#writing stuff and thangs

[illyrilex]

Some bathtub angst. (After the events of MLS King would take baths in the dark so she wouldn't have to look at herself too much while she scrubbed her skin raw) (credit to @adorkastock for the pose ref!)

[thelexhex]

KOFtober: Halloween

King and Yuri in their Donnie Darko and Perfect Blue threads, done with my fic titled Scarborough Fair in mind!

[tylidae]

A I L U R A N T H R O P Y 1 0 1

[valtsv]

hi i have a question for you mr. loveless so like, when u write absolutely phenomenal things like the "don't bite the hand that feeds you" post do you ever feel like you want to save that for something? like a book? and how do u deal with it being used by someone (w/o credit) or put into something and maybe the idea of it being famous without it being associated with you because personally the fear of losing ownership over my thoughts and creations kinda freak me out but then on tumblr so many things have just made it's rounds and become so famous it's literally part of my vocab without even thinking about where it's from and so many lil tags i read have made my brain jus ?????? so yea that's my que for u also i love ur posts so much like I'm not lover of the gothic vibes like you but how much u jus love the idea of stabbing it's very neat to me thank sorry for the lack pf punctuation if i pause to add it i will edit this post so much i might loose my mind I'm sorry but take care dear cemeterything <3

if i don't share my thoughts because i'm "saving them for something better" then they'll never reach anyone. and if someone decides to claim ownership of something that i came up with, that's a very hollow and short-sighted way to live that brings no satisfaction and i don't envy them. so it just doesn't bother me.

[gambeque]

therapy sesh

[itsgrimeytime]

When he needs to sleep... || Rick Grimes (TWD)

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax

Rick hadn't slept for days. You knew it, you could see it, weight rolling off his shoulders, staggering for just a second -almost off balance. The way he leaned a tiny bit in to anyone he spoke to. A small little sliver of space that he'd push forward into, hard to notice, but you did.

Almost searching for the warmth there, the safety-

"We can settle down 'ere 'til sunrise," he echoed out, voice gruff and slurred slightly -could be seen as a mumble, but there was something in the drawl there. Tired, "-keepin' ya updated, Carol has the stock of food, and Daryl any extra weapons. If ya need to leave, for whatever reason, tell me."

"Blankets?" someone questioned -you weren't sure exactly who.

"In the backpacks," he answered -directly, "-should be one for every two of us."

And with that, the group disbanded from formality, all gathering together for warmth -the night wasn't quite chilly yet, but you knew it would be. The night was just beginning, and it was just about time that the temperatures cooled off in the night -which was nice on blearly hot days but this one was more mucky than anything else. You'd hardly seen the sun at all.

You'd neatly stayed where you were -as everyone else disbursed, only you and Rick remained.

You could almost see the weight in his shoulders, heavy. It was almost weighing him down physically, as his eyes scattered along the people -anywhere but at you, you realized.

"Rick...?" You questioned, light and not pushy or demanding, or anything, other than soft, "-Do you... Do you have a minute?"

He was slow to look at you, blue eyes flickering over your frame quickly, maybe even a little hesitantly. You knew the thing you had wasn't exactly clear. Rick was very preoccupied, and it was the apocalypse.

There wasn't time right now to ask. You wanted to, but you weren't sure you ever would. He always just had something else on his mind, something far, far more important than what you wanted to talk about.

"Yeah," his voice was soft, gruff, as he sunk into a spot a little distant from everyone else. Enough for people to not hear you talking -you imagined it was on purpose.

You sat beside him (close, you weren't sure you could ever be close enough-), slow measured steps -not too quick, and not too direct. It wouldn't do any good to be accusatory, not now.

He was just so... tired.

Before you could speak, Daryl threw over a blanket that landed neatly on Rick's lap -merely nodding at the two of you. And as you'd come to realize, Rick's nod back was their own sort of language -big talks every once and a while, but an understanding more than anything, brotherly.

And even then, your words were halted in your throat.

