Welcome and Master List
Hi and welcome to, uh, this.
I’m Sarah! I write absurdly long drabbles! Lotsa hero and villain stuff, some fantasy, et al.
I do reblog things I like, often other long drabbles, which you can find under the hashtag #spotlight. My own stuff is typically tagged #my fiction.
The Master List and other navigation tools can be found below the cut.
Secret Santa 2024!
This one is for @wren-l-winter for the secretsanta2024 exchange! Prompt: Explore the dynamic between two rivals. One, an ancient vampire, and the other, a new vampire hunter eager to have her name written into legends.
It was a properly dramatic confrontation. Sheeting rain, lightning flashes, a marble floored pavilion in the middle of the city’s oldest cemetery. The hunter skidded across the water-slicked surface on one knee, ending in a half-spin and a perfect three point landing, sword out and eyes narrowed.
The ancient vampire, the dreaded apex predator herself, rolled her eyes. “For fuck’s sake,” she said in a perfectly modern accent, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “It’s going to be a clear night tomorrow, and this rain is going to wreak hell on all that fancy leather you’re wearing. Can’t we do this then?”
The hunter sprang. The sword flickered out. The vampire flung herself down into a shoulder roll. Sparks exploded against the pillar, inches from where her neck had been moments ago.
“Ow,” said the vampire, brushing water off the shoulder of her wool coat. Somehow, none of the rain seemed to stick to her pale skin or dark hair. “How fun to see someone with a sense of the dramatic. Do you talk?”
“No,” the hunter said and lunged again.
The vampire hissed, dodging and retreating from the flurry of blows, leaping with superhuman grace up onto the banister. “C'mon, kid. I’m giving you a chance here to walk away. I don’t know which mothball-ridden cult trained you in sword-fu or whatever this is, but I can tell you this won’t end well. It never ends well for your type.”
“Don’t try to get in my head, you monster!” the hunter snarled. “I grew up on social media, and believe me, your psychological warfare has nothing on unsupervised teenage girls.”
The vampire arched a flawless eyebrow. “Oh honey. If that’s your idea of evil, you are not at all prepared for this.”
“If that’s so,” the hunter said with just the tiniest sneer, “why are you retreating?”
The vampire shrugged, and thunder boomed behind her as she spun around a pillar. “Maybe I’m sick of killing. Maybe the long centuries have infected me with a sense of empathy. Maybe I just don’t want to deal with vampire hunter secret society bullshit again. The last time that was in fashion was the nineties. You don’t want to go back there, kid. The economy was great but those cargo pants were a nightmare.”
The hunter flicked water off her sword. “I think you’re afraid,” she said, letting the tip of her sword ring against the marble as she stalked closer. “I think you’ve gotten too comfortable, too lazy. Too used to picking off the easy targets. You don’t remember what it’s like to face a real threat-”
“I think you’re dulling your blade,” the vampire said with a half smile.
For a brief moment, the hunter glanced down. The vampire moved.
The world turned upside down with a painful crack, and suddenly the hunter was on her back, head dangling over the edge of the loggia. Hands empty, wrists pinned.
The hunter froze, adrenaline turning to ice in her veins. Oh god, her veins. Oh, no no no. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.
“So,” the vampire said with a fanged smile, shifting her weight over the hunter’s hips. “Now what, honey?”
The hunter swallowed, and then flinched as the vampire’s eyes flicked down to her throat. “You said something about a rain delay?” she said hoarsely.
The vampire chuckled, a noise like glass shattering. Her eyes seemed to widen, turning a honey-golden color as slow and sticky and sweet as molasses. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. Who are you, sweetheart? More importantly - who sent you?”
The hunter gasped and slammed her eyes shut, before the hypnosis could take her.
“Now, now,” the vampire purred. “No need for loyalty. You have potential, I’ll grant you that, but whoever it was that sent you after me as your first target is either cruel or insane. Or,” she said thoughtfully, almost to herself, “they wanted to send a message. Run a pawn out to take a swing at the queen, while they get the board in order. What an opening move. Where did that sword go?”
Abruptly the vampire’s weight and grip were gone. The hunter flailed up to her feet with all the grace of an overturned hedgehog. The vampire was across the pavilion, examining the blade, her back to the hunter as if she’d dismissed her from her thoughts. As if the hunter was nothing.
“I am not a pawn!” the hunter screamed, water running down her face and empty hands. “They sent me to end you and I will!”
