jaymendell

[jaymendell]

“Time to admit it, Vital!” Kettle said with near unholy relish. 

“I shan’t!” Vital said shrilly. The villain had the look of one who had suddenly realized they were holding a bomb.

Kettle could admit to some smugness, there. 

She had been mocked mercilessly for the long trail of misfits that followed her around, and this realization for her rival had been a long time coming.

“Our situations are not even close to the same!” Vital continued, pacing back and forth, running his hands through his hair with agitation.

“Oh? How so?” Kettle said sweetly. She settled in for the wait, fluttering her eyelashes innocently.

“For one thing, I didn’t do this on purpose!” Vital threw out.

“Bzzz. Try again,” Kettle said, forming an X with her arms as she rejected that excuse. “None of my situation happened on purpose either. Honestly, even with people that go into this eyes-open, I still have to imagine that they get some unexpected fumbles along the way.”

“Well, most of mine aren’t actually kids,” Vital said, though his protests were becoming notably weaker.

“Weirdly enough, even adults have parents,” Kettle said dryly. “Or guardians. Or someone who watches out for them, even if they’re not legally required to. In this scenario, that’s you. Just in case you forgot.”

Vital groaned, dropping his head in his hands. 

“Oh no. How did this even happen?”

Seeing as he had started to accept his inevitable fate, Kettle decided to have a bit of sympathy.

“It probably had something to do with the fact that you’re one of the only villains around who’s capable of teaming up with someone without killing or otherwise betraying them after,” she pointed out. 

One would think that villains wouldn’t care much about the honor system, but even among superpowered maniacs there was still a certain expectation of civility.

“That shouldn’t be such a surprise, I don’t kill anyone,” Vital said, somewhat forlornly.

“I know, that’s why I’m here.” Kettle did have some standards, after all. “And that’s also why they feel comfortable coming to you, Vital. It’s a good thing.”

“A good thing? I’m a villain, Kettle! Nobody will ever respect me if they think they can just walk all over me!”

“Nobody walks all over you, Vital,” she replied dryly. And it was only half due to the fact that there was an angry pack of knife-wielding hooligans who would take out anyone who tried.

“They’re gonna start thinking that they can,” Vital said darkly. “Mark my words. First it’s just a couple of vigilantes pushing their luck, and next the Legion of Villains will be busting down my door for protection fees!”

Kettle sighed, shaking her head.

“My friend, do you want to know the good part of having so many people that look up to you?”

Vital dared to glance over, giving her a wary look.

“…What?” 

“They’ll believe what you tell them, and they’ll believe that it’s in their best interest to follow it,” she advised. “You have a problem? Point them in that direction. It’ll take care of itself, I promise.”

Vital stared. “…Are you sure I’m the villain?”

Kettle laughed. “And that’s why you’ve got so many kids, man!”

Prompt #3190

“Ugh, you’re such a parent.”

The superhero laughed at their counterpart. “Have you looked in the mirror lately? You have four villains, two sidekicks, a thief, an assassin, and an occasional vigilante trailing after your like ducklings after their mother. I’m not the only one with a menagerie of adopted kids.”

“No, no I- wait. Oh god. No.”

#mendell writes #short story

[jaymendell]

“Supervillain might be a little harsh,” Fallen protested, though he did nothing to try and escape Valley’s grip. They quite liked dangling from the scruff of their neck like this – it was oddly soothing.

Phantom Claw (“The full title is a bit much… Just call me Claw.”) did not seem as impressed.

“You set an orphanage on fire literally last week,” he said flatly.

“There was nobody in it!” Fallen squawked. “And that was an accident, anyway!”

“Incompetence isn’t a good excuse,” Claw said, entirely unamused.

“Oh, come on,” Valley wheedled, gently waving the now-deflated Fallen back and forth. “They really don’t mean anything bad by it, honey. And just look at the storm outside! We can’t just throw them back out into the cold!”

“Sure we can,” Claw shot that plea down immediately. “I’ll do it right now.”

The hero gave one threatening step forward, and Fallen realized that he was out of time — he had to pull out the big guns.

Swallowing heavily, he glanced up at Claw, eyes big and wet.

“I - I understand,” Fallen choked out, sniffing loudly. “I’ll leave, I swear. But, I mean, could I just rest by the fire for a few moments? Just for a little bit, until my clothes dry?”

Claw stopped in place, one eye twitching. Fallen saw the smile that he was trying to hide, and knew that they’d gotten him.

“Let me guess, next you’ll be asking for just one piece of bread and a meager bowl of soup to pad your empty stomach, and one tuppence for the road.”

“I don’t think that’s much to ask for,” Valley said, blinking innocently.

He finally plopped Fallen down on the ground, who wasted no time in making himself into a small, miserable puddle of a man.

Fallen gazed up at Claw, who was standing there now with his hands on his hips, trying his best to hide his amusement.

“Please, sir,” he croaked out, lips jutting out in an exaggerated pout. “Just one tuppence for the road.”

Claw finally broke, biting his lip as he turned away, gesturing dismissively back at them.

“Do whatever you want! If you’re planning to stay long, take a shower first. You smell like a sewer.”

“How did you guess?” Fallen said cheerfully, jumping up from his begging position to move into the kitchen and raid the fridge.

Valley followed along, practically radiating smugness. 

“I told you he would agree,” Valley said, taking care to avoid the muddy steps Fallen was tracking along their nice tiled floors. “He’s just a bit grumpy about what happened with the tomatoes last time.”

“He can hear you just fine,” Claw called from where he had settled into the loveseat to read the evening paper like an old man. “And those plants took me forever to grow!”

“I did apologize,” Fallen pointed out, voice muffled as he started chewing on a bagel. “I promise if I’d known you were so attached to them I wouldn’t have drained them of all their life essence as part of my master plan to control the world.”

