freewriting

A Treacherous Path

Trigger warning for violence, dub con, and minor sexual content

After losing yet another fight, the Hero woke once again in the Villain’s home.They were tied, as usual, to an uncomfortable chair. Though this time they were in what they assumed was some sort of sitting room. Though, given the presence of only a single love seat across from the their chair, they had to assume this room served other, darker purposes most of the time.

Disgusted with themselves, with the Villain, and with the world in general, the Hero immediately began working at the knots that bound their hands. The Villain’s rope work was spectacular as usual, but the Hero had been doing research. In a matter of minutes and a few dislocated joints, they had their hands and one foot free. They were working on the other one when the Villain entered the room.

“Wha…” the Villain gaped, dropping their tea. It hit the hardwood floor and shattered.

With a snarl the Hero tore the remaining rope from their body, and launched themselves at the Villain. This was a rare opportunity and they weren’t going to waste it. Besides, they had a score to settle.

Coming within reach, the Hero flung a fist at the Villain, hoping the suddenness of their attack was enough.

It wasn’t. With effortless grace, the Villain dodged the blow, and landed one of their own on the Hero’s ribs.

The Hero grunted, but turned and attacked again.

“Well isn’t this fighting spirit new,” the Villain commented, dodging one punch only to take a kick to their upper thigh. They staggered, but maintained their defensive position.

“Oh, it’s always been here,” panted the Hero, eyes burning.

“Has it? I hadn’t noticed.”

The Hero yelled, and threw themselves at the Villain. Shockingly, the direct attack worked. The Villain – surprised at finding the Hero free, and unbalanced from the blow to their leg – wasn’t fast enough. They tried to slip aside as they always did, but instead caught the Hero’s bulk full in the chest.

They barely had time to catch their breath before the Hero slammed them into the wall, knocking the wind from them again. Using the moment, the Hero grabbed their neck, locking their fingers behind their jaw. The Villain’s eyes bulged in surprise.

“I should crush your throat,” the Hero growled. “For what you did to my Sidekick.”

“Ah, so that’s what’s got you so worked up.” The Villain grabbed the Hero’s shirt and twisted, searching for a hold. They kneed the Hero in the thigh, stepped on their feet, but it was no use. The Hero’s grip was relentless. As was the weight of their body, keeping them pinned against the wall. “I was wondering when that would come up. I should have thought of it soo-achk-“

Their taunt was cut off as the Hero upped the pressure on their throat.

The Villain had a moment of panic as their vision darkened on the edges. But they found they still had a voice.

“Do it then,” the Villain goaded, vocal cords whistling. Their eyes gleamed dangerously. “Avenge your Sidekick.”

The Hero sneered, and nearly lifted the Villain off the ground.

The Villain smirked, despite being choked. They knew they had the upper hand now.

“Ah. But you… won’t, will… You… You’ve proven… that before.”

The Hero snarled and leaned in, thinking rapidly. Clearly threats of physical harm didn’t work with on the Villain. Their face was a breath from the Villain’s.

A sudden thought occurred to them, something that could potentially put the odds in their favor.

They slackened their grip on the Villain’s neck and closed the distance. They breathed on the Villain’s lips, holding the Villain’s gaze with their own.

“What are you doing?” The Villain asked, bemused and completely nonplussed. They even stopped struggling, their body still.

“I…” The Hero’s chest rose and fell with startled breaths. It hadn’t worked. But something had shifted. “I don’t…”

Suddenly the tension between them was different. More heated.

One moment, they’d been seconds away from killing each other, the next…

The Villain pulled on the Hero’s collar, bringing them closer.

Their gazes locked.

And then they were kissing.

Frantically.

Viciously.

The Hero’s hands shifted from the Villain’s throat to cup their head and grab their hair, and the Villain wrapped their arms around the Hero, suddenly needing to truly feel them.

The Hero broke the kiss first, gasping.

“What are you doing?” They rasped, fingers till tangled in the Villain’s glossy hair.

“I don’t know.” The Villain giggled. “You started it though, and isn’t it wonderful?” They kissed the Hero again, fingers digging into the muscles of their back.

Deciding to return the odds to their favor, the Villain reached up and jerked the Hero’s hair, pulling their head back.

The Hero let out a startled yelp that turned into a sigh as the Villain began kissing their neck. They pressed kisses to the hollow of their throat, their collar bone, the pocket behind their jaw, and was pleased to hear the Hero’s breathing become even more ragged.

Backing them up towards the love seat, the Villain pressed the Hero to their knees. The Hero didn’t resist, instead pulling the Villain down with them.

With no idea what they were doing, but enjoying it all the same, the Villain straddled the Hero’s hips and leaned the Hero back until their back was pressed into the couch cushions, chest and throat beautifully exposed.

This was certainly a new way to play their little game. And the Villain was far from disappointed with this development.

With a quick shrug of their shoulders the Villain freed themselves from the Hero’s arms. Grabbing their wrists, they extended and pinned the Hero’s arms down, holding them in place with the weight of their body. Staring down at the Hero, prone before them as they should be, the Villain decided they wanted to continue whatever this was shaping up to be. They kissed the Hero again, letting their desire for control guide them.

The Hero struggled, but only half heartedly, and after a few seconds they melted into the Villain’s rhythm.

Forgetting themself and their game, the Villain released one of the Hero’s hands to run their hand under the Hero’s shirt.

