alilbatflies

[alilbatflies]

Based on actual events

[alilbatflies]

I wrote a short continuation of this amazing prompt by @thepenultimateword, which goes as follows:

“What are you doing?”

Alex jolted violently, nose still buried in the watermelon musk of Ben’s hoodie as they whirled around.

“Uhhh…”

Ben stared dryly between their open locker and Alex’s wide eyes.

Alex held the hoodie out in front of themself, face suddenly twisting in confusion. “Wait, a minute, this isn’t mine. Did I get the wrong locker?”

The scrutinized the numbers a few seconds before clapping their hand dramatically to their forehead. “Will you look at that, I’m in the wrong row! Sorry, Ben, I’ll see you later.”

Alex went to march away but was promptly caught by the collar of their shirt and yanked a couple stumbling steps backward. “You still have my jacket.”

“Oh.” Their cheeks burned with a mixture of embarrassment and displeasure. “So I do.”

They reluctantly let the soft fabric fall back into Ben’s long, scar-nicked fingers and bustled away before their coworker could ask something stupid like: “Why were you sniffing my clothes?”

They should have walked faster.

...

for sake of clarity and my sanity (seeing the word henchman so many times while editing nearly melted my brain), I named those two:

Henchman A = Alex, Henchman B = Ben

... ... ...

Avoiding someone who works for the same person as them was... Manageable. 

Alex would know, for they managed to avoid Ben for all of two weeks despite their shared tasks, appointments and whatnot. 

Were they caught sniffing Ben's clothes again? Not yet. At some point Alex assumed Ben knew and just rolled with it. Which was odd, since Ben never rolled with anything, spare the orders from their boss. 

And yes, they could just say your scent helps my powers calm so uh... thanks but wouldn't that just be the creepier? Openly admitting it wasn't Ben they were fixated on, but their smell? How fucked up was that.

Besides. A rational, well-mannered, unimpressed Ben. Getting their quirks and unexplained tendencies. Not happening.

Alex prepared for all alternatives, avoiding serious conversation and hiding behind excuses to leave the moment work was done. See that spider on the ceiling? Gotta go. Bye. It wasn't their best but it worked despite all the confusion that it caused.

What Alex did not factor with was outside of work. 

Much like seeing a teacher at a grocery store was odd, seeing Ben leaning against their apartment door hit them like a mirage. Not quite there. Not quite right. A miracle kind of pleasant surprises, except somehow out of place and chilling in its suspiciousness.

Ben nodded at them in greeting, unimpressed eyes focused with unfair intent. They meant business when they looked like that.

Alex was so screwed. 

“Good evening.” 

Alex's head reeled at the greeting. Deep and quiet, yet perfectly clear. Politely blank, just there. 

Manners, Alex. Your fucking manners.

“Evening,” was all they managed, searching for their keys. They had to find out what Ben was doing there. “Thought you lived downtown?”

“Thought we had things to discuss the boss doesn't need to be involved in.”

Alex's blood ran cold. They swallowed. It helped nothing. 

Ben tilted their head to a side. “Don't we?”

“I guess.” Alex was pretty sure their voice did something weird. They gestured inside once they managed to open the door. After you, except they didn't say it, because they would stutter for sure.

Ben slipped inside, waiting for them to pass by only to follow close behind. Maybe they didn’t know which flat Alex lived in exactly. Maybe they did but didn’t want to be obvious about it. Maybe they wanted to make sure Alex wouldn’t bolt.

Alex let them slip into their flat without comments. Their mind chanted a really not helpful chain of I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead.

“So.” Ben looked around curtly. They leaned against the door.

Alex considered inviting them further in. They also considered Ben’s stance and decided maybe Ben would take it as an attempt to avoid the conversation, and so they fiddle with the straps of their bag and waited.

The realisation that Ben was effectively blocking the way out really did nothing to calm them down.

“You’re avoiding me.” Ben tilted their head again, focused look studying every shift in Alex’s expression, no doubt reading them like an open book. “Is it because of the locker accident?”

Accident. Not on purpose. Alex nodded their head perhaps a little too vehemently.

Ben didn’t look like they were quite buying that. “What were you doing there?”

“Uhhh…”

One would think two weeks was a reasonably long time to think of an excuse. One would be wrong.

Alex did not have an excuse ready. There were really not that many plausible, normal-looking excuses for being addicted to someone’s scent.

Ben looked like they wanted to talk again. It startled Alex’s brain back into function. They didn’t think they could handle anything that came out of Ben’s mouth next.

“I have the same hoodie at home,” Alex blurted, “it just… smelled different.” Lies. “Different but good.” Oh gods, shut up.

Ben was staring into their eyes and somewhere behind, presumably scanning their soul and weighting how well they could hide their body from everyone and their absence from their employer.

“It uhhh… caught me off guard.”

“What about all the other times, then?”

Alex felt their soul leave their body. They know about the other times. They needed to sit down. They didn’t think they were getting such chance.

Ben let them suffer in silence. They reached into their bag, searching for something.