“Oh, just behave yourself,” Claw sighed, and Valley winked at Fallen, as if to indicate that no such thing would happen, and they were both better off for it.

“I’ll stay out of the garden,” Fallen compromised.

Supervillain or not, he still had to keep to some level of mischief. It was just the principle of the thing.

Short Prompt #123

“Hero, drop it,” Superhero ordered, pointing to the wet and shivering figure Hero clasped in the doorway.”

Hero pouted, making their eyes big and sad. “But they’re just baby.”

“That is a full-grown man and a supervillain!”

#mendell writes #short story

[jaymendell]

“Johansen, if you bring up that fucking cow one more time – “

“Don’t you talk about old Bessie that way!”

Liam blinked, taking in the spectacle. No one else seemed to give it much notice, so he felt like he had to restrain himself from his first instinct, which had been indistinct gibbering.

He leaned in towards River, whispering; “Is this normal?”

River looked decidedly gloomy. 

“This is just what it’s like to live in New England,” they said, stuffing their hands further into their pockets as they walked through the old courthouse, not making eye-contact. “You’ll get used to it.”

“What are they even arguing about?” Liam wondered.

At the moment, it seemed to be something about the Salem Witch Trials — but based on the commentary that Liam could vaguely discern, only half of them had actually been present for that particular time period, and the ones that were there seemed to be more preoccupied by the state of any possibly-cursed cattle than the Trials themselves.

“Who knows,” River said, long-suffering. “Can we just get out of here?”

“Come on, just a minute,” Liam said, tugging on their sleeves so that they couldn’t duck through the side door like they’d clearly been planning. “I wanna see this through!”

The ghosts had escalated to throwing around insults now, some truly biblical in nature.

“We can see this any time man,” River groaned. “If I knew you were gonna be like this, I would have had us use a different shortcut…”

“Really? The ghosts, I mean — they’re just here? All the time?”

He was still trying to wrap his head around it.

“To our dismay, yes,” River confirmed with a sigh. “Have you ever seen the actors at Plymouth, or a place like that? They’re supposed to stay in-character, right, to give you an ‘authentic’ experience of life in the old days. This is like that, except we don’t pay them and no one wants them here.”

“Seems like a pretty important distinction,” Liam observed. 

“Town tried to have the building condemned a few years ago, but the local historical preservation society stepped in,” River said darkly. They emphasized the word ‘preservation’ like one might say ‘execution’.

“It’s good to preserve what you can of the past,” Liam offered weakly.

“Some things should stay buried,” River shook their head.

One of the ghosts, an older gentleman with a truly ridiculous mustache, shifted to look at the two of them, waving an imperious hand.

“My fellow townsmen, what say you?!”

“Boo,” River called back. “Get a real job!”

The ghost looked triumphant. 

“See!” he said, turning back to his debating opponent. “The people agree!”

“They’re not listening to you,” Liam said, resisting a laugh.

“The dead never do,” River said, tone remarkably gloomy considering their circumstances. “They think they’ve got it all figured out. No time to grow — no time to change. It’s just this. Forever.”

Liam grimaced. As amusing as he found the scenario, it’s not one that he would want to be a part of, especially if it lasted for all eternity.

“Maybe we should go,” he said.

“And I’m already out the door!” River replied, and happily pulled Liam out of history.

Text: A court of ghosts pretends to still be in charge of the town. Each has an arrow somewhere different, and is in need of extensive therapy.

#mendell writes #short story

[jaymendell]

Art went still, blinking rapidly as he worked to maintain his composure.

“I know quite well, actually,” he said quietly.

Wyrd scoffed, baring his teeth in a snarl.

“Do you? Rich bastards like you always think you understand the consequences of this shit, but you aren’t the one who has to pay for it!”

Art breathed in discreetly, trying to push back the darkness that was creeping in on the edge of his vision.

“I’m sorry for what you have gone through, truly,” he said, and knelt down by the mage’s side. “There is no excuse. But you cannot save yourself with the pain of others.”

He gestured towards the children gathered behind him, cowering back against the wall. 

“What have they done to deserve your ire?”

Wyrd wavered, biting his lip. 

“This isn’t about them!” he finally snapped, frustrated and resentful. “It’s about their parents, the nobles, about all the fucked up people in our society that just sit back and let it happen!”

“But they’re the ones who you’re hurting right now,” Art reminded him.

Wyrd grimaced, clutching at his broken arm as he fell silent.

Art had perhaps been rather overzealous in his attempt to protect his young charges, but he couldn’t exactly say that he regretted it.

The practice of magic had long been banned in their kingdom — it had to be, considering the cost. But there were still a few stragglers here or there that had gotten caught up in the system before the current King had taken the throne and cracked down hard.

Wyrd was one of them — Art knew that for certain. After all, he had just graduated when Wyrd had been brought into the program.

He didn’t remember all their faces. It was impossible; the children all blended together, the same agony repeated upon itself again and again, with the same inevitable result. What was the point in trying to remember? It wouldn’t bring him anything but pain.

But once in a while, a fellow student stood out to him. Wyrd, with his loud voice and his bright smile and the way he laughed even after the members of his dorm grew fewer and fewer, was one of them.

Not that he expected Wyrd to remember him. That was a long time ago. 

“They took everything from me,” Wyrd said, voice hoarse and shaking with raw emotion. “And they say it’s all been put to an end now, but they said that when it was banned a century ago. Who’s to say it isn’t still happening in some noble’s basement? In some secret room of this godforsaken academy, right under the noses of these rich brats? And why is it, after everything, that I’m the only one still hurting?!”

You aren’t, Art wanted to say. It hurts every day.

Instead, he just shook his head.

“This isn’t the way to change any of that, or to find out the truth,” he said, and looked Wyrd in the eye. “You want to know what’s happening? Become important enough for it to matter.”