“Oh Hell,” the Villain breathed, feeling the Hero’s body in a completely new way.

Finding a hand free, the Hero briefly considered fighting, doing anything besides continuing to maul the Villain’s face. Instead they wrapped an arm around the Villain’s back and pulled them closer.

A surprised gasp escaped the Villain at the new friction between them, and the Hero grinned like a cat.

Clearly this was a game, and two could play.

Feeling the Villain tense, the Hero lurched forward, sending the Villain sprawling backwards. The Hero sprang after them and straddled them, pinning their shoulders to the ground with their elbows.

Perplexed, the Villain stared at the Hero, cheeks flushed, lips swollen.

The Hero looked down at them, surprised at themselves.

“What now?” The Villain asked, trying and failing to keep their tone steady; their voice cracked halfway through the question.

Digging their elbows in, the Hero leaned forward, savoring the way the Villain gasped in discomfort.

“Now?” The Hero mused. Their expression turned positively devious. They shifted their hips, and the Villain tipped their head back, eyes closed, throat bobbing as they swallowed a moan. “Now, I leave you with a parting gift.”

Leaning down, they kissed the Villain hard and swift. Then they shot to their feet and bolted out the door, leaving the Villain too stunned and frustrated to follow.

***

The Hero didn’t stop running until they reached the street outside. They took the stairs three at a time, practically falling on the bottom flight in their haste to get away from… whatever that was.

On the street, the night air was cool against their flushed cheeks. The Hero slowed to a brisk walk, feeling like their skin was too tight.

They took a shaky breath, mind reeling.

They shook their head, surprised to find that they were trembling.

But they weren’t… scared. They were…

Exhilarated.

Blinking, the Hero realized with horror that they liked the feel of the Villain’s hands on them, the way they…

No. The Hero thought. I shouldn’t be… We’re sworn enemies, nemeses. Hero, and Villain. I can’t afford to let the Villain get to me like that. Especially not after what they did.

They thought about what the Villain had done to their Sidekick, tried to elicit some of the rage they’d felt such a short time ago. It was there, that rage and hate. But it didn’t feel as potent in light of what had transpired between themself and the Villain.

Their thoughts strayed back to the feeling of the Villain beneath them, of the Villain at their mercy for once.

It was intoxicating, that kind of power.

The Hero suddenly understood the Villain on a level they never thought they would, and wasn’t sure they wanted to.

Shaking themselves from their dazed reverie, the Hero turned a corner and hailed a cab. They were in no state to drive. Besides, the likelihood of a Minion lurking by their car was high, and they didn’t want to go back to that room. Back to the Villain.

At least not yet.

Sliding into the back seat of the cab, and absently giving their address, the Hero couldn’t refute the fact that they had been the one to initiate the shift in the game.

And as much as they wanted to deny it, to deny everything that had just happened, the Hero knew they had just taken a step down a very treacherous path indeed.

An Addition

Hello my lovelies! (again)

I have a number of playlists dedicated to Hero/Villain pieces, and it occurred to me that I could share them here! So, here you go!

Elegant Villainy: which inspired Evil Tea Party

Fekin Fabulous, let’s have a great time

Hero/Villain angst

Dangerous Temptation

Trigger warning for violence

The fight had been longer than usual.

Once again, it was the Villain who instigated.

Wasn’t it always the Villain who instigated? I suppose it depends on who you ask.

But this time, the Hero had the upper hand. It was rare that this happened. And so often in the past had they let their opportunity pass, that this time… this time… the Hero would have the final word.

After downing the Villain, they hadn’t left the Villain for whichever Minion to find. No, they’d taken the Villain to their own special bolthole. It was nicer than a warehouse, but not much more comfortable. The Hero started using the abandon mansion as a sort of sanctuary when the rigors and responsibility of being a Hero got to be too much. Here they could relax. Here, they could experiment.

“What…” the Villain spat, waking up with a jerk. They were poorly tied in an uncomfortable chair, the Hero sitting before them. This had never happened to them before. They weren’t entirely sure they liked it. But they didn’t dislike it either. This position had an air of… opportunistic irony about it that they could appreciate.

The Hero leaned forward and grabbed their cheeks with their nails. The Villain tried to pull away, expression defiant, but the Hero held them fast.

The Villain heaved a sigh.

“I schposh…” they drawled around the Hero’s fingers. The Hero released them enough to speak.

“I suppose this is you thinking you’re clever, isn’t it?”

The Villain leaned back, exposing their chest while they stretched their legs out. A pity about their hands and arms being tied. Their neck hurt.

“You think that after me being your prisoner.. what… once? Will ever make you my equal?”

The Hero glared and started to say something but the Villain cut them off with a laugh.

“You’re pathetic! If you think this…” they shrugged their arms, spread their knees. I”s enough to cow me…”

The Hero snarled and slapped the Villain. And was met with another laugh.

“AHAH! FINALLY!” They laughed again, gleefully. “You’re finally realizing the value of physical violence. Come on, do it again.”

The Hero blinked at the Villain.

“What?”

“Oh please. Hit me. Hit me again, with all the strength you have.”

The Hero hesitated and the Villain kept talking.

“Or are you too morally right? Too polite to-”

The Villain grunted as the Hero punched them hard in the face. The Hero felt surprisingly better for it.

“You talk too much,” the Hero said.