Rick had wordlessly unfolded the blanket (creases so crisp, you knew it had to be Carol's doing), moving on autopilot. With one hand he nudged you closer and with the other, he spread the blanket across your legs -tucking it under your side. Thoughtfully.

You couldn't think of a time he hadn't done something thoughtfully, the man had the biggest heart you'd ever seen-

"'At okay?" He spoke, voice low and you were so close you could feel the rumble of his chest -tired, so tired.

You hummed, moved slightly pulling the blanket properly over his legs -you just moved a touch closer if it pulled away from you, "Now, it is."

He smiled, a lazy fond sort of smile and something in you flipped. He looked beautiful then, leaning against the tree the two of you sat in front of -curls pushed forward, a sort of fuzz slinking over his eyes, and a tired, but true, smile.

Something in you guided your hand to his curls, smoothing through his scalp and focusing where you thought it mattered. It was a kind of fluid motion -solid and yet somehow still soft. What you hadn't expected was for him to neatly push into your hand -leaning into you, eyes slinking to a close and a deep thrum echoing out his throat.

"Rick," you spoke, still slow, still gentle, "-have you been sleeping?"

"S'at what ya wanted to talk about?"

"Yeah," you answered, still smoothing through his curls -combing with your fingers.

"'Course it is," he breathed out -slurred slightly from the warm comfort you imagined he was experiencing, "-you're always worryin' 'bout me."

"Wouldn't have to be," you teased -light and airy, "- if you slept."

"I do, I do," he relented, only making the tiniest of motions to be closer to you -like he was seeking you out, "-just can't recently. Not with..."

Rick paused, you could almost see the tense aura smooth over his skin -like he was coming back down to earth. A stressful earth.

"'Been focusin' on a shelter," he added -late, and you knew it was only part of the truth, "-can't stand everybody bein' so... unprotected out 'ere."

You pursed your lips, "Rick-"

"'Just want everyone safe," he echoed, his tone hanging in the silence for a second -heavy, maybe even watery (his eyes were still closed), "-for once."

"You can't..." you started, before correcting, "-Don't discount what you've done already. We have guns, we have food-"

He only seemed to listen.

"Think of where'd we be without any of that," you explained, "-sure, we don't have a shelter yet, and the sooner the better, but... we do have a place to sleep for the night and blankets to help with the cold."

You moved your hand to his face, mindlessly tracing the eyebags under his eyes, "You're doing your best."

Rick was slow to open his eyes -blue eyes a little shiny, mouth a little twisted like he was holding something back. Your hand curled to the side of his face and the other doing just the same, holding him there. Reaching your fingers up to push some curls behind his ears, and gently tilt him to face you.

He merely followed the movement, loose as a little trickle of tears danced down his cheeks -just a few, and you thought they might've just been a relief. But it was okay if they weren't. You smoothed your fingers over them, wiping them away with caring ease -Rick only watched your face, lingering.

"Rick," you hummed -soft, just between the two of you, "-you wanna sleep?"

"I can't," he grumbled out, broken, tired, and teary-

"I can try and get Daryl to-"

"No, not-" he started but stopped, bringing up his hands to cover yours on his face -desperate and his eyes getting foggy, "-I can't. I close my eyes and jus' can't stop thinkin'. Like what if I got someone hurt because I wasn't there? What if Carl, or Judith, or you-"

"Rick, hey, hey-" you shushed, thumbs swiping gently along his cheeks -tears disappearing with the motion and tilted to meet his eyes, "-everyone is okay."

"It jus' takes a second," he mumbled out, breaths a little shaky and maybe he was leaning heavily into your hands but you didn't mind, "-a second that I'm lookin' not where I'm supposed to-"

"Rick," you hushed with an air of finality, locking eyes with him -his cheeks were beginning to blush from the tears, "-first off, everything is not on you. If they're someone who's been living in this world long enough they should know the dangers. But, going on your logic-"

He just watched you -blue eyes looking at you like you held the secrets to the world.

