"I Keep You Safe." "No. You Control Me."

You're an average citizen who tried cosplaying once and was mistaken for a hero. A villain captures you and you realize a few things about yourself. Now you've become a hero in hopes of being captured by them again.

(or the reverse)

Oh my god I am so obsessed with ‘A Man of His Word’ could you please continue it if you have time? Thank you sooo much i love your writing so much.

Happy to! Thanks for the kind words, hope you enjoy :)

Pt. 1

-

A Face with Two Hands (A Man of His Word pt. 2)

Cw: childhood parental loss, interrogation + previous warnings

“11:59,” the clock read.

It was digital, so no ticking could be heard from where it was reinforced into the wall. Civilian was just as silent where they stood in the center of the utterly empty room.

Around them, cold gray walls closed in, broken only by a thick metal door. It was painfully cliche as far as cells go, appropriate for a cold-hearted villain to stash away all their problems and inconveniences.

Like Civilian.

The quiet was peaceful, for a moment.

Silence, however, tends to beg to be broken, and Civilian’s mind was more than happy to oblige the whims of the stale air around them.

As easy as breath filled their lungs, the voices of their Mom and Dad flooded their head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Midnight,” they had promised, with eyes full of love. “You should be asleep by then.”

But Civilian wasn’t.

Instead, they were camped out in the kitchen, nest of blankets keeping them separate from the hard laminate floor. They refused to give in to the sleep that pulled relentlessly at their eyelids, gaze stubbornly locked on the little green numbers that glowed above the oven and spelled out broken promises.

They clutched a small stuffed panda in their arms, waiting for the familiar sound of the garage door opening. Their eyes watered as they rested their head against the wooden table leg.

With each minute that ticked by, Civilian’s heart dropped a little lower.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Looking at the clock now, Civilian couldn’t help but feel the same sense of dread.

They shook off the memory, coming back into the present with a disorienting blink.

It was three hours till the next switch check in. As far as Civilian could tell, Villain wouldn’t be back until then.

Plenty of time to take inventory.

Physically, Civilian had little more than the clothes on their back.

The cuts Villain had inflected still laid open and untreated. Clearly, he didn’t plan on them living long enough for infection to become a problem.

They tried to tear strips out of their jacket in hopes of maybe tying some fabric around their wound but quickly deemed the weave too thick. Out of necessity, they moved onto the thinner cotton of their T-shirt, tearing off the hem with a degree of difficulty and gripping it with their teeth to tie as tightly as they could manage.

They really did miss having Friend’s extra hands and muscles around.

Mentally, they were about at the same level, except there was no shirt bandage that would stop the echoing in their mind.

Prisoner.

The word sat like cold iron wrapped around their heart, the weight like a death and betrayal all in one.

Civilian didn’t know how they could ever forget a feeling like that.

They were painfully aware that there was nothing but an awkwardly blurted secret and three days of planning keeping an old friend from spilling their blood across the unforgiving concrete of what they could only assume to be some kind of basement.

They took a deep breath and glanced at the clock again.

Well, two days now.

Unexpectedly, a sharp wave of anger crashed over them. Did their friendship truly mean nothing? They were so, incredibly, irrevocably stupid! Now they were probably going to die, stuck in this stupid place he brought them to (because of course he had a place-!)

The door opened with no warning, the loud clicking and snapping of the lock sending a sudden jolt through their heart and taking several more years off their life.

The man that entered seemed nothing but cold and distant.

He wasted no time stepping towards them, and in turn Civilian wasted no time falling flat on their ass trying to back away from him.

“What was your plan?” He questioned without preamble, freezing his movements and allowing Civilian a precious second to think.

Unfortunately, even with the immediate threat paused, they still lacked the clear-headedness to answer.

What was Villain talking about? He was the one with a plan to take down Hero. Civilian just needed to help work out one little kink-

“What?” They asked the stone-faced villain.

“After ten seconds.”

Oh, that plan.

“Hope for the best?” They squeaked.

Civilian’s attempt at a self-loathing chuckle ended in nothing but a weak cough.

Once upon a time, Friend would have laughed heartily with them, bent over, one hand holding his stomach. Villain did no such thing. Eyes that could never have belonged to Friend cut them a dangerous glare.

“Okay, then. We’ll start with the harder questions,” he spoke level, but Civilian knew a dangerous tone when they heard one. Slowly, they started crawling back, but it didn’t matter.

Villain descended and Civilian shrunk with the knowledge that his hands were not empty.

“How the fuck did you figure out who I am?”

As much as Civilian tried to ignore it, the way he spit the pronoun stung.