Head still to the side, the Villain gave the Hero a side eye.

“Yes, it’s because everyone else is a bore. Someone has to make up for-”

The Hero hit them again, and this time the amusement faded from the Villain’s face. Blood trickled from their nose to their lips.

They looked at the Hero, noted their heightened breathing, the barely restrained rage burning in their eyes.

A soft chuckle escaped the Villain, and they spoke again in a slightly nasally voice.

“Yes. You see? The power it gives you, having someone at your mercy.”

They straightened, and let their head fall back, a sensual smile playing shout their bloody lips.

“It’s intoxicating, isn’t it?”

“SHUT UP!” The Hero yelled. They shoved the Villain in the shoulders, sending them and the chair to the floor. The Villain grunted upon impact, but was relieved to find the ropes had untied in the fall.

“But why?” The Villain said from the ground, awkwardly peering at the Hero. “Because you don’t like the truth of what I’m saying?”

“No. Yes… Gah…” The Hero’s shoulders fell, their expression crumpling in confusion.

“It’s alright my darling Hero.” The Villain wiggled their hands free of the knots. “I understand.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Oh, but I do. I understand you completely.”

“I’m nothing like you! The hero hissed, some of their fire returning. I’ll never be like you.”

The Villain hummed.

“You say that now…”

In a flash they were on their feet, the rope in their hands. Before the Hero could react the Villain had the rope wrapped around their neck. They twisted, and the Hero gasped, clawing at the Villain’s hands.

“But one day soon you’ll realize…” The Villain’s voice was silky as hey twisted the rope further. The Hero hacked and choked. “There are benefits of giving into your desires.”

They leaned in and tenderly kissed the Hero’s cheek.

“So you see,” they murmured. The Hero was nearly unconscious. “You just have to take what you want, when you want. And when you do that?” They peered into the Hero’s bloodshot eyes. “That is when you are truly free.”

With that they released the rope and sauntered to the door. The Hero fell to their knees, chest and shoulders heaving as they sucked in breath after breath, tears and spit running down their face.

“If you ever decide to pursue some more… illicit interests,” the Villain said, pausing in the doorway. “You know where to find me.”

And they were gone.

As the Hero regained their breath, their throat aching, they thought about where it went wrong. They didn’t know. But the Villain’s words…

The Hero punched the floor, bloodying their knuckles.

The Villain had ended the fight with the upper hand.

Again.

Damn it.

Glaring at the door, the Hero made a vow to themselves. One day. One gods’ damn day, they would come out on top, no matter what.

Succession

A Hero/Villain piece

TW for violence

Sounds of fighting reverberated around the abandoned construction sight. Shouts, grunts, and fists hitting flesh mingled with the overall soundtrack of the night-shrouded city.

And yet no one knew of the fight besides a few sleepy pigeons in the scaffolding, unbothered by the violence unfolding beneath them.

A crack echoed, followed by a scream, and the Villain sagged in the Hero’s grip. With a grunt of effort and disgust the Hero flung the Villain away.

The Villain grunted and cried out again, rolling twice before stopping, their cane feet out of reach. They struggled to their knees, only to be shoved back down as the Hero’s kicked them in the chest.

“Please…” the Villain rasped, blood trickling from their lips. “That the worst you can do?” Movement caught their eye, and they saw the Sidekick emerge from the room where they’d kept them for the past two days.

Catching their look, the Hero looked around. Renewed rage filled their eyes to see the Sidekick stagger into the light, battered and scraped.

The Sidekick, ropes still hanging from their wrists, watched in horror as the Hero grabbed the Villain by the collar and began punching them in the face repeatedly.

“STOP! The Sidekick cried. They ran forward, and grabbed the Hero’s bloody fist, stopping another blow.

“This isn’t the way!” They cried. The Villain’s head lolled, blood pouring from a broken nose. Their shoulder was dislocated, hanging awkwardly at their side.

“It’s not your way, maybe.” The Hero growled, eyes flashing.

“Wha…?”

With jerky movements, the Hero stood, shoving the Villain down where they lay slowly moving in pain, their breaths whining through a bruised throat.

Steely resolve shone in the Hero’s eyes as they reached into an inner pocket.

“What are you…” The Sidekick began. Their eyes widened as the Hero drew a gun, leveling it at the Villain.

The Villain wheezed on a laugh, blood burbling on their lips.

“You can’t do it… we’ve been…”

An ear-shattering bang sounded, echoing around the concrete and metal structure, finally startling the pigeons into panicked flight.

The Sidekick screamed, and the Villain slumped back, dead.

“WHAT THE HELL?!” The Sidekick cried, half hysteric.

“I did what had to be done.” The Hero’s voice was devoid of emotion. “They’d have killed you. I killed them first.”

“IT DOESN’T MATTER!” The Sidekick was shaking. “You’re the Hero!”

The Hero looked at the Sidekick, expression sympathetic.

“Exactly. I’m the Hero. The press will believe me when I say I acted in your defense.

“But…” the Sidekick swallowed a sob. “But that isn’t… that’s not how these things are… should be done! You taught me that.”

The Hero hummed, tapping the warm barrel of the gun to their lips. A smudge of gun powder remained behind.

“Be that as it may, can’t things be different?”

The Sidekick looked at the Hero, confused despite the horror of what they’d seen.

“What?”

