Pacing Writing Tip

Potential

"It's so much faster," they said. "It cuts out the grunt work."

"That's not the point," you seethed. "That was never the point. You're exploiting others for your own convenience."

"I'm just ahead of the curve."

"No, you're avoiding the messiness of self expression. You can't be bothered to live."

"I'm so sick of your personal attacks," they snap. "Everyone does this. EVERYONE. You're just living in the past."

"No, I want to live in the future. I want life to be worth living in the future. Where does the need for growth and efficiency stop?"

"So you want to live without modern conveniences?"

"No. No. I just want the growth and efficiency to translate to rest, play, and creativity. It isn't. We've lost so, so much. And for what? An endless stream of banality drowning out the passion that made it possible?"

"You're not being realistic. That's not the world we live in."

"I have to be unrealistic. I can't forget the potential of the world. I know what the world could be and I'm so tired of settling for less."

Prompt 16 - Hot Chocolate

“Do you have any hot cocoa? It’s freezing outside.” Villain rummaged through Hero’s cupboards.

“There’s hot chocolate powder in the cupboard closest to the fridge.”

“How do you turn on your stove?”

“Just microwave a cup of water.”

“Microwave? I didn’t know you had such terrible taste,” Villain said, affronted.

Hero cracked an eye open, but they couldn’t see Villain from their current position. “What’s the difference? It’s just hot water.”

“That’s another thing. You make hot cocoa with water?”

“Yeah, so?”

“It’s so much better with milk!”

Leave it to Villain to pick fights over the smallest and strangest things. “Milk is easier to burn and more expensive than water.”

“But it tastes better!”

“It tastes perfectly fine either way.”

“You sound so boring!”

“And you sound childish.”

“See, this is why we can’t be together!”

“It’s not because you’re a villain and I’m a hero?”

“No! It’s because you insist on settling for subpar satisfaction when there’s better options available to you! You can’t let yourself truly enjoy anything because you feel guilty every moment you’re not suffering!”

Hero stared at Villain, speechless. How were they supposed to respond to that? How did the argument go from hot chocolate preferences to Hero’s guilt complex?

“Woah, that got a bit heavy,” Villain said. “We really need to talk about your mental health, but that’s a conversation for another time. What I’m trying to say is, you should indulge yourself every once and a while.” They shoved a mug into Hero’s hands. “Here, just try it.”

Hero didn’t want to admit Villain had a point, but it did taste pretty good. “How about I compromise by microwaving the water until it’s boiling, then adding milk to it?”

“Fine, but you’re on thin ice.”

"Do I even have a purpose?"

"You're the reason I'm tolerating this world at all."

Now that his attacker was incompacitated, Alan set about making coffee. The aftermath of the fight left the kitchen a mess, so he opted to drink straight from the pot.

"I guess I should've taken you for a pessimist," the Shapeshifter huffed.

"That really is on you," Alan agreed. "You've been around what, 5 weeks at this point? You really should've known better."

"You knew for 5 weeks I was impersonating your partner?"

"Well, Bart never signed my birthday card. He also never washed the dishes."

"You made it seem like he washed them all the time! You made such a big deal about it!"

"Well, yeah. I hate washing dishes, and you were gullible."

The Shapeshifter shifted his weight to lean against the wall, positioning his bound arms and legs as comfortably as possible. "You really knew this whole time? And you didn't do anything?"

"He's dead, right? You killed him and took over his life?"

"Well... Yes. Shouldn't you be more bothered he's dead?"

Alan nodded. "Ah, well, yeah. These things happen." He poured a little something in with the coffee, swirled it, and took a swig.

The Shapeshifter grimaced at his apathy. "But, wait. You were lying about the drop point long before the birthday card."

"You think I trusted Bart? No one should be asking that many questions."

The Shapeshifter groaned. "No wonder none of the drop points had the Energy Forms. You were giving me the runaround this entire time."

Alan nodded. "Granted, you never had clearance to know they were Energy Forms. That is to say, Bart shouldn't have known to ask about them. Though, well, I only know because I don't trust my superiors."

"Oh, so you really have trust issues," the Shapeshifter snorted.

"Hey, I don't want to hear it from the guy who went buck wild and destroyed my kitchen because, what, I tipped you off that I knew you weren't my partner?"

More silence. "You're not even going to ask why I want them?"

Alan took a deep breath. "Maybe in the morning. It's 3am and I don't have it in me to listen to your monologue right now."