"You can't be nearly as attentive when you're falling asleep," you finished, succinctly, and a little playful in your tone -just for a smile.

He granted you one, a small one but a beautiful one all the same -leaning into your right hand slightly more, which tilted his head, "Very comfortin', sweetheart."

"I try," you smirked, before turning somewhat more serious, "-will you? Try to sleep. I know... I know it's not easy but, I just- I want you to try."

Rick grumbled out, sleepy and warm (it made something in your heart squeeze that this was what he probably sounded like if you woke up beside him), "I can try, for you."

"Deal," you grinned, pulling him forward and kissing his cheek in gratitude.

And if he slept like a baby with his head in your lap, that was between the two of you and no one else. (Or at least that's what you told Daryl when he caught sight of it in the early morning.)

[gemharvest]

RGB idea GF wiping the floor with BF and Pico in Uno even if they team up against her (she's eating the cards)

"Uno!"

"Jesus Christ, Gee, this is the third game in a row. There's no way you're that lucky." Pico gestured to the girl, holding nine cards in his hand.

"You're just a sore loser." Girlfriend said with a small laugh. "Besides, it's not my fault Biff keeps hitting you with draw fours."

Upon being called out, Boyfriend just gave a toothy smile and shrugged. Pico stared daggers at him; at the both of them.

"It's just starting to feel suspicious, that's all." The ginger grumbled, shaking his head.

"Ska be d'bop."

"Don't you start too-"

A few more moves, and Girlfriend placed down her last card. The game officially over, Boyfriend took the cards to reshuffle for a new one. He hesitated for a moment, then looked at the stack more carefully.

"Ba bo..?" Pico looked over at the cards as well, then furrowed his brows.

"Yeah, I swear the stack keeps getting smaller each game. We're not losing cards, are we?"

Girlfriend felt a bit anxious at the boys' observation, though was able to hold a perfect poker face.

Truth be told, she wasn't that good, or even lucky, at Uno.

What gave her that winning streak? Well, her boys would get distracted easily; staring into their cards with a bit too much focus or giving their phones a quick check when it wasn't their turn. In these brief moments, she would slip a card into her mouth and eat it.

Probably not the smartest idea; though much like Boyfriend, she wasn't really known for them. It was only a couple cards a game, and neither boy paid enough attention to the others' card counts to even notice. As long as she could get away with it, she'd do it.

"It doesn't look that small? Maybe we misplaced a few cards last time we played."

Pico raised an eyebrow at her, but didn't seem to have any desire to argue.

"Maybe, I guess I'll have to keep an eye out the next time I clean."

Nice, they're still none the wiser.

Boyfriend nodded at the pair, before splitting the deck to shuffle. After a few passes, he set the deck face-down, smiling at his work; the boy probably enjoyed shuffling the deck more than actually playing the game.

Cards were dealt, and a new game began. Pico seemed to be putting an effort into paying more attention, so Girlfriend had to go quite a few turns without pulling her trick.

Eventually, his eyes turned to his own cards. Girlfriend waited a moment, making sure he was truly focused while Boyfriend agonized over what card to play himself, before carefully slipping one of her cards out and into her mouth.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Girlfriend froze, card stuck halfway in her mouth. Beside her, Pico's head was still in his cards, though his eyes were raised and staring at her.

Slowly, he lowered his cards and his stare turned into an incredulous look.

"Have you been eating your cards? Oh my god?"

Girlfriend took the card out of her mouth, now crumpled and slightly damp, and held it with the rest of her deck casually; as if she hadn't just been caught.

"Whaaaat, no... Why would I do that?" She spoke, voice feigning innocence. Pico huffed at the lie.

"Bullshit. I can't believe you're trying to pretend you didn't just get caught." Pico scolded, voice more amused than angry. "How in the hell did you even come to the conclusion that that was how you should win."

"Well... It's not like you guys had noticed cards going missing until now."

Boyfriend, Who had been staring silently up until then, suddenly burst out into a fit of musical laughter. Pico and Girlfriend followed suit, not being able to suppress chuckles at how ridiculous the situation was.

