And Then, You See, They Both Hold The Scale, And Say

“ – and then, you see, they both hold the scale, and say – ”

“How’s it going, boss?” the henchman said, ambling into the interrogation room.

The hero sat tied to a chair, just as planned. The villain hunched across from them, head down, elbows on their knees.

“The truth potion works,” the villain said.

“That’s great, boss!”

“It would be. If ‘sharing all their secrets’ didn’t mean all.” The villain jerked their head up, glaring at the hero. “It’s been hours and we still haven’t gotten to the good stuff! [Hero]’s just been rambling about how Dragon Tales is a – what was that word you used again?”

“It’s an isekai!” the hero exclaimed.

The villain’s frown deepened. “And that’s a secret?”

“This info’s highly secret,” the hero said.  “In the wrong hands, it could destroy the light novel industry.”

The villain put their face in their hands. “What the fuck are you even talking about?”

“You can’t ask them anything more specific?” the henchman asked.

“I tried, but it never works,” the villain said. “Instead they just reveal some other secret that isn’t worth anything. Here, watch. [Hero], what are your agency’s security passcodes?”

“I have no spatial intelligence,” the hero said. “I’m banned from loading dishwashers in three states.”

The villain groaned.

“Hold on, I might have something for that,” the henchman said.

They went over to their worktable in the corner, and tinkered a bit with the potion, adjusting the ingredient levels. Then they returned, and stood in front of the hero.

“Will you drink this please?” they said softly.

The hero gulped. “Do I have to?”

“If you don’t, [Villain] will make you. And I don’t think I have to tell you that they’re in a pretty bad mood right now.”

Reluctantly, the hero drank.

The henchman returned to their boss’s side. “Okay. Try asking them something again.”

The villain returned their attention to the hero. “[Hero], what is your biggest secret?”

The hero bit their lip in an effort to keep their mouth shut.

“Oh?” The villain leaned forward with a renewed interest.

The hero shook their head rapidly, eyes afraid. The veins in their forehead stood out.

“You don’t need to hold it in, [Hero],” the villain said, smiling. “Whatever it is, you should just get it off your chest.”

The hero was changing colors from the strain. Eventually, their mouth flew open like a waterspout.

“I have a crush on [Henchman]!”

“What?” the villain and henchman cried in unison.

Once the floodgates were open, the hero couldn’t stop.

“They’re just so strong, and dependable. And they’re always so gentle. Have you noticed that? Sure, they’re rough sometimes, but only when they have to be. I have this recurring dream where [Henchman] and I are fighting, and then they pin me to the wall with their big, powerful arms, and then – ”

“Okay!” the villain yelled, bursting up. They began rushing towards the door with a beet-red henchman in tow. “We’re taking a break. We’re going to let that wear off, and then reconvene. Jesus.”

The hero had never been more grateful for a break in their life.  

Love your writing! An idea, if you like it: villain finds out that their lover is actually their hero nemesis. Villain leverages this in their confrontations by threatening the hero's lover--ie their own secret identity. Basically a villain using their intimate knowledge of their lover to gain an advantage.

Part of them knew it was wrong to enjoy their lover like this - jaw clenched in steely determination, eyes wide and bright with an intoxicating combination of terror and bravery.

That part was drowned out entirely by the bit of them that stepped giddying closer, smoothing their palms down the desperate thump of the hero's chest. The horror of it.

"You think I didn't know?" the villain murmured. "About your little love affair?"

"If you lay so much as a hand on them-"

"-You'll what?"

The hero looked so protective, so willing to do absolutely anything for them. The hero's jaw clenched further; an animal baring of teeth. They took the villain's hands off them and squeezed, hard enough to hurt.

"Perhaps I'll reconsider my policy on murder."

The villain laughed, at that. It wasn't really funny so much as, yet again, giddying. When it was just the two of them alone, their lover was the gentlest person alive. Good and kind and oh so sweet. Seeing the person in front of them...

"Sexy," the villain purred.

The hero shoved them back.

The villain bit on their lip, unable to help it as they considered the hero. "What do you think your love would think of the blood on your hands?"

"If it keeps them safe, it's worth it."

"Oh?"

The hero's gaze raked over them, searching for an open. Futile, really. Their love was not a killer. The villain would never push them to that. Still.