It was a long, hard road — but one that Art had vowed to take.

Prompt #3221

“Do you know how many dead children it takes to make a mage?”

#mendell writes #short story

[jaymendell]

“Heroes often say they’re good people,” Scarlett said, with a bitter twist to her mouth. “It’s far more rare that they actually prove it.”

Telly breathed in, breathed out. 

Scarlett had every right to feel disappointed and let down by this system, Telly rationalized to themself. It didn’t protect her when she needed it. That is what makes a villain.

“I’m glad I was able to help,” they said, instead of screaming out that none of this was easy, that heroes could struggle and fall just as well as anyone else, that being good took work and some days it was harder than others, and none of that justified 

Telly turned away, more than ready to go home and collapse into their bed, when a rising voice caught their attention.

“Would you have still done it even if I hadn’t surrendered?” Scarlett asked, eyes flashing. It was difficult to see her true expression beyond the opaque barrier between them, but Telly got the gist.

“If you hadn’t surrendered, I wouldn’t have known,” Telly said tiredly. They had no desire to play games right now.

What was the point of asking what-ifs? A little girl was saved and a villain was behind bars. That was all that mattered.

“If I had come to you exactly as I was, no cuffs, no surrender, would you still have saved her?” Scarlett persisted.

“Does it matter?” Telly finally snapped, shifting to look back at her over their shoulder. “It’s done. She’s safe. Isn’t that the most important thing?”

“It is,” Scarlett acknowledged, dipping her head. “But this still matters to me. And I think it matters to you too. Otherwise, why would you be here?”

It was fitting that she would throw those words back at them. And even more fitting that she would do it without knowing what those words had actually meant.

“I am here,” Telly said quietly, approaching the barrier, “because everyday, I get up and go to work. I do my job for a full ten hours, and then I go home, put on my tights, and head back out there. I try everyday to help people. To improve the lives of everyone around me. And I don’t get paid for this. I don’t have benefits. When a villain comes to me and says they need help, I help them. That’s what it means to be a hero.”

Scarlett had backed up a few steps in her cell, clearly startled, but Telly wasn’t done.

“I don’t say this to be disparaging, but you aren’t special,” they said. “And neither am I. This isn’t some fantastic circumstance that could have never occurred otherwise. I saved your sister just like I saved someone else’s sister yesterday, just like a different hero tried to save my sister ten years ago. I’m not here to philosophize with you. I came here to tell you that your sister is okay, and will continue to be okay even while you’re in here. That’s all.”

Telly stormed away, not waiting for a response.

They did the right thing. They’re a hero – even when it’s hard, even when it hurts, and even when it means helping the villain that killed their little sister.

Prompt #3231

“You saved my sister-”

“I save everyone. I’m a hero. It’s what we do.”

“Not all heroes would save a villain’s family. Less than half. Maybe less than a quarter. But you did.”

“No need to sound so surprised. I like to think I’m a good person. And I’d like to think you think that too.”

#mendell writes #short story

[jaymendell]

“They say his feathers were as dark as night, and he could fly through the trees unseen by human eyes!”

“I heard that the curse got worse over time. I heard that feathers started to sprout all along his body, and his nose turned into a beak!”

“I heard it wasn’t a curse at all. I heard that it was a gift from the fairies, and when the royal family squandered it, they were given the worst punishment imaginable! I heard that they were – “

“Well, I heard that the prince had a huge dick, and no one ever seems interested in that one,” Day murmured, taking a long sip of his ale as Night sputtered, choking on his drink.

“You can’t just say that!” Night hissed, cheeks fully aflame. It gave the image of a pure and blushing maiden, which was rather incongruous with Night’s nearly seven-foot tall frame and heavily cloaked figure. 

“It’s too late to say that now, it’s already been said,” Day pointed out, lifting a single brow. “Besides, no one’s paying attention to us anyway.”

It was true. Though this was a remote village far from the Capital and all its drama, they had still gotten swept up into the wave of intrigue as the first anniversary of the Royal Family's mysterious disappearance. If the Duke, a cousin to the family, hadn’t been able to step in, the Kingdom would have been at a real loss.

Not that such a thing really mattered around here. As long as the ale kept flowing and the crops kept growing, the rest could be figured out in the end. The person sitting on the throne rarely gathered much attention unless they raised the taxes or recruited for the army, which typically went hand in hand.

Luckily, Night’s cousin seemed to be handling things well enough, if all the gossip was still focused on the previous rulers rather than anything foolish he may have done.

“Even if no one’s paying attention, that doesn’t mean I’m ready to hear it,” Night mumbled, and the wounded look on his face was enough to make Day laugh, barely avoiding choking on his drink.

“My, my, such delicate sensibilities!” Day teased, throwing an arm over his companion’s shoulders. “My apologies, your majesty, I’ll be more sensitive to your needs in the future.”

He accompanied his words with an eyebrow wiggle that had Night squawking in distress, sounding so very much like a bird that Day cracked up all over again.

Nearly six years now they had been traveling together, working to right some wrongs and make use of the gifts that had been given to them.

Whatever was said about Princes and Fairies, Night and Day would overcome it. One day, when their names came up in dark and musty taverns, it would be because of their own deeds, not that of their respective families. 

Day was sure of that – he would bet his life on it. And Night’s life, but those were rather intertwined, regardless. 

Text: The youngest prince was born with crows wings, and kindly kept as a sort of pet. He disappeared quietly into the northern woods, five years before the death of most of his family.

#mendell writes #short story

[jaymendell]

Wilfred had never wanted to bite someone as much as he did right now.

“Is that supposed to make me feel sorry for you?” he sneered. 

His head was pounding, and his shoulders ached from how his hands were tied behind his back. His stuffy nose only exacerbated his torment.

He had cried in front of this man. Real, actual tears had fallen down his face. And he thought now was the time to bring this up?