“Sweet girl,” the vampire said, tucking the sword smoothly into her belt as she stood. “You’re a Christmas gift to me from an old enemy. A little holiday treat before the real fight begins.” She tilted her head. The hunter took a step back. “But. You do have potential. I’m rather curious to see what happens if you do make it across the board, if you’ll be a rook, a bishop, a knight. Yes. A little catch and release might be fun. You go on back to your masters, tell them I reject their trap. Look them in the face and ask them what game they are playing. But-” The vampire’s eyes lit up from within. “-that’s after you pay the penalty.”
The hunter turned and fled. She made it down before a clawed hand caught in her hair, yanking her back into an iron embrace.
“J'adoube, little pawn,” the vampire whispered into her ear. Hot breath and sharp points sank into the hunter’s throat and everything went white and cold.
hello hello! after an accidental hiatus, I'm back with an entry into the surrender an ask game that @save-the-villainous-cat and @epiclamer put together where we all swapped asks. thanks so much for doing this!!!
here's my ask: Hi! I’ve become obsessed with your Hero Gets Yanked By An Upstanding Citizen Into Their Window And Into Their Heart post and I was wondering if you could- maybe- on the off chance- if you have time- come back to it for another scene? I just love the duo’s dynamic so much, the lovable hero who is trying a little too hard at any given chance, and the citizen who is wholly unafraid to manhandle a superhero into their home and into their life. That’s the vibes I was getting from their short interaction anyway- I love them so much aaagugfyduhijigififiguftgb your writing makes me go insane” Submitted by @yourheartonfire
The hero checks once, twice behind their shoulders, then collapses on to the rickety fire escape. It's off the beaten path, away from anyone. Sure, there's a little prickle of guilt that it's a Saturday night, and there are probably dozens of crimes afoot that need their attention.
But the past few weeks have run them absolutely ragged. If they didn't know better, they'd think that someone was scheming against them deliberately. call after call, summons after summons, each one more dire than the last.
People count on them—people need them, and they like the feeling of being needed. But they're exhausting, aching, injured, absolutely spent. Their leg throbs with a recent injury that they haven't had time to treat, and they can't remember the last time they slept more than three hours at a time.
They lean their head back against the scarred brick of the apartment building, letting their eyes slip closed....
.....and when a wailing siren sounds in the distance, the hero tries not to whimper.
“A hero who can see the future. They usually don’t look farther than a day or two, because it’s exhausting to look even that far. One day, they’re with villain/sidekick/whoever, and out of curiosity they ask hero to look a few years in the future to see if they win the fight with villain/supervillain. The hero disagrees, at first, but over time they get more and more curious. When they finally do look, it’s definitely not what they expected. There is no future.”
Prompt surrendered by @some-messed-up-writing-for-you
When the hero woke up, they were in a bed. That was alarming. They had definitely been on a roof when they’d looked forward, and forward, and…
“You’re awake. Finally,” It was villain who swam into focus through the shimmery aura that was the hero’s vision. A moment later, an oversized thermos cup and a plastic straw scratched against the hero’s dry lips. “Drink this.”
Water, room temperature and plasticky-stale tasting. The hero sucked it down like it was nectar.
Only once the hero could drink no more did they clear their throat, think back on their memories, and shudder. “How long…?”
“Two days,” the villain said. “Thirty-eight hours to be precise.” They gave the hero a half-hearted smirk. “I beat you that bad in the future, huh?”
The hero looked at them. The villain’s face glimmered in the post-trance aura, but even through the ripples, the hero could see their gaze drop.
“Nothing.” The hero tried to sit up, and quickly gave that up as a wave of nausea washed over them. “I saw nothing. Not even rubble. Emptiness. Void.”
“Ah,” said the villain quietly. The color had gone out of their face. “The great unmaking.”
“You knew.” A rush of adrenaline and the hero sat up anyway, despite the pain. “That’s why you wanted me to look that far forward. Send me hurtling into a void, for something you knew!”
The villain shrugged. “I suspected. Now I know.” They cleared their throat. “I would not have risked you like that for anything less dire than the end of the world.”
The hero squinted at villain. Usually so light and cheeky, usually so quick with a quip. “Not you that ends it all, I assume?”