“Cant things be different. Together we can change things. You and me. We can make it so there won’t ever be the need for Heroes again.”

“This isn’t you.” The Sidekick began backing away. Whatever had just happened, it wasn’t right. Nothing about this was right. “What do you mean?”

The Hero’s expression turned hurt.

“Of course it’s me. It’s your Hero. I’m the same person you joined up with all those months ago.”

“No. You… you’re different. Something…” the Sidekick stuttered into silence at the sudden change in the Hero’s eyes.

“Something what?” They asked.

“Something changed in you.”

“Fah. Nothing changed. I’m still the same. My eyes were just opened fo the follies of the old ways. But together,” the Hero stepped closer, eyes fevered. “Together you and I can make this city whole. We can change THAT for the better. And after that?” Their eyes gleamed.

“No. You’re wrong.” The Sidekick continued ending away, the Hero pacing after them, and only stopped when their back hit the wall. “You’re just… You’re becoming the Villain!”

Silence resounded through the site.

“What did you say?” The Hero’s voice was deadly quiet.

The Sidekick stood up straighter, expression set.

“You heard me. You’re becoming what you swore to stop.”

The Hero laughed then, a harsh sound so at odds with their familiar and once-kind face.

“Don’t you see? I did stop it. I stopped the Villain.” They pointed at the Villain’s battered body. The Sidekick glanced, and looked away quickly.

It was all wrong.

“Yes. But what cost?” The Sidekick asked quietly.

The Hero regarded them steadily, considering.

“I see,” they said. They sounded sad. “I understand.” They took a step forward, and the Sidekick cringed away, hands grasping for something, anything, to use as a weapon. “You just don’t see it, do you?”

“See what?” The Sidekick’s hand found something loose and metal. They grabbed it, but kept it hidden.

“My vision.” The Hero signed, suddenly exhausted. “And I can’t have shortsighted people working with me. You’ll only slow me down.”

They primed the gun, and the Sidekick suddenly understood.

“This is your last chance,” the Hero said, leveling the gun at the Sidekick’s chest. “Are you with me? Or-“

The Sidekick, cold metal in their hand, didn’t hesitate.

“No.”

Before the Hero could react beyond a narrowing of their eyes, the Sidekick swung. They caught the Hero in the face with a slim metal pipe. A sickening sound followed the impact.

The Hero shrieked in pain, clamping a hand to their eyes, the gun falling to the floor with a clatter.

“WHAT DID YOU DO!” They screamed, curling forward. Blood dripped between their fingers, papping on the concrete. Snarling, the Hero’s hands dropped away, and the Sidekick bolted from the sight of the Hero’s contorted face. From the one bloody eye socket and the remaining eye that was filled with fury. Nothing remained of the person they’d met and spent so much time with.

And come to love, in their own way.

“YOU FUCKING LITTLE SHIT!” The Hero lunged for the Sidekick, but missed, their depth perception forever skewed.

The Sidekick dodged the grab, and ran as fast as they could while the Hero continued screaming profanities behind them.

They burst out into the empty yard of the site, tripping over boards and other hazards. They didn’t care.

“YOU WILL PAY!” Screamed a voice they didn’t recognize as the Hero’s. “YOU HEAR ME?! THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING!”

The Sidekick tripped, skinning their hands and knees as they slid over the gravel and sand covered ground. They barely felt the sting as they struggled to their feet and kept running. They didn’t stop until they were a mile away, the Hero’s tortured screams echoing in their mind.

What have I done? The Sidekick thought, staggering to a stop under a street light, gasping for breath, and in horror.

The Villain was dead, killed by the Hero.

And the Hero was…

The Sidekick sank to their heels, curling around themselves, and wrapping their blood-speckled-hands around their knees. The ropes were still hanging from their wrists.

With an agonized cry they struggled out of the coarse cords, flinging them as far away as possible. They grabbed their hair, failing to keep the panicked sobs from escaping.

The Hero had become the Villain, hadn’t they?

And that meant-

They were the Hero.

Devotion

A Minion/Villain piece.

A little different from previous posts, this piece introduces a new, recurring character: The Minion. After all, what is a Villain without a Minion, or a Hero without a Sidekick?

“Where were you? The Villain’s voice was cold.

Caught in the middle of removing their coat, the Minion looked up, finding their Mastress sitting in a chair by the bay windows. Dusk was falling, staining the sky plum and citrine as a curtain of depthless indigo descended over the world.

“I was running errands,” they said, hanging their coat and scarf on the rack. “Some of the supplies were low, and I thought-“

“Come here,” the Villain interrupted, waving at them to approach.

Obediently, the Minion came to stand at the Villain’s side.

“Why did you not tell me?” The Villain’s tone sent a thrill of warning through the Minion’s chest.

“You were busy,” they said truthfully, hands stuffed in their pockets. “When I got back with the supplies you were still locked in your office, so I met someone for dinner.”

“Who did you meet?”

The Minion hesitated, fearing to say too much.

“A friend.” It was true, to a point, but they didn’t want the Villain involved in their personal life more than they already were.

Without warning The Villain surged to their feet and wrapped their hands around the Minion’s neck, driving them to their knees. The Minion didn’t resist, merely met the Villain’s gaze with something like resigned trust.

“You are mine!” The Villain growled, squeezing just tight enough for the Minion’s eyes to widen in surprise. A moment later they released the Minion’s throat with a scoff, only to grip their cheeks instead, digging their nails in. “Do you understand?” They hissed. “Mine, and mine alone.”