Civilian was not unfamiliar with pain, nor were they unfamiliar with those close to them inflicting it upon them. What they felt now, however, was a level far beyond anything they had felt before.

They supposed he, of all people, would be an expert in inflicting pain.

In a matter of seconds, Civilian was sure they didn’t have nearly enough shirt left to bandage everything. Their tongue loosened with the stinging. They had no question this was intended by the man holding the sharpened knife.

“Die,” they blurted as a result, in that oh-so elegant manner that Villain had a habit of bringing out in them.

“Excuse me?” Villain challenged, eyebrows raised and hand poised to continue cutting.

“My plan,” Civilian grit hard through their teeth, “was to die.” They clarified, rolling over to groan. “I made peace with it.”

Villain considered them for a moment, rising to his full height and staring down at them with a confusing mix of condescension and possibly pity. Or perhaps he was just smug. Civilian certainly didn’t trust their ability to read him anymore.

He tilted his head slowly, only adding to Civilian’s confusion as he smirked.

“Did you make peace with this?”

To that, Civilian said nothing.

His face evened out again, and Civilian recognized the masked anger, familiar as the taste of blood, as he reached down. Villain pulled them up by the collar, wrestling their arms roughly behind their back as he leaned over their shoulder.

“That was not your best plan,” he whispered, before pulling them out the door.

Axolotls. Incredible little creatures. Effectively immortal if left underwater, and forever youthful. Axolotls regrow their limbs because of their regenerating cells. These same cells were found to be present, but dormant, in humans.

Biochemists determined a groundbreaking method to isolate and reactivate these dormant cells. First practiced on mice, they extracted a small amount of blood, agitated it with chemical stimulants, placed it in a centrifuge, and re-injected it into the mice. The mice for a short time experienced cell regrowth, and through trial and error they refined the process.

They named this formula Formula A18, named after the axolotles that inspired it, and the 18 chemical stimulants that it composed of.

The results were, in essence, incredible. Beyond being a treatment to stop aging, it in effect allowed patients to regrow limbs and organs. It was heralded as a cure-all and a miracle drug.

However, the process of extracting, treating, and re-injecting cells was costly, and treatment locations charged handsomely for the procedure. Likewise, it needed to be re-administered every two years, as the effects depreciated. Some patients had adverse reactions to the treatment, as well as a higher predisposition to malignant cancers. As you were part of the at-risk group, you were deemed ineligible for the treatment.

At first, people in your life refused the treatment. "Who knows what those scientists are putting into our bodies," they scoffed. "Better for you to avoid all that, anyway." You would've given anything to receive the treatment, then. You were paraplegic and in constant pain after an accident, and you would've given your life savings for one dose.

Then a new variant of Formula A18 was introduced, Formula AV23. This one was different-- it was cheaper, worked faster, and only required one administration. Instead of extracting and re-injecting the cells, a virus was developed to target and reactivate the dormant cells, creating a persistent and cascading regeneration of cells. The company who developed it was a rival of the creators of A18.

Again, you were denied the treatment on the grounds that you were part of an at-risk group.

Everyone but you was getting healthier. You got even more stares than you did before on the bus. People scolded you for not getting AV23. Some even accused you of attention-seeking.

Five years went by. You witnessed a friend develop a particularly aggressive cancer attributed to AV23. The creators of A18 went out of business, and the formula was bought up by yet another company.

Though the name didn't change, A18 underwent modifications to become more "cost-effective" and "accessible". The revised name was A24, and the cheapest so far. Much more, you were eligible for it.

By this point, research facilities had cut funding to cancer research and many other life-threatening illnesses. Many believed AV23 and A24 could effectively replace all healthcare, and those who cautioned the repercussions of allowing such research to lose funding became the minority.

You decided not to try A24.

Five more years, and companies continued to add chemicals, change names, and cut more corners. FDA allowed variants to be grandfathered in. Business was booming, and people around you were changing. It was subtle, at first.

You noticed people would wander in circles. Some would stare listlessly at walls. Regulars on the bus struggled to remember how to swipe their card.

Five more years.

Adult daycare centers popped up all over. Hospitals were packed. Companies denied all connection to the rise in cancer patients and mass cognitive decline.

Five more years.

A man in Idaho accidentally cut off his finger. When he arrived at the hospital, the finger was reported to have fully healed and grown a small network of organs.

A woman in Berlin found hair in teeth growing from a wound in her midsection.

Five more years.

Many who took one of the AV23 and A24 variants went sterile, and birthrate was at an all-time low. Children born during the early introduction of AV23 and A24 physically and mentally stagnated, with underdeveloped limbs, poor fine motor control, short attention spans, weak vocal cords, and very limited cognitive retention. They were known as the "Cherub Generation".

