Hello! Sorry to hear you're having some creative blockage. As for drawing ideas, how about Spider-Frost saving a cat from a tree? Cliche, I know. Hope you're doing well!
long ago I signed up for a Sea Shanty Challenge, organised by @kendardarkmoon. the idea is to write something based on a sea shanty, and my (assigned) inspiration was "To the Sea" by Katzenjammer, submitted by @thepenultimateword
I am very late! Nevertheless I am finished :D
...
The wind always whispers about the sea. It invites one out, to play in the waters, to swim with the fish.
The sea always taunts with the chance of hunting. It doesnât so much whisper or scream as offer small insights in tandem with the waves crashing into the shore.
The wind feels closer, up on the shore. It had always whispered about the sea.
So had their mother, once. The sea will take him back. Because sirens came from the sea, so there they will return, becoming one with the sea foam that forms upon the symphony of the waves crashing ashore. Unlike humans, who came from the dirt, presumably, since theyâre buried there.
Ren wondered sometimes, whether they belonged to the dirt or the sea. Zazi had said, why should you choose, and they decided they belonged to both. But then what would claim them as their own in death? Maybe the wind, they thought. The wind, which whispered. The wind would kindly snatch them when nothing else wanted them anymore. Â
âŠ
Fire crackled in the fireplace.
Ren never particularly minded the cold. Regardless, the fire offered a shield. A pretence of humanity, a shield from the judgement that should have been imposed upon a lone individual by the shore. Unprotected and persisting. Enough of a shield to seem a fisherman despite the boat never leaving shore, enough to pretend its reflection created the illusions of hair colour changing, despite the blue and purple and green.
The fire was comfort, and it was a lie.
The humans needed it. They were not accustomed to swimming in cold angry waters, fishing without a flimsy piece of portable ground to sit and rock in.
Ships generally avoided that part of the sea, anyways. Too many sharp rocks. Too many past incidents to be considered safe.
Nobody asked where Ren got the fish from, because that one was obvious. Nobody asked how Ren got past the spikes and stones and sharp rocks just off-shore, because it was easier to keep one eye close and the other one hidden behind the veil of white lies. Nobody asked, because who asked too many questions would be forced to face the reality of a wild, untamed soul, of too many rows of teeth behind the smile that stretched too wide. Hunters rarely consulted the prey on dinner.
Nobody asked what Ren ate. They didnât want to know, for fear of finding something unsightly. It was easy to imagine that the fish were enough to sustain them, even if perhaps they had to eat some raw from time to time. Raw fish were excusable. Nobody dug deeper.
Questioning a siren was pointless, anyways, since everyone knew sirens could sense the answer that was wanted. A sense for showing what was desired, for acting in a pleasing way to the other. Calm. Mild-mannered. Bloody claws tucked away from sight.
And if the rapist noble suddenly drowned one day, ripped apart by sirens something with claws, all anyone said in Renâs direction was thank the gods heâs gone. It was enough. Acknowledgement, but not the dangerous kind. Not the kind that would bring soldiers to their house.
All Ren ever was, was one of them Marikaâs boys. The quiet one, better left alone.
Nobody asked if that was the truth, because getting too close meant seeing how sharp those claws could get. Getting too close meant seeing the colour of their hair shift and their gender melt into something appealing, far too appealing to be safe. Foreign shapes, sometimes, products of imagination.
Nobody asked, because getting too close meant never leaving again.
âŠ
Remains of the fire crackled in the fireplace. They would need to rouse it properly to ward of the cold. Not for their sake, but for sake of the injured human in their bed.
There had been a storm at the sea that night. Like 20 years ago, except natural in all but its power. Bone-chilling, boat-shattering power.
Ren sung that night to call upon a stray boat. It wouldnât have been strong enough to reach the shore otherwise. A sirenâs call could not be resisted. A call to mobilise the sailorâs strength mobilised the sailorâs strength. As if in a dream, moving towards the shore with a burst of energy that would fade together with the sirenâs song.
Ren was able to reach them by the shore. They carried the soggy human out. Lucky them, to manage to pull through and get closer. Ren did not delve into the open sea during storms. Violent storms always meant monsters in the waves, older and stronger than Ren could ever hope to become. Violent storms meant death, and shipwrecks and food.
Ren inspected the body. A sailor. They tugged on the broken shirts, inspected the fabric. The colour, the texture, the quality. Soldier, they knew. Royal navy. Because of course it had always had to be difficult. Royal navy was looked for, when the storm was gone. More soldiers would come.
More trouble than they were worth.
Ren still carried the sailor away, into their house. Stripped them from the wet clothes and tended to their wounds. Survivors rarely reached the shore in a good state.
They helped Zazi like that sometimes. A thing to add to their pretence at humanity, perhaps, helping the lighthouse keeper. It had made them seem more human in the eyes of others, the occasional body saved.
They lit the blue light on their house. It could be seen from the lighthouse, but from little else.
Zazi always came when the blue light was on. Sooner or later, he would be knocking and taking the body away to tend to them properly, under the âofficialâ roof. Or perhaps, he would tend to them in Renâs small home if they were too weak to be transported safely, while Ren poked around the lighthouse in his stead.
The blue light meant there was an injured person in Renâs care.
Zazi, more than most, realised the temptation of fresh blood and flesh to a siren. And so he always hurried along, as soon as he noticed, as soon as the conditions allowed. Not on behalf of his own life, but fast nevertheless.
Strangely enough, it felt soothing. Ren enjoyed being perceived a threat, for all their attempts to hide the quirks of their not-so-human side. It felt nice, to be acknowledged for what they was, all sharp edges and teeth.
Zazi understood better than most. Older brothers did that, Ren heard, as much as they hated it as times. Despite this he couldnât sense any negative sentiments from Zazi, and didnât take it for true.