While the laughing fit was probably only a few seconds, it felt several minutes long to the trio. Pico was the first to speak after, voice still cracking slightly from the laughter.

"Oh, you are definitely banned from Uno for a while. You also owe me a new deck." He wiped a tear from his eye, still grinning as he spoke.

"Awww come on, I promise I'll stop doing it." Girlfriend pouted, giving puppy dog eyes to Pico. "The deck thing is fair though, I'll bring it the next time I'm over."

"Beebop ska doh??"

"Yeah, I'm not budging on the ban. You'll have to deal with the consequences of your actions, sweetheart." He shook his head gently while he spoke.

Girlfriend stuck her tongue out at him, playful yet clearly not happy with the decision.

"Wow, you're so mean to me over just a few cards."

[gin-juice-tonic]

ford game status update btw

the portion of the game up to ford bringing out the eyebat was 19 pages of google doc

the eyebat section was 26 pages

the introduction to day 1 is already at 23 pages... you guys havent even started the first activity of the day yet

tis going to be a long day it seems

[ruvviks]

// wip day.

i'm working on a new project that is (for once) not connected to any of my bigger original universes, so i thought i'd share some of the writing i have for it! taglist down below, feel free to take this opportunity to share your own wips (in a separate post of course) if you have any!! the first part is a sort of introduction to the story, from the perspective of main character marshall! the second part is a snippet from a scene much further into the story, to kind of paint a picture (for both you and myself lol) of what the setting and the tone of the story is gonna be like. it's a bit different writing than what you're used to from me so please take a moment to read the warnings first!! warnings >> blood, cult, death, implied cannibalism, gore, religion, violence

God won't speak to me.

He spoke to my sister when we were eleven, her howls echoing through the backyard of our childhood home as the venom of a wasp spread quickly through her veins.

He spoke to my mother the day we buried her oldest son, the hem of her alcohol-stained dress torn where it had caught on the thorns of a blackberry bush she had blankly passed through.

He spoke to my father the day he put the barrel of a .44 in his mouth, reenacting what he had classified a sin for all the wrong reasons, his trembling finger on the trigger strong enough to rip apart the last tendon holding our family together yet not to finish the job.

I was eighteen, when I was found on the river bank near Overture, Louisiana, the sharp end of a jagged knife plunged deep within my side and my bloodied hands clutching the cross necklace of my brother, my breathing akin to the ice cold shallow water grazing at my ankles as I stared up at the star-spotted sky with glazed over eyes, blue chapped lips shaped in the final hum of a prayer.

A black abyss stared back, a strained vacuum without comfort, leaving me with a plea unheard and the metallic taste of blood in my mouth.

And God did not answer.

'Gotta dig… Just gotta dig. Gotta get 'em out of there… Gotta take 'em home…'

The physical distance between Marshall and the grave did not muffle the continuous mumbling, the shaky voice of the young priest clear as day like a whisper directly in his ear as the eerie silence looming over the church's cemetery left him with not much else to focus on. He knew he should turn around and leave, at that hour of the night— get back in his car and return to Posey in the motel, get some sleep while he still could— yet curiosity held him tight within its grasp, and each step he took pushed him closer into the wrong direction.

'Just the bones… Just the bones…'

The man was hunched over, back turned towards Marshall and partially obscured by the few last rows of gravestones stood between the two of them. His neck twitched— a sudden and unexpected movement at an angle Marshall did not hold for possible, yet it had happened entirely too fast for him to clearly see.

'Hey, is everything alright?' he called out; well against his better judgment, hairs on his forearms standing up straight as his feet carried him another few inches closer to the priest.

And the closer he got, the more he wished he had listened to himself.

