The Squall Pushed Them Straight Into The Rocks, Which Tore Clean Through The Starboard Side. The Hull

Pacing Writing tip

Here’s the thing about pacing: it’s the heartbeat of your story. Too slow, and the reader flatlines. Too fast, and they can’t catch their breath. You need to know when to hold back and when to push forward. Slow down for the emotional beats, the quiet moments of character development. But when the tension builds, you hit the gas and don’t let up until the reader’s hanging on every word. Pacing isn’t about keeping a steady speed, it’s about the rhythm of highs and lows that keeps your reader glued to the page.

"You fell right into my trap," the villain said. They didn't sound gloating, or even happy. In fact, they sounded worried.

"Y-you're going to lock me up, right?" the hero said hopefully.

The villain pinched the bridge of their nose. "Listen." They sighed heavily. "How do I put this. You're... More... Incompetent than usual."

The hero froze. "W-what do you mean?" They laughed nervously. "I-I trashed your lab. I got your henchmen to fight amongst each other. I even--"

"Yes, yes, you're still a thorn in my side, don't get me wrong." The villain frowned. "It's that you've fallen into this same exact trap three times in the last month. You know this wall shoots netting if you press a certain tile, and it's like... It's like you've intentionally been pressing it!"

"You expect me to memorize ALLLLL the little traps in your base?!" The hero scoffed. "Do you realize how WEIRD you sound?!"

The villain stared, deadpan, as they allowed a detailed map of their base to unfurl. Marked in red was every trap and trigger in the building. "Care to explain this?"

"That's not mine," the hero squeaked.

"Okay. That's it." The villain threw up their hands. "I'm letting you go. My henchmen will escort you out." They stalked over to an intercom on the wall.

"Wait, okay, fine!" The hero relented. They worried their lip. "I... The Agency... The Agency..." Their voice cracked a little. "F-fired... me..."

The villain stopped, hand hovering over the intercom button. "They what?!"

"They just..." Tears sprung in the hero's eyes. "Told all the other heroes I was compromised. They think I'm helping you."

"Why do they think that?" The villain snorted. "You're the bane of my existence. I can't have a moment's peace without you wrecking something."

"Yeah." The hero smiled, sadly. "Yeah, I am. But... They won't even talk to me."

The villain blinked. "Sooo... You're trying to... Prove yourself by being bad at your job?"

The hero flushed in utter shame. "Uh. No. I... " They laughed, high-pitched and strained. "It's warm in here. The cot in your cell is really comfortable. The food's not bad, either."

The villain's face pinched. "I give you stale bread and gruel."

"Yeah." The hero chuckled fondly. "It's filling, though." They curled into themselves. "They froze my bank account, evicted me, cut off my phone access. Can't even call my friends."

They shrugged. "Though, most of them work for the agency and have direct orders to not interact with me. So, there's that."

"You have nowhere else to go." The revelation was like a punch in the villain's gut. "You're homeless."

The hero bristled at that. "I'm just between homes," they stated defensively. "I'm working something out. It's temporary. I just need to get a new job--"

"You're hired." The villain set to work freeing them from the net. "Room and board in exchange for your work."

"...What?" The hero shrank back in disbelief. "No, I don't want your-- wait, really?"

The villain peered down at them. "This is not out of pity. You know better than anyone the weaknesses in my defenses, and you've seen my henchmen."

The hero cracked a genuine smile at that. "How do you know I won't betray you?"

The villain dabbed a tear from the hero's cheek. "... I have a hunch," they said fondly. "Besides, just having you out of my hair will save me so much on insurance."

"I found the cure." You hold up a vial.

"Y-you did?" They smile. "That's wonderful!"

They reach for the vial, but you pull it away. Their smile falters.

"You never loved me, did you?" You whisper, voice raw.

The vampire wrenched away the religious bauble and tossed it aside. Their hair dripped with holy water. The hunter stumbled back, their injured leg giving out. They scrambled for any weapon left, but came up empty.

The vampire loomed over them. The hunter did their best to stand, using the wall for support. Cornered in an abandoned church. How fitting.

"A pity this should end so soon," the vampire said, tracing the hunter's jawline with a sharp nail. "You fought valiantly, my faithless little hunter."

"Quit stalling and kill me," the hunter spat, flinching from the hand and flattening themselves against the church wall.

"Ah. The faithless hunter is so quick to be martyred." The vampire laughed low at that. "Perhaps I want to make you mine. I have a weakness for the fallen."

"I won't become like you."

"Oh?"

"Your kind destroys lives with what you do." The hunter trembled. "You... You destroy homes and families. I'd rather die."

"You seek vengeance, but it will not absolve your grief," the vampire said, a shadow cast over their features. "Just as you seek death, though it will destroy your hopes for vengeance. What an exercise in futility."