There were rules in their relationship.
From what Ren understood, other siblings did not have such things. But then, their circumstances were a bit different. Even if everyone still referred to them by their motherâs name, they came from different places. The one thing they shared was the space of her womb.
And consequently, the inheritance of her magic.
Ren had never felt the need to eat Zazi. They had never perceived him as food. Even that one time he had been gravely injured, despite the blood, despite the sweet, sweet opportunity.
It might have been the magic they shared, the feeling of rain heavy in their bones. It might have been the promise Zazi made them once, that once Zazi would âfall into one of those goddamned whirls near the shore and mauledâ, Ren would be allowed to eat his corpse. It might have been that they grew up together as they were, and Zazi almost felt like a part siren himself. He sang well. He loved the sea, the devastating power of the waves.
Now, Zazi was probably on the way, towards the blue light.
Ren roused the fire, until it cracked properly on the dry wood, until it pushed back against the biting cold and forced a bubble of warmth to dull the raging storm outside.
They looked at the body.
The sailor was fighting for life, unaware of their company. Escaping death, barely, over and over again. Each ragged breath assured their existence among the living, fixed their place.
The navy colours rested in remains over Renâs chair. Illuminated by the fire, they looked unnatural. Unfitting. Promising and threatening, with the presence of more, boasting the numbers of swords and heavy boots that would thump thump thump over their home and inspect, search and sniff for nothing but neverending boredom. Ren didnât like the clothes, but they would have like the consequences even less. Â
The sailor smelled of blood. It called out to Ren, tempting. Offering a bite that would be significantly more filling than fish and their feeble little bodies.
A survivor of one of the bigger shipwrecks, no doubt. Had there been no other prey to distract and satisfy the mermaids, Ren doubted they would be able to reach the sailor before something else did. Singing to an almost-dead man had been comfortable. Easy prey.
Except they were not prey, not if they cooperated. Not if Zazi made it there before the sailor inevitably woke up and perceived Ren as a threat. Sometimes they didnât. Oftentimes they did. Royal sailors longer for conflict and refused to close their eyes and reap the benefits of ignorance. They were trained to spot a siren, so Ren couldnât fault them. But they couldnât fault Ren for not laying down to die without a fight.
The sailor twitched.
Their body trembled a few times, their breathing picking up, becoming more heavy. Laboured, but nearly conscious.
Ren kind of hoped Zazi would be late. To have an excuse.
They kind of hoped Zazi would be there before the inevitable, so that they could join the pretences about being a harmless almost-human.
Ren focused on their body. Picked a stable form. It wouldnât do to slip up in front of a royal sailor. When Ren was hungry, they shifted as the person they were with wished to see them, a reflex of hunting.
Now, they were not exactly hungry. They were never exactly hungry, for they got used to getting by with fish and the occasional squid or other. But there was an itch, an urge to eat. To devour.
Corpses never had the same damnable pull as living, pulsing prey.
The sailor was trying to open their eyes. They managed in the end. One hurdle overcame, they attempted to sit up. Their body just twitched, and stayed down.
They tried to speak. Coughed. Their eyes closed again.
Ren exhaled. More waiting for Zazi. More tending to the comfort of a body one gust of wind away from death.
More pretending they belonged to the dirt rather than the seafoam.
They added more wood to the fire, until the air felt unbearably hot. Good for the human, they thought.
Long night ahead of them.
âŠ
Their mother had the ability to talk to the wind.
It came with the more powerful and more sought-out gift of commanding the weather. Air and wind, moving around, creating tornadoes and rain and storms, chasing the clouds away to give way to sun.
Their mother had found out, one evening, that her siren partner had ensnared her former husband, drowning them in the sea. To have her for themselves. She had been willing, given the death.
She had not forgiven it.
âThe sea will take them back,â she told her children. One of them looked up at her with colourful eyes, colours melting and moving, shifting to mirror her mood. Their hair moved around, like seaweed in the currents. Their older brother was embracing them, uncaring of the oddity.
She could raise a siren child without their parent, she thought.
Perhaps she truly could have. But sirens were not forgiving creatures, either.
The storm she summoned was a strong one. Her siren partner was at sea then, on one of the boats that shattered in the sudden storm.
Sirens could hold their breath better than humans. But still, unlike other merfolk, they could not breathe underwater. They could drown.
The siren called back. Sensing the betrayal, they sang, over the storm, voice so strong it made their mother move.
Ren could not be ensnared. A siren who was their parent held no such power over them, especially when they narrowed the focus of the song on the woman that betrayed them so strongly.
They held Zazi that night, through the twitches and urges to obey the song. They sang a lullaby, cradling the human child despite their older age. They talked to the wind together, later that night, calming the remains of the storm.
The sea took Renâs parent back. Their mother drowned with them. The ocean now held all their parentâs souls together with their secrets.
Zazi was the only one who stayed, over the years.
He spoked with the wind together with Ren. They stayed near the shore, helped warn the townsfolk of when the weather would change unfavourably. For over twenty years, they lived by the village.
Zazi was the only one who stayed. The only one who understood the wind as well as them. It was a connection Ren couldnât be ignorant of, as the wind whispered back, and joked with them both.
...
Much later in the night, when morning was nearing, the sailor managed to wake enough to be assisted when sitting up.
Ren offered them water in a mug and adjusted their support so that they could stay sitting. Then they retreated to their chair.
The sailorâs eyes traced their shape.
Ren could feel the pull in their body, threating to seduce and tear apart, little pulls sharpening under their skin to make way for a different shape. And claws.
Distractedly, Ren noticed the flickering of a lantern from outside. A little light, making way from the lighthouseâs direction. Zazi was nearly there. They hadnât noticed as early as they could have, but it didnât matter then.
