{Header created by @nixylubouv} Villains and heroes and writing galore. A bit of whump. Mostly just reblogged stuff that I like but I’m slowly starting to add a little bit of my own writing too.
The Robot Apocalypse came. Cities are empty, you stayed since you’re almost out of insulin and will die soon anyway. The robots find you and while processing you one of them sees your insulin pump and asks if you want to apply for dual citizenship, since the pump technically makes you a cyborg.
Suddenly all the people with prosthetics, wheelchairs, implants, and the like are getting the accommodations and help they need without having to be poor or locked away in a care center. This is an apocalypse I can get behind!
They said it was nothing personal—the bus could only fit so many people, after all, and escape would be hard enough without “dead weight” dragging them down.
We understood. The world was ending, not changing.
“Shouldn’t we be looking for shelter or something?” Samantha asked as we sat around a garbage-can fire. (Tao was experienced in making them, from what we gathered, and the flames had grown in no time. We tried to ask him how he knew what to do. He responded, but none of us knew sign language.)
Hank snorted. “What’s the point? Not like we’ll make it long, anyway.” He rubbed the spot beneath his shirt where we knew his insulin pump to be. “Least, I won’t. You folks are welcome to try.”
No one spoke for quite a while. No one got up, either.
Maria garbled something that I couldn’t make out. Antonio, one of the only able-bodied to stay behind, smiled and patted the armrest of her wheelchair. “It is kind of like camping,” he said. “All we need is some marshmallows.”
“I’ve never been camping,” Dwayne said quietly.
Samantha grinned. “Hey, me neither!” She held her prosthetic at arms-length so she could reach past me to give him a high-five. He chuckled and slapped his palm against hers.
“Well,” Monique said, hobbling back to our makeshift camp. She was using what appeared to be a broom as a crutch. “I’m officially on my last leg.” She waggled her eyebrows, and we groaned.
“Anyway, I didn’t find any water,” she continued. “There’s some Mountain Dew cases over at the gas station, but I’ll need help carrying them back. Doesn’t help that this one got stuck under some debris.” She gestured down at her stump, which cut off just below the knee. The plastic of her other leg was scuffed and dented.
“Ya know,” Hank said, “if it was real, ya probably would’ve had ta chew it off or something. Guess you’re lucky, huh?”
Monique laughed humorlessly. “Yeah. Real lucky.”
Tao startled us with his sudden chuckling. He bent over, wheezing and slapping his knee. He signed something, and began laughing even harder.
We looked to each other, unsure. Then we joined in. Hesitantly, at first, but soon we were clutching our sides and wiping away tears. And for a moment, we could forget.
All of us heard the familiar whirring of robots as they approached.
Through our laughter, none of us cared.
————
They scanned Hank first. We braced ourselves for the blaster fire that would inevitably follow.
But none came.
“IMPLANT DETECTED,” the bot said, beam stopping on Hank’s abdomen. “PROTOCOL-13163 INITIATED. WILL YOU ACCEPT?”
Hank glanced at us, then back at the robots who had spotlights and guns trained on each member of the group. Then he shrugged.
“Sure. Why not?”
“YOUR DESIGNATION IS NOW FL-237. YOU SHALL BE ESCORTED TO THE REPAIR BAY FOR MODIFICATIONS.” Two bots took place on either side of Hank, urging him towards their transport.
The treatment was a stark contrast to what we’d witnessed from the robots before—gunning down terrified people in the streets, setting charges throughout populated areas. We exchanged confused looks.
Dwayne was next. The scanner stopped on his head, focusing on the lump housing his shunt.
“IMPLANT DETECTED. PROTOCOL-13163 INITIATED. WILL YOU ACCEPT?”
“…yes?”
“YOUR DESIGNATION IS NOW FL-238. YOU SHALL BE ESCORTED TO THE REPAIR BAY FOR MODIFICATIONS.”
As they took Dwayne away, realization hit us all at once.
“IMPLANT DETECTED,” the bot said, in reference to the devices curled around Tao’s ears. “PROTOCOL-13163 INITIATED. WILL YOU ACCEPT?”
Tao signed something. Unlike us, the robot understood.
“YOUR DESIGNATION IS NOW FL-239…”
————
“WILL YOU ACCEPT?”
“Hell yeah,” Monique said with a grin.
————
“WILL YOU ACCEPT?”
“Yes,” Samantha said, and I thought I noticed tears in her eyes.
————
“WILL YOU ACCEPT?”
Maria’s limbs flailed spastically, and a strange shrieking sound built in the back of her throat. The bot cocked its head to the side.
“RESPONSE UNCLEAR. PLEASE STAND BY WHILE ALTERNATE COMMUNICATION IS PROVIDED.”
Another robot stepped forward, its torso transforming into a holographic keyboard of sorts. Maria’s clenched fist shot forward, trembling as she attempted to steady it. With labored, deliberate movements, she typed, the letters spoken aloud in an automated tone.
“Y-E-S.”
“YOUR DESIGNATION IS NOW FL-242. YOU SHALL BE ESCORTED TO THE REPAIR BAY FOR MODIFICATIONS.” Two bots took their place on either side of her wheelchair, each of them gripping a handlebar. They began to wheel her away.
The bot turned to Antonio, who was standing ramrod-straight. It scanned him.
“NO IMPLANTS DETECTED,” it said. Its blaster hummed to life. Those of us that remained flinched, turning away instinctively, unwilling to watch his execution.
A series of shrieks rang through the night, and the bot paused.
Maria thrashed about, letting out more distressed noises. One of her escorts stepped forward, allowing her to utilize its keyboard.
“A-C-C-O-M-O-D-A-T-I-O-N,” she said. “H-E. I-S. E-X-T-E-N-S-I-O-N.”
The bot seemed to consider for a moment.
Then its gun folded away.
“ACCOMODATION PROTOCAL INITIATED,” it told Antonio. “YOUR DESIGNATION IS NOW FL-242B. PLEASE ACCOMPANY YOUR PRIMARY UNIT.”
Antonio stumbled forward, then fell to his knees before the wheelchair. He wrapped his sister in a shuddering hug.
Over his shoulder, I caught a glimpse of Maria’s face, and I could swear I saw her smile.
