He Shrugged As Much As Was Possible, What With All The Ropes Holding Him In Place Against The Pole.

Hanna looked at her watch. Usually he was here by now.

The people she had trapped and tied up whimpered, pleading. She ignored them, scanning the rooftops for any sign of Kyle.

After a whole half hour had passed with no sign of him, she sighed and released the captives with barely any marks on them, not even hearing their cries of thanks as they ran.

Hanna set off, slipping through shadows and alleys as she made her way to Kyle's apartment. He lived only a few blocks from the community college, am easy landmark to remember. To top that off, his front door was bright red.

She settled into a shadow behind the dumpster nearby and waited, watching for any sign of him.

The shadows grew longer. Hanna's eyelids drooped and she slid down against the wall, yawning. A few minutes later, she sat bolt upright, her sensitive hearing picking up a quiet sound coming closer.

She peered around the dumpster, her eyes widening as she saw Kyle limping toward his door. There was dried blood everywhere, a few places still bleeding. The weirdest part...

It hadn't been Hanna.

If it wasn't Hanna who had attacked Kyle, who had?

Hanna snapped out of her thoughts as Kyle struggled to unlock his door. He dropped the keys as he swayed, reaching out to steady himself on the doorframe.

The villian hesitated. On one hand, he was her enemy. On the other hand, they enjoyed the time fighting so much that they were practically friends (in the loosest sense of the word, of course). Mostly, there was something that didn't add up about Kyle's injuries, and Hanna wanted to figure it out.

She stepped forward.

Kyle noticed the movement and sighed as he turned, mumbling, "Someone beat you to it today. Sorry."

Hanna ignored him, stepping closer and picking up his keys, unlocking the door for him. She turned just in time to watch him crumple to the ground.

She took Kyle inside and laid him on the floor, hunting around for a first aid kit. Hanna pulled off his shirt and froze.

Kyle stirred. When his eyes opened a Crack and he observed the scene, he quipped, "What? I'm amazingly ripped and flawless?"

Hanna's face was positively white as she started cleaning and bandaging some of his wounds.

Kyle's face was concerned as he watched her. "What? I think I'll live, most of this is superficial."

"I know who attacked you." Hanna's voice was barely above a whisper.

He waited, holding his breath.

Hanna pointed to a small symbol burned into Kyle's shoulder.

"That's my father's mark."

You are a Villain who has always had The Hero to stop you. At first, it was a true rivalry, soon it became a bit more like cat and mouse, you even found yourself enjoying it. One day, The Hero isn't showing up to stop you.

“What’re you doing here?” I mumble over my shoulder. Although I’m not looking, I know without a doubt who it is.

Ray sighs. “Look, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Not worth much,” I say, staring at the picture of my partner, framed and unnatural. She never would have wanted this. Her family didn’t know her anymore, why were they allowed to make these choices?

A groan behind me finally makes me turn. Ray stands there with his arms crossed, full disguise. I stare at him so long - not thinking much of anything, just numb - that I startle when he clears his throat.

“How long are you going to mope like this, Saga?”” He uses my code name, although I’m not dressed in my usual clothes. I didn’t take much care with my disguise today, just throwing on my mask and hood over dark clothes for the funeral.

I look away. “”If you came here to fight, let’s just get it over with. I’m not in the mood today.”

He sighs again. Why does he keep doing that? “I’m not here to fight. I’m here to pay my respects. I know you and Kya were close.”

“It’s my fault,” I whisper, turning back to the picture. She wasn’t just my partner, she was my best friend. I knew she was still a newbie, and I told her to go by herself. I thought she could handle it. 

By the time I got there, it was too late.

“Hey,” Ray says gently, shocking me. “It wasn’t your fault. I was there, remember? No one could have predicted that a normal everyday occurrence would turn so violent.” 

It was true. Ray had been there, for the same reason I was. Our fight had traveled several blocks and we happened to chance upon the scene. My fight with Ray had been forgotten as I rushed to Kya’s aid, and until this moment, I had forgotten he had been there at all.

I start walking toward the door, unable to stay a moment longer. 

Ray follows me. “It’s okay to be sad, Saga.”

I stubbornly ignore him.

He rolls his eyes behind me and I scoff. “You know I can see you. Why do you insist on being rude anyway?”