The man's pinky from Idaho was kept under close observation. It grew a mouth, lungs, and a digestive system, and was able to crawl and consume nutrients independently.

A social media trend called "pinky pets" is inspired by this phenomenon.

Five more years.

Though you never went for treatment, you are showing the same effects of regeneration as everyone around you. Reports show AV23, A24 and its variants created a virus that can be transmitted airborne. You are finally able to walk, but your wounds heal in strange ways, and your blood feels like it's crawling.

Systems are developed to handle human's shorter retention spans. De-aging products are a largely thing of the past. Swimming becomes an extraordinarily popular activity, and the Cherub Generation seems to swim exceptionally well.

On a cellular level, most humans have changed, yourself included. You notice your skin is tougher, and your eyesight a bit duller. Your hair falls out and webbing grows between your fingers and toes. A strange new organ grows alongside your lungs. You are no longer able to handle extreme cold like you used to.

Asexual reproduction becomes the only way for most people to reproduce.

Biochemists work around the clock to reverse the effects of the AV23/A24 virus.

Five more years. Humans enter the oceans. Amenities from above-land are redesigned for underwater use. Above-ground cities are largely inhabited by the rare few who were resistant to the AV23/A24 virus.

Deep in the lowest reaches of the ocean, where humans used to be unable to travel, you find others like you.

Scholars set to work to communicate with these ancient humans.

They lament the life you gave up, but they welcome you with open arms.

Humanity persists. Humanity stagnates.

Then, slowly, humanity seeks land, and the ability to change, to age, once again.

A drug is discovered that stops all effects of aging. You decide to not take it. 20 years pass and the side effects are discovered.

"Listen," Cara said. "I love you. I care about you. But there comes a time when I feel like I can't reach you." She brushed aside Cup Ramens, soda bottles and chip bags. Bugs skittered out of the way.

"Yeah." Grenda stared at the ceiling.

"Please... Please, for god's sake, go to a phychiatrist. Hell, go to a General Physician. You're not happy, you're not functioning, you're not--"

"Worth it," Grenda said, voice heavy. "I'm not... Worth it. I'm..." She rolled on her side. "God, why am I... Why am I h-here..."

Cara sighed heavily. "Grenda." She tried to grab her arm, but Grenda pulled it away.

"I'm a burden on you," Grenda said. "Aren't you sick of it?"

"No. Grenda..." Cara laid beside her on the floor, touching her head.

"I could just--" Grenda started, but stopped.

"I--... I get tired too," Cara whispered. "I wonder... I wonder why I'm here."

Grenda choked a little. Blew her nose.

"This place is disgusting," Grenda whispered, voice raw. "But looking at it just... I feel like if I keep letting it pile up, maybe I'll drown in it. Just like I deserve."

Cara closed her eyes. "I love you, Grenda. I'm not going to pretend seeing you hurt doesn't hurt me, but... I don't want you to pretend you're fine."

Grenda sobbed. "I... I feel like I drag you down--"

"No." Cara grabbed her hand. "...No. Life... Drags me down. We are keeping each other afloat as best as we can." She kissed her hand.

"Why do you put up with me?" Grenda said. "Don't you hate me?"

"No," Cara whispered. "I just want to help you get better."

Grenda whimpered slightly.

They lay side by side in silence, until something crawled on Cara's arm. She shrieked and bolted upright.

"Grenda... I'm helping you clean your house," Cara said. "Go shower and... I'll start taking out the trash."

"But--" Grenda started.

"If you'll allow me," Cara said.

Grenda took a deep breath. "I... Thank you, Cara. Thanks. But I want-- no, I need to do this myself."

Cara deflated. "But--"

"I don't want this to be our relationship, you constantly having to save me," Grenda said.

Cara nodded gently.

"But you made me feel better," Grenda said. "I'm grateful to have you for a friend."

"Let me help you just this once," Cara said. "And use that energy to see a doctor. Think of it as investing in the future."

Grenda sighed. "You won't let this go, will you?"

"Not when it's about your health," Cara retorted.

Grenda groaned and covered her face. "Yeah. Okay, yeah. Just don't judge what you find."

"As long as you tell me if this is any good," Cara said, holding up a Fantasy novel with a suggestive cover.

Grenda snorted. "It isn't, but all the more reason why you should read it."

"I'm not depressed."

"You haven't showered in three weeks."

"That's just because I'm a terrible, disgusting person whose life is never going to amount to anything so why even bother trying, right? But I'm not depressed."

love the solid impact and the feeling of weight

2024 Art Wrap

This was a big animation year for me. It’s really nice to do these art wraps to remind myself all the work I’ve accomplished.