“Of course not,” the villain snapped. “Even if I could. I like the world. It’s the only place you can get ice cream and money and sex. No.” They sat down heavily in the chair by the bed. “There’s rumors about a new powered individual. Somebody they’re calling the Ultimate Weapon. Rumor has it that for once, the name is no exaggeration.”
“The Weapon,” the hero repeated. “Not the Warrior, or the Killer, or a person name. A thing. Somebody already has them?”
The villain nodded grimly. The hero shut their eyes with a groan. They could guess now why the villain had set this up. They could guess who would give a powered individual such a dehumanizing name.
“We have them,” the hero said wearily. “My side.”
The villain tilted their head. Confirmation. “Your Agency has never met a weapon it didn’t want to use. At some point in the next few years, they’re going to use it and end us all. So. What are you going to do about it?”
“Me?” The hero eased themselves back down into the pillows. The pain was receding rapidly now, but no need to let the villain know that. “Obviously somebody on your side provokes it.”
“Somebody on-?” The villain sputtered to a stop. The hero shut their eyes and waited. “Okay, fine. Fine! What are we going to do about it?”
The hero squashed their smile. “Well,” they said, and started outlining their thoughts on how to start.
EpicLamer (and Cat’s) Ask Game!
Hello everybody!
And welcome to this week’s ask game! Cat and I have set up a little something between a small group of writers that will be posted this week in an attempt to revive the writing community just a bit!
All of the works will be posted through the tag; #surrenderanask
The game is simple! Give up (or surrender) an ask and receive a new one from a different writer’s ask box!
All posts will be upload within the next week! (By Monday October 30th at Midnight.)
Enjoy and have fun writing/reading!
@save-the-villainous-cat @avvail @thepenultimateword @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @warmblanketwhump @livingforthewhump @whumpasaurus101 @autocrats-in-love @yourheartonfire @some-messed-up-writing-for-you @nuttynutcycle
I keep trying to write fluff and it keeps coming out either angst or... well. 😳
CW: possessiveness
The villain's apartment was terrifyingly tasteful. Every time they lured the hero back (and the hero had to admit, it was taking less luring every time) the hero was afraid to touch anything, lest they ruin the photoshoot-ready decor. And it was constantly changing. Every time the villain coaxed the hero in, there was some new piece of art on the wall, some new bloom or plant on the shelves, some new silk comforter or fancy bamboo sheets on the bed, sliding beneath them when the villain pinned them down with a toothy smile.
But the most terrifying room of all was the bathroom, and the rows and rows of bottles and jars and sprays. Every time the hero came over the villain would eventually go missing and the hero would find them in here, performing intricate rituals before the mirror.
"You really scare the hell out of me," the hero said, perched on the edge of the marble tub, towel drying their hair. "I mean, corporate sabotage is one thing, but the amount of money and brainpower that you've put into this whole deal..." They waved a hand at the line of products.
"You should be intimidated," the villain said, eye-droppering a pale brown liquid between their eyebrows and at the corners of their eyes and nose. "This serum costs more per ounce than you make in a week."
The hero shrugged cheerfully. "A Big Gulp costs more per ounce than I make in a week."
"You really need a new job," the villain sighed, reaching for the next jar. "Dare I even ask about your skin care routine?"
"Only the finest antibacterial hand soap for this face," the hero said, grin widening.
The villain shuddered as they dipped a finger into a pale pink cream. And then they paused, eyes snapping to the hero with that look that made the hairs on the hero's neck stand up. That predatory look usually meant they were about to fight or... well.
"What?" the hero said, tightening their robe belt and casually sliding onto their feet.
But when the villain rounded on them, eyes dark with intent, it was with pale pink stuff outstretched.
"Wait, hang on," the hero protested, trying to duck away. "You can't put that pricey stuff on me!"
"Oh, but I can," the villain said, easily backing the hero into the corner. They cupped the hero's face, turning it towards the light. "My house. My rules. My things to use as I see fit. Hold still now."
The hero bit their lip and shut their eyes as the villain traced lines across their cheekbones, their forehead, along the line of their jaw. The lotion was cool and the villain's hands warm as their fingers worked small circles across the skin. Not for the first time, the hero wondered if the villain had some kind of secret hypnosis powers. Something that made heroes melt under that piercing gaze and those light, steady touches.
"When you say 'your things to use,'" the hero said through a dry throat and unsteady breath. "You're talking about the lotion, right?"
"It's a cream, you heathen," the villain hummed, tilting the hero's chin higher and stroking a line down their throat mercilessly.