Alex closed their eyes, hoping that whatever it was, it would at least kill them quickly. I won’t have to clean the mess if I’m dead. It was a small reassurance.

“Here.”

Alex blinked. Their vision was not blurry and it was not tears. They blinked a few times and finally managed to focus on what Ben was holding out to them.

“Shampoo…” they managed weakly. It was two bottles… Watermelon scented shampoo and shower gel. They were smelling those clothes. Right.

“You could have just asked, you know?”

Alex laughed. It wasn’t an entirely comfortable laugh. Better than bursting into tears, they supposed.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m…” Alex realised, belatedly, that it was a really nice gesture. A solution. Ben was always good at finding solutions, but that didn’t mean they had to go out of their way and get Alex things instead of beating them up and threatening them to stop. It was a gift. Ben was being nice to them. “I’m alright.”

They were so not alright, although admittedly for a different reason than a few seconds ago.

“I’m not mad,” Ben said. “So, stop avoiding me.”

Alex nodded.

Ben looked like they wanted to add something, but then shook their head. They pushed away from the door and turned to leave, hand on the doorknob already when Alex found their voice.

“Surely you could uhhh... Stay back for dinner?” 

Ben's lips quirked into the tiniest of smiles. “I have a bus to catch.”

“…maybe you don’t.” You could stay here. With me.

Ben tilted their head in confusion. “And how else would I get home, silly?”

Stay, I’ll lend you a sleeping bag. Stay, there’s a spare blanket here somewhere.

“Right.” Alex nodded, backing off. “Right.”

Ben left through the door, and Alex absolutely did not think about the fact that the way they said silly sounded all too much like silly little thing, and how they would probably fall and never get up if Ben called them their silly little thing. Nuh-uh.

Alex kept thinking about the tiny smile. And the gift. They used it. It did smell like what they were used to. They missed the smell of something indisputably Ben underneath it, that little bit of their presence that stayed behind.

Alex kept thinking about little gestures and everything Ben made. They saw Ben once during a particularly bad magic moment and they did something so unavoidably Ben (like that weird shrug of shoulders) and Alex immediately calmed down and oh. 

Shit no. It might be more than just their smell after all.

Not to mention Ben was the villain’s best attack dog. Killing machine. Quite like the rest of them, except, well, much more dangerous. Alex kind of hoped Ben assumed their avoidance was based on some kind of fear of them after fucking up and ending in the wrong locker by accident instead of… whatever it was. However much they were not afraid of Ben. Maybe that was the issue from the beginning. If they were afraid like everyone else, they wouldn’t have bonded so well.

But then Ben went out of their way to fix it. As if that wasn’t the most gesture thing to happen to Alex in forever.

It was the smallest of gestures. It was the most thoughtful of gestures. Attempting to solve the situation instead of pushing in. 

Strangely, ironically, it was making Alex's craving worse.

Alex refused to think of all those utterly menacing and dangerously enchanting moments of Ben that they’d witnessed over their shared time together at work. Or outside of it. They thought of them anyway. They were so utterly, profoundly doomed. It wasn’t even funny.

They managed to stay in the clear for all of eight days after that, before they found themselves picking the lock of Ben's locker again. Breaking in. Like a creep. 

“Maybe they should just kill me instead of being so fucking endearing.”

Except they couldn’t find the hoodie this time. They ruffled through the bag and patted the notebooks and pens scattered over the upper shelf in the locker. Nothing. Just work stuff.

Alex had exactly two seconds to stare into nowhere and notice the steps stopping next to them.

“What are you doing?”

Alex flinched and slammed the locker closed, facing Ben on instinct. Their mouth opened and closed with no words to form—their brain was refusing to cooperate properly.

Ben was wearing their hoodie. Their hair was wet and they were holding both their bloodied uniform and towel, meaning they probably had been sent home to rest after killing someone.

Wish for death and dead you shall be. Except Ben’s expression was not murderous in particular.

Alex found themselves gravitating towards them. Before they came to themselves, they already stood close enough to Ben to touch. By the time they tried to jerk away, Ben was already holding their upper arm, keeping them steady.

“So,” Ben whispered into the silence between them, “what’s the matter?”

Alex wanted to say something. They really did. Instead, their magic tugged them forward and they buried their face in their shoulder.

Ben went still.

Alex inhaled their scent, calming and there. Their magic settled. They melted.

“Is it my hoodie?” Ben’s voice flowed quietly, almost from afar.

“…just you.”

“Sorry?”

Alex realized what slipped. They wanted to pull away. They wanted to stay close forever. They needed to leave. They needed to cling to Ben.

Their dilemma was solved by those strong fingers curling into the back of their shirt, pulling them closer.

“You might want to elaborate on that,” Ben whispered.

“I’m…” Alex was content with keeping their face hidden.

Ben was drawing circles on their back now. Oh dear. Not even their grandma could help them anymore.

“I might have a little problem, and… it’s you,” they mumbled into Ben’s shoulder eventually. “Except it’s not the appropriate sort of problem at all.”

“Well, lucky you then.”