“Don’t be cross now,” Cedar said, tone just the right amount of disapproving to show that they had, indeed, been raised by the same governess. “I’m trying to give you some friendly advice.”

“Advice from my father’s bastard?” Wilhelm scoffed. “I don’t need it.”

Cedar’s eyes widened for just a second before he regained his composure. 

“You knew?” he asked, raising a brow.

“You’re hardly the first,” Wilhelm replied stiffly. Not even the first to threaten his life, as it turned out. 

Livia was actually quite the lovely woman, if one could ignore the poisoning attempts. And Zakaraiah would have been almost tolerable, if he was more like his mother and less like their father, including both looks and vicious temperament. The less that was said about Dofín, the better. Wilhelm still had a hard time looking at an apple strudel without shuddering.

And those were only the ones that he could name off the top of his head!

Honestly, Wilhelm thought they should be doing some more communication with each other, rather than leaving him as the one to explain everything all over again to the next sewer rat that came crawling in off the street.

“Look, I’m trying to help you as much as I can,” Cedar said, letting out a sigh. He really was related – it was rare that someone could manage that exact tone of disappointment inherited from their father. “But you need to work with me here. Our father isn’t who he says he is, and – “

“If this is about the whole ‘treason’ thing, don’t bother,” Wilhelm interrupted. “I’m sick and tired of hearing about it.”

Most days it felt like every damn vagabond in the kingdom knew about his father’s idiotic attempt at war profiteering, and Wilfred was thoroughly done with the whole thing. The man was already confined at home on order of the Crown (to accommodate for his ‘ailing health’, allegedly), what did it matter?

“No, it’s about – he committed treason?” Cedar backtracked, blinking rapidly. “What?”

“Oh, you really are new to the Capitol,” Wilfred scoffed. “Whatever my father might have done to you as a child, I can promise you that he is no better here. Or, indeed, any more helpful. I would encourage you to seek your vengeance elsewhere – a husk is no satisfying target.”

It honestly hurt Wilfred to defend the man, even in such a roundabout way, but he couldn’t help it. He’d been raised all his life to accommodate for his father’s faults, and he had too much practice in it. The gestures were nearly automatic, at this point. He barely even thought about it.

“No, listen to me!” Cedar finally raised his voice, frustration brewing.

Something dark and satisfied began to settle inside of Wilfred. It was always easier when they began yelling.

“Our father stole the identity of a provincial lord! He’s not even nobility, and neither are you!”

Wilfred froze, finally caught off-guard.

“What?” His voice was hoarse, cracking at the seams.

Just when he thought there was nothing more to lose.

“I just want to be a good son…”

“I understand that. It’s just that trying to be a good son to someone like him is impossible. Nothing is ever enough.”

“How do you know?!”

“Because I almost died trying to prove that I could be.”

#mendell writes #short story

[jaymendell]

“Please forgive me for being skeptical,” Alec said through gritted teeth.

As a knight of the holy order, he liked to think of himself as a fairly magnanimous person. He paid his dues to the church every week. He did his duty to serve the people. He even volunteered at the local orphanage!

So why now of all times did he have to end up like this?

Ivy shook her head. She seemed genuinely saddened by his question.

“If you got to know him, you would understand,” she persisted, eyebrows furrowed. “It may not be the most conventional life, but it’s a happy one. I can promise you that!”

Alec’s lip curled into a snarl.

“I already have a god,” he scoffed. “I have no need for a second-rate replacement.”

Her cheeks colored, a hidden shame in it that Alec recognized. 

“This has nothing to do with gods!” Ivy bristled, the closest he had ever seen to anger beginning to rise on her face. “He is powerful, yes, but unlike those mighty gods, he actually cares about the people around him! He seeks to better the world – not for his own profit, but because the world is broken right now, and he knows we can all work together to fix it!”

“Pretty words,” Alec scoffed. He might have even believed them, when he was younger and more prone to throwing himself into trouble for the sake of his own perceived ‘justice’. “But anyone who tells you they know how to fix a broken society has something invested in you believing that it cannot be fixed without them. And anyone who says that the gods are to blame for humanity’s failures is worse than a fool.”

Everyone liked to complain about their god – it was the second-most holy activity, aside from praying to them. But those who looked to gods to fill a need that was created by humans were only kidding themselves. 

Gods were like supervisors – better seen from afar. Any who desired the attention of a god typically received exactly what they asked for, and it was rarely what they wanted.

Ivy made a rude sound, clenching her fists like she wanted to hit him. Alec welcomed the attempt – since he was already tied to a post, freezing his literal ass off in a cold winter night when his patrol shift should have ended hours ago, he would have at least preferred a bruise to prove that this was a true kidnapping and not just the most aggressive recruitment technique he had ever encountered. 

“You don’t understand!” she snapped. “If nothing is done about this kingdom, all its people will suffer. We will fall into depravity! No matter who you worship then, you will find yourself abused and betrayed by those in power!”

Alec let out a heavy breath, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. 

“It’s not like I don’t agree with you, on certain points,” he said, because there was indeed plenty of corruption and abuse to go around, even with his own efforts to mitigate it. “But running off to live in the mountains and harass hapless merchants traveling by is hardly the way to solve any issue.”

“Just come back with me! If you get a chance to actually see what we’re doing, you’ll understand!” Ivy insisted.

“I think I’ve seen enough,” Alec said flatly, and pulled his arms free from the bindings that he had been steadily sawing away at with his knife. “And you need to be getting home, Miss Ivy. It’s getting late, and your Aunt has been worried sick about you.”

The young woman’s cheeks darkened, a severe pout stretching her lips.

“You’ll see! You’ll all see!”

And she darted off into the night.

Alec groaned, hanging his head.

Seemed his patrol wasn’t done just yet.