"You didn't answer the question," the hero squeaked.
"I didn't?" said the villain. At the collarbone their thumb dragged across the first of the hero's scars and they tsked. "How can someone as beautiful as you take such poor care of themselves?"
The hero huffed, pulled the robe a little higher. "I guess that's what I have you for," they said.
It was supposed to be flippant, but the villain's eyes went darker. "That's a tempting offer," they breathed, fingers tightening into the hero's shoulder, body pressing the hero harder into the wall. "I could take such good care of you..."
In a flick of light of light and ozone, the hero vanished, rematerializing a step behind as the villain stumbled. "In here," the hero snapped, fists clenched and heart suddenly racing. "Take care of me here. That's not an offer for more, that's when we're... here."
"Of course," the villain said immediately, stepping back, hands raised, only the slightest swallow and blink as they clamped down on themselves with that iron self-control. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to overstep the boundaries of our, ah, arrangement."
Cautiously, the hero unclenched their fists. The villain, moving just a hair slower than normal and careful to telegraph their intentions, leaned past to pick out a different bottle from the cabinet. They were careful not to touch the hero and - dammit - the hero missed that touch.
"I was going to say the cream is all right," the villain said gently. "But I think we can do better." They popped the new bottle open and rubbed a drop between their fingers. A sharp, spicy scent filled the room. "Yes, that's more like it," they said, and turned to the hero with a startlingly meek look. "If... we can try again?"
The hero took a deep breath. It was easy to forget, sometimes, just who they were dealing with. But no. They had their boundaries and the villain was scrupulous in observing them. In here.
Slowly, the hero nodded.
The villain's smile turned toothier. "It's a body lotion," they said innocently, eyes drifting downwards.
The hero crossed their arms. "But you still have three jars and that stick thing left," they said, just as innocently. "Won't your face melt or turn green or something if you stop halfway?"
The villain chuckled again and reeled the hero in. "For you," they murmured, fingers working at the belt knot, "I'll risk a wrinkle or two."
Later, the villain slipped the lotion into the hero's bag. The hero slipped it right back out into a fancy looking vase. Boundaries. The hero was going to enforce them if it killed them.
Anonymous
sent a message
Cat, my ask is inspired by 'care- @yourheartonfire' I really hope you like it!
Please write a married!! villain who religiously indulges in their skin care, and a hero who really can't care less what they put on their skin. One night after them spending 2 rounds in horny jail, they're both up at 4am and after cleaning themselves, hero observes the villain indulging in their skin care routines, and upon spotting their lovely spouse the hero, they find their new target to perform skin care at.
Just when they remove hero's bath gown to apply body lotion (after much convincing ofc) they notice the array of hickies covering their entire body after 2 religious rounds of them in horny jail. Villain now needs to resist the hero, and take care of the hickeys and their hero's poor skin, but notising the way hero melts when they get their face massaged, and the little shivers passing thru them even after being for hours in hot shower, villain cant help but go for round 3 in horny jail!! and tho hero makes them promise no more hickies, they happily let themselves get carried away with their villain.
Well I hope ur comfortable writing this, absolutely no pressure :D I read @yourheartonfire 's care so many times its actually one of my fav!! But I would love to see a bit of your touch to it, really hope you don't mind and write a snippet like this one (with all your own touches obv)
Original :)
“I’ll be sore in the morning.”
“That’s the goal.” The villain’s smirk was undoubtedly of vicious nature. They could be quite sweet with all their big date plans and expensive vacations but the hero knew them by heart, knew their darkest sides and usually, the hero was the one in charge.
However, today, the villain seemed to be yearning for more than usual. Which wasn’t a bad thing, obviously.
But it made the hero wonder.
“Is this some new scheme of yours?” the hero asked as they got pushed back into the sheets. The villain found their neck and tried gentle nibs which, despite the carefulness, made the hero squeak in pain. The villain drew back and tried another spot, choosing kisses over teeth.
“Love, believe me. I would find kinder methods to stop you from working. I know you love this job,” they mumbled. “I can’t take that away from you, I’ve learnt that a long time ago.”
For a moment, they just stared at the hero and the hero really, really felt lucky to have married someone so diligent. The villain was always eager to do more than was expected of them. Their goals were beyond reachable which was exactly why it could be quite frustrating to face them in battle.