Lucky you. And of course Alex was lucky, were they not? If it was the villain or one of their higher-ups, there would be far worse consequences, wouldn’t they?

“We might have a similar kind of problem.”

Alex felt their magic settle. Their brain stopped. Their breathing probably stopped, too.

Their heart did the exact opposite, galloping forth.

They tried to look up then, but their head was held in place and pressed back into the shoulder.

“Invite me over, hm?” Ben petted their head. “I won’t catch the evening bus.”

And Alex did.

#i took liberties #i also took forever this was sitting in my drafts for half a year or so. don't tell anyone though it's a secret #Alex (henchman A) at any given situation: uhhhhhh #i imagine they do some sort of lock-picking and trap-setting kinda work for the villain #prompt response #is it? #writing #writing snippet #writeblr #creative writing #villain x villain #minion x minion #henchman x henchman #heroes a #heroes and villains #pen i am sorry if this made a mess of your notifications somehow

[alilbatflies]

YOU SHOULD ALL GO READ CORI'S HALLWAY STORY RIGHT NOW

As much as you’re changing, as much as this place is changing you, you know that you will always be scared of it. Of the place. Of how it follows no rules, no laws, it changes as it wants and you can’t trust your senses in it. A thing will change between glances, but then again, it was always there, wasn’t it? Too many times you have heard something call a name only for nothing to be there. You’ve stopped flinching at random noises at random times, and anytime boredom gets too close to you, the hall does something wild to keep you on your toes. You’re always a little bored. You open doors for fun, when there doors, even though they can’t be opened.

Last - First - Next

#it's good it's great it's wonderful i keep thinking about it #wacky's writing #Hallway story

[alilbatflies]

Just Cake #3

by popular demand (2 people asked) (hello) (thank you for commenting! it means a lot even if I don't manage to answer perhaps)

Part 1, Part 2

... ... ...

“Look who we’ve caught,” an entirely too sweet voice said. “Well, aren’t you two adorable?”

The villain was growling now. A low, guttural sound which the henchman has only heard in life-threatening situations, usually forced out by the desperate struggle of survival. Now it was a promise of violence, get closer I dare you, a promise of slaughter and doom.

They tried to angle their head to glimpse whoever had the honour of experiencing such a threat.

The person shuffled to the side, no doubt measuring them in turn. They were all cloak and magic glowing through two bright orange eyes.

Supervillain.

They were so screwed. Utterly fucked.

The supervillain measured them both.

They seemed… wary. Ridiculous, given that the two potential threats were trapped in a power-suppressing net. Ridiculous, given that the supervillain was a supervillain for a reason—spectacular amount of magical skill and all.

Although the henchman could admit they wouldn’t want to be facing their villain’s growling and claws either. Even through a net. There were holes.

“You’re not superhero.”

The confusion triggered by such statement startled the villain out of their instinctual reaction. They stopped growling, although they were still baring their teeth.

“I was not expecting anyone else,” the supervillain said. “Perhaps that pesky hero who lurks around them sometimes, but not a fellow criminal.”

Fellow criminal, huh? The henchman assumed the supervillain was trying to convince them that they’re all on the same side. Perhaps the idea of a potential furious threat unsettled them, no matter the current cage around it.

Well, it wasn’t like they particularly wanted to stay in the bloody uncomfortable trap.

“In that case,” the henchman said, “I suppose you wouldn’t mind getting us out of the net?”

“Should I?”

…the henchman had assumed wrong.

While they probably were on a similar kind of boat regarding their criminal activities, the supervillain hadn’t had any proper motivation to let them go. They weren’t especially close or anything.

And yet, still standing there. Still watching the two criminals swinging in their net as if they somehow held the answers to the universe.

The supervillain had options.

First, they could let them out. The best outcome but severely unlikely.

Second, they could close a bargain of some kind. I’ll only let you out if… which was less favourable, but it would still mean getting out relatively quickly.

Third, they could leave them trapped.

It occurred to the henchman that while there was little chance of them making it out then, the supervillain couldn’t possibly know that. Their villain’s powers were speculated on so many levels it had led to more confusion than clarity in the industry. That could work out in their favour.

The henchman was no mind reader. They couldn’t possibly know how much of a threat did the supervillain consider them at the moment. Nevertheless, the supervillain was still standing there.

Nevertheless, the supervillain didn’t seem entirely convinced leaving them hanging was their best option.

They could work with that.

They decided to play their cards according to their instincts. The villain still hovered over them, a display of teeth and taunt like an arrow ready to take flight and slaughter. Their most wild card, a whisper of carnage. A terrifying ace.

The henchman loved them so.

“You had no quarrel with us before this… incident,” the henchman said. They focused on keeping their tone light, conversational. “Although, now that the situation has changed, perhaps you’re excited to find out how we settle the score, hm?”

Their look met the orange eyes. The supervillain probably found them crazy, threatening from within the containment. They felt insane. They felt the thrill run through them.

“Let us go, so the beast doesn’t have to claw its way out.”

On cue, the villain growled.

The supervillain hesitated.