"Why are you loyal to him?"

"He's kinder than you think and very noble. He's a good man that randomly pulled the short straw."

#mendell writes #short story

[jaymendell]

Milo worked hard to keep a smile on his face. 

When Blue – (“What? Oh, don’t call me that. I’m not your fuckin’ dad.”) – had first taken him in, Milo had cried every night, thanking all the gods for this miracle. He was young enough that he didn’t remember a time before his family had sold him into indentured servitude to pay off their debts, but he was also old enough to know that he had no desire to remain that way forever. 

His world had once been so small, but Blue had opened the pathway to a life that Milo had never known. Brilliant landscapes to explore, so many people to meet!

Milo fought monsters, went on grand quests like the heroes of old. Things he had only dreamed of became a reality, and his own powers increased as his life flowered before him.

And it had taken Milo a shamefully long time to realize that Blue found no enjoyment in any of it.

It was the flinching, the avoidance. The way Milo had woken from sleep, sometimes, to feel the weight of Blue’s gaze on his back, deep in the night when all should have been quiet.

Blue didn’t trust him. Didn't even seem to like him. 

Milo had kept that suspicion to himself for as long as he could – fearing what the consequence of voicing it would be.

But eventually, Blue had sat him down, a gangly teen with spots on his face and the blood of a god running through his veins, and told him about another life.

One in which Milo had been a broken man, plotting to bring about the end of the world. Vicious, cruel, throwing himself on the sword just for a chance to reach those on the other side.

Blue had lived it, had experienced the wrath of Milo’s other self, had been given a chance by the gods to change it.

And he had! Milo could confidently say that he had little interest in destroying the world, and even less desire to kill himself doing it. 

Foolishly, Milo had hoped that confession would be the end of it. Now, finally, Blue could relax – could, perhaps, even come to care about Millo, about the person that he was now, rather than some wraith of lives long forgotten.

But they were now nearly three years on, and Milo was still traveling with a man that wanted nothing to do with him, yet refused to leave him alone. In truth, Milo hadn’t been trying too hard to leave. Some part of him still hoped, despite it all.

But this… This was enough proof. Things were never going to change. Not unless Milo changed first.

Blue had only sighed, turning away after Milo’s last words, but Milo lingered at the stable instead of immediately following along, like he usually did. Normally, he would be pestering Blue about food right now, or about the history of this town, or what they could do for entertainment – (“Oh, they have gladiatorial pits! Do you think –” “Absolutely not.”) – but Milo remained with his mare, gently stroking her mane. 

“I think it’s about time, girl,” he murmured, leaning his head against her neck, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breath. “There’s nothing left for us here.”

And by the time Blue noticed, it would be too late to catch up. 

Milo didn’t know what changes this would bring, but it would change something. It would be enough. For the both of them.

“Every time I look at you I see what you could have been. In another life. And I can’t help but fear you.”

“… Then I guess I’ll have to change so much that you don’t see that version of me anymore!”

#mendell writes #short story

[jaymendell]

“Far be it for me to tell you what to do,” Ana said cautiously, fidgeting with the lens of her glasses to avoid eye contact. “But that’s… a lot to give up.”

People would kill for that power. Not Ana — she had enough to deal with, and she was interested in such things in a purely academic light. But, still.

“It’s a lot to handle, too,” Penny countered. “And to be quite frank, it’s too much for me. I didn’t ask for this.”

“Probably for the best,” Ana admitted. “Those who seek out power rarely end well.”

Working in superhuman biology had taught her that much.

“So, how do I get rid of it?”

Ana grimaced. “I wish there was an easy answer. But it depends entirely on personal circumstances.”

That was never the answer that someone who came to her wanted to hear, but it was the truth. There was nothing Ana could do about it — some people had powers that resulted from sudden mutations, and that always intersected with the body differently. Some people were born with powers, and it simply took a while for them to manifest. Some people had been given powers by an entirely outside source, whether they knew it or not!

And that was the real difficult part: how was Ana supposed to know how to ‘solve’ a problem that may have no solution?

“Test me, then,” Penny said, impatience coloring her tone. “Give me the paperwork, I’ll sign the NDA, whatever you need. I can’t keep living like this!”

Ana flinched, ducking her head. “I — I mean, there’s no singular test that can fix you! It’ll take time; it may take years!”

Penny’s fist slammed into the desk, and Ana nearly jumped out of her skin.

“I can’t wait years,” Penny snarled, though the anger was undercut by the despair clearly present in her voice. “This needs to happen now!”

Ana closed her eyes for a brief moment, taking a deep breath in.

“We can start taking steps,” Ana said, allowing herself to speak firmly, with all the authority she could muster. “But it will take time. And even those first steps won’t be immediate. We’ll need to do a series of tests, of interviews, all different kinds of things.”

And Penny was hardly her only patient, either. However life or death her situation was, Ana had patients on life support that were counting on her finding the exact accommodations they needed to survive.

Penny sucked in a breath to yell, but it came out more like a sob.

“Isn’t there anyone who can help me?” she asked, voice cracking. “Everything is moving so fast, it’s completely out of my control!”

“I am here to help you,” Ana said, and chanced reaching out to place her hand over Penny’s own. “You just have to trust me.”

Penny let out a huff, her bangs shadowing her face, hiding that defeated expression.

“Even though I’m a villain? You’re asking me to trust you?”

“You came here, didn’t you?” Ana said gently. “Hero or villain, you knew that you could get help here. So please — let me help you.”

Penny ducked her head, releasing a shuddering breath. 

Right now, she didn’t look like a villain capable of leveling a continent. She looked like a young women, terrified of transforming into something more destructive than she could handle.

“Please… I need help.”

“Your powers are incredible. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

“Great. How do I get rid of them?”