He grins. “It’s what I do best. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Argh!” I whip around to face him, face red with anger. Ray actually takes a step back. “I am not okay! My rookie died because of something I told them to do! My best friend is gone because I wasn’t there for her! And worst of all, she never got the chance to do anything she wanted to do! She was only 19…” My voice trails off with a sob.

Ray opens his mouth, but I cut him off. “No, you know what’s worse? You, coming here, to her funeral to mock me. Follow me, fight me, yell at me to your heart's content, but don’t sit here and mock me by pretending you care about Kya or my feelings!”

“Fine!” he snaps back, finally losing his temper. “I’ll tell you the truth if you want!”

I throw my hands up in frustration. “What I really want is for you to leave me alone, but go ahead!”

Ray’s voice drops back down in volume, slightly lower than his regular speaking tone, his voice shaking slightly with anger. “I’m not pretending anything. I may not have known Kya much at all, but I do know that on the few occasions I saw her, she seemed to be a genuinely good and happy person.”

“Why do you-”

“I’m not finished!” he snaps, before continuing again. “As for you, I do know you. I knew you would blame yourself, I knew you would be upset and sad, I knew that you would be here, and I knew you would stay long after everyone else left. I know you. Your feelings haven’t been a mystery to me for years! 

“The truth is, I know who you are.” He doesn’t meet my eyes as he says it. “Inside, outside, underneath the mask and hood. You aren’t a mystery to me. I honestly thought you would recognize me long before now.”

I stare at him, unable to speak, trying to understand what he is telling me. “You-”

Ray looks up into my eyes, voice soft. “Emma.”

He slowly pulls off the mask, revealing the one face I didn’t expect to see.

The one that equal parts of me hated and loved, unable to decide between desire and defense. Part of me never wanted to see him again, had hoped he died.

Part of me was so relieved that I wanted to cry.

I chose the latter.

your a super Villian/super hero who's partner just died. When the funeral was supposed to be attended, nobody came, except for one person, your arch nemesis, who came there to comfort you through these tough times

"Sorry, can't help you," the council says, the head mage waving his hand. Everything fades away, and I find myself in the archmage's cottage.

I kick and throw some stuff out of irritation for awhile, shouting at the ceiling. But when I kick the bed, the end post falls off, revealing a hollow hole inside.

I reach in, and find a small journal. Curious, I sit down on the bed and open it up.

"Dear reader, if you are reading this, it means I have FINALLY found a way out!!! Bless you, for you are most likely the one to thank for this turn of events.

"You see, I (an archmage, for 200 years), was never supposed to be. I cannot do magic to save my life, as you have most likely found out firsthand. I am not even sure how I ended up with the position, as I never dueled the previous archmage. The council simply appeared one day and declared it so. And so here I am, writing this book to tell you how I have managed for two centuries without magic."

My eyes are huge as they scan the pages. A few pages in, I discover that the previous arachmage, while unable to do much magic, was quite accomplished at potion work.

Anytime someone came to him needing something, or he was called upon to solve a problem, or banish a beast, he found or made a potion of some kind to suit the problem.

The book is filled with potions recipes, words to speak over them, infusions to add to objects.

"All this time," I marvel. "Maybe the council knew what they were doing after all. It wasn't magic the archmage was performing.

"It was science."

You are a terrible mage, yet through pure, dumb luck you managed to defeat an archmage in a duel, thus taking their place according to ancient tradition. Many mages protest against giving such a prestigious position to a clearly unqualified candidate, including yourself.

The little girl watched as the kind man held her brother. 

A single tear ran down his cheek, and she felt one on her own face.

Even the kind man was crying.

The little girl looked out the window of his shop and surveyed the scene. The blood, the cars, the flashing lights of cop cars, ambulances, and firetrucks alike. 

Behind her, her brother sobbed, “I’m sorry, Ella.”

Ella cried into her hands silently, wishing she could make a sound, touch him. She felt a tug, deep inside her, but she fought it.

A paramedic was tending to her brother, wrapping his wounds and scolding him for putting himself in danger.

“Ella was in trouble,” he said stubbornly.

The kind man held his good hand. “Is the girl going to be okay?”

The paramedic stayed quiet.

Ella ignored the tugging, sobbing silently, screaming into the soundless void.

He spoke again. “Did they catch the man who hit her?”

Ella watched as the paramedic shook his head slowly, and her brother screamed in anger. 