It was a brief and finely concealed blip of emotion, barely slipping past the dangerous façade. Surely the villain couldn’t be so terrifying as to startle them. And yet.

The supervillain drew a smile, entirely too sharp in its flawless elegance. “Of course.” Then they proceeded to pull shears out of nowhere.

The henchman tried not to be impressed too bad. They hadn’t had much time to ponder about the practicality of the supervillain’s pockets relevant to such level of preparedness, since the net was cut down. There was little regard for the fact they would hit the ground.

The henchman couldn’t care less about the fall as their magic roared to life inside them. It pushed along their bones and crashed into their skin from within. It settled then, nesting in their body like a monster in its cave.

Belatedly, they realized the villain shielded the back of their neck and head from impact with their arm.

There was absolutely no dignified way to get out of the tangle of ropes.

Once the henchman managed, they realized the villain was standing over them protectively, placing themselves between them and the supervillain.

The villains stared each other down. It seemed a stalemate.

“I appreciate you understand plans fall through sometimes,” the supervillain said. “It was not my intention to harm you.”

“As displayed,” the henchman noted quietly.

The villain considered this. They nodded in acknowledgement.

The henchman itched to get out of another’s territory. They were sure the villain didn’t want to linger either.

“Could you give us directions from the forest?” they asked. “We would dislike to meddle with any of your other… endeavours.”

The supervillain tilted their head.

“What I mean is…” The henchman pulled the net up from beneath their feet, holding it out. “We wouldn’t want to mess with your handiwork.”

The supervillain grinned as they took the cluster of ropes, a little feral, a little genuine. They did point the two in a certain direction. They tipped their head at the villain before seemingly dissolving back into the forest and vanishing.

“Bloody hell.”

The villain inclined their head. Then they turned and started away. “Luckily not.”

“Luckily not,” the henchman huffed in echo, following short behind. “Extremely insightful as always, boss.”

“Hm.”

They luckily didn’t stumble into any more traps on their way back.

The henchman was so not sleeping that night.

#writing snippet #writeblr #writing #creative writing #snippet #villains #villain x henchman #villain x villain #villain x minion #coincidentally i finished editing two long posts at the same time so maybe the other one will also appear in near future #yes i have more of this little series planned #two more parts i think. not sure how long it'll turn out in the end #not sure how long it'll take me to get around to it either

[alilbatflies]

The gentle care of a broken heart

like a blanket of sand dragged over the soul

kind fingers of the one who's seen enough

and heard too much

you cannot escape what isn't chasing you

the gentle care of a broken heart

and so many crevices 

to hide in

love rots when it goes stale.

                before bursting through 

      in a silent explosion of pain

the gentle care of a shattered heart

we cannot see it. 

we cannot see it. 

we cannot see it. 

we feel it deep inside.

#some poetry for the soul #sometimes i write poetry randomly and im not even sure if it classifies as poetry. but what else would it be #my blog apparently is 1 year old? okay #why is that a notification are you picking a fight tumblr? #writeblr #writing #creative writing #sad poem #poetry #poem #sad poetry

[alilbatflies]

EVIL BOOP UPON YE! MUAHAHAH!

AUUUUGHGSHAJAJSHSHS

#how did you do that #??? #(asking for a friend) (definitely not going to attack you back or anything)

[alilbatflies]

hi

*turns away from the boop button for a second* hi *boops you again*

#hehehehe #THANK YOU for all the tags #they're fun to read and I'm glad you enjoy my writing!!! ^_^

[alilbatflies]

hi

*turns away from the boop button for a second* hi *boops you again*

[alilbatflies]

Have All People Got a Heart? 

People don't trust. They need to check everything with their own eyes.

People don't trust. They developed the word “trust” to signal to others they believe them to tell the truth. I trust you. They use the expression sparingly.

People don't trust. They hear the heartbeat through another's ribs, they feel the pulse of blood in another's veins, a steady rhythm guiding life through a body. They’re not sure if it’s really there.

People don't trust. They have to stab another and butcher their physical form to hold the beating heart in their very own hand. To see. To believe. 

“Have you got a heart?”

They reassure you that they do. They scream feel it beat, feel the pulse thrum underneath my skin. 

You have to check. You need to see for yourself. 

You watch the soul seep out of them. You tear them apart in a messy slaughter, as their eyes try to convince you...

Let me live. Let me live. Let me live. 

You carve their bodies open just to check. 

You don't trust. 

You stand in the middle of a graveyard, a sea of dead hearts scattered around you. You still hold the knife, blood dripping from your clothes. You don’t notice you’ve stopped breathing. Nobody is around to remind you to take a deep breath. It’s silent around.

Your heartbeat is the only sound.

“They all had a heart.”

You've checked. It was the truth. You've checked. You've checked all of them.

They all had a heart.

Then you have to ask yourself…

“Do I?”

(You might have to check.) (You don't trust yourself, either.)

#writing snippet #writeblr #writing #creative writing #snippet #tw blood #tw violence #we've been briefly talking about kinds of truth in philosophy class and how you can't check some things for yourself. and the professor sai #well you can't know for sure if everybody has a heart. but you believe it to be true anyway #and then #i wrote this thing #because what if you did check...... just to be sure?