âAreâŠâ the sailor cleared their throat. Drank more. âAre you⊠the lighthouse keeper?â
âNo.â Ren followed the light flickering outside. Very close, then. Almost there. âHeâll arrive shortly.â
âI have to⊠to warn him.â The sailor was trying to get up now, despite their shakiness. Despite the paleness. Royal sailors were always like that, trying to do things. Desperate, unwilling to sit still and heal. Duty and what other nonsense their heads were full of. Hurrying, hurrying, hurrying. Right to their own death, so long as it was fast, they wouldnât have minded.
âYouâre not fit enough to walk on your own.â
âButââ
âHeâll be here in a moment.â
The sailor managed to lift themselves from the pillow behind their back. They leaned forward to test placing the weight of their feet. They swayed dangerously forward.
Ren moved and caught their upper arm, steadying them. The blood was more pronounced from up close. They focused on regular breathing.
âHe has to⊠message. To the Capital,â The sailor said. They tried to take a step, without much success. Desperate. Like a puppy trained for the sole purpose of honourable death that never stopped sniffing for bones. âWe crashed and IâveâIâveââ The sailorâs eyes searched together with their memory, sliding all around the room without focus. âIâveâ singing?â
Their eyes focused on Ren more clearly. From that close. They slid along Renâs face, along their arm, to the fingers enclosed around their upper arm. To the skin that might have felt different to one who searched for evidence.
The sea was a graveyard. The thing about puppies that wanted to dig without reason, who sniffed until they found a bone to show off, was that they always, without fault, ended up chewing on one of their own.
The sailor lurched. Barely stable on their feet, too close to Ren for comfort but unable to go away fast enough. They searched for a weapon. Trained to fight.
Zazi had to be by the door about then. Ren looked out the window to confirm, without particular concern for the shivering mess of a body in front of them.
Something shattered against Renâs head.
Leftover liquid dribbled down their head, as they were hit another time with what was left of their mug. It hadnât been their favourite, but it was theirs. Had been.
And it hurt.
Ren turned to the soldier, slowly.
They could feel the tiny wounds on their head knitting closed. Like all shifters, they healed. Like all shifters, they could feel the pain more sharply, as it echoed through the body.
The soldier stood shaking now, leaning on the wall for stability, clutching their hand to stop the shakiness. To fight the dizziness. The whole room was spinning, but they had to get out. They had to fight their way out, find a way to the lighthouse, something, anythingâ
Their agreement with Zazi, their rules, had notable exceptions.
They attacked first.
The sailor flinched. Perhaps they sensed the shift in mood. Cornered prey so often did realise they were trapped within walls of wet dirt with nowhere to go after it dug its own grave. There was no space to take the step back they desperately needed to take. There was nowhere to run.
The door creaked open.
The pouring of rain buried the cracking of fire, the speeding wind promised destruction and chaos as it wheezed by.
The door shut again.
Zaziâs inhaled sharply. He set the lantern down, and shook the worst of the water out of his cloak. He looked up when the worst was done, and hesitated. Â
âDonâtââ the sailor said. They were trembling now. âItâs aââ
Whatever they saw on Zaziâs face made them pause.
It might have been the similarity of their faces. Their motherâs nose. Their motherâs brows, her hair, her shape, her height. It might have been Zaziâs resigned look as he took in the small traces of blood left behind on Renâs face.
âThey attacked first,â Ren said.
It was one of their rules. Zazi knew that. He sighed.
âWhatââ The sailor managed to take the step towards the door, then. They stumbled, rather than walked, barely catching themselves from tumbling sideways. As if the door could shield them, save them from the monsters once they were out, at the mercy of the elements.
They made a stumbling, badly coordinated attempt at moving past Zazi to reach the door.
Ren caught them firmly, wrapping their arm around the sailorâs chest. They rested their fingers against the sailorâs throat, feeling their pulse beat underneath their fingers. Their claws forced their way out now, teasing the quivering skin. Prey, confirmed their senses, food.
âPlease.â The sailor was talking to Zazi. âItâs a monster, itâsââ
Zazi placed a hand on the side of the sailorâs face, cradling it. Wiped the tears away. Steadied. Offered a comfort that wouldnât last, a final prayer before the funeral. His hands were always warmer and softer than Renâs, no matter the callouses. No matter the hard work, the scars and scratches pressed into his skin.
The sailor shook. The tears didnât stop despite the steadying hold. They begged again, soundlessly, pleas mirroring in their eyes.
âThey are,â Zazi said, softly, like calming a child, âwhatever you make them out to be.â
He let go.
The sailor tensed.
They were dragged out of the house by Ren, then. The struggles of a nearly dead human nothing against a shifterâs strength. No blood was spilled until they were in the water.
Ren ate their fill of wriggling, twitching, bleeding, warm flesh. The screams hid into the noise of the storm and magnified it, along with the crunching and tearing of tendons and bone.
Ren let the remains sink to the seafloor. Something would be called by the blood, no doubt. Something always took care of the remains, and the sea cradled the bones in its hold.
Zazi was sleeping in the armchair when Ren came back.
The sheets of the bed were changed, all traces of anotherâs presence gathered in one corner. To be disposed of. The Royal Navy uniform, or what was left of it, gathered to be taken to the shore and thrown into the depths of salty waters.
Ren ran their hand through Zaziâs hair, gently. It was so fixed in their dark brown colour, unlike Renâs own. Fragile body, unable to shift, equipped only with nails, a sad parody of claws. Strong in his own vices, so unlike Renâs own.
They had promised themselves that they would protect this human, with whom they shared a connection, a while ago. Perhaps that was why. Despite Zazi being older, he would always be weaker. Too squishy for the hardships of the sea, unable to protect themselves against the strength of the currents. And yet, he stayed.