The Shapeshifter huffed. A wall clock ticked audibly. Who kept a wall clock anymore?!

"So, you going to turn me in?" The Shapeshifter asked.

Alan blinked slowly at him. "Well, yeah, I guess I have to now. You had to go and attack me, so yeah."

"You don't want revenge for your partner?" The Shapeshifter asked uncomfortably.

Alan groaned. "What, you want me to kill you too or something? I'm already facing enough paperwork as it is."

"Did you even like your partner?" The Shapeshifter pressed.

"Not as much as you, apparently," Alan griped. He stared down at the empty pot of coffee sadly, and set it down on the table. The table slowly tipped, the legs loose and uneven, and the glass slid off to the floor and shattered. Alan nudged at the broken shards of glass with his toe absently, and then sighed resolutely. "He was always snooping around in my desk and ratting me out for things that weren't anyone's business. Guess I kept to myself too much for his liking. Or maybe he just didn't like what he found."

"Now I have to listen to your monologue?" The Shapeshifter snarked.

"You can't ask a bunch of questions and complain about answers," Alan chided. "Anyways, I guess what I'm saying is I'll miss you as a partner. Besides the whole killing and betrayal thing, you weren't half bad."

The Shapeshifter really didn't know what to say to that. Frankly, what was there to say? "I hope you work on your trust issues, buddy," the Shapeshifter tried.

Alan nodded. "Yeah. No one's allowed at my house anymore."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"You better hope my insurance covers these damages."

The Shapeshifter pinched the bridge of his nose. "Seek therapy."

"You… Expected me to betray you from the start?" "Look. At this point I just asume that everyone is going to betray us and I am just pleasently surprised when I am wrong."

A very sweet and soft story

A child goes missing late one night after investigating a light emanating from their closet. The Child's teddy bear and the monster that lives under the bed must put aside their differences and form a truce in order to rescue the child.

Traditional hand-drawn animation my beloved

I love the warmth of the pencil

Idk why quality is so bad 😔

"It looks like I win."

"It does look like that, doesn't it?"

"Admit you never stood a chance."

"You sound a bit insecure, demanding my validation."

Hey! I love your writing so much. I think I read almost all of your stories.

I was wondering if you could write an angst to comfort story with a henchman who made a minor mistake and is absolutely freaking out because their previous boss didn’t allow for mistakes and the Supervillain and current leader would comfort them?

I think it would be so cute!

Bonus point if the henchman is ruthless in fights and normally very stoic and cold.

I hope you have a nice and once again, I love your writing ❤️

A Misplacement

Henchman braced as Supervillain swept into the room, their grandiose presence seeming to bring everyone in the office into a more upright posture. The henchman stood impassively with their hands clasped and head slightly bowed, awaiting any orders that might be heading their way after the rather dramatic entrance.

“Henchman. Grab Hero’s file for me, will you?”

Henchman knew a command when they heard one, just as they had been prepared for.

“Yes, sir.”

Supervillain brushed by, still speaking as they walked.

“You can stop with that ‘sir’ nonsense. I respect the dedication, but you could really stand to lighten up a bit. It’s Supervillain,” their boss called, rounding the corner into their private office before Henchman had a chance to retort.

It would take more than that to trip Henchman up. They knew the rules, and ‘sir’ was just the tip of the iceberg.

Fight well, follow orders, and keep their head down. That’s all Henchman knew how to had to do. The trap of casualness was not one they would be falling into anytime soon.

They walked briskly to a cabinet against the wall and jingled a small set of keys from their pocket. They found the correct one almost automatically and went straight for the initials they knew Hero would be filed under. They dug past a few folders, brow creasing as they passed the suspected location. Semi-frantically, Henchman pulled out two other drawers, digging through those too to no avail.

Henchman froze. Hero’s file. It was gone.

Numbly, their gaze shifted across the room to the shredder that they had used yesterday to purge some older files at the request of their supervisor. Their hand shook as they closed the drawer of the filing cabinet.

Follow orders, until they can’t. Then it becomes, accept what comes next.

Blankly, they stepped towards their superior’s office. They paused at the door, shoving all their thoughts down into a tiny box they sealed shut with the mental equivalent of an excessive amount of duct-tape.

They could face the punishment. They always could.

The door opened with a click and Henchman allowed their jelly-filled legs to carry them into the center of the room, stopping there and reassuming the stiff posture and clasped hands that they reserved solely for moments spent in the presence of their boss.