[alilbatflies]

i am begging you all to stop treating this site like instagram if you dont want it to be content free by next year

#important

[alilbatflies]

Had this on my mind for a while before I managed to put it into words somehow. something something the devotion of a guardian angel to their human...

... ... ...

I have a guardian angel.

It gives me advice. It guides my way.

It’s not malicious, like a demon would be. I hear its voice at all times. It speaks softly to me.

I’ll keep you safe, is what its words mean.

There is a bug on my wall. I do not want it there. I reach for something to squish it with, some death easy for it to bear.

Don’t kill the bug, my angel whispers.

“But it scares me.”

It scoops the bug up on a piece of paper and moves it outside, away from me.

There is an Inconvenience at my doorstep.

How do I make it go away? It doesn't want to leave. Like a bug crawling up the wall.

I shoo at it, tell it to leave.

Much to my surprise, it listens to me.

It walks away. I watch it leave. My angel watches with me.

I watch other people. Many of them walk the world without a guardian. I wonder sometimes…

“Why did their angel leave?”

They have sinned.

It is human, I think. The path is narrow and oftentimes bumpy. The ride of life can get out of hand quite easily.

I wonder what it must be like, for an angel to leave. I wonder if those without an angel know their shadow is their only shield.

“Will you leave me, should I misstep?”

You will not.

“You can’t know that.”

I will not let you.

I cannot imagine seeing that through. And yet, my guardian angel sounds so sure of me.

I’ll keep you safe.

Sometimes, I wonder: Would my angel choose me?

There’s a Problem at my doorstep.

How do I make it go away? It doesn’t want to leave. If words aren’t enough, do I stain my hands with its blood, until it’s scared and running for shelter? Do I fight it away?

Violence should never be your answer.

I talk to the Problem. It does not listen to me at first. I talk some more and more until it finally turns. It leaves slowly, checking for an opportunity to be bothersome again.

I feel better now that the Problem is gone.

I am exhausted. It took a lot.

I fear the day my strength will be futile against the Bad Thing at my door. I doubt my guardian angel’s words will help then, at all.

I have a guardian angel.

It gives me advice, it guides my way, making sure I don’t wander astray.

It always follows behind me. I only catch an occasional glimpse of its glow in the corner of my eyes. The glow of a halo, I think. It is too faint to make its shape out properly.

You do not need to see me, my angel says. Listening is enough.

Perhaps those who have lost their angels have heard, but not listened.

I’ll keep you safe, it reassures me.

There is a Danger at my doorstep.

How do I make it go away? It doesn’t want to leave.

I assess the Danger, it terrifies me. My hands are shaking. It’s too heavy for me. Do I attempt to fight it? It will rip me to shreds. It will overwhelm me.

How do I defend myself from something so out of my league?

The Danger gets worse the longer I let it be. I have no resolve to face it.

Violence should never be your answer.

I wouldn’t win, anyway.

I turn away and hide my face as the Danger moves towards me.

I keep my eyes closed. I cover my ears. I feel myself crying unwanted tears.

Somehow, I feel no pain.

From behind me, the sounds of a fight. Bones snap and it occurs to me, my guardian angel whispered just as the Danger leaped my way.

I’ll keep you safe, it reminded me.

The sounds fade away.

I blink my tears away. When I look up, the Danger has gone.

From behind me I hear a thunk. It sounds like a heavy string snapped. In the corners of my blurred vision, I see a shadow.

Two horns where my angel’s halo used to be.

I have a guardian demon.

It gives me advice. It guides my way.

It is not malicious, like many think a demon to be. I hear its voice at all times. It speaks softly to me.

I’ll keep you safe.

No matter the cost, no matter what it takes.

It’s not always what I want it to be.

I didn’t choose it. My guardian chose me.

There is a bug on my wall. I do not look as my demon scoops it up and takes it outside.

Things are as they’re meant to be.

My guardian stays by me.

My hands are clean.

A path of bloody steps marks my way. It trails after the sinner that protects me.

I have a guardian demon.

My angel fell for me.

#writeblr #writing #creative writing #snippet #angels #angels and demons #guardian angel #why do angels fall #was the title originally. but i think a title is not needed for this one. it felt odd with a title #i think this reads a little bit like poetry but its not quite that. i think. #why do angels fall. i wonder sometimes #bug mention #nothing severe. but there

[alilbatflies]

Once more for those in the back.

[alilbatflies]

Sometimes when we lie awake at night, we hear people walk past the building. Down on the pavement. We can hear them talk and laugh. They curse at times, or stay perfectly quiet on their way. Sometimes they're alone. Sometimes they travel in a group. Hanging out. Being human.

You can hear them from up there? The seventh floor?

Why yes, our window is ajar. 

It’s pretty high up, regardless. 

We can hear the leaves rustle along the ground as the wind chases them around. We can hear the wind pushing against our window, whispering. We can hear the smallest of sounds in the silence of the night.