Ren settled next to the armchair, cuddling into the offered warmth.
Detective swept through the mansion, breathing hard as they went. The tracker attached to Hero's suit had pointed towards the wealthiest part of the city, and Detective hadn't wasted a second in heading towards the signal. Backup was on the way, but they couldn't wait. The door had been unlocked - whether a sign of carelessness on the part of the homeowner or some twisted invitation, Detective couldn't decide.
Moving quickly through the building, they stopped short as the tracking device beeped a solid tone. Carefully, Detective opened the door they'd arrived at, keeping their weapon ready and checking their corners as they entered what looked like a laundry room. After a couple of seconds, Detective's stomach did a somersault - Hero's suit lay folded carefully on one of the shelves. Detective went to grab it before hesitating. Better not to contaminate the scene any more than strictly necessary.
Taking in a shuddering breath to help steel their nerves, Detective continued their sweep of the mansion. Each room seemed more ornately decorated than the last, obscene displays of wealth and luxury lining the halls. Finally, Detective moved quietly up the stairs.
Hesitating at the top, they moved off to the left, discovering a series of what appeared to be guest rooms. The first several were unlocked, their beds unmade and evidently unoccupied for some time. Then, Detective came to one which was locked. Deciding they were done with stealth, Detective took a step back before kicking the door in, the splintering of the wood sounding more like thunder in the eerie silence of the mansion.
Flipping on the light as they entered the room, Detective froze at what they saw. Hero - asleep? There were no restraints, no sign of violence, not even any bandages from what little of Hero's body could be seen underneath the sheets. "Hero? What the hell is going on? I thought you'd been kidnapped, for Heaven's sakes!" Detective felt a rush of annoyance as the stalked towards the bed. Of course the gorgeous, popular Hero had simply been off on a booty call! How else would they explain disappearing so suddenly and not answering their phone?
As they got to the bedside, however, Detective's annoyance evaporated as quickly as it had arrived. "Uh, Hero? Earth to Hero? You okay?" They reached out, gently shaking the shoulder of the sleeping super, only to get no response.
Detective frowned, mouth opening as they prepared to try and wake them again, when someone spoke from behind them, the voice sending ice up their spine. "They won't wake, you know. Not unless I tell them to."
Detective whirled around, heart feeling like it'd burst out of their chest as it pounded. Supervillain stood in the doorway, one arm propping themselves up on the doorframe as they grinned, cat-like, at the officer. Ignoring Detective's drawn weapon, Supervillain crossed to the other side of the bed, gait languid as they tutted. "Now, now, no need for that, dear. It wouldn't do you any good, even if you were stupid enough to pull that trigger.
Detective's licked their lips, mouth dry, as they kept their bead on Supervillain despite the latter's words. "What did you do to them?" they demanded.
"Oh, a little of this, a little of that. You know how mesmerizing my words can be, don't you Detective?" Supervillain chuckled, sitting down on the bed beside Hero's sleeping form. "I just borrowed them for a while. You know, you and Superhero shouldn't be so selfish. Keeping Hero all to yourselves - really, and I was so excited to meet the fresh blood filling out the spot Sidekick used to be in!"
Detective's fingers tightened on their weapon at the mention of Superhero's former partner. "Hero's stronger than you think," they said, fervently wishing their backup would get her faster. "You won't be able to break them."
Supervillain threw their head back in an echoing laugh. "But my dear, I already have!" They grinned conspiratorially at Detective. "Or perhaps I should say we have." They clapped their hands together twice. "Hero, dear! It's time to wake up!"
Detective blanched as Hero's eyes opened slowly, the super sitting up lethargically as they pushed the covers down. Supervillain...had just used their voice! A shudder of revulsion went through Detective. It had been like hearing their own voice in a recording.
Supervillain stood, pacing as they continued in their normal voice. "It really was quite difficult to find the chink in their armor," they mused. "I'll admit, I almost thought that you were right in thinking them too strong for my powers. But then I found some interesting feelings for you when I dug around inside their head a little."
Hero was staring ahead blankly, still under Supervillain's spell. Detective's jaw worked, teeth clenching as they tried to keep a threatening posture. Supervillain's monologue continued, smug pride shining through. "After I started using your voice, they practically gave themselves up to me on a silver platter. Really, I must thank you for it. And, of course, after they were under they gave up every little detail they'd locked away behind their mental walls. Some truly juicy tidbits, I'm sure even you would be interested-" They cocked their head, stopping midsentence.
A second later, Detective heard it too: sirens, soft for now but getting closer every second. They smiled grimly. "Too bad you're caught now. I hope you're ready for the trip to supermax - I'm told it can be a bit uncomfortable.
Supervillain sighed theatrically as they turned back towards Detective. "Well, it is indeed a shame that my little show is over. And the house, of course," they said, gesturing around them at their opulent surroundings. "It was my seventh favorite...never mind! I'll just have to buy a better one. Treat myself, as it were." Their hand moved in a blur, and Detective barely reacted in time, catching the small notebook Supervillain had thrown at them. As they looked up, Supervillain was already standing at the window, one leg out as they waved cheerily towards them. "Have fun with them, darling! I'm sure you'll thank me one day." With that, they dropped out of the window into the inky blackness.
Detective swore, holstering their weapon as they went to move towards the window - only to stop, curiosity getting the better of them as they opened the notebook. Inside lay...instructions? Lists of commands, induction methods...Detective threw the book across the room as if scalded, hating the flush that crept up their neck. It fell open to the first page, Supervillain's elegant script written in large letters. "Enjoy your present, Detective!"
Looking back at Hero, still sitting in bed blankly, Detective let out a groan of frustration. This was going to be a very long night.