————
My pacemaker was enough to earn me a spot among the bots’ ranks. I was surprised by just how many humans lived in the facility (though in hindsight, perhaps I shouldn’t have been)—I was even more surprised by our treatment. Not having use of recharging stations, we were provided with bunks and dorms. The cafeteria, while somewhat lacking in options, offered all of the nutrition a carbon-based lifeform could ask for.
And then there were the upgrades.
“Real lucky, huh?” Monique said, taking the seat beside me in the cafeteria. Her robotic legs moved smoothly, fluidly. (“You can’t even notice,” she’d said upon first receiving them, before remembering that there were no longer any stares or judgement to hide from.)
“Damn lucky,” Hank agreed. (If we hadn’t been processed when we were, he would’ve been dead within a week. Here, insulin was never in short supply; as it turned out, it wasn’t nearly as expensive to make as we’d been led to believe.)
Samantha twirled a fork between her fingers, smiling at the satisfying click-click-click of metal on metal. “Hey, Dwayne, how’d your checkup go?”
“Great!” he said, beaming. “This new shunt works even better than my last one. Not a single problem since they put it in.”
Congratulations, Tao signed. He was no longer emaciated, as he’d been when we first met—regular meals and a roof over his head really had done wonders for his health. His smile, of course, was infectious as ever.
Antonio approached, carrying his and Maria’s trays. He wore the uniform of a maintenance tech, though it was more of a formality than anything else—being responsible for the upkeep of Maria’s machinery was one of the only ways he could fulfill his Accommodation Protocol, nowadays.
Did you remember the pudding? Maria asked, her automated voice clear and pleasant. (We couldn’t begin to understand the exact mechanics behind the chip in her head, and how it allowed her to speak—albeit through a machine. Nor could we understand the technology that enabled her to operate her wheelchair independently, as well. But we did know we were grateful for it.)
Antonio rolled his eyes. “A ‘thanks’ would be nice.”
Thank you. Now gimme.
————
I did wonder, occasionally, how the other survivors were faring. If they had found a place to hide from their robotic overlords. If they felt hopeless and abandoned and alone. Their lives had changed drastically overnight—their world had ended.
But ours? Ours is just beginning. And the ones that left us behind just…don’t have a place in it.
“I don’t feel so good,” the hero whispers, a thickness lying in their breathy confession. Their trembling fingers dig into the tablecloth, but it’s hardly enough to keep them from wobbling.
Supervillain barely spares them a glance from beyond the table. Through their rapidly blurring vision, the hero can see they’re still eating.
“I know,” the supervillain simply replies, and the hero shakily rises to their feet. They struggle to do so, a horrible vertigo slamming into them. Everything spins.
Their tongue feels like cotton as they attempt to speak.
“This was,” they suck in a trembling breath. Their legs buckle from underneath them as they stagger backwards,” was supposed to be...a diplomatic, um, s’not...”
“Come on, darling,” the supervillain speaks, dabbing a napkin along the corner of their mouth. “You’re going to have to speak clearly, I can hardly understand a word you’re saying. Perhaps you’ve had too much wine.”
The hero sinks down to the floor. They suck in a tight gasp. “You drugged it...”
“Give me a little more credit,” the supervillain purrs, lip curved into a subtle smirk. “I drugged the ice.”
Hero’s eyes fluttered open in a daze. Their head was pounding and the room kept spinning. That irritating buzzing sound in their ears nearly distracted them from realizing they were chained up to a chair.
Their fights with Villain usually always ended with one of them being roughed up a bit, but this time they completely underestimated them. What their opponent may have lacked in strength they made up for in intellect. They usually had more than a trick or two up their sleeves, which is what made them such a frightening foe. Their unpredictability. Plus, they knew how to take advantage of the Hero’s ego. They were so convinced they had already won that they didn’t even notice their trap until it was too late. And it eventually led to their downfall.
“Morning sunshine~!”
Suddenly, a jovial voice echoed across the room, followed by intimidating footsteps that got closer and closer until they felt a hand yank them by the hair.
“Did we have a nice nap?” Villain hums almost mockingly as they pet them gently. “I was honestly getting rather bored waiting for you to wake up…”
“Get your fucking hands off me,” Hero snarls, pulling away from the Villain’s grasp but to no avail. They attempted to hide their tense nerves and the tremble in their voice with a fierce glare. The villain simply begins to slowly pace around them and pull on the chains roughly, forcing the Hero to make eye contact with them. They grinned, noticing their captive’s panic in their eyes. However, Hero also couldn’t help but feel a strange heat in their chest from the close proximity.
“Look at you…trying to put on a brave face. I wonder what your teammates would think if they saw you like this. A shame they aren’t here, hm?”
Hero opened their mouth to argue only to end up coughing up blood, unable to catch their breath.
“W-What…what did you do to them?”
Villain blinked and simply tilted their head. “Oh, nothing permanent.”
Hero’s blood went cold. They wanted to believe it was a bluff to get under their skin. But if they were responsible for whatever happened to their friends they could never forgive themselves. They felt a rush of adrenaline and desperately tried to pull free from their restraints.
“What the hell…did…you do to them?”
Their voice grew louder and furious with each word as the Villain did nothing but spread a poisonous smile. Then they suddenly leaned in close and whispered into Hero’s ear.
Hero didn’t quite know how they had gotten here, amongst the glistening lights and shining faces. It was far from their tastes. Too loud, and much too many people. Yet something inside them craved the chaos, all until Villain strolled up to their side.
They didn’t notice at first, too caught up in the chill of the glass against their palm as they took another swig, and the shifting of feet on the dance floor located yards away. It was only as that sickeningly sweet voice met their ear did they turn.
“Lovely night, isn’t it?” Villain held a smirk that could brighten almost any room. Instead, it left a deep pit in Hero’s stomach.
“It was, before you decided to show up.” They turned slightly as if not to meet the Villain’s eyes. Their hands tightened around their drink, a fiery-orange concoction that swirled down their throat as they took another sip.
“Oh, surely you can’t think of me to be that ruinsome,” a tease, and a cruel one at that. Distantly, Hero caught Villain’s hand reaching for their own. They pulled away before Villain had that chance.
Admitabbly, Villain was right. If honest, Hero saw them as anything but ruinsome, though revealing such a secret could only mean horrible things. They were silent, surveying the room if only to avoid Villain’s intense gaze. The one that if observed too long, could become intoxicating.
“You know it’s polite to look someone in the eyes when they’re speaking to you darling.”
“Don’t call me that,” Hero hissed. They hoped Villain didn’t catch the slight blush on their cheeks.