If he had just turned away, he wouldn't have had to notice the unusual and unplaceable noises bubbling up from the priest's direction. He wouldn't have had to realize the priest was sat next to a coffin, yet to be lowered into an undug grave. (A curious practice, but Marshall was not one to judge— Overture'd had to endure a rather tiresome series of curiosities as of late, and an unburied corpse in the middle of bumfuck Louisiana in the midst of a yet to be explained power cut would be the least of its problems.)

'Just the bones…. Gotta dig… Gotta bring 'em home.'

'Do you need help?' Marshall persistently asked, his voice muffled by the thrumming of his own heart in his eardrums while his eyes trailed over the coffin— splintered and shattered at the lid, the glimmer of the distant church lights barely enough to reveal the outline of an axe resting on the dirt at the priest's ankles.

'Have to do it, there's no other way. Gotta dig, gotta dig, gotta dig—'

'Hey!'

Marshall should have never stayed in town.

He realized that now, as the priest's obsessive muttering came to a sudden stop forcing Marshall to hold still too— yet he had already approached too closely, and realized that no dirt had been dug in at all, and realized that the priest's hands were instead stuck inside the coffin repeatedly plunging deeper and deeper into the rotting remains of the corpse inside, once white vestment covered in blood and gore and he stared up at Marshall with a faint glow in two milky white eyes and with a wide grin exposing bloodied and shattered teeth, much akin to a predator looking at its next prey.

'Just the bones,' he repeated, the nodding of his head nearly belittling— as if to convince Marshall this was how it was supposed to be, as if to convince him the Word of God was not to be neglected and his fate as a sinner was a gift to the Divine Light and as if to convince him as long as he would not struggle it would all be over soon.

'Gotta dig.'

Marshall could not move, lamb to the slaughter as the priest rose to his feet with the axe in his hand.

'Just the bones! Gotta take 'em home.'

taglist (opt in/out)

@velocitic, @deadrlngers, @euryalex, @ordinarymaine, @gurathins;

@mojaves, @shellibisshe, @dickytwister, @mnwlk, @rindemption;

@ncytiri, @calenhads, @noirapocalypto, @florbelles, @radioactiveshitstorm;

@strafethesesinners, @fashionablyfyrdraaca, @aemondtargeryen, @radioactive-synth, @katsigian;

@estevnys, @elgaravel

[meirimerens]

i'm genuinely curious, is there a reason you draw most of your characters as cisgender?

confounded by this question because i don't draw a lot of "my" characters. my OCs tag is giving abandoned mall. if you mean characters i draw in general: how/why do you assume them cis? a character being depicted as amab¹ + masculine or afab¹ + feminine (& that's pushing it. i barely draw feminine characters in general lol) does not make them cis. i don't write about gender (characters' or mine frankly) much because i have Way More Other Things That I Consider Vastly More Interesting to spend my time writing about quite frankly, but you cannae know that. this is an assumption you are making. whatever this assumption internally comes from... not my business i don't live inside of your skull. what i'm doing is #mythang in ways i think makes sense for the themes, the motifs, their backstories, for the way i think they interact between each other, with the sort of baggage i read/can read into a narrative. in medias that have interpretations/perspectives as a central theme, people are bound to draw/interpret characters differently. fandoms are wider than you think they are, and there are as many people who draw characters as trans(-in-a-specific-way) as they are who draw them as cis (or trans-in-a-diiferent-way). you might live in a bubble where everyone draws a character as trans(-in-a-specific-way) (and chances are if we share a fandom i am in this bubble too!), which is not a bad thing, but it might not be my experience. or anyone else's. above it all. i'm doing my thang. and you do yours. 💯☮️🕊️

¹ i'm very much aware this is not The Ideal terminology to use but for the sake of simplicity & because i'm assuming this is what you are basing yourself on visually this is the most easily-understood way i can phrase it

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

THIS is why I have yet to produce any updates or new works this evening.

But(t) here is the other end of this creativity destroyer.

At least he’s cute.

[illyrilex]

Mary dressed in her Lady Dimitrescu duds from Devil's Night, but sans hat because it was driving me nuts.

[imminent-danger-came]

I love reading your tags- especially when theres just even MORE info dumping there.