Hey howdy, y'all! I got inspired recently to do something similar to @thepenultimateword's Song-Story Writing Challenge from a while back. In this case, it'll be focused on a single song genre: sea shanties!
Anyone interested in taking part can send me a message or an ask from now until 11:59 on Thursday, April 10th. You can send along a shanty you'd like someone else to use, or you can just ask for one for inspiration! I have my own list of songs that can be used, aside from any of the one's sent in. On April 11th, I'll randomize the songs to be used and then match them to people who are participating.
Although the song genre is set in stone, whatever y'all want to write won't be. Write whatever you want! Heroes and villains, whump, romance, space opera, fantasy, whatever calls to you. The shanties are there purely for inspiration (although I'm sure they'll stir up some nautical thoughts for some!). Also, please do let me know if you want to participate but want to opt out of any specific types of topics that might crop up (i.e. violence, alcohol, etc.) and I'll do my best to try and get you something you can still enjoy writing with!
I'm extending the join date indefinitely in case anyone else wants to join in. Just let me know before the month's over, and we'll get you squared away. For those who've already joined, you should have your songs. If not, shoot me a message and I'll get on it. Good luck y'all, and have fun!
Hey howdy, y'all! I got inspired recently to do something similar to @thepenultimateword's Song-Story Writing Challenge from a while back. In this case, it'll be focused on a single song genre: sea shanties!
Anyone interested in taking part can send me a message or an ask from now until 11:59 on Thursday, April 10th. You can send along a shanty you'd like someone else to use, or you can just ask for one for inspiration! I have my own list of songs that can be used, aside from any of the one's sent in. On April 11th, I'll randomize the songs to be used and then match them to people who are participating.
Although the song genre is set in stone, whatever y'all want to write won't be. Write whatever you want! Heroes and villains, whump, romance, space opera, fantasy, whatever calls to you. The shanties are there purely for inspiration (although I'm sure they'll stir up some nautical thoughts for some!). Also, please do let me know if you want to participate but want to opt out of any specific types of topics that might crop up (i.e. violence, alcohol, etc.) and I'll do my best to try and get you something you can still enjoy writing with!
Hey howdy, y'all! I got inspired recently to do something similar to @thepenultimateword's Song-Story Writing Challenge from a while back. In this case, it'll be focused on a single song genre: sea shanties!
Anyone interested in taking part can send me a message or an ask from now until 11:59 on Thursday, April 10th. You can send along a shanty you'd like someone else to use, or you can just ask for one for inspiration! I have my own list of songs that can be used, aside from any of the one's sent in. On April 11th, I'll randomize the songs to be used and then match them to people who are participating.
Although the song genre is set in stone, whatever y'all want to write won't be. Write whatever you want! Heroes and villains, whump, romance, space opera, fantasy, whatever calls to you. The shanties are there purely for inspiration (although I'm sure they'll stir up some nautical thoughts for some!). Also, please do let me know if you want to participate but want to opt out of any specific types of topics that might crop up (i.e. violence, alcohol, etc.) and I'll do my best to try and get you something you can still enjoy writing with!
Hope you feel better (I know it's been a few days)!
Drowning Their Sorrows
Hero groaned before taking another sip from the bottle. Thai food and alcohol didn't really mix, but it tasted so damn good....
They conjured their power once more to add more chill to their drink before taking another swig. They'd had a long week, and they were determined to make the most of their off day, even if it left them hungover and dealing with hearburn in the morning.
As they finished off their beer, they felt more than saw a figure take the seat next to them. Blearily, they turned and saw the familiar silhouette of Villain, signature smirk plastered on their face. They opened their mouth to bite out an insult, but groaned once more as their stomach rumbled.
Villain chuckled. "Looks like you've bit off more than you can chew, Hero. I thought you hated spicy food?" Hero just glared at them as they took another bite of their curry before signaling the waitress for another drink. She looked askance at Villain, who shrugged, before going off to fetch another beer for Hero.
Villain slung an arm around Hero's shoulders. "C'mon, you can do better than this dump. Whaddya say we get out of here? I promise I won't kidnap you, if that makes a difference."
Hero shrugged off their arm, frowning and swaying from side to side. "That doshn't shound like a good promish..." they slurred. Villain sighed, a mixture of frustration and adoration brewing in their heart. "Now now, don't be difficult." As the waitress returned, Villain quietly asked for the check, even as Hero chugged their new drink.
As Villain managed to get Hero's arm around their shoulder after paying their tab, Hero groaned loudly. "Oohhhh...I don' feel sho good..." they muttered.
"Well, spices and alcohol rarely mix well," Villain replied as they walked Hero out of the restaurant. "Don't blame me if you end up in the bathroom all night." As Villain flagged a cab, they were surprised as Hero leaned more heavily on them. "You'll take care of me, right?"
Villain breathed in sharply at Hero's words, before letting out a slow breath. "Yeah, yeah...though you owe me for this, you halfwit." They shook their head. This was going to be a long night, and they didn't intend to leave their Hero alone for one second of it.
This is for @thepenultimateword's Song-Story Extravaganza! I got the song "The Moss" by Cosmo Sheldrake from @gbees-nonsense-realm.
Hero gently closed the door, then leaned against it with a sigh. Today had been long, and they desperately needed some time to relax. Thankfully, if the giggles they could hear from Child's room were any indicator, it wouldn't be hard to achieve.
After taking a few minutes to get changed, Hero knocked on Child's door before opening it, a smile on their face. "Getting along well I see, Villain. Told you you'd make a great babysitter."