All the little sounds. They feel so close by. As if the wind chased the leaves along our window sill. As if the group of people went up the building right next to our window. As if the night was alive, choosing to spread all that it hears. 

They do say the shadows whisper.

Oh, but they do, little one. Close your eyes. 

You'll hear better dreaming.

#writeblr #writing #creative writing #short writing #shadows whisper #or something like that. i've heard

[alilbatflies]

Hi there, just found your "just cake" fic and I am interested in how it continues.

What i'm saying is, please continue this fic, villainxhenchman is now one of my favorite writeblr tags.

-@the-agency-archives

Hi! I'm glad you liked part 1. Now get ready for...

...

Just Cake #2

The commonly known thing about old-fashioned traps was that when they failed to trap you, you got to tease the creator of it relentlessly. A net, seriously? People have tried before, sweetheart. Better luck next time.

The inconvenient thing about old-fashioned traps was that when done properly, they did their job damn well. It was exceptionally embarrassing to get caught in one. You should have seen that coming. Alas, you didn’t. Fool.

The henchman had tried pushing the villain out of the way once they noticed the trap. So now they were both caught. The villain hovered over them in the really quite cramped space of the net. Wasn’t that wonderful?

The villain gave the net a testing jerk. It didn’t do them any good.

“Who the fuck even uses nets these days?” the villain hissed.

“It does seem we’re quite literally trapped, boss.”

“No, we’re fuckin– not–” the villain tugged on the net violently– “UNSTUCK YOURSELF!”

“That’s not how traps work, boss.”

It was a definitely never to be mentioned ever again kind of situation, really.

The villain settled into a relative silence. They clawed at the net with one of their blades while growling and cursing occasionally. They tended to be silent most of the time, but the henchman knew very well just how varied their cursing vocabulary was.

They were sure the villain had far exceeded their word limit for the day. Their voice was furious. Cutting.

But not cutting enough to slice through the ropes.

Henchman smiled at their internal commentary; glad they didn’t blurt it out like they so often managed.

There was nothing better to do, and so they watched the villain struggle. They hung really quite skillfully above the henchman, somehow not falling down on top of them. Not that the henchman would especially mind. It was quite cold out there.

They briefly wondered who would even set up a trap that far out in the woods. The obvious answer was someone who lived around. Secret hideouts and all that jazz.

The thing which bothered them the most however was that whoever set the trap up was skilled. Skilled enough to have them both trapped. The villain especially was not easily trapped. Once that whoever came around, they would still be stuck and practically at their mercy. The henchman doubted there would be mercy to be found.

The net moved under the villain’s persistent attempts.

Cold air breezed past. The henchman came to the conclusion that someone showing up was better than freezing to death. 

The villain’s yell startled them out of their thoughts.

“SCREW THAT!”

“Screw me,” please.

The villain obviously stopped themself from cursing again, turning to look at the henchman. “Hm?” they said, which henchman translated as ‘you’ve said something?’

“Nothing.”  Here we go again. Saying stuff.

The villain measured the few nicks they managed to inconvenience the rope with. They huffed an exhale. “That’s not going to work, is it?”

“I’d presume we won’t be able to get out of a net specifically made to capture and hold magical things, boss.”

The villain huffed another exhale. They hid their knife. Then they looked down at the henchman, slumping slightly.

“Do you suppose I could sort of hm… flop down on you? Really uncomfortable up here.”

“Conserve your energy.”

The villain slumped on top of them.

The net was quite uncomfortable under their back even before, but with the added weight, it reached a whole new stage of discomfort. There was nothing the henchman could do about that. Except for maybe miraculously breaking them both out of the trap and acting like it never happened. A minion could dream.

“You’re warm,” the villain said.

“Huh.” The henchman didn’t really manage to figure out a better reaction. They felt too warm entirely, just about bellow the boiling point. It definitely had nothing to do with their proximity. Nope. Not at all.

They both stayed perfectly still.

The henchman considered shuffling, but they had a feeling it would be even more uncomfortable than before.

“Do you regret anything?”

The villain seemed to mumble that mostly to themself, but given the whole situation, the henchman caught it anyway.

“Don’t think about dying yet, boss. We’ll have plenty of chances to make it out.”

The villain hummed, unconvinced.

The henchman hardly convinced themself, so it was no surprise. They decided to answer the villain’s question at least. Death loomed over them with the deft finality of a trap shutting down with chilling-to-the-bones precision. Just like it did.

Nothing to lose but the vague concept of dignity, huh?

“I regret ruining your birthday cake.”

The villain was perfectly still for a moment. Then they lifted themself to look the henchman in the eyes. “My what?”

“Well… you see, the thing that splattered on your doorstep… on your birthday day?”

The villain blinked.

The henchman looked away. It was such an awkward thing, wasn’t it? Of all the things they could have chosen… then again. You make someone cake and then you drop it like a clumsy tool. The sole act of baking the villain cake was borderline ridiculous and entirely unprofessional, too.

“You know when my birthday is?”

“You mentioned you were born on Vampire Day once, in relation to the Candle Parade, so that’s a day after the autumn equinox, so… That’s that.”