The least favorite character ask made me giggle a bit, "This character that appeared for a single episode is actually pretty cool. And this character is really awesome in this particular context. But ALSO I really like this character with very little actual screentime."

You‘re absolutely right though! Characters whose only purpose is to fill a particular role are chosen really well too! Like the Host Girl; sure, she doesn’t really have a personality or anything, but she doesn’t NEED to have one. As you said, she‘s collateral damage. She gives us more insight to Wukong, she shows us just how ruthless he can be. He‘s willing to kill the epitome of innocence: A child. A defenseless little girl with a cutesy voice, who was just in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

(It‘s also worth a mention that, contrary to Wukong, she revealed a softer side of Macaque. Not to the extent the fandom built it up, but in an arguably more meaningful way. He‘s worried/feels bad for a total stranger. Even if it was only a concerned look, she once again gave us a deeper insight to a member of the main cast.)

And the characters with less focus either have really genuine interactions (Yellow Tusk with Azure) that just endear you to them, or they drop a banger line (like the Jade Emperor) before their purpose is fulfilled.

Nothing wrong with being a plot device if it‘s done well!

This wasn‘t really much of an ask rather than me rambling. Sorry.

I welcome rambles in my ask box! Half of you that show up in my ask box could just write your own analysis posts.

And you're also totally right! There isn't anything wrong with characters that are there just to function as plot devices. Sometimes a child is there just to be a child, and that's all they need to be. I think I feel this way about Megapolis (a name for the city that hasn't even been mentioned in show). Like it's a city filled with innocent people, it's MK & the Gang's home, and that's all it kinda needs to be tbh. LMK has to be extremely tight with what it chooses to focus on because of time constraints, and it does that well. When it comes down to it, focusing on the characters/plot is more important than focusing on the setting (which I think debatably wouldn't contribute much anyways—like we don't need more of a reason to care about the city, you know?).

I have this same opinion when it comes to the Demon Bull Family, which may be an unpopular take, but the truth is that a lot of their development happened off-screen. After ROTSQ and until we see them again in 3x06, it's clear that there have been positive changes between Red Son and his parents. I think I've seen some folk want Red Son to cut off his parents entirely, but that kinda goes against the core of his character. Part of Red Son's appeal for me is his complete devotion to his family despite their flaws (saving them in ROTSQ and EYD, attempting to save them in 4x09). Red Son and Princess Iron Fan only ever wanted world domination because that's what DBK wanted, and after that failed—they gave up. They hit the bricks. Red Son then started a food business with his dad (jealous of MK and Pigsy's noodle shop mayhaps?), and I think it's telling that DBK would even agree to do that to begin with. DBK and PIF's disregard of Red Son may not be acknowledged in the way people want, and I get that, but it's not that it didn't happen. I'd say there's another jump in their development between the end of 3x14 and the beginning of 4x09, where the fact that DBK calls out for Red Son as he gets taken away shows a closeness between them that we hadn't seen before. It's also clear that DBK has grown past the person who only wanted to create the world in his own image, chastising Azure Lion:

Demon Bull King: "How many times must you be struck down chasing this same foolish dream?"

(4x09 Roast of the Monkie Kids)

-

(Plus "This pursuit of yours has warped your mind brother—it is the only reason I could imagine that you would have the nerve to assault my home and harm my family!" echoing PIF in 1x10 "Come to your senses, this power has poisoned your mind!"; Azure unreasonably considers DBK a traitor like DBK had unreasonably considered Red Son a traitor, etc.)

DBK, unlike plenty of other antagonists in LMK (Spider Queen, LBD, and Azure specifically), learned to stop and accept the world as it was. He failed as a conqueror, but he still had his family, and he could try and not fail as a father for his "half-baked son"—or that's how I interpret DBK anyhow.

((I also want to bring up the fact that DBK didn't dare use the Samadhi Fire ring he had to power himself up with Red Son's furnace in AHIB. Like, even the Mr. Bull King has some restraint—there are prices too great to pay for the world, hence why he gave up on world domination after 1x10, when he almost killed his wife and son.))