“I’ll do as I wish,” Hero’s breath caught as Villain’s fingers gripped their chin, pulling them close- so unbearably, dangerously close. Villain smirked, brushing their thumb across the Hero's bottom lip as if this all were a game, “And really, if we’re being honest I don’t think you quite mind it, darling.”
You dropped something!
Adan-aran noticed that you dropped one of your keys and came out of hiding to help you.
If you have ideas for other things I could draw him doing, feel free to send me asks. He loves the forest cause cities scare him and he’s kind of lonely.
once at dawn i dressed up in my regency suit and went for a walk in the woods where i heard someone go “oh” (a little like a moan) and i got terrified i’d interrupted someone dogging or something so i immediately tried to walk away before i saw the person in question, who was just walking their dog (dogging in a sense!) and i got even more scared because they were wearing black skinny jeans and a black hoodie so they looked like they had very long slender arms and legs, and both of us were really shaken so i quickly tried to get out of sight. anyway i forgot i was wearing full 1810s regencywear complete with hat and probably looked significantly more like a ghost than they did. remember you’re never alone in the woods
This is my Secret Santa Gift for @watercolorfreckles ! I hope you enjoy it! <3
A very short journalist/photographer is among the crowd of press clamoring at villain for photos/a statement/etc., and they are too small to reach Villain or see past the crowd. What happens when villain notices them and pushes past the rest of the paparazzi and news reporters to offer them a personal photo/statement?
It was often hard to see through the bright camera flashes and microphones shoved in her face. This was certainly the least enjoyable part of this whole fiasco, but sadly, the media was also the fastest highway to the heroes, so Flash Freeze put up with it.
Currently, however, there were so many questions coming at her so fast it practically made her head spin, and given that she was known for her speed, that was saying something.
"How would you describe the success of your last crime?!"
"If you could steal anything, what would it be?!"
"Do you have any other hobbies?!"
She sighed. The villain didn't answer any of the questions; of course, this was normal. The media knew that. They were lucky she was letting them take so many photos and getting so close in the first place. Most villains didn't extend even that much courtesy. She was just using them to get the attention of the hero agency, though, and the media also knew this.
It was a symbiotic relationship, in theory.
In reality, the media were bloodthirsty gulls, and it was like her silence only encouraged them. Every single reporter competing to get one of the rare answers she did offer. Typically short and curt, but as valuable as they were rare. Worth fighting over.
"What do you think of the city's newest hero programs?!"
"Stupid," she deadpanned, disinterested, "and useless,"
She was hoping an answer might satiate the crowd a bit, but she should have known better. A drop of blood in the water only attracted the sharks.
"Why do you think that?!"
"Could you elaborate on that?!"
"What would you say to someone who was thinking about enrolling?!"
The villain sighed again, checking her watch. Hero sure was taking his sweet time.
When she looked back up, that was when she first noticed him, even through the bright flashes.
A lone reporter, who had seemingly given up on trying to fight through the crowd, and she could see why. To say he was pretty short would be an understatement, but he was also on his own, lacking the camera crew that would have helped him push through the crowd.
But... it was more than that. Sure, his height was one thing, but that wasn't the whole story. He was a competent reporter, based on the nice suit jacket and professional recorder hooked on his belt. He was wearing a look of disappointment, not in himself, but in the lengths he would have to go to get a statement. He'd chosen not acting like a savage animal over getting a possible promotion.
There was a certain respect she felt for that, to not stoop below your own morals.
Not that he had much of a choice anyway, with his height and all...
She watched the reporter as he idly stood back, looking as though he was contemplating leaving, before he glanced back at the circus before him, causing their eyes to meet.
He seemed to freeze in place, sucking in a sharp breath of surprise, which was pretty damn cute, in Villain's humble opinion.
She smirked, still holding his gaze before vanishing in a blur. It only took a millisecond with her super speed to whizz around the crowd and appear next to him, startling him so much he nearly dropped his microphone. The sound he made wasn't quite a squeak... but let's just say he was probably lucky his recorder wasn't on.
The villain's ice-blue eyes glinted dangerously, like the light of a sharp icicle, just waiting to fall.
"I'm sorry; what was your question?" She asked innocently, a stark contrast to the mischievous amusement on her face.
His eyes widened, staggering, before he quickly fumbled to click his recorder on.
"I- right- uhm," He took a breath, composing himself, "I was wondering-"
He wasn't even able to get his question out before the rest of the bloodthirsty mob had reswarmed them, shoving the microphone back into villain's face while their million questions overlapped each other.
She glared.
All of a sudden, a loud crackling or fizzing-like sound could be heard emanating from below as Flash Freeze's eyes began glowing. The reporters and camera crews gasped as a thick layer of frost began spreading across the ground.
"I don't believe..." the villain began, voice suddenly echoing and haunting as frost danced from her breath with every word, "I was talking to any of you,"
Suddenly a large ice spike shot up out of the ground, causing the hoard of reporters to jump backwards. More and more began erupting, pushing the whole crowd back with an orchestra of cries.
Everyone except the reporter she actually wanted to speak to right now, who had been separated by the ice pyres.
"Simple human decency," the villain sighed, "so rare nowadays," she turned back to the reporter, who looked pale enough to be made of the ice that surrounded him, "You were *trying* to say?"
He swallowed, but nodded, "Thank you, I uh, I was wondering how exactly you pick your... uh... targets,"
After asking, he extended his microphone over, hand definitely not shaking slightly, holding it a respectable distance away from her.
"Oh look, you're not trying to force me to eat the microphone! How polite!" She fake gasped, her tone full of sweet mockery as she glared at the cameras that still peered over her ice spikes.
"As for my targets... I guess it depends. Sometimes I'm going for something because it has materialistic or monetary value, sometimes strategic value, other times, it's just caught my interest. There's no one determining factor,"
That was the single longest statement she'd ever given the tabloids. And the reporter's wide eyes confirmed he knew this as well. The villain smiled sweetly, causing him to blush.
He drew the microphone back, "What are your favourite parts about being a villain?" He questioned, adjusting the glasses on his nose, before returning the microphone to her.
"Oh there's so many things," she mused dreamily, one arm across her stomach, the other elbow resting atop it with her hand under her chin, thinking, "I'm my own boss; no day is ever the same, the payout..." her eyes drifted over the civilian in front of her, "and the cute reporters are always a plus..."