More people came in and out of the shop. Police officers wanting to question her brother and the kind man, medics checking on him, and finally, their parents made it through the backed up traffic and yellow tape, bursting in to hug their son tearfully.

“It wasn’t your fault,” they whispered over and over again.

Ella agreed with them, trying to join their hug.

This time she couldn’t fight the tugging. She was pulled away from her family.

Forever.

Writing Prompt #2822

"Kid, sit down." The man held a hand on the injured teen's shoulder. "You almost died twenty minutes ago. Take a breath."

"But someone has to go out there and save her! It's my fault she—"

"It's nobody's damn fault but the bastard who did this. You're not responsible for everyone else. The sooner you learn that, the better."

“I don’t understand why you can’t help me!”

The angry girl slammed her hand down on the table.

I sighed. “Look, ma’am, I have security, and I’m not afraid of calling them. You need to calm down.”

She gritted her teeth. “Can you give me anything? A hint? A city? A state?”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you. If you speak to the receptionist, she will issue a refund, along with something special for your trouble.”

The girl stood up in a huff. “Some matchmaker you are. Why can’t you help me?”

I sighed again. “I can’t tell you that. What I can tell you, is that you don’t have to be with your soulmate. Soulmates are overrated. You can be with anyone you choose. Some people never find their soulmates and are perfectly happy. Or you can choose to be happy without a partner. Get a dog. Adopt a kid. Move in with a friend. This doesn’t mean that you have to be alone.”

The girl rolled her eyes and flounced out of my back room. A few minutes later, I heard her arguing with the receptionist loudly.

“Why couldn’t you help her?”

I yelped in surprise as my apprentice appeared behind me, emerging from the closet.

I groaned. “Jason! How many times have I told you not to do that?”

Jason grinned. “I think this makes 237.” He pulled a notebook out of his pocket and made a note, presumably marking this event as number 238. He snapped it shut, then looked at me seriously.

“But for real, why was she so mad? Could you not see her string?”

“I could see it,” I said quietly. “But it wasn’t red anymore. I couldn’t be the one to tell her that.”

Jason nodded slowly. “What does that mean again? I know the string gets brighter when you are close to the other person. Doesn’t it turn purple if the other person is with someone else? Was her string purple?”

I shook my head. “It was black.”

Jason thought for a minute before shaking his head. “I don’t remember that.”

“Jason,” I groaned. “You’ve been my apprentice for over a year! Anyway, black means the other person is…dead.” I shuddered, the memories resurfacing.

His face was suitably remorseful. “Sorry. I forgot, I didn’t mean to…”

My eyes were unfocused as I flew down memory lane. The first time I remember seeing the strings, when I learned what that meant, seeing my own.

Then the less pleasant memories. Telling people who their soulmate was, only to have them upset that it wasn’t who they wanted. Finding my soulmate, only to watch my string turn black after only a few months. Figuring out how to sever a string. 

The receptionist knocked on the door, startling me out of my thoughts. “Sorry, I just locked up. Thought I would go ahead and give you the day's earnings before I leave. See you tomorrow?”

I nodded and watched her leave. Then I looked at the money on the table in front of me and started counting it. 

It might not be the most pleasant business.

But it sure paid well.

Some say that an invisible red string is tied around the fingers of soulmates meant to be together forever. As it turns out, you can see these red strings, and have therefore created a highly successful matchmaking business.

He clasped his hands to his chest. “A figure of speech?! I am wounded! You don’t want to kiss me?!”

He was joking (of course), but there was some truth to his question.

She rolled her eyes. “Come on, we’ve known each other forever. You’re like my brother.”

He winced. “Nothing like the friendzone.”

She shrugged. “Sorry.”

Writing Prompt #2825

"You did it? Thank god! I could kiss you on the mouth!" She grabbed the device from his hands, grinning from ear to ear.

"Oh, well, you can if you want to."

She wrinkled her nose. "Oh, no. I really only meant that as a figure of speech."

I pause. "Centuries?"

My brother nods. "Centuries, blah blah blah, prophecy, blah blah blah, chosen one, blah blah, overthrown and killed, you get the point. I'm outta here!"

He looks a bit too excited for my comfort. I gently extract my newborn daughter from my older brother's arms, slowly taking the dagger out of her hands.