"It is not futile to give others peace," the hunter bit back.

The vampire shook their head and brushed aside the hunter's hair. "Poor, faithless hunter. In the end you are still forsaken."

"I don't want to hear that from a creature who lives off stolen time," the hunter said, swatting away the hand. "How many have you killed for your miserable half-life?"

The vampire smiled wide, fangs glinting in candlelight. "Enough to survive. I live off the corrupt and self-righteous. When such prey wanders in so freely, why deny myself?"

"Because even monsters get lonely," the hunter said with a mocking smile. "How long must a beast live alone to beg for companionship from their hunter? How many came to pity you before your hunger reminded you of what you are?"

That struck a chord. The vampire's eyes grew wide, feral with fury. "If a beast is what you seek, it's what you deserve."

They pushed the hunter onto their bad leg, who then toppled sideways. The vampire gripped a fistful of hair and drew them close. They flailed, and the vampire wrapped another arm around them to hold them firm.

Fangs grazed their neck. Their pulse fluttered.

"What are you waiting for?" the hunter hissed. "Do it."

A droplet of salt hit the vampire's tongue. A single tear streaked across the hunter's face and down their neck.

"Do it," the hunter whispered, going slack. "I have... Nothing." Their voice soft and broken, a confession.

The vampire drew back, and wiped the tear from the hunter's face.

The hunter's eyes shot open in silent betrayal.

"Kill me, you coward," the hunter growled.

"No." The vampire cradled their head and gently laid them across the floor. They knelt beside them and cupped their cheek.

The hunter lunged, or tried. The vampire caught their wrists and held them there. The hunter screamed raw and anguished.

They fought the vampire's hold until they exhausted themselves.

"I've lost my appetite," the vampire said, and stood.

Their soft steps echoed through the old church. They paused to pick up and toss back the religious bauble. The hunter caught it.

"Perhaps one day you'll find some use in that," the vampire said. "If only to remind you of the day a beast took pity on you."

And then they were gone, leaving the hunter alone with their thoughts.

Part 2

"You have misunderstood the lore, hunter. It is neither crucifix, nor rosary, nor holy water, nor any other trapping of faith, but faith ITSELF that is anathema to my kind. And yours has proven to be. . . insufficient."

CW: Violence

Beware, friend

story by @yeehawpim and illustrated by @rvicta

"Consider it done, my king," said the Right Hand, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"S-Surely you can't be serious, y-your highness," the Advisor balked. "P-please, you must--"

The King grabbed the Advisor by his collar. "When I begged for an audience with my father, when I pleaded with him to spare my mother, what is it you said?"

"T-the king's word is law," the Advisor murmured, a haunted look in his eyes.

The king's hand tightened. "And when my sister and I were banished to the Northern Wastes, what is it you said?"

"The... The's king's word--"

"And when my sister was ill, and I pleaded for my father's mercy, what is it you said?"

"P-please, sire--" The Advisor gagged and kicked as the King lifted him from the ground.

"Be thankful I pity you," he spat. "As spineless and self-serving as you are, be thankful I find you pitiful enough to spare your life." He dropped the Advisor bodily, and he scrambled away on hands and knees.

"Be thankful I'm sparing all your miserable lives," the King said, addressing the throne room of what was once the most powerful subjects in the kingdom.

"My king," said the silver-tongued Duke. "It pains me to hear of the trials you have endured, but not all of us are culpable in your treatment. Perhaps we could--"

The King rounded on him. "You? YOU of all people?"

The Duke huffed. "You intend to make enemies of us? To destroy our lives for petty scores?"

The throne room ignited in cacophony, with constituents screaming in indignation. The Rebels, donned in the armor of a royal guard, sprung to life to quell the screaming masses. The Right Hand went for his sword, but the King shook his head. Subjugated, the throne room silenced once more.

"How readily you have all forgotten," the King said, "whose blood is on my hands. Be forewarned that I do not shy away from spilling more, but I will not be like my father."

He gave the Right Hand a long and weary look. "I... choose to not be like my father."

"You are to be banished to the Northern Wastes," the King continued, voice hard. "You will be given a forenight to collect your valuables, and then will be escorted to the border by my men. Your families will be given the option to join you or to remain here, stripped of their titles."

"How do you expect us to survive?" The General snapped. "Winter is almost upon us!"

"Perhaps it is unkind of me to leave you without options," said the King. "So, you may choose. Execution, or exile? I can promise you a swift and painless death."

"If you think you've heard the last of us, mark my words--" The General began, but the Right Hand removed his blade, and the General silenced with a whimper.