"Alright, alright," the villain pretended at grace, stepping forward again. They scooped the hero's fists in their hands and pressed a half-mocking kiss to their knuckles. "Easy, tiger. We both know I'm more interested in you."

The hero's hands twitched, but they didn't pull away.

"Just stand down and get out of my way and I'll have no reason to hunt them down."

They imagined detailed ransom videos. They wanted to see what the hero looked like when they heard them screaming, praying, begging for mercy. Patience. They could see the hero's fury and their despair and their love most of all.

All the love they struggled to express when it was just the two of them, as if fighting villains was more important.

"I tell you this," the hero said, "and next time you threaten them again, ask for something else."

"Before you think about killing me, please bear in minds that I've put in fail safes should I die. Ruining your love being one of them."

The hero swallowed. They seemed to be trying to decide if that was true or not.

"I know so many of their secrets," the villain confessed, "everything that would ruin their comfortable life with you, every dark and dirty thing that they would hate the world to see. I don't have to hurt them to hurt them, my dearest hero."

"Don't call me that," the hero snapped.

But the villain knew they'd won.

The hero hadn't pulled back and they hadn't lashed out, not physically. They were always fine with a threat to themselves, but this?

The villain almost hadn't thought they could have so much power.

They never wanted to let it go.

But, they never wanted to let the hero go either. They never wanted to wake up one day to a world where someone else had hurt them, when they were already gone.

"Stand down," the villain whispered. "And you can be so very happy."

And, at least for a little while, the hero did.

“What would you give,” the villain drawled. “To save the world?”

The hero swallowed. Their arms hurt in the binding, pressed too tight against their skin.

“Everything.”

The villain tipped their head.

“Mmm. Lovely. But I have everything. Try again.”

The hero did know, they didn’t know what the villain wanted and the world was going to burn and people were going to die and it hurt—

“Whatever you want,” the hero blurted. “Take it.”

The villain smiled.

“You panic so pretty, darling.” The villain crouched down in front of them. They tipped the hero’s chin up with one elegant finger. “What I want,” they said slowly, like a secret. “Is you.”

“I—“

“You think yourself worth the world, then? I release you, and the world burns so you can stay free and live the rest of your meaningless life. After all, what’s a hero without anyone to save?”

The blood drained from the hero’s face. Their powers lay aching, stolen in their chest.

“No,” they said, and they weren’t sure if it was a plea or a command.

The villain stood.

“You or the world, hero. I’d take either, given the chance,” their eyes burned into the hero’s. “Choose.”

A tear, one, traitorous tear, slid down the grime on the hero’s cheek.

“Me,” they whispered.

Something dark simmered in the villain’s gaze.

“Look at you. Such a good hero, saving the world,” they cooed. They motioned a guard to haul the hero to their feet. “I’m going to have so much fun watching you break.”

The hero never saw the outside world again.

They just hoped it was safe.

Breaking into Villain’s warehouse certainly wasn’t easy, but Hero prided themself on getting things done. Villain was out, taking care of a gang apparently encroaching on the territory considered ‘theirs’, and Hero needed to know what Villain’s base of operations looked like. Needed to know what was going on inside, because anyone they found who might know anything was as hard to pry open as that plastic cup that Hero had accidentally wedged inside another cup the week before. 

They didn’t have time to focus on inconsequential side gigs- people were disappearing, and then reappearing weeks later, fished out of the river, their bodies ripped and torn and sewn and dissected. Hero needed to know who was taking them, where they were going, how they were being taken, and why. They were pretty certain they could answer the first question. 

That’s what tonight was for. 

Hero dropped to the ground, dead silent. The guards had passed on their rounds a full minute before, leaving Hero a cool fifteen minutes to get from their initial opening deeper into the building. 

It wasn’t smart to go in so blindly. They knew that. They also knew how many people were disappearing on average- two a week- and knew that if it was Villain, there wouldn’t be any floor plans to speak of for the building. There was nothing. 

At least they were able to search the whole hallway before getting caught. 

One hand was on a doorknob to slide into the next room, the other on their throwing knives in case they were about to interrupt something, when someone behind them chuckled. 

“Would you like a tour?” Villain asked. “I’m happy to give you one. I’ve been looking for a second pair of eyes.”  They were standing in the darkened hallway behind Hero, leaning on the wall in a way that should have looked careless but came off as calculating. It was the same with their tone- flippant words that somehow felt ill-fitted to the person saying them. 