“You can just set it on the desk,” Supervillain voiced dismissively, not looking up from the task at hand, which seemed to be signing some papers spread out in front of them. When no file placed itself on their desk, Supervillain rested their pen and questioned, “Is there something else?”

When they received no response, the supervillain lifted their head and immediately took notice of their employee’s current state.

“Henchman, are you alright?”

Supervillain had risen from their large leather arm chair and was now heading towards their subordinate.

“You just look a little pale. Come, sit down will you?”

They grabbed Henchman by the shoulders and led them to sit down in the chair that they had just occupied.

They hadn’t so much as touched the cushion before the words started to spill out of their mouth, lacking the usual curtness Supervillain had grown used to during Henchman’s lengthy employment.

“The file. I’m sorry. I must have misplaced it yesterday with some old papers. It’s not an excuse,” they added hurriedly. “I know and I understand that you need to-“

Their boss shot observant eyes to Henchman’s hands, which they had unknowingly started wringing in their lap.

“Is that what this is about? The file?” Supervillain questioned incredulously.

Their stoic, ruthless fighter who had never been anything but absolutely dependable on the battlefield was now ashy as a ghost and squirming after being asked to deliver a file.

“I messed up. I know the consequences-” Henchman explained almost robotically before their boss cut them off.

“Consequences? Henchman, we can just print another one. They’re saved in the cloud. It’s no big deal. It takes, like, two minutes. I know the printer is slow but it’s certainly not worth crying over.”

Crying? Henchman would never-

Oh. There was liquid trailing down their cheek now, running from the corner of their eye to the bottom of their jaw.

Oh no. Their boss would never forgive them for this.

Their boss, who was-

Henchman braced for sharpness, but Supervillain met them with nothing but soothing words.

“Breathe, Henchman. Breathe.”

Supervillain still had them by the shoulders, but now they were in front of them, kneeling and modeling deep breaths with their whole body and maintaining eye contact with a completely frozen Henchman.

“Are you breathing? I don’t hear anything.” Supervillain shook them gently and their employee finally took one big breath in without breaking the rigid professional composure they were still so desperately clinging to.

“That’s it.” Supervillain encouraged, signaling them to release the breath with an exaggerated deep sigh through slightly pursed lips. “You’re doing so well.”

Henchman’s facade broke with a loud, hiccuping sob.

At that, Supervillain wasted no time smothering them with a tight hug, holding on for long enough that Henchman was able to stop hyperventilating and start matching the pace of the lungs pressed up against them.

Only when Henchman’s face started to burn hot with embarrassment from their situation did their superior finally pull away, but only far enough to look them in the eye as they spoke.

“You transferred from Villain’s office, correct?”

Henchman nodded in confirmation, sniffling quietly and averting their eyes.

“Ah, I see.”

Supervillain went right back into the embrace and continued it for as long as Henchman let them.

A few tissues and a short talk on acceptable treatment of workers later, Supervillain eventually exited their personal office, entering the greater office area and addressing the first worker that they encountered.

“Other Henchman, pull Villain’s file please. Send me the address.”

Other Henchman nodded, immediately sliding their chair over to the nearest filing cabinet and beginning to thumb through the labels in the drawer.

“Got it,” Other Henchman signaled by waving a file in the air, already typing out a message on their computer.

“I think it’s time I pay someone a visit,” Supervillain declared as they sauntered out the doors, their phone dinging with what was undoubtedly the location of their newest nemesis.

hero has a fencing sword. villain has a fencing sword.

hop to it

The swords were real. Not just for practice, even though that was what they were being used for. They could cut skin like paper. Paper like air.

Alive was not the right word they'd use to describe the hero. But alive they looked. Overwhelmingly so. The sweat-matted hair sticking to their face. The warm puffs of air let out with every exhale. The sun burning red into their cheeks. Overwhelmingly alive and there and existing.

(But they were not alive, they were very much dead. Dead and revived and more alive than they'd ever been actually alive.)

So alive was the hero, so painfully alive that they felt like a second sun burning the villain's eyes, that they wondered what would happen if they plunged the fencing sword into the hero's chest.

The villain managed to get the hero down on the practice ground, sword fallen away, staring up at them shadowed.

The hero glared up at them. The blazing sun made their eyes squint into narrow crescents.

The villain tipped the hero's chin up by the end of their sword. "Déjà vu much?"

"Not really," said the hero. Their breath came hotter than the air around them like it was winter. The villain hadn't touched them once, since the resurrection. "I'm rather hurt you're not treating me gently."

"I figured you needed something fresh."