The Minion inhaled gently, relieved to have the Villains hands off their neck. It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, nor would it be the last. Still, it was unsettling.

“Say it.” The Villain’s voice was harsh, their expression difficult to read.

The Minion blinked once, slowly, holding the Villain’s unwavering gaze.

“I am yours.” They said softly, devoutly.

“And?” The Villain dug their nails in harder. The Minion suppressed a wince.

“Your wish is my command, Mastress.”

A tense moment passed, neither so much as breathing.

“Good.”

With a flourish the Villain released the Minion, leaving red crescent moons etched into the skin of their cheeks.

Slowly, so as not to provoke them, the Minion rose to their feet, assuming a neutral stance.

“Mastress?”

The Villain pressed their fingertips to the bridge of their nose, eyes closed.

“It’s been a long day,” the Villain sighed, as if carrying on a previous conversation. As if nothing untoward had happened. “I require a drink. You know which, I take it?”

“Of course.”

The Minion was about to leave when the Villain stopped them with a gentle touch on their shoulder. Pausing, the Minion turned, their chest a mere breath from the Villain’s.

“I haven’t told you this enough, darling,” the Villain murmured. “But you… you are the reason…”

The Minion raised a hesitant brow when the Villain didn’t continue.

“The reason?”

Forgoing an answer the Villain pressed their lips to the Minion’s, lingering just long enough to convey a vague sense of desperation. Grinning as they pulled back, the Villain savored the warring expressions on the Minion’s face; confusion, desire, fear, concern.

“Why, you’re the reason I remain so fabulous, despite the Hero’s best efforts to make me otherwise.”

The Minion nodded, a bemused smile on their mouth.

“It’s my pleasure, Mastress,’ they said, their expression settling back into carefully practiced neutrality. “Shall I get your drink then?”

The Villain waved their hand dismissively, the kiss already forgotten.

“As you will, my dear.”

Bowing slightly, the Minion departed. When they returned the Villain had resumed their seat by the window, staring out at the night-enshrouded cityscape below them. Without a word they set the drink on the table at the Villain’s elbow.

“Do you require anything else, Mastress?” They asked.

The Villain merely waved their fingers. But rather than cupping their chin again they took the Minion’s hand, staying their departure.

“Stay here tonight,” they said. Their thumb traced idly over the Minion’s knuckles. “I want you ready for tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mastress.”

The Minion returned the pressure of the Villain’s grasp before slipping their fingers free.

“If you don’t need anything else, I’ll turn in, then.”

Nodding idly, the Villain continued contemplating the view, knuckle pressed to their lips in thought.

Taking the silence as a dismissal, the Minion headed for their bedroom, the door on the far side of the room. They stepped through and were about to close it when they paused.

“Good night, Mastress,” the Minion said.

“Good night, my darling. Sweet nightmares.”

The Minion smiled and closed the door.

Grey

A Hero/Villain Piece

In which a new, recurring side character is introduced: The Sidekick.

“So it comes to this,” the Villain sneered. Defiance flashed in their bruised eyes as they glared at the Hero from their knees. They took a deep breath, refusing to grimace as their ribs creaked. The Hero could hit hard when they wanted to. And if they were properly motivated. The Villain relished the satisfaction of a job well done, despite the pain. They had finally found the Hero’s weakness. At the cost of a few broken ribs and ruined coat, sure, but they knew how to plan for the future now.

“Doesn’t it always?” The Hero asked. They looked impassively down at their nemesis. Blood covered the Villain’s face and stained their once impeccably white shirt. The sleeves were torn at the shoulder, soot and dirt was smeared across their chest, and their pants were ripped at the knees, their boots scuffed beyond repair. The remains of their coat lay in tatters around them, the fabric little more than threads.

“Well, yes. But I’m usually the one standing over you crowing my victory.”

The Hero ignored the Villain’s jape, and turned to look at the wall behind them.

“Are you alright?” They called.

“Y… yes!” Came the quavery reply. From around the corner appeared the Hero’s Sidekick. They were battered and shaky on their feet, but at least they were alive.

Seeing them, the Villain laughed, a harsh, maniacal cackle that frayed the Hero’s nerves. They’d heard that laugh too many times, and it never boded well.

“Stay where you are,” the Hero barked as the Sidekick approached.

“But they’re-”

“DO WHAT I SAY!” The Hero’s voice took on a quality that surprised the Villain. The Hero sounded… Frightened? Furious? That was interesting.

With a look that mirrored the Villain’s sentiment, the Sidekick stopped just out of reach. They wrapped their arms around their torso, shielding the cuts and bruises the Villain knew were visible through their thin, ripped shirt. After all, the Villain had inflicted them personally.

Silence filled the warehouse, the sounds of the night-enshrouded city reaching the trio as if through a fog. It was one of the Villain’s favorite locations in the city. Just central enough to run the risk of getting caught, but just far enough out of the way that it was unlikely for screaming to be heard.

“I’m surprised,” the Villain rasped, breaking the relative silence. “I didn’t expect you to actually try to kill me.” They coughed, spitting a gob of bloody phlegm on the ground, disgusted with their mortality.

“You changed the rules when you brought them into this,” the Hero said, jerking their head at their Sidekick. “It was supposed to be just you and me. No one else.”