“You’re the one who’s been running around the city asking about me,” Villain said. “If you wanted to know something, you should have asked.” 

“You’re the one who’s been kidnapping all those people,” Hero shot back. They tried to spit the words, but the venom died on their tongue. 

“Is that a statement or a question?” Villain said. They smiled, then, and Hero’s chest filled up with warmth. They smiled back. “Would you like to see them?” 

Hero nodded, stepping forwards. They slipped their knife back into their pocket. They didn’t need it. 

That wasn’t right. 

Hero stopped. Blinked. What were they thinking?  

“Stop it,” they said out loud.” 

Villain turned, an eyebrow raised. They smiled again, sharp teeth flashing, and Hero’s chest remained resolutely cold. Good. 

“You’re right. That was unfair of me.” 

The rumors were right. Very little was known for certain about Villain- how long they had been in town, how far their plans extended, what their ultimate goals were- but there were rumors that they could control thoughts. 

“You can control minds,” Hero stated. 

“No,” Villain said. “I control everything.” 

“Really. Can you control someone’s will?” 

“All a will is is someone’s ability to control their emotions, their urges, their body’s responses. I control bodies. Every chemical you release, every signal your nerves sense. I control your will.” They leaned in. “Want me to make you beg?”

They were going to have to try a lot harder if they wanted a reaction out of Hero. “You seem awfully fine with me breaking into your base,” they observed. 

“Even the best of us still want someone to witness,” Villain said, leaning back. “And you’re better than the others. Your fear is different.” 

“Vigilantism has its perks.” 

Villain chuckled at that. “Before we go down,” they said, “you have a higher threshold for fear than others, but even you aren’t immune.” Their eyes flicked over Hero’s body, clinical, fascinated. “So I’m going to give you a gift.” 

“You don’t-” 

“Shh,” Villain said, and Hero shut their mouth. “There’s an old bible story,” they began, “where God tells Pharaoh to free his slaves ‘or else’. Are you familiar?” 

“Of course you were raised catholic,” Hero said before they could stop themself. 

Villain ignored them. “The ten plagues. Famine, death, rivers of blood. But you see, there’s a very interesting part where God hardens Pharaoh’s heart, so that Pharaoh continues to refuse him. Do you know why?” They paused, as though waiting for an answer. 

“I must have missed that day.” 

“Fear makes us do things we wouldn’t normally do. There is no choice when we’re afraid, we’ll do anything to get rid of it. When faced with the wrath of God, there is no real decision- unless, of course, you do not fear.” 

Villain tilted their head ever so slightly, eyes fixed on Hero. “I don’t want you to react out of fear. I want everything you do to be yours.” 

“So, what?” Hero scoffed. “You’re god?” 

“Haven’t I made my own creations?” 

The bodies in the river.

“You didn’t make anything,” Hero spat. “And I don’t appreciate anyone controlling my brain.” 

Villain shrugged, a half shouldered thing that felt entirely out of place on them. “That’s unavoidable. Something’s going to, and you should be happy I’m keeping the fear out of your brain rather than, say, taking some of those nerve clusters and squeezing.” 

The threat felt empty. No, that wasn’t it. Hero knew Villain had that ability, and that they could kill them, but the usual trickle of ice that usually accompanied true threats simply didn’t appear. Hero couldn’t find it within themselves to tense up for a fight. 

“Fear can be useful,” Hero said. “Prepares you to do what needs to be done.” 

“Useful? Really?” Villain said. “You would trust your body not to betray you.” 

“Yeah, I think I’d trust my body with itself more than I’d trust you.” Hero crossed their arms. 

Something glinted in Villain’s eye, and they turned. “Let’s go somewhere more private,” they said, and began walking deeper into the complex. 

Hero stared. Villain had turned their back on them. Was walking away, even. Hero wasn’t restrained, wasn’t even disarmed, they were just… loose. And Villain just turned their back to them. 

They went for their knives. The moment they touched the blades, pain lanced up their arm. 

Down the hallway, Villain sighed, turning to walk back. Their right hand was outstretched, palm up. “I suppose we can do it now.”

Hero didn’t move.

“I’m holding onto your secondary nervous system,” Villain said, voice light, like they were having afternoon tea. “Pulling out your freeze response. Feel that?” 