See how I make room guardians on my Patreon!

The audience roared, the energy electrifying.

"And there he is, folks! The Scarlet Fist! Our reigning champion remains undefeated!"

Jay panted from the center of the amphitheater, slick with sweat and blood. He smiled and licked the blood from his knuckles, eyes wild.

"What's this? A new challenger approaches! It's none other than the Sandstorm! He is the reigning regional champion two years running, but does he stand a chance against our all-time champion?!"

A sand mage sauntered into the ring. Powerful, cocky. A showboater. Jay let him demonstrate his power, twisting and forming the sand into a dragon. He flew atop the dragon and spewed balls of sand that blew craters into the ground and boundary walls. The audience cheered.

Jay rolled his shoulders. The sand mage had fans in the crowd. He should play around a bit and make it look like a challenge. One of the sand balls flew in his direction and he dodged. Then another, and another.

A snake made of sand came into form and coiled around Jay, stopping him from evading. Jay pretended to struggle in the snake's grip. The audience loved drama. He punched through the snake's body and the sand crumbled where he touched.

Spikes emerged from the ground, and Jay managed to evade mostly. He didn't think the audience noticed a bit of the spike crumbled away before it could pierce his foot.

Half of the snake struck again, and Jay yet again dodged. The snake hit the floor and burst into a mound of sand.

The mage swooped down with his sand dragon. A fatal mistake. Jay leapt on top of the dragon, and it crumbled mid-flight. They both tumbled and rolled onto the ring.

The mage stumbled back, exposed.

"Y-you must be cheating!" The mage shrieked. Jay laughed, because of course he was. This mage was woefully green. Jay tried to prolongue the fight a bit longer before punching out the unfortunate young fighter.

"Who else wants a piece?" Jay taunted.

--

It was a good day in the ring, and Jay had full pockets. He took his win to the local bar and was enjoying the open tab from his latest admirer. He was downing a pint when a young man slid into the chair beside him. The young man hardly looked the type for fighting rings, too nervous and too bookish, but Jay had seen all types. Possibly with coin.

"Business or pleasure?" Jay asked with a crooked smile.

"I-I know your secret," the young man stammered.

For a moment, Jay's smile flickered. "Oh, you think so?"

"You're no mage," the young man said, adjusting his glasses. "You're a walking power dampener. An, um, impressively powerful one, at that." He shrunk a little at the wild look in Jay's eye.

Jay's eyes darted around, and he grabbed the young man by his scruff.

"Keep your voice down," he growled. "Who sent you?"

"No one," the young man said. "I... I need your services."

"Business, then."

Jay released his hold. The young man smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt.

"Uh, well, m-my name is Lucas," the young man stammered. "I... I'm a student at Wingcrest University, and I'm studying for my Greater Healing degree with a concentration in Healing Ethics. Particularly, my thesis sheds light on the misuse and abuse of healing magic, as well as dangerous magic practices that are unfortunately commonplace."

He shifted. "Most healing centers deal with surface injuries and cosmetic healing and neglect internal injuries or cause clots from dangerously rapid healing. This is common knowledge among Healers, but it's largely considered a necessary evil that occasionally we'll lose some patients. I wanted to argue for stricter policies and show that such tragedies are, in fact, avoidable." He fiddled with a loose thread on his sleeve and bit his lip.

Jay rolled his eyes and groaned. He was going to get this kid's life story. He wasn't really interested in the inner workings of Healing Magic, and an attractive patron across the way was exchanging flirtatious glances at him.

"Sorry, I, uh, tend to ramble," Lucas mumbled. "S-so, um. During my research I stumbled upon a dangerous conspiracy. Depreciating healing magics."

"Where do I come in?" Jay asked, patience thin, eyes elsewhere."

"Oh. Yes." Lucas pulled back the collar of his shirt. "I-I may not look it, but I've, uh, been afflicted with a Wasting Curse. Are you familiar?"

Jay glanced over the sunken black and purple handprint, a hallmark of the Wasting Curse. "I've seen it in the ring. You need a Disenchanter," he said. "You should have no problem paying, being a student of Wingcrest. Get it treated sooner rather than later. It's not something to ignore."

"I-I've been," Lucas said. "To several."

"Well, yeah. It takes a few days to reverse." Jay said. "You need to be patient and follow your healer's advice."

"You don't understand," Lucas grit. "I've been to three different Disenchanters who claimed they can help me. But... The curse was custom-made, a variant they could have never possibly encountered before. It uses a form of malicious regeneration interlocked with my healing magic. A fitting punishment for my meddling."