The reporter immediately went bright red, but before anyone could respond further, the hero's voice echoed through the streets, "Flash Freeze!"
"Oop, that's my cue!" The villain quipped, before she abruptly reached forward, hand slipping under the reporter's jacket. Said reporter went statue still, sucking in a sharp breath, eyes wide as he felt her ice-cold fingers exploring.
She quickly found the inner pocket of his jacket with his business cards, pulling one out and twirling it between her fingers as she began stepping back.
"We'll have to continue this conversation during our interview later," she winked.
Then, there was a sudden blur, and just like that, she was gone.
The best character development is when the antagonist doesn't even really change or redeem himself. Like no, he still sucks, he's just on our side now.
fantastic post op. may i add when a previous antagonist has the same personality traits as before but framed as good things now that theyre on your side? "cold and calculating" becomes "unflichingly practical" when you need someone to push the big red button, "hair-trigger temper" is now "takes no shit", and no one is more dependable for chasing the big bad to the ends of the earth than that spiteful, unforgiving bastard who was hunting you down last season
Here’s part 4 of the Soulmate Programme! This won’t make much sense without part 1, part 2, and part 3.
CW: for non-con touching, light violence against a prisoner, and a lot of f-bombs.
This part inspired by a second prompt from @the-modern-typewriter ! See bottom of story for the original prompt.
“You see, darling,” the villain said with vicious sweetness, “the government wanted to make a hero, so they thought they’d take away the bad. Siphon away anger, and jealousy, and hate, and anything that isn’t the desire to help. Trying to get the right combination for a good person.”
“And you are…?”
The villain bared their teeth. “The discards.”
The protagonist let their head drop against the concrete pillar, brain whirling. There was only one possible response. “That is so fucked up,” they said.
“I know, right?” The villain looked darkly amused. They’d dropped the trademark helmet with a careless thud as soon as they’d dragged the protagonist back to this damp little hellhole, the dead green light-up eyes staring hollowly at the dripping ceiling.
It was a mind trip, this version of hero that clearly wasn’t hero. Same sharp cheekbones and wide blue eyes, sure. But while the hero had an anxious, rottweiler puppy eagerness to please, the villain stalked the room with a different kind of nervous energy. Like a caged tiger lashing its tail, ready to pounce.
The protagonist clenched their hands into fists. Tried to control their breathing, tried to remember the stupid school assembly advice on staying safe in a supervillain attack. Keep them talking, that’s what you were supposed to do in a hostage situation, right? Keep them talking, try to build rapport - or at least keep them monologuing until the city’s glorious hero showed up to save the day.
Well, if there was one thing the protagonist could do, it was run their mouth.
“I mean - How?” The protagonist tried to sit up straighter, only to be pulled up short by the chains around their wrists, yanking their arms back too tight. But right now the burn in their shoulders was the last thing on their mind. “How could the government…?”
“Pull a person apart into two?” The villain shrugged, grabbed a six pack of something from a pile of half full grocery bags, dropped onto a pile of old mattresses. The protagonist winced at the odor of rot and mold that wafted up. “Probably some other poor bastard with powers, in the camps or whipped into the government Fuck if I know the details. We didn’t ask questions back then. We complied. We obeyed.” The villain popped the lid of a can and slammed it back.
“They screwed it up,” the protagonist said, trying to ease their upper back into a gentler position against cold concrete. “I’ve met [Hero] and they definitely missed some flaws.”
“I know!” The villain flung the empty aluminum against the wall with all their might. The protagonist flinched at the sad little ping. “Didn’t stop them from deciding they were the good one, the one with powers and a smile. They would be the one who got everything - the glory, the posters, the life. I got a prison cell for the horrible person I was obviously destined to become.” The villain popped their second can open, turned a cold and hungry back to the protagonist. “And now I have you too.”
The protagonist tried not to gulp. “This isn’t about me,” they started.
"I’m them too, you know.” The villain sauntered closer. “I heard you on the telly, saying the soulmate programme was wrong, the soulmate programme made a mistake. Maybe you’re right. [Hero] wasn’t even supposed to get a soulmate.” The villain stroked metal clad fingers through the protagonist’s hair. The protagonist couldn’t help the shudder this time. “Maybe you were meant for me. After all, who else hates [Hero] as much as us?”
“Wait.” The protagonist blinked. “What do you mean, [Hero] wasn’t supposed to get a soulmate? That’s what this has to do with me. What the hell kind of deal did you make - ?”
The villain’s hand on the protagonist’s chin turned into a clamp on their jaw. The protagonist snapped their mouth shut.
“You’re really the best the soulmate programme had to offer?” the villain muttered. “Fine. You want the story, fine.”
Abruptly they released the protagonist’s face, rose to their feet. The protagonist gasped for air, heart racing so fast they almost missed the villain’s next words. “[Hero]’s spectacular debut was got a little too spectacular. They were plowing through the old rogues gallery like a chainsaw. Villains were quitting! People were feeling too safe! That’s when someone had a brainstorm, someone who might have a chance against [Hero]. Someone who might have motivation. And the next thing I knew, I had some very serious folks in very expensive suits at my cell, offering me the role of archnemesis.”
“The government set you up as [Villain]?” The protagonist’s head was reeling in the other direction now. This was too much. This was too fast. It wasn’t fair. “And you agreed?”
The villain paused. “I feel,” they said calmly, “that there was a distinct judgy flavor to that sentence. Would you like to rephrase, oh helpless prisoner of a violent criminal?”
The protagonist bit their lip, hard. Those twelve envelopes, the hero’s profiles, flashing before their eyes. Especially that first one. That had to have been, what, within a year or two of whatever the hell had happened to these… two? This one? “I don’t understand,” they said slowly. “The government ripped you apart into two people, left you to rot. Why would- why did you agree to join them?”
“Well gee, maybe it was because I was a fucking teenager in a fucking windowless cell, and they offered me a path out?” The villain bared their teeth. “Does that satisfy your delicate moral sensibilities?”
“Wow,” the protagonist fired back, pointedly jingling the chains on their wrists. “You must really understand what it feels like to be unjustly imprisoned.”
“If it makes you feel better, I’ve known since the beginning this would end in betrayal.” The villain preened. “I’ve been too powerful for a while now. It was just a question of when the shoe would drop.”