Hero stood, staring, heart hammering, air frozen in their lungs. The muscles in their neck started to tense and untense, trying to pull in air.

“You don’t feel fear like this often,” Villain said. “It’s what makes you so much better.” They flicked their fingers. 

Air rushed back in, and Hero took a step back. “I’m- that can’t possibly be the reason I’m better. I feel fear. Other people stay calm- that can’t possibly be the reason.” 

“Other people don’t consistently face off against people like me.” 

“You admit there are other people like you?” Hero said, more to distract Villain for a moment and regain their composure than anything.

Villain laughed. “I’m not the only one with my power.” 

Hero felt the urge to stiffen- but it passed. “Others?” 

“There’s no need for you to worry. If there are a thousand like me, then maybe ten are even aware they have powers- and of those, only I possess my refinement. It’s an art, you know. Teasing out responses- pulling on one chemical, pushing on another. It takes time to figure out. First poor souls I worked on-” Villain spared a glance to the side, remembering- “well, as it happens, too much of one chemical flooding your brain can trigger some unfortunate side effects. But that was years ago.” 

Morbid fascination made Hero want to know exactly what happened and how, but they pushed that to the side. “How would someone not realize they could- control people? Control bodies?”  

“At very low levels, it might simply be unconsciously done. They might be an exceptionally good doctor, or maybe assume they are just very persuasive. It’s easy to be charming when everyone gets a dopamine hit just by seeing you.” 

They were directly in front of Hero now. “Your freeze response is a bit boring, no? Let’s try another.” 

Hero grit their teeth. They needed to stop Villain- they needed Villain happy with them. Villain was angry, angry enough to hurt Hero, and Hero could- Hero could ask, they should ask, they should plead, they should- not ask forgiveness, not that, they shouldn’t ask for anything, but they could ask what they could do to help, they should apologize for breaking in, Villain, they should get on their knees right now and beg- 

A shudder shook through them. 

“Come on now,” Villain said. Their foot tapped on the ground, arms crossed, shoulders tight, jaw set- 

“Sorry,” Hero said, the word bursting out. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough. “I-” They clamped their lips shut. 

Blood in the water. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry! Villain- please, I- I’m sorry, please please, I didn’t mean- I can do anything, I’ll do anything, I swear, I’m so sorry, please-” Hero’s eyes pricked with tears. 

And then they didn’t. Hero blinked, still breathing hard. They studied Villain, suddenly uncaring about their stance or the slight curve at the edge of their mouth, but didn’t say anything. They didn’t know what would come out if they opened their mouth. 

“You still think fear is a good thing?” Villain teased. 

Hero wasn’t one to admit defeat. They needed more information on Villain, and Villain was… 

They followed Villain deeper into the compound.

I want to make a little game. Reblog if you want to be tagged to it. I'm hoping to make it a writeblr-wide tag game. 😁

Hopefully it'll help more writers find each other.

Atticus pulled his sleeve down over his fingers,hiding the glimmer of skin twisted beyond recognition by magical backlash and curses.

The mother, horrified, tugged her child away before they could reach out and trace his scars, fingers thick with wonderment.

Sawyer appeared from behind a shelf, hands holding a too bright colored cereal box, in time to watch a mother flee in horror and Atticus withdraw into himself like a soldier retreating from bloodshed.

Three pieces on a chess board playing a game Atticus had never wanted to play. Destiny, they had called it. Fate. They mixed his name with Chosen One until the lines between them blurred, until he was no longer Atticus, yet not quite a savior, and ended stuck miserably between. Never a pawn, never a queen, but still utilized as both.

A bottomless rage flickered in Sawyer’s eyes, a reminder of prophecies and villains and ‘to do what must be done’, and then it was gone.

He laced his fingers into Atticus’s as if he couldn’t feel the places where his skin was warm with magic.

“Do you want to try this cereal?” He asked. Atticus took the box from him, found a wizard smiling up at him.

He wanted to light the box on fire—he could, if he willed it. Just one thought and he could rewrite the atoms of the world.

Magic doesn’t like to leave a host when it’s found a good one, the healers had promised him. They said it like he was lucky, blessed, like he should rejoice that his skin was now marred by ever changing swirls that glimpsed into other universes, like he should be pleased that his body was no longer his but instead a vessel he co-inhabited.