The criminal stuck their tongue out at them as they balanced Child on one knee, an illustrated storybook holding the latter's attention. "Only because I've had to babysit you so many times, Hero," they replied. Hero chuckled, moving into the room as Child noticed their presence and squealed in delight, reaching for them. After a hug, they turned around in Hero's arms and pointed back at Villain. "Boo'!" they exclaimed excitedly.
Hero gasped in mock horror. "Villain, are you reading scary stories to my precious angel?" The other rolled their eyes, though they couldn't suppress a smile.
"Would that were so, you goofball. They just want me to read the last story about the 'Old Woman Who Lived in the Shoe.' It's just that they insist it's a boot," they said, glancing at Child and pointedly emphasizing the "T" in the word. Child only giggled before starting to chant "Boo', boo', boo'!"
Hero's own smile widened as they took a seat next to Villain on the bed, tucking Child in as they did so. "Well, you're not gonna keep them waiting, right Villain? Besides," they continued, smile growing teasing "it's one of my favorite stories too."
Villain sighed dramatically, but turned accordingly to the start of the story, smile still upon their face and something fond glowing in their eyes. "All right, all right, but no interruptions!" Taking a deep breath, they positioned themself so that Hero and Child could see the illustrations before putting on their best reading voice.
âYou wanted me to fight, right? To be a good little soldier for you and the Agency?â Hero hissed, blood dripping from their busted nose.  âWell, congrats! I stepped up to the plate, I followed orders. Good soldiers follow orders-â
Heroâs expression went from sneering to panicked as Superhero raised their hand, power coalescing in their fist. Just as they were about to strike, Villain jumped in the way.  âWait! Wait.â
Superhero paused mid-motion, while Hero looked up at Villain, stupefied. The former cocked their head at Villain, who managed to get out a smile despite the pain from their wounds.  âJust hear me out. I think I know some people more deserving of that anger. And besides,â they said, glancing down at Hero with a wry grin, âI think them having to live with the fact that I saved their life might just serve as punishment enough.â
âCalm? Calm?!?â Hero nearly screamed back at their mentor.  âEntire villages have been slaughtered while we stand by and do nothing! No, worse than nothing! Because thatâs just it, isnât it?â Hero began to break into hysterical laughter as they spoke, breath ragged in their chest.
âYouâve been hiding it, all this time - from the people, from our friends, our comrades, even from ME!â Mentor winced at Heroâs words, taking a deep breath before holding their hands out palms up, eyes pleading.  âHero, I know this looks bad, but I promise, everything Iâve done has been for a reason - for the good of us all. You know me, just as I know you.â They barely managed a wavering smile.  âRemember my first lesson? âAll for the greater good,â right?â
Hero, meanwhile, just stared. Stared with fire in their eyes and in their chest at the one person they had trusted most in the world before replying.  âYou know the worst part? I almost believe you, even now. I would, if it werenât for Villain revealing the truth to me.â
At the mention of Villainâs name Mentor froze, nervous smile contorting into a grimace.  âWhat do you-â
âYou didnât just hide it, did you? You facilitated it. Every village, every gathering or caravan hit just so happened to have not a single guard nearby. And once Villain provided me with the written orders, that those people were meant to die, as some- some sacrifice?â Hero barely registered their blade in their hand.  âI knew what needed to be done.â
Mentor had turned pale, now, drained of their normal vitality and vigor which belied their age. They passed a hand over their eyes, their next words almost a whisper.  âHero, please. Please donât. This isnât - I promise, I can explain.â
âI donât want to hear it. This ends now. And if it carries on past you, then thatâs okay. I have someone else who wants to root out this corruption as much as me, and at least their rage can be trusted - unlike your so-called âmoralsâ.â
Silence rang loud for a moment. Hero tasted bile in their throat, their grief and anger and pain making their adrenaline run haywire. Finally, slowly, Mentor dropped their hand. Tears ran freely down their face, and for a moment, a brief, frozen moment in time that Hero would always remember, they looked so very old. Old, and sad, and almost...lost. And then the moment was gone, and Mentorâs eyes hardened to steel as their face grew stony. Their icy expression turned to match Heroâs own fiery one.
âSo be it,â they said, quiet certainty in their voice, now steady. They drew their blade at the same instant Hero pounced.
The Moon Will Sing - The Crane Wives (my favorite song rn I am in love with it)
I Will Be There - Thomas Borchert, Brandi Burkhardt
The Archer - Taylor Swift
Hand in Hand - Lorne Balfe (I have to hold back from putting the entire black widow movie soundtrack on here because that movie had such a good soundtrack)
Thanks for the tag, @lesbianwriter! (honestly didnât expect to get picked, mostly-lurker that I am). Also: great music taste.
Curses - The Crane Wives
Cumberland Gap - David Rawlings
Sixteen Tons - Geoff Castellucci
Bury the Light - Casey Edwards/Victor Borba
100 mg - Giant Rooks
Tagging: @hillscapecity @writinggoblinslivehere @averyconfusedhuman @thelazywitchphotographer
As the last members of the court fled down the halls of the keep towards safety, Hero took a deep breath before resolutely taking their position at the entrance to the narrow hallway connecting the rest of the building to the inner chambers. Standing just off to the side so as not to be immediately visible through the little barred window in the door, they waited and listened until they heard the shuffle and clank of armored figures coming nearer. Whoever was on the other side tried to open the door, and upon finding it locked, tried in vain to batter it down. With a frustrated growl, they shouted âFind something to knock down this blasted thing!â
Hero risked a peak through the window, catching a glimpse of several soldiers bearing Villainâs sigil on their armor branch off into rooms in search of something to use as an impromptu battering ram. Their leader still had their back to the door, unaware of Heroâs presence. Taking advantage, Hero whispered a quick prayer to the gods before positioning themselves carefully, aiming their spear between the bars on the small window. Just as the lead soldier turned, eyes widening at the sight of Hero, they thrust their spear forward, catching the other in the throat. They let out a strangled yell as they fell backwards clutching the wound. As Hero heard first one cry, then another, they could tell they hadnât gone unnoticed. Hurriedly, they withdrew their spear back to their side of the door, moving out of the way just as a couple of the soldiers tried to imitate them by thrusting weapons through the small hole. Meanwhile, others had grabbed a solid bench and proceeded to start hammering at the door with it. Over the next few minutes, Hero managed to wound or kill another couple of soldiers, until finally the door gave way. Hero cursed and began to slowly retreat, pulling up their shield and keeping the soldiers at bay with flickering strikes of their spear.