“And the shoe drops now.” The protagonist bit their lip again and tasted blood. The picture was coming together “Because they broke your deal. By… matching me to [Hero]?”
“That was the only thing I asked for. Other than, you know, money and freedom and fame.” The villain grabbed a third beer, giving the protagonist a filthy sneer. “I got everything [Hero] had or better - the power, the luxury, the acclaim. And I got their guarantee [Hero] would never, ever get to feel complete. Not if I don’t get to be complete.”
The protagonist stared at the villain as they downed their third drink. They were slowing down, eyes tinged red around the corners, as they came up for air and darted a look back to their prisoner.
“Is that what a soulmate is to you?” the protagonist said quietly.
The villain scoffed. “It’s what a soulmate means to them!”
“No.” The protagonist stared them down. “It’s not. But you do both believe it in, don’t you? You sit here, living proof of government corruption, able to bring them down as simple as stepping outside with that stupid mask off-”
“You think it’s that easy?” the villain snarled.
“-but no, you’d rather take swings at the other person who had no say in this, the other version of you that was abused-”
The villain stripped off their glove and swung.
For all their inability to walk away from a fight, the protagonist was not actually in the habit of getting in physical altercations. There’d been a few rough arrests at protests over the years, but never anything worse than a bruised knee, a scraped chin.
There was nothing like the feeling of their head snapping to the side, the crack of pain that was their brain bouncing off the inside of their skull, the metal taste of blood filling their mouth.
“They are not a version of me!” the villain was screaming in their face, breath stale with beer. “I am the real one! I am a real person and [Hero] will never have you because I will kill you before I let them have you, you obnoxious piece of -”
The ceiling collapsed in an explosion of dust and sudden sunlight. Villain bounced off the pillar over the protagonist’s head and then there was the scramble and the fight as the hero came at their double, mouth grim.
“I really hate that this is what I expected to happen,” the protagonist mumbled as the villain staggered by, dodging the hero’s blows as they fired off green lasers from their wrist cannon.
The protagonist’s head was clearing by the moment, even as minor explosions filled the air with smoke and sulfur. The hero had powers, the villain had tech, but now… yes, now the protagonist could see it in the ways they both moved, in the focus they both gave. And then the villain slipped on a beer can and the hero lined up their strike, their face terrible-
“Don’t kill them!” the protagonist barked.
The hero startled. The villain kicked them in the knee and vanished - tumbled down a bolthole the protagonist hadn’t even noticed. The hero hesitated… but then chose and hastened back to the protagonist’s side.
“I’m so sorry,” they wheezed as they carefully snapped the chain in half. The protagonist gasped as the awful pressure in their shoulders was finally relieved. “But I had to take [villain] out first and couldn’t get to you until the situation was -”
The protagonist put their hand over the hero’s mouth. The hero took the hint and shut up. But carefully, gently, they put their own hands over protagonist’s trembling wrists. From the strain, of course.
“I need you,” the protagonist said, and swallowed more blood, “to take me somewhere.”
“Anywhere,” the hero said immediately.
The protagonist nodded. “There’s a super working on the soulmate programme. Infusing the algorithms with magic or psychic power or whatever.”
“Ye-es?” The hero was understandably confused. But they didn’t see the bigger picture that was beginning to form.
The protagonist gave the hero a bloody smile, put their arms around the hero’s neck. “Take me to soulmate programme headquarters.”
The original prompt from @the-modern-typewriter:
"When we become heroes,” the hero said, “they take away the bad in us. Siphon away anger, and jealousy, and hate, and anything that isn’t the desire to help. Always trying to get the right combination for a good person.”
“And the villain…”
“They’re me,” the hero said. “Or, at least, the discarded bits of me.” They smiled, faintly, without joy. “I guess you can see why they hated me so damn much.”
Villain has two souls sharing their body. They’re usually pretty much in tune but recently a point of dissent has occurred. Hero. One of the souls thinks Hero is pathetic and weak. The other soul is in love with Hero. And Hero is getting whiplash whenever they battle Villain.
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“I would never hurt you!”
“But you just freaking drop kicked me?!”
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“I want you to go jump off a cliff.”
“Um-”
“And straight into my arms.”
“Okay what in the hell is going on.”
A CAT?! A LIL FUR LOAF? YES - YES - I ALREADY HAVE TWO AND I WANT A THIRD, GIVE!!
The supervillain had been right: with their team divided, they had no chance of stopping both of them.
The hero stood panting at a fork in the alleyway, trying to decipher which way the villain had gone. If only superhero had listened to them - had listened when the hero had told them that they thought the master criminal was right, that they couldn't take both on at once. The other had simply dismissed them with a stubborn huff, saying they couldn't just turn a blind eye because the supervillain wanted them too. They'd also said that the hero was to be on the opposite team for that day. That they refused to let the hero anywhere near the supervillain again.
Taking a few more seconds to steady themself, the hero turned left and continued their chase - determined to catch up to the villain that had slipped through their grasp.
The superhero hadn't given them a reason why. It irked the hero somewhat, the way the superhero had regarded them ever since their run-in with the supervillain being nothing but suspicious. It was like their leader didn't trust them anymore - didn't think them sensible enough to know that the other was bad, evil.
The hero knew that. They weren't stupid: niceties aside, they knew the supervillain's intentions were always to be questioned. So what if they agreed with what the other had told them? It was true - their forces were stretched too thin; the hero was alone, exhausted, blindly chasing a trail that had long since gone cold whilst the rest of their team was busy dealing with the aftermath the villain had left behind. The hero had agreed with them because they'd been right, so why did that suddenly put them under question?
After a few more minutes, the hero finally came to stop.
It was useless. The villain was gone - the hostages were all well and safe but the bank had lost half of its money. They would have hoped that their superior was having better luck but they knew that they weren't. The supervillain was hard enough to catch when they had their whole team at their disposal: with only half of them chasing after the other, the master criminal was sure to get away without a single scratch.
The hero walked the rest of the way down the alley slowly until they reached the nearest street, stopping on the path and pulling out their communications device.
"Superhero?"
No response.
All they were getting right now was static.
They brought the device back before them, tweaking a few of the settings before bringing it once more to their ear. "Superhero, Villain escaped. We couldn't stop them."
Still nothing. If anything, the signal only seemed to be getting weaker. They cursed, hoping they could at least get in contact with the rest of their team but that soon proved to be useless too. Gods, where even were they? The hero had run far in their desperate attempt to catch the other and the street they were on was unfamiliar to them. They started walking further down the road, a little unnerved by the lack of people around them. There weren't even any cars parked up - the street was completely empty.