To me it makes the Demon Bull Family feel like characters that exist outside of MK & the Gang, and can grow/change even when they're not on screen with our main characters, and I think that's cool. We also legitimately didn't have time for anything else.

[chayscribbles]

schroedinger's new wip (it's a new wip but also it's not)

[raineandsky]

#81

The hero’s capture shouldn’t have happened. She’s not even entirely sure how it happened. She stepped a foot wrong, or so she assumes, and the villain’s henchmen had leapt on her.

She’s contemplating her predicament from the villain’s classic choice of iron bars and dingy jail cell. Nothing is adding up. The villain always targets her when she’s obvious—in the public eye, in the limelight, on show. Tonight his henchmen found her alone, on a random street, blending into the background. How the hell did they know where she was? Who she was?

Her blood runs cold at the implications. If they found her this easily, who’s to say who else they could find? It doesn’t bear thinking about, not when she’s as useless as this in a goddamn cell.

The door opposite clanks open like it’s purposely announcing the newcomer. Not that it needs to, since the hero knows exactly who’s approaching her cell by the clicking of heels and the swish of a well-loved coat.

“Fancy seeing you here,” the villain greets, his grin weaving into his voice.

The hero doesn’t even grace him with a glance. She stares at his shoes instead. “What a coincidence.”

“Thought you’d at least be curious who got you here.”

“Not really.” The hero scowls. “I know all your henchmen by name by now.”

The villain makes a noise vaguely resembling a laugh. “No, my dear hero. Not who picked you up. Who found you.”

The hero frowns. She can smell a trap from a mile away. “You, I assumed.”

The following silence forces the hero’s gaze up to the villain’s face. The grin in his voice is also on his face, the asshole. “No. Not me.”

He turns to gesture beyond the doorway, and curiosity gets the better of her. She leans to look past him at the pair of figures traipsing into the room, heavy footfalls punctuated by quick, nervous steps. A henchman, and someone else.

“Meet,” the villain says with a smug glint in his eye, “your new nemesis.”

The hero’s eyes fall on someone familiar. Someone small, young, easily drawn to the wrong side.

“[Sidekick]?” She can’t help the name coming out a little incensed. Her sidekick cringes at her tone. “I swear to god, [Villain], you’re going to—”

“He came to us,” he interrupts, and the hero shuts up in disbelief. “He wanted to share some really pivotal stuff with us. Didn’t you?”

The sidekick nods and smiles pleasantly when the villain ruffles his hair. The hero can’t believe what she’s seeing. “[Sidekick],” she says again, softer. “He’s tricking you. They’re the bad guys.”

“We didn’t trick anyone,” the villain says shortly, as if her judgement offended him. “We told him the truth, and he picked his side.”

“You weren’t very nice to me,” the sidekick adds quietly.

“Yeah, and that.” The villain looks positively delighted at the hero’s disgraced expression. “You weren’t very nice to him. So he came and told us exactly where we could find you and when.”

The hero barely holds back her blanch. The sidekick gives her one last glance, mildly disinterested, before reaching back for the henchman, and they take his hand like a parent. They throw a glance to the villain, and with a short nod of confirmation they steer the sidekick back to the door.

“[Sidekick]!” the hero calls desperately, but he ignores her. The door clanks shut again, and the villain sighs.

“He’s a good kid,” he comments idly. “You missed out.”

The hero’s barely containing her seething. “You poisoned his mind.”

“God, no, [Hero], what do you take me for? A monster?” He barks a mocking laugh. “No, I opened his eyes. He’s the first of many.”

The hero can only glare. She doesn’t trust herself to speak, but the villain seems more than happy to fill the space for her. “Now” — He settles on an upturned bucket that’s seen god knows what liquids — “let me tell you all about how great he’s doing without you.”

[letmesleepy]

Can't for the life of me write porn, I just keep writing them being like this