"I do. Believe me, I do. I'm rather sick and tired of everyone treating me like I'll die again with one wrong shove. But I hoped that tough exterior would come apart. It's like you don't care about me after all."

The villain gripped their sword tight, and tipped the hero's chin up further so they could see their throat. Their sword left a red line up, but that was the only mark on their neck, and it was so painfully human and alive that the villain's grip on the sword threatened to go slack.

"How did you do it?" the villain asked, because their throat was as smooth as marble.

They'd found them with their throat slit, already dead. Too late to do anything. Hell-bent on revenge. Then they'd found them again, cleaning up the days-old blood on the same spot. They called it fucking social work.

"Like I'd let you know. Like you won't use the info to try and become immortal. Wreak havoc for ever and ever."

The villain twisted their sword, daring them to keep talking. But they didn't dig it in. Didn't dare push further. All that they were was morbid curiosity and no bite.

The hero grinned and threw sand at them. The villain shouted and dropped their sword, too, and felt hands roughly twist into their shirt, dragging them back and slamming them against the wall so fast and so hard that the villain had the wind knocked out of them.

The villain's eyes flew open as they felt the hero's chuckle inches away from their neck.

The hero leaned back, alive and well and overwhelming on the senses. A playful grin tugged at their lip. "Déjà vu?"

Anything else the hero said got snuffed out by the villain's ears as their gaze landed on the little cut on the hero's neck. They darted forward as if on instinct, pressing their lips against the wound.

(And they were so, so, warm and so, so mortal still. Their blood ran hotter than ever and the villain wanted for it to never go cold.)

The wound healed in seconds, moments. It healed with such force that the hero gasped and shook.

The villain drew back to the hero wide-eyed, breathing hard. They looked so rejuvenated and so shocked that there was no doubt that the villain's power had rippled through their entire body.

The villain tensed up against the wall.

"I see," the hero said breathlessly.

"You see nothing," hissed the villain, then choked on air as the hero darted forward and pressed their lips hard against the villain's neck. Stiffening up like a cat.

The hero held them there for a long moment, impossibly warm, burning hot. Then they let go and shifted to nuzzle at the underside of their jaw kittenishly.

"It's sweet that you care." The villain could hear the grin in their words. They tried not to shiver at the hot breath brushing at all their sensitive nerve endings. "That fear in your eyes was frankly delectable. I still won't tell you how I did it."

"I wish you'd stayed dead," they managed to croak out.

"You love me." The hero leaned back to tuck two fingers underneath the villain's chin and make them look. "It's sweet. Really. But don't let it affect practice, hm? We have a mission to complete, after all." They took the sword, threw it for the villain to catch, and picked up their own. In the heat, they looked like a godsent soldier.

They resumed practice.

The embarrassment never left the villain. Ever.

Beads of sweat rolled off Hero's brow. She was struggling to restrain Villain, and a crowd was actively trying to pull her off.

"I stole this weapon so I can destroy the comet!" Villain said. "It's heading towards Earth!"

"He's lying! Let go of me!" Hero growled, but the crowd wouldn't budge.

"He's protecting us from a comet!" One shouted. "Put your pride aside and give him the weapon!"

"Yeah, he's actually protecting us!" another screeched. "Unlike you!"

"In this shocking turn of events, it seems Hero is actively blocking Villain from saving the planet," a news anchor said. "Those of you watching may wonder-- who is the Hero and who is the Villain? Hero can't seem to stop stealing the spotlight, even at the cost of her own planet."

Hero let go, at that. Villain glanced up. "You... You're showing me mercy?" He said. Mawkishly.

Everything inside of Hero cringed. He was playing up the pathetic anti-hero routine again, and everyone was buying it.

"Sure," Hero said. "Fine. Take it. Have at. I'm going on vacation."

Villain stared at her in surprise. He covered his mouth to hide a devious grin. The crowd gathered around him, fawning all over him, treating his little scrapes and scratches.

Hero set her jaw. She walked away. She went home, she packed her things, grabbed her cat, and booked the first flight out of the city.

Not even hours after her plane landed was her phone ringing off the hook.

"You've got to stop him!" Her supervisor shrieked.

"He's destroyed half the city! Do something!"

"He lied! There's no comet!"

Hero took a slow sip of her caramel latte, put her phone on "ignore", and went back to reading her book.

The hero is fed up with being painted as in the wrong for fighting against the villain just because the villain is more sympathatic, so they decide to take a day off. This leads to disaster as people realize just how horrible the villain really is