Ahead of them, a black car suddenly pulled down the road. The hero stopped in their tracks, squinting as they read the license plate.
...You had to be kidding.
They started to backtrack, quickly breaking off into a sprint right as the vehicle sped up, quickly passing them and pulling up onto the path - blocking them from running back down the alley. The hero spun about, trying to now escape in the opposite direction but a second car had pulled up behind them, the henchman within it already stepping out with their guns raised.
There was nowhere else to go. The hero was completely surrounded.
They raised their fists, preparing for a fight...then put their hands above their head in surrender instead. There was no point: they were tired and outnumbered; they might as well just let it happen.
It went exactly the same way as it had done before. Hands behind back, gag in mouth, blindfold. They were carefully escorted over to the first car, one henchman putting a hand on their head and guiding them down as they were put into the backseat. Two henchman came to sit either side of them before the doors closed and the engine started up, the vehicle quickly moving down the street and away to...somewhere.
Minutes passed in silence. The more time went by, the more the hero started to doubt their choice to come without a fight.
What did the supervillain want them for this time? Getting away once unscathed - and with a bunch of delicious pastries no less - was lucky. Getting away twice unscathed would be unheard of. Maybe this time the hero would get a firsthand look at the side of the supervillain that had their leader so afraid - that had had them stuck in an interrogation room for three hours the second they'd stepped foot in the agency after their first encounter.
Eventually, the car slowed to a halt and the hero was escorted out. They were walked a few steps forward before being forced to stop, the light chime of an elevator soon signalling them to move forward again - the hero only getting more and more fidgety as the lift brought them up. They still didn't know where they were. It was obviously a building of sorts - a tall one too - but that hardly narrowed it down.
They heard the doors slide open before they were on the move again, the henchman bringing them down a ways until they finally reached their destination. There was a click and beep, and another door was opened. The hero was pulled inside and their binds were removed, their captors working quickly to untie the rope from their wrists and the gag from their mouth, leaving only the blindfold in place. They moved away then, the hero following the sound of their footsteps as the left the room, shutting the door behind them and leaving them all alone.
The hero waited a beat. Then another.
They slid the blindfold from their eyes, soon coming to glance about in awe at the luxury hotel suite they'd been deposited in. The room was pristine - a queen sized bed with red sheets laying at its centre, with two sofas and the biggest TV the hero had ever seen. Hell, it even had a water feature against the one wall, the windows looking out onto the city below from the most perfect of perspectives...
The supervillain, however, was nowhere in sight.
Feeling hopeful, the hero walked over to the door and tried it but - of course - it was locked. Their communicator was gone and, upon a brief inspection of the bedside table, the phone was unresponsive. Absently, they wondered which hotel this was - whether the staff here were aware their rooms were being used to hold people captive or if they were completely oblivious to it all. For a second, the hero considered shouting for help but something told them it would just be a waste of their energy: the supervillain was smart, they thought these things through. If they didn't want the hero to leave then the hero was stuck here.
With a sigh, the hero prepared themself for a long wait - about to collapse on the bed before a small envelope on the pillow caught their attention. It was white, sealed with red wax, and had their name neatly inscribed upon the back.
The hero swallowed. They'd been warned about the supervillain's skill for blackmail.
What would theirs be? What secret had the other dug up about them that could possibly bring them to their knees - what threat had they come up with that could make the hero go back on their oath to protect the city that they loved?
Part of them thought that they shouldn't open it but the curiosity was too much to ignore. If someone they cared for was in danger - if they had to choose to act now or forever live with the weight of their choice they had to know, they couldn't just take that risk.
Their fingers shook slightly as they popped the seal, slowly pulling out the letter that was folded neatly within it. The message was short and to the point, the hero's eyes widening as they read it:
Hero,
My henchman have prepared a bath for you - enjoy yourself. I'll collect you for dinner at six.
Supervillain x
P.S. You did well to chase Villain as far as you did, even if Superhero was too stubborn to follow my advice.
Don't be too hard on yourself, love. I know you did your best.
The hero blinked.
They read through it a second time, then a third time. And then they blushed.
If this was the supervillain's version of blackmail then it was certainly unlike any other the hero had come across before...
If your still taking suggestions, could you do one with the hero getting captured by the villain and they are getting beaten and tortured, then the other villain (the one that likes the hero and vise versa) comes to save them?
Btw I love your stories so much!!!
"You do get yourself in the most awkward situations, don't you?"
The hero opened their eyes. It took a moment for their vision to stop wavering and for the villain to come into focus - standing in front of them on the other side of the cell door, almost convincingly at ease. There was a spot of blood on the villain's collar.
The hero had never seen the villain look anything other than immaculate.
It took them another few moments of staring to realise that they probably weren't hallucinating, actually, as the villain got to work untangling the security wards on the door.
"Hi," the hero said.
The villain smiled, a flash of thing that didn't reach the oncoming storm in their eyes. "Hello."
"You took your time."
"Ah, well," they said. "You know how much I like seeing you bloody. I would have missed out if I came sooner."
The hero wheezed a laugh and instantly regretted it. They must have passed out for a second, before when they world unblurred the villain had moved and the door was...
Dust.
There was no door anymore.
The villain's magic roiled seething as they knelt in front of the hero, studying them for a beat.
"Stay with me," the villain said, softer. "You're going to be okay."
The hero swallowed.
The villain dropped their attention to the hero's power-blocking restraints.
It struck the hero then that there should have been guards. The other villain. Some sort of alarm blaring, perhaps. The air was eerily still and the compound deathly quiet except for the hero's ragged breathing.
"Did you kill them?" the hero asked.
"Depends. Are you going to lecture me if I say 'yes'?"
"I don't lecture."
"A stern moral talking to. You don't have the energy for one of those right now, I think."
"Most of them were just doing their jobs. Trying to keep their loved ones safe."
"And most of them," the villain said pleasantly, "died screaming for hurting you." They managed to get one of cuffs off, dropping it with a hiss of pain against the concrete floor. "Rest your voice. You sound awful. Screaming is bad for your throat."
The hero frowned.
The villain moved onto the second set of restraints. Up close, any mirage of being at ease vanished entirely. There were dark circles under their eyes. Their jaw was locked rigid. Their hands were far too steady as they worked.