The villain hummed quietly, thinking. They rested back down.

The henchman held perfectly still, as if that could somehow remove all of their embarrassment. They measured their breathing, for all it was worth. They had a feeling the villain could sense how uncomfortable they were anyway, but hopefully played it on the whole stuck-in-a-net situation.

“Nobody’s ever given me birthday cake before.”

“Oh, really?” The henchman tried to see the villain’s face. It was a whole new of an uncomfortable movement, so they stopped.

“You’re the first.”

“But I’ve…” Ruined it. Splattered it. Fucked up spectacularly. “…dropped it.”

“Worse things happen,” the villain said. “I appreciate the effort.”

“I didn’t even wish you… anything.” It had been a busy day. The henchman forgot about the villain’s birthday, except for all of the inconvenient times when they really couldn’t say their thing. Like in the middle of a fight, when they were in the bathroom, or when the villain finally fell asleep and the henchman didn’t want to wake them up.

Might as well fix that now. “Happy belated birthday.”

“Hm. Thank you.”

It made the henchman very comfortably warm. Convenient for the villain, they supposed, since they were being used as a personal heater at the moment.

“What’s your regret?”

“Hm?” The villain sounded almost startled.

“Your regret.” Henchman tried to adjust their head to get at least a little bit more comfortable. It only got worse. They rested back to the way they were. “You know my regret. I want to know yours.”

It took the villain a long time to make a sound again. The henchman thought perhaps they crossed the professional line too far, stepped just beyond the acceptable. They prepared their sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that but the villain spoke first.

“I suppose that’s fair.”

They are very fidgety all of a sudden. But at least they sounded like the henchman’s head might stay on their neck.

“So.” The villain cleared their throat. They searched for words and seemed to come out short.

“You don’t have to tell me if you’d prefer not to.”

“No, I’m…” The villain inhaled deeply. In a wave of composure, they spoke at once: “Actually, it partly involves you—I mean, it entirely involves you—and the thing is that you, sincerely–”

The villain’s attention shifted.

The henchman felt the silence settle over them. The last words were like stones falling into the lake, vanishing to leave but circles running on the surface.

In the silence, the henchman finally registered the someone moving closer.

The villain shifted in an attempt of a defence position despite the power-suppressing net and the inconveniently squished henchman underneath them. They bared their teeth in a snarl.

“Look who we’ve caught,” an entirely too sweet voice said. “Well, aren’t you two adorable?”

...

Part 3

#snippet #writeblr #writing #creative writing #heroes and villains #villains #villain x villain #villain x henchman #i copied the text to tumblr and did the whole formatting thing and then i found the internet connection had just vanished since its stormy #luckily it saved in a blip of internet before our internet shut down entirely #but yeah that was a Stressful moment #anyways. hope you enjoy the second part

[alilbatflies]

I DO TAKE REQUESTS.

Be aware that if you reblog a bunch of my posts before you request your thing, you will be recognised and your request will possibly definitely gain priority in my scattered little brain. That means your chances of successfully reading whatever you requested get higher.

Also, be polite. I'm easily spooked.

#request status #note #if you reblog and comment or rant in the tags your chances get even higher #is this bribery to reblog my posts? perhaps #reblogs help me reach more people which means Yes Do Reblog My Writing Please #regardless. requests are appreciated #talk to me #i seek inspiration just like any other writer #see that little ‘talk to me’ button? it's so that you can talk to me! #thinking ‘i'd like to see how you handle trope/prompt/concept’ ‘i wanna read something like that’ ? THAT'S WHAT THE ASKS IS FOR #i wanna know what you think and all #you can also ask me something ‘dumb’ like ‘what's your favourite colour’ and it'll make my day. literally. it's how it works #talk to me talk to me talk to me talk to me talk– #anon is on. btw. if you even care #btw if anyone can identify a genre or sth of my writing pls tell me I have no idea how to tag my stuff

[alilbatflies]

The Superhero's Apprentice

“Supernova? Yeah, they’re gone. Retired. The huge looming mountain of power is gone—some speak of the empty space they left behind. The void.”

The hero slowly approached the crumpled figure, entirely unconcerned as they talked.

“And it’s not that they left a void behind. It’s just that no mountain standing in their stead can loom as tall as they did. Nothing can match their glorious presence. Nothing.

“Nobody.”

The hero stopped, tilting their head.

“Instead of an infinitely tall shield, there’s a smaller, more climbable mountain. Some might even call it average. Certainly, no feat compared to them.”

The hero crouched down to the villain’s level.

“You’re not a very good climber, are you?”

The villain stared at them, wide-eyed. They struggled to breathe. They had tried to find some reassurance in tracking the hero’s movement, but what did that matter when they couldn’t move an inch?

The hero smiled. It didn’t reach their eyes.

The villain shivered helplessly as the hand reached out. Cold fingers ran along their eyes, catching their tears.

Their blood roared. Their magic sizzled and boiled. Their heartbeat quickened. It went faster and faster, threatening to burst in its desperate gallop.