"Mom told me you're 10 years older than me, and that's why you've been king as long as I can remember." I say carefully. Has he finally snapped? I knew the war was wearing on him, but this?

He rolls his eyes. "Try 287 years older than you. And "Mom" isn't really MY mom. Really, I thought you would have figured it out by now. I did try to leave you hints."

I can only stare at him. "But...how? Why?"

He shrugs. "Cursed, evil fairy, 'wasn't invited,' (her sister hid the invite, it wasn't my fault!), you get the idea."

I clutch my daughter a little tighter. "So no one has noticed that you've been on the throne for 200 years?"

"No, people are surprisingly unobservant. Every 30 years or so, I 'get sick' and fake my death, my 'son' rising to power. It's surprisingly easy to do."

My eyes widen in horror. "You're not my dad, right? Mom said he died a few years after i was born!"

He shudders. "Eww, no! Obviously, she knew and helped me lie about it, but no. For all intents and purposes, I'm still your older brother. Your family line has descended from my younger brother."

I can hardly believe my ears. "Why didn't Mom tell me the truth?"

My brother sighs. "There are some stupid people in this kingdom that actually like the way I rule, despite my best efforts to rile them up and get them to assassinate me (doesn't work by the way, someone tried that 173 years ago).

"If they knew the truth, that your child would finally take me out of power, you'd better believe that you wouldn't have lived past 5 years old. Despite my best efforts, there are still a few people out there who know the prophecy."

"So you want my infant child to stab you right now?!" I ask in disbelief. "I can understand the rest, but that would leave ME in charge until she's of age. And she would be crowned while she was still a child! Do you really want that for the kingdom?"

He rolls his eyes again. "I don't care."

"How are you so sure that it's her?"

He closes his eyes, remembering the prophecy. "'Spinner's daughter, without sister or brother, shall end your reign, and she will prosper.' Not a great prophecy as far as the contents. It barely rhymes, but it gave me hope that there would be an end to ...this.

"But if it means that much to you, I guess I can wait a few more years. But I will be telling her the truth, the WHOLE truth!"

I nod. "Me too," I say quietly.

17 years later, at my daughters birthday party, my brother's butler comes to find me, in a panic.

"Your Higness, your brother has fallen ill! It's quite bad. You should come see him."

I follow him up the stairs to my brother's room.

"What's the matter?" I ask when I see him, lying in his bed.

He smiles weakly. "I'm not sure when she did it, but she must be behind this. I'm so-" He cuts off in a coughing fit.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, tears filling my eyes. "I wish it could be different. Do you want to see her?"

He shakes his head. "Don't spoil her fun, it's her birthday. And I'm happy, I really am. I'll see my wife, my kids, my parents and siblings."

He sighs happily. "I've been dreaming about this for centuries."

An hour later, my older brother dies in his bed, 200 years overdue.

My daughter cries at her beloved uncle's death, though she wipes away her tears and puts on a brave face for the coronation the next morning.

The kingdom mourns his death for the final time, even as they celebrate their first queen in 275 years.

No one notices me slipping into the background of the party, hiding a small black bottle in my hand.

When I dump it out the window, the plants underneath it shrivel up and die.

“Why are you giving my newborn baby a dagger?!” “Well they’re a choosen one, which means that I’m destined to be killed by them; but honestly I’ve been waiting centuries for them to be born and I just want to get it over with.”

I groan as the well-meaning hero handcuffs me. For the third time this week.

“I’m telling you, all she wanted to do was say goodbye!”

The hero scoffs, tossing her hair. “Uh huh. Then would you care to explain why there was someone who was supposed to be dead marching down Main Street, terrorizing the locals?”

I try to rub my forehead, forgetting about the handcuffs, wincing with pain when they pinch my skin. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know things would get this out of hand. I’m just trying to help! You’ve got to stop arresting me for that!”

The hero gets a serious look in her eyes. “Okay, let’s get a few things straight. First, I’m not arresting you. I’m detaining you, for the main purpose of protecting you from some very angry locals. Second, I know you’re trying to help, which is the main reason you haven’t been actually arrested yet. Third, I want to help you! We’ve been over this before!”

I roll my eyes, wincing at the ache behind them. Raising the dead comes with a price.