#mendell writes #short story

[jaymendell]

i really don’t get when people say that a character being an unrepentant asshole make them more “realistic”. like, im not talking about antagonists. im talking about the character that is the hero or the love interest and is just plain cruel to the other characters in the story, and that’s okay actually because that’s just “what real people are like”…………. bro what kind of people do you surround yourself with to think that’s the norm?? be kinder to yourself, seriously

#mendell rambles

[jaymendell]

“Well, you don’t know how to do your own laundry, for one,” Nati pointed out, shoving more of the linens in the basket.

“Plenty of men don’t know how to do their laundry,” Toma said, utterly unflappable, even with a pillowcase nearly smacking him in the face when he went to hang it on the line. “I’m learning, though.”

“That you are,” Nati allowed. It was one of the main reasons that Nati had kept their patience far beyond what they might have otherwise allowed.

Ignorance was excusable — incompetence was not.

“You have my thanks for that,” Toma continued— and mannerisms like that were another sign, so obvious that Nati couldn’t believe that they’d missed it. 

Nobody talked like that in real life. Well, nobody except Toma, apparently.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Nati said gruffly, leaning over to snatch a shirt from the air right before it blew away. “Just keep learning.”

They pointedly pressed the shirt into his hands, and Toma reclipped it to the line with all the grace he could manage.

“Understood, General.”

Nati snorted, shaking their head. “Please. I haven’t been a general since before you were born. Don’t bother.”

It was nice to have the subtle confirmation, though. They had wondered why this young upstart had wound up on their door, of all places.

But if Toma had left the Palace for the same reasons that Nati did, it made total sense.

“Your Grandfather still running the place into the ground, then?” They didn’t get much news out here in the countryside, which was exactly why Nati had chosen to flee there so many years ago.

But still, they missed the gossip, if nothing else.

Toma gave a subtle wince, the closest Nati had seen him come to expressing a negative emotion since the moment he’d arrived here.

“Ah. I suppose that’s answer enough.”

“Grandfather is… strong-willed,” Toma said diplomatically. “And after Father’s death, he has become more controlling. I could not, in good conscience, allow myself to be placed on a throne where I would be nothing more than a puppet.”

Nati stared at him for a long, long moment. The former Prince tilted his head up stubbornly, pride still intact despite it all.

“…Noble,” Nati acknowledged, giving a tiny nod. “Though I’m guessing that your Grandfather didn’t agree, given your presence here.”

“I formally abdicated the throne, and though I wasn’t disowned by the time I left, I’m sure that came next,” Toma said. “There’s nothing he can do about it.”

Ah, there’s that princely naïveté.

“You’re assuming that your Grandfather is a man who operates solely by logic,” Nati grunted. They busied themself with putting up the last of the laundry, and then turned to Toma, hands on their hips. “Besides. If you really believed that, you wouldn’t have come to me.”

A frown darted across Toma’s face, but he didn’t bother to deny it.

“My Father always said that you were his best friend. I had hoped that one day, you could be a friend to me as well.”

He was so young, so stubborn. For a moment, Nati thought they were looking at a friend that had left them long ago.

Finally, they huffed, shaking their head.

“I don’t have friends that can’t do laundry. Better shape up, kid.”

Toma smiled, his whole body relaxing all at once.

“As you say, General.”

“And don’t call me general!”

“Of course, General.”

“Damn kid…”

“So you’re… the prince.”

“I abdicated, so, no.”

“Still, that explains a lot about you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

#mendell writes #short story

[jaymendell]

“Well, how many kinds of witches are there?” Grin asked, hands on his hips. 

How disappointing. What was the point of a witch if they couldn’t do at least this much?

“How many kinds of people are there?” the witch countered, and she pursed her lips as she glared. “I can tell exactly what you’re thinking. And no, I’m not reading your mind. But your face makes it pretty clear. And if you don’t think I’m useful, you’re welcome to show yourself the door.”

“It’s not that I don’t think you’re useful,” Grin hastened to explain. The last thing he needed was to become even more cursed than he was already. “It’s just, I was really hoping you could help me, and you’re the only witch around.”

“Well. As you can see, there will be no frog transformations of any kind,” the witch said, gesturing vaguely towards the interior of her hut. “I can give you some herbs to ward off evil spirits, but that’s about it.”

Her small home was almost startlingly empty. Some plants were up, and a small cauldron was unpacked near the bed, but it didn’t have nearly enough books and bones to be a proper witch’s residence, in Grin’s experience.

“Well, could you point me in the direction of someone who could?” Grin asked, somewhat desperate. He’d even take a warlock at this point, so long as they got him out of this mess.

“Why do you need to be a frog so badly?” She asked, suspicion coloring her tone.

Which — rude! She made it sound like Grin was on the run, or something!

The fact that he was had nothing to do with this. That was entirely coincidental, and he didn’t appreciate the comparison.

“Well, let’s say, hypothetically,” Grin hedged, “that a certain someone were to accidentally relocate some fairy gold, and was unjustly hexed by the protections on said gold, and was now being hunted across the countryside by a very angry fairy?”

“And you think being a frog would help you with that?” The witch said flatly.

“At this point, I think it couldn’t hurt,” Grin shrugged, before hastening to clarify; “That is, if I was dealing with such a situation. Which would be strange, seeing as that was purely a hypothetical.”

“Of course it was,” the witch sighed, shaking her head. “Look, I can’t help you. Take my advice — sometimes it’s just better to own up and get it over with. The Fair Folk are quick to hold grudges, but they’re also quick to forget. If you managed to be particularly clever about the theft, they might even be more amused than angry.”

“And what if, hypothetically, this wasn’t the first time such a thing had happened?” Grin winced, already fearing the fallout from this confession. “And, perhaps, there was more than one fairy on the hunt? …Maybe more like ten? Or twelve?”

