of year! If you don’t want a lair full of feathers you can always let me go.”

[pen-dipped-in-moonlight]

hiya Jadey! for your follower celebration may I request a spy/hero or spy/villain snippet? thank you! <3

ooh, there were so many things I could have written that it was hard to decide, so this took my brain a while. but this is what ended up coming out!

“Bring them here.”

The spy was hauled, arms bound behind their back, towards where the villain sat, their face mostly concealed behind a mask. Knees hit the polished floor with a thud, and the spy winced. Their hair was falling loose, and their jaw ached and throbbed.

The henchmen were excellent at their jobs.

The villain regarded the spy. The spy had become good at reading their expressions using the scant inches of skin left uncovered, and they knew without doubt that the villain was very irritated. The spy could see the anger building, in the squint of their eyes and in the twitch of the left corner of their lips, and could only hope it wouldn’t get too bad too fast.

But it was a reasonable response, considering the spy had managed to climb to the third rank within the villain’s operations before this fateful day.

Slowly, the spy grinned. “Hello, boss.”

The villain’s jaw clenched. They waved their henchmen out of the room before giving the spy their full attention—and wrath. They rose from their seat and stalked towards the kneeling spy. “You are going to regret ever stepping into my base.”

The spy blinked up at them, grin dropping into something more contemplative. “I will? But I met you.”

They flinched as the villain’s hand shot out, grasping their jaw tight and forcing it up further. “Who do you work for?”

“You,” the spy said simply.

“Obviously not.” The villain’s grip tightened. “I would ask you if any of your ruse was real, but I already know. Nothing your kind spouts can ever be real.”

The spy held the villain’s gaze. “Which parts are you wondering about?”

Something flickered in the villain’s eyes behind that anger, and it was harder to read. “I let myself believe it when you said you were lonely—lonely too.”

“The night on the balcony,” the spy said softly.

The villain jerked their chin down in a nod, then sucked in a breath. Even with the unusual flickering in their eyes, the spy could not see past the cruel edges of their mask to the lonely child they had claimed to be.

The spy saw the moment disappear just before a swift punch to their cheek from the villain snapped their head around and sent their body toppling sideways. “You will regret—”

“The night,” the spy gasped, “on the balcony was true. You think I was lying? A spy’s job is one of the loneliest you can get. I could never let my guard down around the people I infiltrated, yet barely was allowed to know who hired me. Too risky. And proper friends, or a lover? Basically painting a target on their backs.”

The spy felt the fear settle in their bones. Just a little longer.

“We’re both lonely, [Villain],” they said. “So maybe it doesn’t have to end here. You’ve shown me...”

They struggled for words. “Something new.”

Three loud bangs interrupted the spy. The villain had turned away, and was summoning their henchmen back. They waved an arm as the same two people entered. “Take them away and lock them up for later. I cannot stand to see their face any longer.”

The spy closed their eyes as hands gripped their arms. The henchmens’ motions were gentler this time, carefully helping the spy upright and to their feet.

The spy opened their eyes, demanding the villain’s attention. “I wasn’t done. That night was true for you too. You really think you’re lonely. But you—you lie, cheat, steal, kill, and you think that any means are justifiable because you’ve been some sad little child. You get angry when your methods bring you no friends.”

“I said take. them. away,” the villain snapped.

The henchmen didn’t budge. Behind their back, the spy felt their bonds loosen.

“You’re not the only one with some sad story. You’re not special. But you took that, and used it to cross so many lines.” The spy laughed, bitterly. “Thousands of lines.”

“I lie and cheat and steal too,” the spy continued. “But not like you. Never like you.”

The ropes around the spy’s wrists fell to the floor, and the villain jolted, eyes going wide. The villain was smart. The spy saw them put together the pieces, but they were still too late. Neither would the villain have imagined that so many had decided to betray them. Not all, but enough that they could deal with the rest.

Carefully, the spy and their friends put more space between the villain and themselves. Any weapons in the room had already been removed or replaced, but they knew the villain still kept blades on their body. The villain pulled two long daggers out now.

“Your base is surrounded,” the spy said, as one of their friends pounded five times against the wall and their other friend handed them a weapon. “Look out the window.”

The villain did, their expression so stunned the spy almost felt bad for them. Mostly, though their face still throbbed, they felt triumphant.

The spy tilted their chin up and looked the villain in the eyes for the last time.

“You’re not lonely. You’re cruel.”