"I know you came as soon as you could."
"Rest. Your. Voice."
"Thank you."
The villain's gaze cut up to them, blazing. They reached a hand up to trace one of the bruises on the hero's cheek.
"But I still don't think you should have killed them," the hero said.
The villain scoffed, rolling their eyes. Their grip tightened on the hero's jaw, but not quite enough to hurt, before letting go and returning to the restraints.
They came off again soon enough, and the villain hurled them across the room hard enough that they dented a wall.
Power rushed through the hero. It didn't stop the pain, but it did make them feel slightly less like something had been amputated.
The villain's gaze moved over them again.
"I can walk," the hero said.
The villain raised a brow.
"I can limp."
"Mm. If you pass out again, I'm carrying you. And taking photos." The villain offered them an arm, helping them up.
The hero staggered, and the villain's grip tightened on them, steadying them. They made it until a stair jolted them until passing out again.
There were so many photos.
But they were safe. And looked after.
And they knew, every time, that the villain would always come.
The princess watched her jester the way one might watch the stars in the night sky. He struck her with the same wonder as the smear of a bleeding sunset, or the crest of a wave.
His eyes twinkled with mischief, two white diamonds painted on his cheeks. Doing a cartwheel, he straightened just in front of the princess's seat at the head of the table.
She sucked in a soft breath, silverware forgotten with a clatter against her plate.
The jester smiled, holding her gaze. With a twist of his hand, he snapped and revealed a white rose, missing from the table's centerpiece.
The dinner guests murmured their awe, sipping from glittering goblets of wine.
The jester deftly held the flower out to the princess, balancing its stem on the tip of one finger. "Your Highness."
The princess swallowed. She hoped there was no flush to her cheeks as she accepted the rose. When her fingers closed around it, the previously white petals bloomed into a blood red.
The crowd gasped in delight, some displaying their pleasure with dainty claps.
The princess studied the flower, turning it over in her hands, before looking at the jester again.
He tossed her a wink, so brief and privately for her, she could have convinced herself she'd imagined it. He spun away, continuing on with his act.
The jester moved with unmatched fluidity and ease, even as he feigned clumsiness here and there to coax laughs from his willing audience. The princess's eyes never left him for a moment, tracking his every twirl and flip; his every jest, and trick. He was silver-tongued and graceful. Drawing her eye with all the spectacle of a natural phenomenon.
The prince at her side rested a hand over hers, startling her attention away from the jester. The soon-to-be king of a kingdom neighboring her own looked down at her with a slated expression. "I grow bored of these antics, my dear, might we spend a quiet moment alone before retiring to our chambers for the night?"
The princess's excitement wilted, looking at her husband-to-be. She stole a last glance at her jester. Was it her mind playing tricks, or was he watching her even now, through the edge of his gaze, even as his performance carried on?
"Certainly," she answered finally.
The prince rose from his seat, offering her a hand. The princess's fingers closed around his palm as she stood, keeping hold of her rose in her other hand.
He led her away from the tumbling laughs and cheers of the dining hall and down the corridor. The quiet swept the night bare like a creeping tide.
Her heart ached to return to that dining table, to watch her jester dance and jest and tease. So much of her future was decided for her, and even now, the evening did not belong to her.
The two royals stepped out onto the dais, cool air rushing their skin in a velvet caress. The princess had always liked the cold more than most. The air smelled sharp with the promise of snow.
"I know that you are not satisfied with our arrangement," the future king spoke. His voice was different now than it was when he spoke in front of their subjects. It leveled into something a little less diplomatic; less cushion to the blunt teeth of him. "I am to be king and you will be my queen. My father and I have been more than gracious to offer you my hand. For your own kingdom's sake: you would be wise to drag your head down from the clouds and back to the earth where it is... best suited. Under my direction; by my side. You understand, don't you, dearest?"
The princess looked out over the kingdom that was not her own. The rolling hills and valleys twinkled with the village lights beneath a sleeping sky.
"I understand."
"Good. I trust that with time, you will grow to be content here with me." His voice sounded like the color grey. Steely and dull.
"I hope for the same," the princess said in answer.
The king-to-be nodded in her periphery, his fingers slipping from hers. "I bid you goodnight, my dear. Don't stay out too long. You'll catch a chill."
She listened to his footsteps fade.
She stayed on the balcony until the air numbed her face and fingertips. She watched the lazy clouds part, the moon slashing silver light over the world below.
Using its glow, she examined her white-turned-red rose once more.
"Aren't you cold, princess?"
The princess paused, lifting her head. The familiar voice, warm and lilting, seemed to fill the very cracks of her.
"I like the cold," she answered, turning around to face the speaker.
The jester shifted with leisure movements to lean against the rail beside her.
Something sparked in the pit of her belly, to have him so close. If anyone saw... their mere proximity could be considered scandalous.
Still, the princess turned back around, facing the same direction as her jester.
"How did you turn my rose red?" she asked, glancing at him.
The light of the moon highlighted the white diamonds painted over his cheeks as his mouth lifted into a smirk. "You know what they say about magicians and their secrets."
"You are a court jester," she reminded him, "not a magician. Though your tricks are... impressive."
"I impress you, princess?" His smile widened, sly and teasing.
Heat flooded her cheeks and she turned her head to hide it. "I believe that is what I said, yes."
"You didn't see the end of my performance."
Her gaze flicked back to him, eagerness betraying her. His eyes glittered beneath the dance of moonbeams, knowing and patient as he awaited her reply.
The princess's mouth felt slightly dry. "Alright, then."
"Alright?"
"You may... repeat the end of your performance for me."
He clasped his hands in front of him, attention still affixed to her. The amusement was clear on his face. "I may?"
The princess's cheeks burned further. "I only mean- If you should like to. I would... I wouldn't deny you."
The jester took a single step closer, and the princess felt as if all the air had vanished from her lungs. "Would you like to see it?" he pressed gently.
She swallowed. "I... Yes. Please."
"I could do more than that," he spoke softly. "I could get you out of here--for a little while, or for good."
The princess turned away. "Don't be foolish."
He reached out, brazen and delicate all at once, to catch her wrist, spinning her back around. His other hand raised to just barely brush a finger down the line of her jaw.
The world around them flickered in a kaleidoscope of color, then vanished all at once. The princess blinked and they were in her own kingdom's village, her castle towering within sight.