By the time they had retreated about halfway down the hallway, theyâd winnowed their enemies numbers a fair amount. A trail of still or groaning bodies stretched back to the door, even as enemy reinforcements began to arrive, either shifting their fallen comrades out of the way or simply stepping over (or on) them to press their advantage in numbers. Starting to breathe heavily, Hero lashed out with their spear once more, only for the soldier it pierced to fall clutching it to themselves. For a brief moment, Hero tried in vain to tug it from their dying grasp, punching out with their shield until that too was ripped from their grasp. Finally letting go of their main weapon, Hero skipped back a few paces before reversing gears, running headlong into the packed-in soldiers, laying out the first few by the sheer weight of their impact before grabbing an axe off of one and wading in amongst the others. Panic began to grip the soldiers as Hero hacked their way back down the hallway, occasionally giving ground again or having to pick up another weapon off of the fallen around them. They lost track of time, their body groaning in the agony of the intense physical activity and the scorching pain of wounds they slowly began to collect, before a numbness settled in.
~
Villain stalked down the corridor towards the inner reaches of the keep, not bothering to wipe the blood from their face as they passed the carnage that had been inflicted during the battle for the castle. To be sure, most of the casualties had been on the side of the defenders, but they had yet to see any sign of the kingâs most ferocious protectors. They snorted, supposing it had been too much to hope that Superhero and their retinue of do-gooders would have been caught as unawares as the rest of the loyalists. Villain turned a corner and stopped dead.
Dozens of their soldiers, dead and injured, littered the chamber adjoining the hall leading to the cursed royals they so wanted hung by the gates. More intrigued than cautious (for who could stand up to their own majestic might?), they slowly made their way into the hallway itself, seeing more carnage: bodies, first almost surgically dispatched, then progressively looking more akin to the meat in a butcherâs shop as they progressed. They could still hear fighting, desperate cries and grunts mixing with the impact of metal on armor and flesh. Finally, they saw as the last of their troops in the corridor were cut down, revealing a figure drenched in red, sucking in huge gasps of air and barely standing, having to lean on the wall for support.
Tilting their head, Villain made their way closer.  âSuch a mess youâve made...Hero, I presume? My, my. Superhero was not exaggerating, for once. You are simply...splendid,â they said, relishing the emphasis at the end.
Hero, for their part, simply groaned, slowly pushing themselves off of the wall before haltingly putting up the blunted sword they held in a guard position.
Villain tutted, drawing their own blade in a flourish.  âTheir very own wall, they called you, you know? A living fortress, impossible to get past in most circumstances.â Hero blinked heavily, reeling in surprise and only just avoiding losing an eye as Villain thrust forward suddenly. They desperately fended off a flurry of strikes from Villain as the latter continued to chatter on, seemingly expending no effort in attacking so quickly.  âOf course, as with all fortresses, all you need is a little applied pressure to bring you tumbling down, donât you? Though I must say, I look forward to building you back up again.â
Hero felt a piercing fear cut through the fog of exhaustion clouding their mind, gritting their teeth and managing a couple of swipes back at their foe, to Villainâs surprised laughter. âYou wonât take me!â
Villain merely continued to laugh, almost giggle. âCome, now, you can do better than that. Show me how well Superheroâs great and mighty Wall can stand!â To punctuate the end of their sentence, Villainâs foot lashed out, catching behind Heroâs ankles and bringing them crashing down. Hero hissed in pain as their head hit the cobblestone, opening their eyes only to see the point of Villainâs sword not an inch from their face, juxtaposed with their smugly grinning face looming from above.  âNow, my dear, I believe itâs time for you to take a quick nap. Never you worry, Iâm sure youâll come around in time to see those pathetic excuses for royalty receive their just deserts.â Villain kicked back their foot, bringing it crashing into Heroâs skull, a flash of white crossing their vision before all went black.
Caretaker carefully cracked open Whumpeeâs door, poking their head halfway in to check on them. It took them a second to spot Whumpee, until they heard a low moan come from under a pile of blankets next to the bed. Sighing, Caretaker opened the door the rest of the way and padded into the room. Gently lifting the layers of cloth, they found Whumpee curled up, arms wrapped around their stomach as they let out another moan of discomfort. Putting their hand to Whumpeeâs forehead, Caretaker frowned - no fever. Still, Whumpee definitely seemed to be in considerable distress. Caretaker took a breath before they took Whumpeeâs face in their hands, prompting the other to open their eyes and look at them. âAlright, Whumpee, lift up your arms. Iâm gonna try and help you get into bed.â
Whumpee mutely shook their head, clutching their arms tighter around their stomach. Caretaker smiled ruefully back, shifting one of their hands to card through Whumpeeâs hair.  âI know, I know, but itâs just for a moment. And wonât your bed be much more comfy than the ground, even with all these blankets?â
Whumpee shivered and closed their eyes for a brief moment as another pang went through their stomach. After a moment, their eyes fluttered back open, and they nodded, slowly uncurling from the position they had been in. Caretaker scooped them up, depositing them on the bed before doing the same with the blankets they had been wrapped up in, arranging them and tucking Whumpee in.