Atticus was not pleased. Atticus was scarred.

He gave a little hum. “Sure. Looks okay.”

Sawyer chucked it onto the shelf without a glance, tightened his palm around Atticus’s, and abandoned the shopping cart.

“What are you doing?” Sawyer tugged them through the sliding doors, feet sure as they slid closed behind them. “We have grocery shopping to do, we can’t just leave—“

The child spotted them and let out a shriek of glee, eyes training on the swirl on the side of Atticus’s neck like a bloodhound. They smiled wide, and innocent, and bubbled to their mother. “Look mom, magic!”

A tone so reverent, that their mom paused as they set a jug of milk into the trunk. Her mouth twisted as she saw Atticus. The child stirred restlessly in the cart.

Blessed one. Savior. Pariah.

Sawyer smiled at the child and Atticus let himself be shoved into the passenger seat of their old SUV.

The engine trilled, and he avoided touching the dashboard.

Technology and magic were two siblings that fought viciously,and he was tired of the squabble.

Sawyer seemed content to let them sit in silence forever. Atticus was all too aware of his scars changing shape beneath his shirt.

“Why’d you have us leave?” Atticus said finally. Sawyer turned sideways in his seat to look at him.

“Because you were uncomfortable.”

He said it like it needed no further explanation. Maybe to anyone else it wouldn’t.

“Right, but I was fine. I could handle some horrified stares. I’ve fought villains before,” he gestured to a mass of glittering stars whorling around the skin of his knuckles. “I can handle a perturbed middle aged woman.”

Sawyer shook his head.

“I know you can. And I do not want you to take this as me disregarding the actions of others—because believe me, they are fucked—but I think maybe somewhere along the way of learning how to handle others you forgot to learn to handle yourself.”

Atticus sat back against the door.

“Sawyer, what the hell is that supposed to mean,” he bit, and Sawyer ran a nervous hand through his hair.

“Atticus, I love you, and this hurts to say, but you hate yourself.”

Atticus blinked. Then blinked again.

“What?”

Sawyer’s eyes bore into him, jade green and love and sorrow.

“You hate your scars. You hate your magic. And somehow, along the way, that started meaning you hate yourself too.”

Atticus tried to swallow around the stab wound in his chest. It felt too hot in here. He turned on the A/C.

“I don’t—“ he tried, and then stopped as the magic purred at the lie. Such a wretched thing, collecting promises, lies, and favors like candy. A petulant child always begging for more.

Sawyer took his face gently.

“Atticus,” he said softly. “I love you. And I want you to love you, too.”

Atticus was certain he did not remember how to breathe. Sawyers callus’s sat soothing on his skin.

“I hate them,” his voice cracked. “I hate it. ”

His scars twisted across his abdomen like they could hear him. They likely could.

Tears threatened to spill down as Sawyer reached down, and took his hand.

Atticus closed his eyes to ward back the onslaught, and then blinked open when he felt Sawyers lips brush over the scar on his forearm. A second later, they glanced over his elbow.

“What—“ Sawyer shoved up his sleeve, and Atticus’s voice broke as he kissed the magic undulating on his bicep. “What are you doing.”

“I love you,” Sawyer murmured against his shoulder. He tugged Atticus over the console. “And if words do not work to convince you of your worth, your beauty, how wonderful you are.” Sawyer lingered on the scar on his neck, before sliding up to whisper the last words into his ear. “Then I’ll just have to show you how beautiful you are, won’t I?”

They didn’t get the grocery shopping done. But somehow during the night, Atticus grew to like the warmth of his magic sliding slick across his skin. Because it was his—it was a part of him as his hair. And really, wasn’t it beautiful to have galaxies contained within your skin?

“I love myself. And my magic. And you,” Atticus murmured in the late hours of the morning, and Sawyer sat back like a house cat, pleased, above Atticus. Sawyer rested his hands under Atticus’s shirt as he lay entirely too flushed and sweaty on their bed.

“You sure?” Sawyer grinned, all reckless youth. “I think you might need some more convincing of how pretty you are.”

Atticus blushed.

“I think you’re right.”

Sawyer kissed him and he made a noise that made Sawyer grin further against his mouth. Atticus was beginning to like this “self love” thing.

Sawyer tasted like summer.

He never wanted to taste anything else.