The hero sighs and starts digging around in her backpack. “You forgot aspirin again, didn’t you?” She helps me swallow it before she continues talking. “If you would just talk to me before you go rushing off next time. I could have told you that in this particular case, the woman you raised was arrested twice in the last five years of her life. I would have told you it wasn’t a good idea, that she might try to seek revenge.”

I shrug, as well as I can with my hands behind my back. “The dead can be unpredictable. At least Shelly got to say goodbye to her sister. They’re twins, you know.”

“You’ve got to leave,” the hero whispers. She doesn’t meet my eyes. “It’s too hard here. You keep raising people that turn on you. Everyone else - and I mean everyone - wants to stop you for good. Take away your powers. You know that you can’t stay here anymore. I’m the only one who backed you this time.”

I stare for a minute. “Wha- leave? Like…for good? I’d need to- to pack…”

She wordlessly pulls a second backpack from inside hers. I’d never understood how she fit so much inside that thing. I recognize it as my own backpack, and it looks full.

“I just needed you to listen to me,” she says quietly, unlocking the cuffs. 

I rub the feeling back into my wrists as she hands me my backpack. I peek inside.

“There’s water, food, aspirin, a few changes of clothes, and some money in there.” The hero says, zipping up her own backpack. “I stuck a few other things in there too. There should be a map somewhere. Your best bet is probably the river town a few days from here. Good luck.”

I stare at her as she starts to walk away. I find my voice. “Wait.”

She turns.

“Won’t they be mad at you for letting me go? Again?”

She nods without a sound.

“Thank you,” I whisper, still shocked at her kindness.

She starts to walk away again, saying over her shoulder, “You’re welcome.”

“Wait.”

She pauses.

“Aren’t you coming?”

You’re a necromancer, but only ever use your magic for good, like letting the dead and living alike get closure, or raising fallen enemies to hand them over to the proper authorities. Only problem is that heroes usually think that you’re one of the bad guys.

"You don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world...but you do have some say in who hurts you. I like my choices."

- John Green, The Fault In Our Stars

“No, did you say you love me?” she asks slowly, turning to look at her best friend.

He looks anywhere but at her, the wall, the floor, the picture frames, the door. His cheeks are bright red as he says, “I…don’t know what you’re talking about I said ‘What.’” 

She crosses her arms, staring at him until he meets her eyes. “You know what you said. I know what you said. Will you just own up to it?”

He sighs. “It was just…an exaggeration, Camille. I was just poking fun. You look good. Can we go? The movie starts in twenty minutes.”

Camille puts her hands on her hips. “Lukas Emery James. You tell me the truth right now. We have plenty of time.”

Luke bites his lip nervously. “I…have maybe…fallen in love with you.”

She stares at him for a second, not quite believing it. She somehow had almost convinced herself she had misheard him. She shakes her head. “Come on. Luke, we’re…friends!”

He looks away, quietly asking, “Are we?”

Camille shakes her head again. “I…yes! Why? Why do you think you love me?”

Luke laughs a little and meets her eyes. “I don’t think, I know. I know I love you, Camille. You are…everything to me. Everything I have ever dreamed about. You’re always there for me. I’m always there for you. We tell each other everything. If you don’t feel the same way, that’s fine, but it doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”

Now the tables have shifted, and Camille is the one who feels uncomfortable. “Luke…”

Luke turns away. “Let’s go then. The movie starts soon.” He looks back at her with a smirk. “Last chance to change your clothes.”

She smacks him lightly. “Not a chance.”

Camille follows him out to his car and climbs in. The drive is silent for several minutes before she finally says, “Are you upset?”

Luke jumps at the sudden sound. “Of course not! We’re best friends. If that’s all you want to be, that’s okay.” He pauses, his cheeks a bit pink. “Hurts a bit, but whatever.”

Camille winces, running her fingers through her hair absently. “I just…need to think.”

The car falls quiet again. The pair doesn’t talk much as they walk into the theater. 

Halfway through the movie, Camille leans over to Luke, whispering, “I might have feelings for you too.”

He whips his head to look at her, but doesn't say anything. 

She smiles nervously, saying quietly, “Let’s give it a try, Luke.”

Luke can’t stop the grin that takes over his face. The movie is forgotten in the background of the dark theater, as he leans over and kisses her cheek.

Prompt #1133

"Would it kill you to put a little bit more effort into your appearance?"

"Why? So pricks like you will fall in love with me?"

"Already too late..."

"What?"

"What?"