âOkay, now that thatâs done, Iâm gonna go grab you some medicine. Iâll be right-â
âNo! I mean, please,â Whumpee said, feebly grabbing at Caretakerâs sleeve.  âJust stay for a bit.â
Caretakerâs smile went from rueful to caring as they nodded back, gently unlatching Whumpeeâs hold on them before sitting on the side of the bed, reaching up to stroke Whumpeeâs hair out of their eyes.  âIâll stay as long as you need. Here, close your eyes. I think a good story might help you pass the time.â
And so it went - Caretaker speaking softly as they told one, then two, then five and more little stories to Whumpee. By the end of the first one their mind had apparently been taken off of the pain in their stomach, and by the end of the last they had drifted off to sleep. Satisfied, Caretaker crept out of the room, returning to put some medicine and a glass of water on the nightstand before settling down in a plush armchair across the room, a book in hand. It might be a long night if Whumpee woke back up still hurting, but Caretaker would be there for them if that happened.
âOh, [Hero],â [Villain] breathed, surveying the carnage around them, the tone of their words a mix of horror and delight.  âWhat have you done?â
[Hero] sat atop the royal throne, their immediate surroundings covered in blood and corpses. Their own posture was lethargic, eyes glazed as their gaze flickered up to [Villain] before going back to their red-soaked hands.
âWhat was necessary,â [Hero] whispered back, hoarse and low, as tears long-held finally began to fall.
      It started during their team-up against Supervillain. Hero and Villain had spent weeks investigating, preparing, making sure everything was set up just right.  Theyâd even started both living and sleeping out of Villainâs lair, just to improve coordination and lessen any time that would have been taken away from having to traverse the city in order to meet up. It didnât hurt that Villain actually had a couple of decent guest rooms (which doubled as cushy cells on occasion, but Villain didnât tell Hero that).  Still, staying in the headquarters of oneâs enemy, even if currently an ally, wasnât conducive to rest.
      So it didnât surprise Villain that Hero kept appearing more and more tired.  Stress and insomnia didnât mix well when you were trying to pull off a joint op like this. What did surprise Villain was when, the night prior to the showdown with Supervillain, they heard a knock on their door. They opened it to find Hero, face pale and drawn, dark circles under their eyes.
      There was an awkward pause, before Villain managed to muster their trademark smarmy grin.  âSomething on your mind, Hero?â
      Silence ensued for several seconds, before Hero muttered something.
      âSpeak up, o righteous one, I couldnât hear that.â
      Hero licked their lips before speaking again, their voice a hoarse whisper.
âPlease, let me forget. Â Just for a little while.â
Villain blinked, their grin fading. Â âWhat-?â
âJust for tonight, Villain.  I know you can do it, and I donât care if you root around in my head when you do.  JustâŠâ Hero took a shuddering breath, raking a hand through their hair.  âJust do it, so Iâm not asleep on my feet when weâre fighting for our lives tomorrow.â
Another beat of silence.  Villain considered Heroâs request.  Indeed, it wasnât out of their power â temporary amnesia was trivial for a telepath of their caliber.  StillâŠthey didnât like the idea for some reason.  The larger, louder part of their head justified it as concern that any lingering effects might make Hero less effective in the morning.  Part of them, tucked away, knew it was because the request itself carried an implication of weight and suffering that Hero endured. That small part didnât like the idea of their Hero hating their life so much theyâd wish to forget it all.
Villain blinked again, realizing the silence had stretched as they thought and Hero fidgeted. Â They nodded slowly, coming to a decision. Â âAlright. Â Just this once. Â And donât worry,â they said as they summoned their grin once again, though it felt a bit more fake than Villain could remember it ever being. Â âPoking through your mind is too easy. Â Much more satisfying to wring your secrets from your own mouth.â
Villain debated with themselves each time after that on what they should do. Wasnât this wrong? It felt like it. Felt like taking advantage of Hero. Still, Villain couldnât quite bring themselves to give it up. Â After all, villains do the wrong thing all the time. Â Surely this once, it couldnât do much harm.
      Villain gave Supervillain and their henchmen a sluggish grin.  They continued to trudge forward towards them, despite the dozen or so tranquilizer darts sticking out of them.  âCâmon, boss, isnât this what you wanted? A beast tougher than an elephantâŠâ Quicker than the rest could blink, they gave a cry of exertion and grabbed one of the henchmen, throwing them towards one of the walls with a crunch.  ââŠand stronger than one, too.â  A harsh bark of a laugh escaped Villainâs lips as Supervillainâs expression went taut.  They didnât get much chance to relish the sight, though.  All of a sudden, the weight of the tranquilizer slammed into them. Their eyelids flickered and they stumbled to one knee, grunting.  Guess it wasnât the best idea to move so fastâŠ
      Supervillainâs worried look turned into a cautious sneer as they started to step forward.  âEvery beast has its limits, Villain.  Even you.â Breathing heavier and heavier every second, Villain could barely stay conscious as Supervillain finally stopped, standing only inches away. Their head lolled as they collapsed onto their side, Supervillainâs laughter ringing in their ears.  Funny, there was some sort of crackling noise, tooâŠ
      The last thing they saw before they succumbed to the drugs was a blindingly bright beam of energy smacking into Supervillainâs back, sending them flying, and a familiarly gaudy costume.
~
      Hero groaned, slinging Villain over their shoulder as they started to make their way out of Supervillainâs now-wrecked lair.  Damn them for caring.  Why should they? They snorted, not bothering to answer their own question as they glanced at Villainâs unconscious face.  Sighing, they stepped out of the hole they had blasted into the outer wall earlier.  âCâmon, buddy.  Letâs get you home.â
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