Grin had honestly lost track after a bit. He didn’t think he could be blamed for that — everything had been going perfectly up until the exact moment that it wasn’t.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” the witch said, the dawning realization making her face fall slack with something almost like awe.

“So, frog,” Grin confirmed, nodding fiercely. “I’ve never seen anyone get mad at a frog.”

“What the hell,” the witch said. She looked almost fascinated. “I want to study you under a microscope.”

“What’s a microscope?”

“Witch thing, don’t worry about it,” she dismissed, waving a hand. “And you know what? I do think I can help you with this. At the very least, I have to see this through.”

“Always happy to entertain!” Grin said cheerfully, following along as she gestured to follow her deeper into the cabin.

As long as it kept his head firmly on his shoulders, no matter the shape of head that was, Grin was willing to take the risk.

"Are you a witch?"

"Why?"

"I want to be a frog."

"I'm not that kind of witch."

#mendell writes #short story

[jaymendell]

“What do you think, my love? Shall we go greet our adoring public?”

“Of course, my Lady,” he said, the words spilling out of his mouth without any conscious thought. “Verily, there will be much rejoicing among the people at the gift of your presence!”

Never in his life had Istan ever spoken that way. But Lady Kari believed that he did, and so, he did.

It was interesting, in a way, to experience the true divide between his own self and the person that others expected of him. Mostly devastating, if only because it proved that none of these people knew him well enough to judge this behavior as being out of character, but Istan had to take his entertainment where he could find it.

Lady Kari held out one delicate hand, and Istan leaned down to brush a kiss atop the back of it, proceeding to tuck her hand into the crook of his elbow, gallantly escorting her along.

“And just think, tomorrow we shall be wed, and finally bring everlasting peace to our Kingdoms through this union!” Lady Kari said, voice bright with excitement. 

Istan wanted to scream, but all that came out was a smooth chuckle.

“Is that all that will come out of our union, my Lady?” he teased.

Inwardly, he wanted to vomit. How long could she possibly justify keeping this up? Until they were old and infirm, and her magic could no longer sustain her? 

How many years was Istan expected to suffer like this? He’d thought that she had only planned to use him for as long as it took to get ownership over his Kingdom’s throne, but from the way she acted in private (and the way his body forcibly reacted in turn), it seemed like she was in this for the long haul.

“Oh, you,” she tittered, cheeks pinking. She looked so beautiful — bright and vivacious, standing out brilliantly against the solemn and drab nobles that typically haunted these halls. 

If Istan had seen her like this, on that day, he might have fallen in love with her anyway. Instead, he’d only seen her modest smile, the way she’d turned her face away as she held out her hand.

And so Istan had greeted her, as he did for all the honored guests of his Kingdom, and promptly lost everything in the process.

Not that anyone seemed to realize it, of course. Even his closest advisors had seen nothing particularly off about this latest impulse, shaking their heads with exasperated smiles as they played along with his puppeteered whims.

He only had one hope left, now. If this didn’t work, he’d truly be left with nothing.

They stepped out onto the balcony, greeted by thunderous applause from the thousand of citizens gathered in the courtyard below. 

Lady Kari strode forward, raising one hand in a stately wave.

“Thank you all!” She shouted, grinning wide as people called out their adulations. “Thank you ever so much! Our union will be — “

“I object!” 

A hush ran through the crowd, and Lady Kari’s smile cracked.

Shoving his way into one of the raised platforms below, huffing and puffing, was Lord Izak of the Plains, an odious little man by just about everyone’s standards.

“This union will not be legally recognized! Just because Istan currently holds claim to the throne does not mean he can go around bringing anyone he likes into the Royal family! That goes against centuries of tradition!” Izak scowled fiercely, hands on his hips like he was scolding an unruly child.

His words were true, technically, but also had not been taken with any sort of seriousness for several centuries at least, and oddly enough, Izak hadn’t said a peep when bringing in his own wife a few years ago.

If not for the woman’s control, Istan would be smiling like a maniac. He could always count on his shithead cousin to ruin what seemed like a good opportunity for him, and this time was no exception.

Izak, you beautiful bastard! Istan thought, in what was about the most charitable way he had ever referred to his cousin. You’ve done it again!

The way Lady Kari’s was turning a lovely shade of puce only compounded his enjoyment. Perhaps this would be a joyous day after all!

He wondered somewhere deep into the recesses of his mind where he had been shoved far too long ago, how long this sorceress was going to use his body as a puppet. Rage simmered in his stomach as she turned to face him with a sweet smile that forced a returning smile to his own lips.

#mendell writes #short story

[jaymendell]

Tea blinked rapidly, and let her eyes flutter closed. It was the only thing stopping her from reaching across the table to strangle them with her bare hands.

Sunny fiddled with their drink, giving an awkward cough.

“I.. I heard it as soon as I said it. You don’t have to remind me. But I’m not really the bantering type, you know? I don’t think I could do something like that…”

“You don’t have to banter, but it might be nice to start with a polite ‘hello’,” Tea said, exasperation lining her voice as Sunny visibly wilted.

“I guess,” they mumbled. “But it’s just… We’ve done it this way all this time. Wouldn’t it be weird to suddenly change it up?”

“Or they might be waiting for you to make the first move,” Tea gently coached. “It can be hard for a villain to reach out to a hero like that. Trust me, a rival is a pretty serious thing, and no one wants to mess it up.”

She hadn’t had much trouble with that, considering that Crow had been loud and flirty from day one, but she knew from many of her colleagues that it wasn’t always an easy process.

“What if I mess it up?” Sunny said miserably, switching to methodically tearing their straw-wrapper into tiny strips. 

“Well, you guys have been fighting for over eight months now, right? Semi-regularly, at least?” Tea pointed out. “That’s a lot of commitment. At least enough that I don’t think it would be that easy to scare them off.”