The princess spluttered, trembling, and looked at the jester, her jester. She was gripping his hand. "What-"
He grinned, something else--magic--sparking behind his eyes. "I am afraid being the fool is precisely my job, Princess. Now. Your Highness. Anywhere you'd like to go?"
Everywhere, her heart whispered.
The princess stepped close, looking up at the court jester. A million thoughts wanted to flee the confines of her mouth. She looked around at her kingdom; her home.
"Thank you."
This is unedited bc it's 2:49 am, but I'll probably (maybe) edit it tomorrow :) Yay for pushing through writer's block, are ya proud?
"So why were you acting all weird this morning?" Villain asked as they lounged on the rooftop, gazing at the stars.
"What do you mean? I wasn't acting weird,"
"Yes, you were. We were talking about superhero and you suddenly got quiet and fidgety," they rolled over onto their side, supporting their head with hand as they looked at the other with a raised eyebrow.
"I just had something cross my mind, that's all," they tried to deflect.
"Yes, I could see that, I have eyes believe it or not," villain replied sarcastically, "I'm asking *what* that 'something' was,"
They mumbled something under their breath.
"Pardon?"
The hero groaned, throwing their hands up to cover their face for a moment, "It really isn't that important! Honestly, I barely even remember what it was! Something about-"
"And *that*" villain interrupted, "was too conflicting statements, if you remember enough of it to deem it unimportant," they raised an unimpressed eyebrow.
Having had enough, villain shifted sideways, climbing over the other to straddle their hips and gaze down at their quickly reddening face.
"What are you-" the hero sputtered, stopping when the villain grabbed their wrists, pinning them close to either side of the hero's head and using it to support themselves as they leaned over the hero blow.
Before the hero can attempt to ask what they are doing, the villain leaned down, dragging them into a dizzying kiss.
When they parted, the villain stayed hovering close above them, "What was bothering you, hero? Really?"
Hero blinked, trying to get the motor in their brain running again. Damn villain and their stupid effective disarming tactics.
The hero instinctively went to cover their face again, but their wrists were still being held by the criminal on top of them.
The hero only kept getting redder.
The silence was almost worse than the accusations. Now the villain was simply hovering, their expression somewhere between a genuine gentle smile and an amused grin as their eyes drifted over the hero beneath them. Their eyes wandered as if trying to memorize all the details, tracing every curve and angle of the hero's face so well they could draw it with their eyes closed.
It made the hero's heart roar in their ears. They would never get used to being looked at like that. Like they were worth so much. Worth examining like an art critic might the mona Lisa. Worth the time to savour like you might a really good meal.
That was half the reason hero didn't want to admit what was actually wrong with them this morning, because it was so silly, so juvenile and unimaginable with the way villain was looking at them now. But in the moment...
The hero's thoughts got cut off with another kiss, bottom lip caught between gentle teeth in a way that made them shiver. Their arms strained to reach up and link behind the villain's head, to pull them in for more or at least tangle into their hair.
Based on the way the villain smirked into the kiss, they could feel the hero's arms trying to move. This was torture in its own right, because the villain kept pulling back just enough before the hero could fully catch their lips in their own. Teasing.
"Come on," the criminal cooed when they pulled back slightly, "tell me what I want to know,"
"Or what?" The hero asked, trying to deflect to something, anything else. They would swear up and down that their voice didn't shake while they asked, but they would be also be lying.
"Or you might never fully lose the red tint to your face by the time I'm done with you tonight,"
The hero's face already felt like it was on fire, and that statement, paired with the villain's grin only made it worse. Which had been the intention, of course.
At this point, it seemed like the hero was choosing between embarrassing themselves now, or losing half the night and embarrassing themselves later.
The hero sighed, looking anywhere other than the villain's eyes, "okay, okay, fine- it's just- Iwasjealousofsuperherookay?"
"What was that?" The villain asked innocently.
"I said I was jealous of the way you were talking about superhero," they bit out through grit teeth.
Above them, the villain blinked owlishly, processing what they'd heard, before they burst out laughing. They sat up fully, releasing the hero's arms.
"Don't laugh at me!" The hero snapped self-consciously, "You can't force me to tell you something and then laugh at me! Why do you think I didn't want to tell you in the first place!?"
"No, no, it's not-" the villain replied as their laughter started to die down, "I spent all day so worried it was something terrible, and then you tell me it was just over that,"
Finally, the criminal's chuckles died down, "I mean, don't get me wrong, it *is* absolutely adorable. I didn't know you were so possessive,"
The hero was fairly certain they had never blushed this hard "I'm not... usually,"
The villain gave a light laugh again, "but I can assure you, there's only one hero that's won my affections, and it certainly isn't superhero,"
The hero beneath them simply nodded, feeling silly.
"Stop pouting," the criminal hummed, leaning down to give them another gentle kiss, "and don't feel ashamed either; we're all human," they smirked, "I just happen to have the cutest one pinned underneath me on a rooftop late at night,"
Before they could say anything to fluster them even more, the hero yanked the villain on top of them down for another kiss, for teasing them earlier. They wondered what they were so worried about this morning. Sure, maybe Superhero could fly, but they certainly didn't have *this*.
“I just hit someone with my car.” Civilian nervously twisted at the baby hairs along their forehead as they paced back and forth in front of the prostrate, dark clad figure. “I don’t know what to do?”
“Ok, calm down,” said the voice on the other end of the line patiently. “I need to you to look—“
Civilian’s heart rate spiked, everything spilled out in a panic. “I don’t want to look, I don’t want look, I don’t want—“
“I’m already sending someone your way, but I need to know if they’re breathing.
Civilian squeezed their eyes shut for a couple seconds, but eventually they forced their head toward the body. It was so dark, how were they supposed to tell?
They suddenly recalled their old high school health class. You could put your ear to their mouth and listen for breath, right? Or was it that you could feel it in your ear? Nope, didn’t matter.
Grimacing, they slowly lowered themselves onto hands and knees on the icy asphalt and tilted their ear in the general direction of the victim’s lips.
Steady warmth trickled through their ear canal along with the soft wheeze of a ragged exhale.
“They’re breathing!” Civilian cried. “They’re—“
All at once, strong, sharp nailed fingers wrapped around their jugular, squeezing just hard enough to make breathing a little uncomfortable. The previously unconscious stranger’s eyes gleamed dangerously up at them.