When the hero’s hand withdrew, it was silent. The villain’s heartbeat had stopped. The sound of the hero’s breathing felt too small to fill the space with its shadow of humanity.

A void left behind.

The hero stood. They turned. The echo of their steps made them company on the way out.

#writeblr #writing #snippet #creative writing #heroes and villains #sometimes i open my drafts #and there are lovely things waiting there. like this. #implied death

[alilbatflies]

I took part in @thepenultimateword's song-story writing challenge. It was fun!

My assigned song was Scarborough Fair by Simon and Garfunkel, submitted by @wacko-weirdo.

...

The fire cracks and sways, warm against the cold night. The shadows of those gathered around it dance much like flowers in the wind, swaying calmly without hurry. A unique form of slow dancing.

The hunter watches from further away. They could listen in on the conversation if they wanted to, but the sounds all smudge in their head. They barely manage to thread the waters of their conflicting thoughts. They’re tired.

The tree against their back is grounding. It’s the hunter’s only comfort. They don’t think to ask for more. They couldn’t possibly.

The group seems so calm. As if they’ve forgotten that there are still soldiers hunting them. The conversation is light, flickering with laughter like the dancing flames, all-consuming.

…perhaps they wish to forget for a while.

The hunter would much like to forget, too.

“Are you going to join us?”

The hunter looks at their old friend. Old friend doesn’t quite cut it. Neither does lover. Neither does any other label that the hunter has tried over the years. Their friend is simply always there.

Their witch friend.

The witch meets their eyes. The fire reflects in the deep brown that is so familiar to the hunter. Its familiarity offers comfort—comfort, which the hunter is unable to accept.

The hunter can’t bear to look.

They turn back towards the fire. Staring into the light is a bad idea, the hunter knows, for one cannot monitor the shadows blinded. And yet, they look. The blazing flames seem to swallow their worries, to soothe. The fire gazes right into their soul and warms its darkest corners. It all feels alright for a little while.

The witch gently takes their hand. They tug the hunter along, towards the fire.

The hunter’s arm lifts to follow the movement but they do not budge. The tree they’re leaning against is their anchor then. They fear losing their ground. They fear getting lost entirely.

They want to go. They want to let themselves be pulled along, they want to join everyone, they want to belong. They want to belong, to finally, finally…

“I’ve killed too many.”

On someone else’s orders. Because of someone else’s ideals. They didn’t know better.

The blood is on their hands.

I might have killed you, too.

The witch steps closer to them, interlocking their fingers instead. They examine their hand, the knuckles, callouses and scars. Those little wounds that tell the stories, if one can read them well enough.

They run their fingers over the hunter’s bandaged forearm, a ghost of a touch. They were the one who tended to the hunter’s injury that day.

“You’ve helped us get away.” The witch meets the hunter’s gaze. “You’ll help us still, won’t you?”

“Of course.” For you.

The witch keeps staring into their eyes. They might be trying to look right past, into the hunter’s mind and soul. They might just be able to read each and every of the hunter’s thoughts.

The hunter has thoughts. The hunter has many thoughts, flying around in their head, possibly causing more harm than good. The hunter can’t seem to stop them.

The hunter knows nothing of herbs. They know nothing of healing. With each moment passing by, they learn that they know nothing of witches, either. They try to learn.

They were told witches are dangerous. They were told they were vicious, vile creatures, evil beings beyond salvation. They were told death was a witch’s only comfort.

It used to be their only truth. The only thing that could help them carry the weight of their sword somewhat, when all of the life seeped out of another pair of silver eyes. It was their shield when the weight of taking a life threatened to slit them open.

It has all shattered so easily.

The hunter vividly recalls the moment their friend’s eyes flashed silver. Their friend was pushed to the edge, looking to them for help. The pieces fit together perfectly. The soldier next to them lunged forward. Their blow never landed.

The hunter met the others a little later on. The other not so evil creatures, who just want to live.

The hunter knows a little better now.

Witches are curious about the world much like their friend has always been. They bear their own weight, the magic running silver in their blood. They desire to live. To be safe. To be understood. The hunter can relate perfectly.

They try to learn.

“Thank you,” the hunter says.

“For what?”

Thank you for opening my eyes. For trusting me. For not letting me stay in the clutches of their truth.

“Being such a pain in my ass.”

The witch laughs. The sound wraps over the hunter like a soft blanket. Nobody ever told them that a witch’s laugh could heal.

The witch lifts the hunter’s hand. They press a kiss to it, holding their gaze.

The hunter shivers.

“I should thank you,” the witch whispers, “for protecting us.”

“Always.”

The witch pulls them along again. Towards the fire. Towards their family.

This time, the hunter lets them.

#songsandwords #writing challenge #and it was definitely a challenge #i think it turned out pretty good #snippet #writeblr #writing #creative writing #no beta we die like uh... we just die #witches #implied death #implied murder #tw implied violence #i think its very mild but just to be safe #im not sure how to tag trigger warnings but i did my best #fantasy snippet #witch x witch hunter #hunter x hunted