From the scabbard of the blade came a thick, impenetrable mist that permeated the room. The Advisor scrambled to the King's boots on hands and knees, shaking and pleading, "Oh God, spare me, spare me! I'll go to the Wastes! Just no! Please, I have a family! I'll do anything, please!"

The King pulled his boot back and looked away, a mixture of discomfort and disgust. "Right Hand, stop. This wasn't our agreement," he said firmly. Too long, the Right Hand glared back. Though the Right Hand was shorter and of a smaller build, in that moment he was much more imposing than the King.

"It isn't?" He said, a hint of a threat in his voice. "After everything?"

"No. They have families." The King said, voice distant. "I won't be like my father."

The Right Hand laughed mirthlessly, but nevertheless he drew back the mists and put away the scabbard.

"You will all be escorted to your homes to prepare for the long journey," said the King. "If you attempt to flee, you will forfeit your lives."

Most who had seen the mists in battle left quickly, and any who attempted to linger were forced out by the Rebels. Alone with the Right Hand, the King slumped in his throne.

"It's time for me to collect on our bargain," said the Right Hand, breaking the silence.

The King froze, then turned. "After everything?" He breathed. "And-- now? I thought that--"

"I made you king," said the Right Hand, gripping his chin. "I upheld my end of the bargain rather marvelously. Your enemies are in gone, and you bathed in the blood of your father. You have everything you ever asked for."

The King shuddered. Though he hated the man, and did not regret ending his life, the memory of the slick, metallic blood coating his mouth made him sick. His father's blood. The former King.

The Right Hand narrowed his eyes, which began to faintly glow. "I upheld my end of the bargain. Do you intend to keep yours?"

The King grimaced and closed his eyes. "One year."

"One year?" The Right Hand glowered.

"One year. I..." The King struggled for words. "Consider this a revised contract. One year. And I will pay interest."

"I'm not interested in gold," said the Right Hand. "You know that. What else could you possibly offer me?"

The King could not meet his eyes.

"Why are you stalling?" The Right Hand pressed.

The King handed him a slip of paper, then hung his head.

The Right Hand sucked in a breath. Then, slowly, he smiled.

"One year then," he said. He clapped the King on the back. "With interest. It's a deal."

The King covered his eyes with his hands.

"What is your first decree as king?" "My generals and advisors are all banished to the Northern Wastes." "Wh-What?" "My father's empire was a ruthless, evil rule that destroyed the lives of his subjects. All those in leadership are banished. If you return, you will be killed."

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.

The Faithless (Part 2)

Part 1

The hunter approached the end of a misty alley, following little red droplets that led behind a derelict building. Crawling away in the dark was the wounded vampire, tired and worn.

“Ah... My faithless little hunter,” the vampire rasped. “What circumstances to be reunited. You appear stronger since last we met."

“I am,” the hunter agreed. They closed the space between them, looming over the fallen vampire.

"It seems faith is no longer a... necessary shield," the vampire murmured. "And yet, you kept the bauble, I've noticed."

“I saw what you did." The hunter tucked the bauble away from view. “Attacking the Guild leader in plain view. Very bold.”

"Well deserved."

"A foolish target, in any case."

The vampire laughed, then coughed at the effort. “Why the... Pleasantries? Savoring your victory?”

The hunter knelt. "The entire Guild is after you."

The vampire grimaced. "It seems you shouldn't stall, then. Others may take your prey."

"They won't," the hunter said. They brought out a dagger.

The vampire stared, and a very human fear flitted across their face.

"I've reached the end of the road," the vampire conceded. "I won't claim to embrace death, but I'd rather it be you."

The hunter tilted their head. "How unlike you to give up."

"I've carried out my vengeance." The vampire tilted back their head. "Now satisfy yours."

"I had a different plan," the hunter said. They nicked the end of their thumb with the dagger's edge, and pressed it to the vampire's lips.

Wonder. Confusion. "You've truly lost me," the vampire whispered. "You're doing this... To what end?"

"Paying what is owed. Stop asking questions."

"You're playing with fire." The vampire's voice was low with hunger. "Offering your blood to one such as I. It seems you haven't shaken your wish for death."

"I've spilled more blood while training," the hunter scoffed.

"And if I forget myself?" The vampire whispered. "What then?"

"You're in no position to worry about that," the hunter said. "Drink."

With little other option, the vampire accepted the tithe of blood. Their cheeks flushed, and their wounds closed with unnatural speed.

"That should suffice." The vampire licked their lips and pulled away. "Thank--"

"I owe you nothing, and you owe me nothing." The hunter stood and backed away, eager to put distance between them. "We are not friends."

"Then, what are we?" The vampire gazed up at them, strangely vulnerable.

The hunter avoided their eyes. "Follow the path down to the ravine. If you leave now, you will reach the next town by sundown."

"Hunter--"

"If I see you again," the hunter said, "I will end you."