Jay passed his glass back to the bartender for a refill. "So what does that mean?"

"Trying to remove the Wasting makes it spread," Lucas explained. "Each Disenchantment brings the curse closer to my heart."

"Listen, kid, that's awful," Jay said, "That really is. But what do you want me to do about it? You need a professional."

"I need a bodyguard, first of all," Lucas said. "Someone unaffected by magics."

Jay fixed him with a long, tired stare. "I'm not a body guard. Check the guild nearby."

Jay moved to slip away from the booth, but Lucas grabbed his arm. "I also need a strong power dampener. Someone who can block my magic and slow the spread of the curse."

"They sell power dampeners everywhere nowadays," Jay said dismissively.

"Yours is extremely, exceptionally powerful," Lucas said with a note of desperation. "I could fill an entire amphitheater with power dampeners to achieve a fraction of what you are. Whoever cast it on you was a master of the craft."

The flirtatious patron cast a final glance before leaving. Jay flopped back to his chair with a sullen expression.

"Listen, I know this isn't... How you want to spend your evening," Lucas worded tactfully. "But this is life or death for me, and I am willing to pay you very, very handsomely. Name your price."

"Give it a rest, kid," Jay sighed. "Just... I'm not a bodyguard. I have shows scheduled. I can't just walk out in the middle of a season."

"But I--"

He drained another pint. "And you're right, you do ramble," Jay grumbled. "You give me a headache." He patted him on the back and shoved past. "Good luck, kid."

"I'll tell," Lucas said.

Jay stopped in his tracks. "...What?"

"I'll tell everyone your secret."

Jay set his jaw, and turned with a raw fury. He grabbed the young man and pushed him back into the bar counter.

"You want to die tonight?" Jay hissed.

"You left me no choice," Lucas hissed back.

They stared each other down. Lucas shivered.

"You... You might as well," Lucas whispered, his voice cracking. "I'll be dead soon anyway." His lip quivered. "I'll be dead by morning."

Jay's anger faded. He took a deep breath and righted the young man, and smoothed out his rumpled shirt.

"Don't cry," Jay said. "Don't..." He shushed him.

Lucas made a good effort, trying to hold it in. This wasn't exactly the place for tears. He choked a bit and a sob escaped.

"I'm going to die, and so, so many people are going to die, because it's more profitable to keep them sick," he whispered. "They don't want my research getting out, and I'm not going to be able to save anyone."

"Oh... Shoot." Lucas's knees gave out, and Jay caught him just barely. He could feel his shirt get moist, and he gently patted his head. "Shoot, kid."

"All good, Jay?" The bartender called out.

"Yeah," Jay called back.

"Something for the kid?"

"I'm 27 years old," Lucas grumbled, wiping his eyes. "I'm not a kid."

"Yeah, grab one for the..." Jay paused for a double-take. "Wow, really? 27?" He eased the young man into a chair.

"I mean, I'm in graduate school," Lucas muttered. "...Was."

"Okay, yeah." Jay scratched his chin. "Listen, fine, I'll help you out. I'll tell my manager I have an injury from the last match and take the flack. In return, I need half up front."

"R-really?" Lucas lit up.

They discussed the amount and terms of payment over drinks.

"I appreciate your cooperation," Lucas said.

"And one more thing," Jay said, very somber. "This is very, very important."

Lucas nodded.

"Don't tell anyone about the whole... Power thing," Jay said. "I mean it."

Lucas frowned. "I will uphold my end if you uphold yours. I am a man of my word."

"... Fine, I'll take that," Jay said.

You are a gladiator that can win fight after fight against even the most powerful wizards. Your secret? You were cursed as a kid to nullify any magic that came close to you.

"I wish I wasn't so weak."

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

Scraps

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

The medals we earn adorn their necks

The food we prepare they rend and scrape

Their clean homes, our cracked skin

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

The spreadsheets, waivers, all-nighters

The mandatory overtime, 'voluntary' vacation

As family, friends, community becomes strangers

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

They bathe excess in bleach

Destroy 'out-of-season' and 'imperfect'

Unwanted treasure that never trickles down

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

They shrink the box and raise the price

Formula and cinnamon with lead filler

Locked away from desperate hands

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

They take your words and art

Remove the feeling and the context

But most importantly, the watermark

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

Big words not meant for us

They'll pulverize until the pain means nothing

Your screams are taken as aggression

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

Cries in the waiting room, unheard

Life is precious, they'll say to bodies

Who in neglect, turned to corpses

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

In fear, they cut us smaller

Yet they shovel mouthfuls much too quickly

The scraps will make them choke