“Oh my darling Hero, such naiveté. It was never just about us.”

“What do you mean?”

“How can you say it was only ever about us with an entire city out there?” If it didn’t hurt so much the Villain would have gestured to encompass the surrounding metropolis. As it was, they sat up a little straighter, staring the Hero in the eyes. “It’s always been about them.” The Villain nodded at the Sidekick, who flinched as if they’d been struck. “About how they perceive us. How we affect them.”

“It’s not. You’re wrong,” the Hero whispered, anger flickering in their eyes. The cuts on their knuckles cracked open as they clenched their hands; blood trickled down their fingers.

“Am I?” The Villain laughed again, coughed, and sagged back onto their heels, supporting themself with an arm braced on the ground. Monologging was difficult with broken ribs. “Tell me, my Hero. When has anyone from the city ever asked about you, personally?”

The Hero’s silence was answer enough.

“Exactly. You see, it was never about us. It’s always been about our game, and what that game brings to news feeds and conversations. They don’t care about us. Hero, Villain. It makes no difference. We’re just actors to them, never mind that we live and walk among them. Even your lovely fragile Sidekick over there thinks so. Look at how they adore you, worship you, as if you’re nothing but an idol.”

“Then why did you bring them into this?” The Hero asked, eyes flicking to their Sidekick. They watched the exchange with rapt attention, proving the Villain’s point.

A satisfied smile crept across the Villain’s face.

“The game was growing stale. The masses’ attention was wavering. It was time to bring in a new player.”

Without warning, the Hero drew a gun from an inner pocket and leveled it at the Villains’ chest. Their carefully neutral visage cracked, their face filled with loathing.

The Villain’s eyes widened in fear for but a second before they schooled their own expression into unconcerned indifference. But the Hero saw the fear. Had they been looking anywhere but the Villain’s face, they would have missed it.

“Oh come on, really?” The Villain taunted. “Since when-“

“Since you made it personal.”

The Villain shrugged, the movement coming across as nervous rather than nonchalant. “It’s always been personal, my dear. Why do you think I chose you? Why I chose them?”

“Why?”

“You’re interesting. More interesting than other Heroes I’ve broken in the past. You’re resilient in a way that I admire. You remind me of me.”

“I’m nothing like you.”

The Villain chuckled. “We’ll see, my dear. We’ll see.”

The Hero didn’t say anything, but kept the gun leveled at the Villain. The Sidekick looked from one to the other, trepidation and confusion etched on their young face.

“Go on then, do it!” The Villain surged to their feet so the barrel of the gun was inches from their chest. “You don’t have what it takes, do you? To kill someone in cold blood? Not unless you’re defending yourself or someone you love.” The Villain spat, ’love’ sounding like it burned their tongue.

An ugly sneer contorted the Hero’s face as they struggled to keep their hand from shaking. They swallowed, and the Sidekick pressed a hand to their mouth, their eyes riveted on the Hero.

After tense moment the Hero lowered the gun, never breaking eye contact with the Villain.

“I knew you couldn’t do-“ the Villain’s taunt morphed into an agonized scream as the Hero shot them in the leg, the crack of gunfire echoing through the warehouse with deafening violence. The Villain fell back to their knees with another scream as their leg buckled.

“Oh my god!” The Sidekick yelled in horror.

The Hero glared down at the Villain. An unexpected, not wholly unwanted sense of pleasure bloomed through them as the as Villain writhed in pain at their feet for once.

“You talk too much,” they said, failing to suppress an ironic smile.

“That’s no reason to shoot me!” The Villain groaned, holding their bleeding, mutilated thigh with a white knuckled grip.

Chuckling, the Hero crouched down and took the Villain’s jaw between their fingers, pressing the barrel of the gun lightly against the Villain’s cheek. Their pleasure only grew to see genuine fear and doubt cross the Villain’s face.

“Perhaps not,” the Hero said, their voice icy. “But kidnapping and torturing my Sidekick is.”

The Villain growled, and jerked their head away. The Hero let them, standing in a fluid movement.

“You said the game was growing stale,” the Hero continued. “But you’re not the only one who can change the rules.”

With a turn the Villain reluctantly appreciated, the Hero strode away.

“Come on,” the Hero said as they neared their Sidekick, gently taking their arm. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“But what about them?” The Sidekick asked, looking back at the Villain as they headed for the nearest door.

“Them?” The Hero looked over their shoulder, eyebrows raised.

The Villain snarled, lost their balance, and fell on their side with a grunt, blood oozing between their fingers to stain the concrete beneath them. “Don’t worry about them. Let’s go.”

The Hero and Sidekick were at the door when the Villain spoke up.

“Don’t leave me here, damn it!” They cried, desperation and pain tingeing their voice.

“You’ll be fine.” The Hero waved a dismissive hand, turning their back on their nemesis. “You always are, aren’t you? I’ll be disappointed if you don’t make a miraculous recovery.”

Without looking back the Hero guided their Sidekick outside, the Villain’s enraged, pained scream echoing after them.

***

Fifteen minutes later the Villain staggered to their feet, leaving a trail of bloody bootprints in their wake.

Reaching the nearest wall, they sagged against it for support while they caught their breath. Their… everything fucking hurt, but their other injuries were pale trivialities compared to searing pain of the bullet wound.