"Ah." The vampire stood and approached the hunter.

The hunter backed away, raw with a sudden panic. "D-didn't you hear me?"

"Your hand is still bleeding."

The hunter hit wall. "Hardly."

"Let me tend to it."

The hunter reluctantly held out their hand. They took the wounded thumb and gently bandaged it. Then, boldly, they pressed a small kiss in the small of their palm.

The hunter stared, then tore their eyes away with a blush.

Shouting sounded from the end of the alleyway. The Guild hunters.

"They're here," the hunter hissed. "Go, now."

"Till we meet again," The vampire whispered. "My faithless little hunter."

And then they disappeared into the mist.

"I wish I wasn't so weak."

"You're not meant to carry everything alone."

The villain sprawled languid, more somber than usual, on the rooftop of a towering business building. Their head rested on the wall leading to the stairwell, legs dangling precariously over the edge. Staring down at the street with an intent that made hero's blood run cold.

"V-villain," Hero murmured with some measure of trepidation.

Villain leaned back, gazed at the hero from upside down, and smiled slow.

"Hero! How on earth did you find me?"

"I'll tell you i-if you come down," Hero said with a note of urgency.

"And why would I do that? I can hear you perfectly fine up here!"

"P-please come down."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were worried about me," the villain said, tapping them teasingly. "Scared of heights? Or think I have something up my sleeve?"

"I know you saw what the mayor said," Hero said. "I... I don't even know where to begin."

"So don't," Villain said. "After all, you agree with him, don't you? You just stood there and let him say everything. Of course you'll deny it and feign being neutral--"

"No, that's not--"

"Because that's so much less messy, isn't it?"

"I--"

"Listen, sit back, grab some popcorn, and I'll make a show of it just for you." They stood, one foot on the edge, one arm holding a pole as they dangled over the rooftop edge. "Your life will be sooo much better if I just--"

"VILLAIN!" Hero yelled. They climbed up and grabbed for their collar, but Villain dodged, spinning gracefully to the other side of the pole. Hero lost their balance, and Villain grabbed at their collar to steady them. "Careful, darling, we're high, high up. You don't want an accident, do you?"

"V-villain, please--"

"Aren't you afraid I'll push you?" Villain said. "Poor, sweet, trusting thing."

Hero sucked in a breath. Looked down below. That was a mistake.

"Villain, please, get down from here," they pleaded. "Please, I need you, please--"

Villain sneered. "You need me? What sentimental hogwash are you spewing now? You've never needed someone like me. Besides, you should worry more about yourself." Villain gripped their collar tightly, eyes wide with a hungry sort of malice. "Aren't you letting your guard down too much?"

With a yank, they swung Hero over the edge, toes barely holding the rooftop's edge.

Hero SCREAMED, panted, scrambling for as much purchase as possible.

"You're pathetic," Villain said. "Weak and trusting and SO easy to manipulate. A good little puppet for the mayor up until now."

"VILLAIN--" Hero screeched, voice cracking.

"But now I hold the strings," Villain said. "And it's time to make you dance."

They shoved Hero's feet off the edge. Kicking air. Crying. "Please please PLEASE--"

"Say it. Say I'm a monster, you COWARD. A filthy creature that needs to be eradicated--"

"V-villain--"

"An infestation on an otherwise fine society--"

"VILLAIN, NO--"

"You coward," Villain spat. "Say it to my face."

"Y-you're not."

"Liar. I'm a monster. Say it."

Tears fell from Hero's face.

"N-no. You're right. I'm a coward."

Silence.

Villain drew them back to the ledge.

"The m-mayor... Is the monster. I s-shouldn't have let it get this bad. We can't let him keep on like this."

There was that same somber look on the villain's face.

"I-I should have stood up to him," Hero sobbed. "I-if you... J-jump... It would end me." They hiccuped and buried their face in their hands. "I... I c-can't... I..."

"Hey, uh..." Villain gripped their shoulders. "Let's get down... Okay?"

"I'm a coward," Hero sobbed. "All this time... I just kept quiet... And for what? I almost lost you."

Villain patted their shoulder gently.

Hero looked up at them with watery eyes.

"I... I care about you. You're so used to being the villain you can't picture anything else."

"Heh." Villain shook their head. Put some distance between them, back turned. "You martyr. I just threatened your life."

"They're calling for your blood and disrespecting your life's work, and I stood by and let them. I betrayed you."

"It... Hurt," Villain said, hugging themselves. Head hung. "More than I care to admit."

"I'll make it right," Hero said. "Most don't see it, but your motives are good. I'll make them see it."

"I'm a villain, darling," Villain said with a sad smile. "My motives hardly matter."

Hero closed the distance and laid a gentle hand on their arm.

"They matter to me."