The villain’s fingers ghosted over the hero’s collarbone and then, very sweetly, they kissed the hero. It reminded them of their first kiss. Very innocent. And it intensified the feelings they’d had for this entire evening — not only lust but also gripping love.
“You tell me when it’s too much, alright?” the villain whispered. The hero recognised guilt in the question and it squeezed their heart a little too hard.
“Of course,” they answered. They let their thumb brush over the villain’s bottom lip and then added this just to tease them. “I’m not someone who comes home injured and bleeding all over my spouse during sex.”
“Oh, come on. That was one time,” the villain said and let their hand slide down to their thigh.
“It wasn’t fun.”
“I know, I apologised.” The villain had already reached their destination with their hand and the hero was truly astonished that their spouse was doing so much today. It felt like heaven, sure, but the hero couldn’t help but ask themselves if everything was alright.
Growing up in a…troubling household had left them anxious of every micro change in their spouse’s mood which, no matter how hard both of them tried, wouldn’t go away.
“I’m just worried about you,” the hero said. “I’m really worried sometimes.”
They went through the villain’s hair several times, letting their fingers comb through it carefully as the villain’s kisses travelled lower and lower.
“It’s okay, I can take care of myself, love.”
“Yeah, but that’s the thing. You don’t…” They wanted to say more but the villain had found a sensitive spot. They breathed in, breathed out and tried to concentrate. “…you don’t have to.”
The villain started to use their tongue and the hero’s mind couldn’t comprehend their surroundings anymore. But they wanted to make a point, they remembered. They pulled the villain’s face up and guided them back to their mouth.
“Sometimes…I just wish you could talk more with me. We’re a team. Maybe not at work but…at least at home.” What a cruel sentence to say but the villain seemed to understand. “You don’t have to carry around everything.”
“Yes, you’re totally right. I’m sorry, I just don’t want to be a burden,” the villain said. They tried to get back down but the hero’s grip on their jaw held them in place.
“You’re not a burden,” they clarified. “You never have been, okay?”
“Okay,” the villain whispered and for the first time today, their shoulders seemed to relax. “Okay.”
They kissed the hero yet again very softly but the hero knew this wasn’t it.
“They’re sending me on a mission next week,” the villain said softly. “Some say it’ll be suicide.”
It’s Sunday afternoon, might get a little silly and post a whole mini essay on why and how the shifting narrators across The Locked Tomb series works…
The battle ended not with a bang but a whimper; no glorious triumph or mad retreat but a long, slow dying as exhausted soldiers fell until the few still on their feet all were on the same side.
Not the protagonist’s side.
Desperately they tried to will themselves back up to their feet, tried to force numb fingers to close around the sword that lay in the mud beside them. But their body was done, helpless as the tired enemy soldiers picked their way closer and closer, methodically stripping bodies of any small valuables and finishing off any wounded still alive.
The protagonist prayed frantically to any god they thought might hear them. The god of war. The god of peace. The god from any temple and roadside shrine they could ever remember visiting. They wracked their brain. Dead. They’d have to pretend to be dead. They could do that. They were half there already, just slow their breathing and don’t catch anyone’s…
They turned their head and saw the god of war looking straight at them.
Like everyone else on the battlefield the god was spattered with blood, from her cropped hair to her armored boots. She could have been any soldier from any nation - except for the terrible red joy in her eyes as she beheld the devastation wrought.
“Hello, little sacrifice,” she said without moving her lips. She pointed, and as if puppeted, one of the enemy soldiers started to turn their head -
A clean boot crunched down next to the protagonist’s head. Then another, stepping carefully over them to place themselves between the god and the protagonist. The protagonist looked up at a figure straight out of their childhood.
The god of war stopped.
“Are you serious?” she sneered.
The god of the protagonist’s childhood village shrine shrugged, strumming his fingers thoughtfully over the lute in his hands. Unlike the murals, the statues, he was not dressed in fine court robes but in simple traveler clothes, his hair pulled back into a plain knot. But just as the protagonist remembered, he seemed impossibly tall. Impossibly beautiful.
“Spare this one,” the god asked, stilling those long clever hands on the strings. “Please. This one is mine.”
The god of war laughed. “You think you can challenge me, godling? Me? Here? At the height of my strength? Flee back to whatever muddy temple you escaped from and maybe I’ll let you survive, you jumped up deity of bad chords and tasteless lyrics.”