With a grunt, the Villain pushed themself off the wall and kept going. As much as they wished they could call death and destruction down upon the city in petty vengeance, they knew that revenge was a dish best served cold and well prepared.

Looking at the door through which the Hero had left, a satisfied chuckle shook itself from the Villain.

During the Hero’s righteously indignant exit, they failed to remember their Sidekick. The Hero had been so determined to have the final word that they didn’t notice the youth glance back at the Villain, didn’t notice the look of reluctant, misplaced sympathy filling their eyes.

Oh, yes. The Villain thought. This time revenge is going to be sweeter than your cries of pain, my dear.

“You want to play that game, do you?” The Villain hissed, fear and pain replaced by furious determination.” They took another hobbling step forward and fell to their hands and knees with a strangled cry. Gritting their teeth, the Villain forced themselves to their feet, to take another step. A glint caught their eye, and the they reached down to retrieve a steel pipe. It was thin, if a little heavy. It would have to do for now. “Fine, we’ll play that game.” The Villain took an experimental step, using the pipe as a cane. They didn’t fall. “And before we’re finished, you’ll wish you had killed me when you had the chance.”

Sacrifice

A hero/villain piece

The night is cold, the sky a black, star-spattered canvas. The remains of a crescent moon hang low, obscured by a line of skeletal trees; their branches dance in a breeze.

The Hero shivers, drawing his cloak tighter around his shoulders. Though he’s surrounded by sleeping friends, his chest is tight with loneliness. The fire burns low, but as the party departs at dawn, there is little need to stoke it. They will be gone before the sun breaches the horizon. They should be on the trail now. The Monster that plagues the region doesn’t sleep, so why should they? The fact that any of them are able to sleep at all is a wonder to the Hero. Every one of them had seen what the Monster is capable of. It is why they’re here, in the middle of a frozen wilderness. Someone had to put a stop to the Monster’s rampage. Someone had to be worthy of the songs of old.

Sighing, the Hero looks at the faces of their companions, the weight of his decision suffocating him.

A barn owl screeches, the sound harsh and desolate in the dark forest. The Hero jumps, and one of his companions mumbles and rolls over. Under normal circumstances the sound would comfort him. It’s a sound of his home and childhood. But tonight it reminds him of the promise he made upon setting out on this venture. Tonight it fills him with dread.

A log shifts in the fire, casting a soft glow on his love’s face. Of all the company, he is going to miss them the most.

A rustle comes from behind, a branch breaks. The Hero knows it’s time. Standing quietly so as not to disturb his companions, he walks into the darkness.

The Monster is there, waiting for him. Four eyes glow yellow, its upper body and long, double-jointed arms covered in blood; claws and fangs shine like obsidian.

“Little human comes to me,” the Monster rasps. Its eyes flick over the Hero’s body, searching for something. “Without claw or fang. Foolish little human.” The Monster takes a step forward, surprised when the Hero holds his ground. Too much is at stake for cowardice.

“Aye, I come,” the Hero murmurs.

“A Monster wonders why.”

“To bargain.”

The Monster throws its head back and laughs, chitinous gurgling sound that sets the Hero’s knees shaking.

“Little human is foolish to think a Monster will bargain.” It sits back on its haunches. “But a Monster is curious. A Monster has never had little bargain human. A Monster will listen.”

“If I give myself to you, you must swear to leave the people in peace.” The Hero’s voice is strong, despite his terror. “If you leave, I will come with you and protect you from others.”

“If a Monster doesn’t?” The Monster hums, amused. “If a Monster eats little bargain human?”

“Then my death wish will be the destruction of you and your ilk.”

Wary of the Hero’s confidence, the Monster considers.

“A Monster agrees with little bargain human. But a Monster has condition.”

“What?”

A gleam comes into the Monster’s eyes.

“A Monster gets to eat part of little bargain human!”

The Monster lunges at the Hero and pins him to the ground, talons piercing his shoulders. Saliva drips from its fangs as it lowers its mouth to the Hero’s stomach.

“WAIT WAIT WAIT!” The Hero’s voice is shrill enough that the Monster stops and glares at him.

“Why? A Monster is hungry. Little bargain human prevents a Monst–“

“I can help break your curse!”

Silence stretches between the Monster and the Hero. The Hero strains to hear if anyone in his camp has woken up, but he hears nothing over the pounding of his heart.

“A Monster says nothing about a curse.” Its expression becomes confused and, dare the Hero think it, hopeful.

“Little bargain human knows stories.” The Hero says. “Little bargain human knows secrets.”

The Monster sits up, retracting its talons from the Hero’s shoulders. The Hero winces, but doesn’t cry out.

“If…” The Monster begins, voice husky. “If a Monster takes little bargain human, little bargain human helps a Monster?”

“Yes,” the Hero breathes.

“A Monster has to ask why little bargain human will help a Monster?”

The Hero fights the lump in his throat for a moment, unable to speak.

“Because even Monsters deserve a chance at redemption.”

The Monster studies the Hero, something like sadness creasing its face. After a moment it shakes itself, lips curling back over its fangs.

“Fine. A Monster will not eat little bargain human tonight. If little bargain human lies about curse, a Monster eats?”

“Fair enough.”

“Fair… enough…” The Monster replies, pleased with itself for being so agreeable. Suddenly it sits up, sniffing the air. “A Monster must take little bargain human. Yellow eye comes, and little bargain human’s humans come.”