Sunny sniffed, staring down at the tabletop. “I guess…”

Tea sighed, shaking her head. They weren’t getting anywhere like this. Sunny would just wallow in their indecision until the end of time if she left it up to them.

“Listen, I still have some contacts I could speak to. Maybe one of them could make some quiet inquiries? Just to see if there’s any obvious clues that we’ve missed?”

“I — I don’t need you to spy on them!” Sunny sputtered, holding their hands up in surrender.

“Okay, I won’t,” Tea shrugged, purposefully casual. “I’ll just go ask them straight-up, then. Can’t be too hard to track down — “

“Don’t do that either!” Sunny cried, about the closest to raising their voice as she had ever seen them. “I’ll — I’ll talk to them, okay? I’ll talk!”

“Excellent,” Tea leaned back in her booth, finally allowing her smugness to show.

Sunny sulked, posture drooping, but they wouldn’t go back on their word, which meant that Tea had succeeded in this mission. This hadn’t been quite like her normal interrogations, but it was close enough.

Still got it!

“But what if they hate me?” Sunny burst out, the true anxiety of the situation finally coming to light. “What if this whole time it hasn’t been anything serious, and they were just messing with me?”

“If that happens, you send them on to me,” Tea said, her voice a deadly calm. “And the two of us will have a nice chat about appropriate behavior towards your hero. And I will set you up with a newer, better rival, okay?”

That would be the best punishment. There was nothing a villain hated more than the realization that they were being replaced. 

“Okay,” Sunny whispered, shoulders slumping.

This better work out. It’d been a long time since Tea had last put on all that leather, but she would do it for a friend.

Well, at least Crow would get some enjoyment out of it too. He loved getting the chance to reenact their first meeting.

Short Prompt #70

“Wait, so you both fight in complete silence? The entire time?”

Other Hero stared at them with something akin to shock. At least they put in an effort to close their gaping mouth.

“I think they’re shy,” Hero mumbled, staring at the little whirlpool they were making in their drink with their straw.

“Have you tried talking first? Stirring up some banter?”

“...I’m shy.”

#mendell writes #short story

[jaymendell]

love when 'ice' characters are dressed in just the skimpiest possible outfit you can imagine. like, oh don't worry. it's fine that she uses ice powers and is wearing a bikini with a fur coat thrown on top of it. she doesn't get cold because of the magic, obviously.

#mendell rambles

[jaymendell]

“Yet you don’t sound very happy about it,” Jan observed, hiding her smile behind the lip of her mug.

Sym let out a blustery sigh, shaking his head. He had a wry grin of his own, and took a moment to stall as he swirled the tea in his cup. It was a glittering shade of blue, specially-enchanted by his elven companion to encourage longevity.

Melle had snuck it into his pocket pouch with what she clearly believed to be excellent stealth, and Sym was far too used to such things to protest anymore.

“I am happy,” he defended, those old protective instincts stirring at the hint of criticism (however well-meaning) towards his charges. “It’s just… you know. Gets a bit overbearing, sometimes.”

Jan’s eyes softened, emphasizing the crow’s feet beginning to form on her face. Sym could have sworn those weren’t there the last time the two of them had spoken.

“Well, you’re a bit more fragile than you used to be, my friend.”

“A bit more old, you mean,” Sym corrected, leaning back in his chair with a rueful laugh. “You should have seen the ruckus that got kicked up when I started going gray. Woke up one morning to Shelly trying to secretly pull all the individual strands out one-by-one. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Your vampire? Oh, Symmy, you know they mean well.”

“‘Course I know! And don’t call me that, you meddling old hag,” Sym grumbled, ignoring the way his cheeks flushed as Jan threw her head back in a true witch’s cackle.

Of course he knew that they only had the best of intentions. How could he not?

It’d been nearly fifty years since he’d opened up the Hostel, since he’d found a home and decided to share it with those traveling between the realms. Most of his residents would come and go, but some had made it into their home, resting there with him.

And none of them were kids, of course. But they were kinda his kids, despite that, and the prospect of his inevitable aging had become something of a sore subject in the household.

Even today, when he’d just stepped out to visit with an old friend that he hadn’t seen in recent years, he’d had to duck away from Keep’s poor attempt at tailing him, leaving the werewolf turning in circles and sneezing constantly from all the smells of the marketplace.

He appreciated the care. But he hardly needed all the fuss — he’d been taking care of himself just fine before all these meddling kids showed up!

“Don’t fuss, Symmy,” Jan laughed, ignoring his disgruntled huff. “It’ll level off. Just give them some time to wrap their heads around it. Humans don’t live nearly as long as most of our friends do.”

“I know,” Sym said, letting out a long breath. “I just worry. I always do.”

“Obviously. You never would have ended up in this situation if you didn’t,” Jan said, and reached across the table, gently patting his hand.

The veins on his skin had started to become more prominent over time, and just yesterday Melle had been forced to catch the hammer when Sym’s shaking hands hadn’t been able to keep a good grip.

“…When I’m not here, who will be around to worry about them?” Sym finally said, giving weight to the words that had been lingering in his head.

“We all will, Sym,” Jan assured, and she intertwined her fingers with his, politely refraining from bringing attention to the way he clutched her almost desperately. “You’ve built a good community here. All around you, good people have grown. That won’t disappear when you’re gone.”

Sym took a deep breath, nodding his acknowledgment. “It will. I believe that.”

“No hero can live forever,” Jan murmured, not without sympathy.

“Who would want to?” Sym let out a tiny laugh of his own. “I’ve paid my dues. I’m ready to see the journey through.”

“And we’ll all walk beside you,” Jan assured.

“I know.” Sym smiled. That, at least, he had never once doubted.

Wherever he went from this moment, he would not go alone.

“What’s it like being the only human in the group?”

“… I have the best bodyguards in the world. No one can fucking touch me.”

#mendell writes #short story