“Oh, I’m no god of anything so prevalent,” the protagonist’s god murmured humbly. “And I’m not here to challenge you, great one. Say rather, we’re here to bargain. After all, this one has something that can benefit you.”
The god shot the protagonist a look. The protagonist knew this line from the stories of their childhood.
“A song!” they blurted. “A - an epic about what happened here, about you, to make all who hear it shout and weep and… and honor your name.”
The god of war… paused. Tilted their head.
“A fitting tribute to your potency,” their god chimed in, the melody from their lute drifting into a martial fanfare. “From a god-touched bard. Surely that makes them worth more alive than dead.”
A shout went up from the other side of the field. Someone was up and swords were swinging. The god of war waved an impatient hand, already disappearing towards the fight. “Fine. But I expect my song. I’ll hold you responsible, godling. I don’t forget!”
She was gone and the god of the protagonist’s childhood turned to look down at them. “Well,” he said, reaching out a hand to pull the protagonist up. “I hope you can actually write music.”
“Seems like a priority to learn,” the protagonist said fervently, and their god of trickery and bargains laughed and hauled them away.
Conversation Prompt
“Sorry, I meant to be gone before you woke up. Your mom insisted that I sleep off a sugar crash on your couch.”
“Don’t worry about it. She’s missed you since our break-up. She’d like it if you came around more.”
For a moment the vigilante froze, like a raccoon caught in the sudden glare of a motion sensor light. Then they went back to dressing, hurriedly yanking their layers of clothing back on.
The hero knew better than to question the vigilante's need to cover themselves in shapeless gray and brown, even in the warmth of spring. They knew better to ask why the vigilante was sleeping on the daybed on the covered porch instead of inside in one of guest bedrooms. They averted their eyes, carefully slid the cup of tea and the plate of breakfast onto the side table and backed up to the stool by the door.
"Are you, uh, rationing...?" The hero cleared their throat. "That is to say, is there some way we - I - can assist with your insulin supply?"
"Not unless you've got four hundred bucks in your pocket," the vigilante said dryly, shoving things back into their backpack
The hero pulled out their wallet and started paging through the bills. The vigilante stopped and stared. "Not unless you've got a single-payer not-for-profit national healthcare program in your pocket," they said loudly.
The hero gave them a half smile. "That's two hundred thirty three, uh thirty eight," they said, sliding the money over next to the food. "If you give me a minute, my go-bag upstairs has cash too I can get."
"Mkay," the vigilante said, avoiding their eyes.
The old heat flooded through the hero. They tilted their head. "Mkay I should go get it and you'll wait right here for me? Or mkay I should go get it so you can disappear on me again?"
The vigilante flung their gloves into their pack. "And this is why I meant to be gone before you woke up."
Somehow the hero was up on their feet, caution forgotten. "I am trying to help you!"
"Your help always comes with strings. Compromises." The vigilante was backing towards the screen door, hunched over their backpack defensively. "I'm not coming back to the Agency!"
The hero threw up their hands. "I never even suggested - !"
"And I'm not coming back to you."
The hero pulled up short. The vigilante hovered in the doorway, one foot fully out and down the first step, those dark and lovely eyes wary under their hood.
"Stop, please." The hero swallowed. Backed up. "No strings. Please, just let me help. I want you - I need you to be okay. Can't you believe that much about me?"
The vigilante leaned their head against the door frame. "Of course I know that about you," they said with a sad smile. "You need to believe that everything will work out okay."
The hero closed their eyes.
"I'll go get the rest of that cash," they said and walked away. When they got back, the money, the food, and the vigilante were gone.
The hero sighed and went up to their mother's office. The door was open and, at the hero's soft knock, she actually looked away from her spreadsheets and closed her laptop. That wasn't a good sign
"Well?" she asked. The hero shook their head. Their mother clicked her tongue. "That's disappointing. Now you'll have to run them down on their territory, not yours."
"Mother, they don't want to come back," the hero said.
"Too bad." Their mother took off her glasses, stared the hero down. "They're too good an asset to lose. And too good a partner to you," she added. "I do want grandchildren someday."
"They hate me!" the hero blurted out.
Their mother rolled her eyes. "They didn't come here for my charms. Take your time if must, reel them in slow. But run them down. That's an order. Now be a dear and close that door on your way out."
"Yes, Director," the hero said through their teeth and stormed out.
There we go! Technically a reblog after the early post yesterday. Thanks @whygodohgodwhy for a great prompt.