The Monster lifts the Hero with ease, carrying him before its chest. The absurdity of the situation hits the Hero like a fist. He can barely keep from screaming as spindle legs devour the distance to the hills.

“Monsters aren’t the only ones that crave forgiveness,” he reminds himself bitterly. Glancing around the Monster’s side he imagines his companions waking up, realizing he’s gone. He can’t avoid thinking about pain his love will feel.

Guilt drowning his fear, the Hero whispers an apology to his companions and prays that he is not mistaken.

Evil Tea Party

A hero/villain piece

The Villain stood surveying the view, a cup of honeyed darjeeling held in their right hand. Mozart’s Requime played in the background. They’d always loved the city at night, but… there was something to be said for viewing it from a penthouse. They pressed the china tea cup to their lips, poised to take a sip, when a muffled groan came from behind them, followed by creaking ropes.

“Struggling will do you no good, I’m afraid,” they said without turning. “I tied the knots myself.”

An oath sounded, followed by more futile attempts at freedom.

The Villain smiled into their cup, taking the long awaited first sip.

Perfection.

Turning, the picture of composure, they surveyed their handiwork. The Hero sat tied to a chair, the knots textbook examples of the finest shibari techniques. The gag in their mouth was one of the Villain’s own cravats. The Villain set their cup on the edge of the coffee table.

“You’re undoubtedly wondering why you’re here. Why…” the Villain’s long legs carried them to the Hero’s side in three strides. “Why I chose you.” They gripped the Hero’s chin between their fingers, forcing their head up.

“You want to know, don’t you? I feel your curiosity burning in your blood.”

The Hero’s lip curled into a sneer, a growl rising in their chest.

The Villain shifted their grip, their fingers digging into the Hero’s cheeks. “I chose you for your spirit. A spirit I will enjoy breaking piece…” their fingers drifted over the Hero’s throat. “By…” they continued down, resting on the Hero’s exposed collarbone. “Piece.”

Bach’s Come, Sweet Death started playing on the stereo system, the throaty cello voices filling the space.

“An apt song,” they said, turning and striding towards the table on the other side of the dining room. The Hero’s stomach clenched with dread when they recognized the melody. They began their struggle anew.

Back to the room, the Villain considered the collection of knives laid out on black velvet before them. They touched the handle of a damask butterfly knife, smiled fondly at a stiletto.

“I’ve told you, struggling is–“

A crash interrupted them, followed by the shattering of china.

A muscle feathered in the Villain’s jaw, their smile morphing into a grimace. They turned with deliberate slowness, stiletto in hand, and surveyed the scene. The Hero had fallen over, still tied to the chair. But something else caught the Villain’s attention.

“You spilled my tea.” They said, their voice metallic. “That was rather rude of you. Then again, I’d expect nothing less of a Hero.” Their mask slipped for an instant, revealing the mania that lurked below the surface of their composure.

They’d been fingering the point of the knife, and were by the Hero’s side in a bound. They stood over the Hero, eyes flashing with bloodlust. Then a switch flipped. Inhaling, the Villain straightened their coat, brushed their hair back, collected as can be.

The Hero leaned away, taken back by the unpredictability of the Villain’s actions.

Head tilted, the Villain rested their boot on the arm of the chair, and rolled it to its back with a kick. The Hero gasped as the ropes dug into their arms, stomach, and thighs. Disdain was written across the Villain’s face as they stared down at the Hero.

“You Hero types have no respect, you know that?” They said. They crouched by the Hero’s side, flipping the knife under the Hero’s nose. “No respect for the greater picture. No respect for progression. I grow weary of it all.”

With a flourish they ripped the gag from the Hero’s mouth, tearing the fabric as they threw it to the side.

“Wha-“ the Hero rasped, lips stinging.

The manic gleam had returned to the Villain’s eyes.

“Why, my dear…” Funiculi Funicula began playing then. With a flick of the wrist, the Villain nicked the Hero’s chest, blood welling from the cut as they cried out. “All the better to hear you scream.”

A New Beginning

Hello again.

Sitting here, I have to laugh at the Kat that made this blog nearly 6 years ago. She was optimistic and naive, but a storyteller at heart. Her idea for a reader-based prompt site was somewhat ill-conceived, but not entirely without merit. All she needed to do was commit to the idea, and perhaps this blog would be different from what it’s morphed into. But she was filled with doubts, and wasn’t entirely convinced that she had what it took to be a writer.

Now she knows better. She has lived a little more. She has travelled the world. She has written at least one rough draft of a story, has plotted and half-written about 4 more, and has written any number of short stories, one-shots, scripts, narratives, poems, and bard songs. She is 13 weeks away from finishing college with a BA in Game Design and Art and a concentration in Game Writing (yes, it’s as badass as it sounds). She is a writer, and she believes it with every fiber of her being.

This blog, while it started as something of an ill-fated experiment, is a place for her to share some of her smaller musings. The title, Two Hour Tales, is a comment on the nature of the impending content: everything here will (hopefully) be written in two hours or less, with minimal editing. Things will be messy and error-filled. Things won’t make sense. And yet, sometimes, it’s best if they don’t. Everyone needs a little nonsense in their lives.

So there you have it. Kat has returned, armed with a plethora of ideas and a dedication to provide the world with a little more prose.

I hope you enjoy your stay.