This blog contains content not suitable for all audiences. Please take note of the trigger warnings and the following symbols:
❗= nsfw
⚡= spicy
Requests are open; feedback and comments are always appreciated 😘💖
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To view all prompts, click here!
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SNIPPETS:
[I’m a Sucker for You]
tw: blood, vampire
Synopsis: a retired supervillain receives a long-expected visit from his vampire ex-nemesis.
[Of Monsters and Mondays]
tw: family issues, implied abuse, religion, arson
Synopsis: a teenage villain origin story: Sam’s life is about to change drastically, but one thing will always remain the same.
[Romanticide]
tw: blood, gore, dead body, serial killer
Synopsis: Crime Scene Photographer explores the villain’s latest murder scene.
⚡[Our Little Games]
Synopsis: you’re the protagonist, playing a game of mutual seduction with the antagonist. To kiss, or not to kiss, that is the question.
⚡[A Game of Patience]
tw: touch starvation
Synopsis: you’re the protagonist, who fell into the antagonist's clutches. Now they'll be taking their sweet time toying with you.
❗[Sexual Harassment]
tw: nsfw, non-con/dub-con (depending on interpretation)
Synopsis: a morally questionable, possessive hero toys with their captive nemesis. The villain has mixed feelings about the situation.
❗[A Deal With the Devil]
tw: nsfw, sex, abuse, non-con, implied self-harm
Synopsis: Villain’s agreement with the warden of the local prison grants them any number of get-out-of-jail cards. But those don’t come free, and the price continues to rise.
[A Not-So-Friendly Reminder]
tw: whump, creepy whumper, strangulation
Synopsis: a terrified villain has an unpleasant encounter with a sadistic, possessive hero who’s all too eager to teach them a lesson.
[Game's Over]
tw: whump, mentions of blood and injuries, implied character death
Synopsis: the hero has one rule. The villain is about to learn what happens to those who disappoint.
[The Perks and Pitfalls of Immortality]
tw: mention of blood, death, and being buried alive
Synopsis: two weeks ago, the hero was murdered by Other Villain. Now he's alive again, and Villain needs answers.
[The Secret to a Happy Marriage]
tw: fire, mild burns
Synopsis: Supervillain gets challenged by a villain who might be a bit too overprotective of their heroic spouse.
[How Not to Interrogate Your Enemy]
tw: kidnapping, drugs
Synopsis: kidnapping Hero was a huge mistake. All Villain has to show for it is regret and a bad headache.
[Miscommunication]
Synopsis: the hero seems to be preferring Other Villain’s company. Villain has a hard time accepting that.
[Beautiful Lies]
Synopsis: when the hero is having a bad time, the villain is being suspiciously sympathetic. Their concern has to be fake… right?
[Shaked]
Synopsis: under the right circumstances, ‘shaked’ is a word. Hero and Sidekick are having the time of their life. Villain is not amused.
[Emergency Contact]
Synopsis: Villain receives an unexpected phone call that interrupts her peaceful tinkering session.
⚡[A Thin Line]
tw: captivity, bondage (could be read as either noncon or consensual kink)
Synopsis: the villain has the protagonist bound and gagged and ready to be toyed with.
[A Room for Two]
Written as a contribution to the 2022 Secret Santa community event!
tw: captivity
Synopsis: an insomniac hero and a lonely villain find themselves locked up together in Supervillain's guest room.
[Once Upon a Christmas Mission]
Written as a contribution to the 2023 Secret Santa community event!
Synopsis: Supervillain gives her second in command a new mission. The job, (un)fortunately, comes with a new teammate.
⚡[Their First Villain]
Written as a contribution to the 2024 Secret Santa community event!
tw: strangulation
Synopsis: the hero finally gets assigned a job outside of the boring office, and immediately finds themself facing a powerful villain.
***
Time After Time (Snippet#4)
The [original] contains ambiguous pov and head-hopping. I rewrote this scene from each character's pov respectively, to improve clarity and character voice.
New versions [hero version] [villain version]
Synopsis: they are not friends anymore, and yet, when the hero is mourning their father’s death, the villain can’t bear to stand idly by.
***
SERIES MASTERLISTS:
Trigger warnings and synopses for the individual chapters of each series can be found on the more detailed series masterlists, accessible via the links below.
[Fame and Flourish] (Snippet#2)
Series synopsis: the popular, undefeated, and lonely hero meets a curious villain with a carefree attitude and a tendency to overshare.
[Renegade Rescue Squad]
Series synopsis: sometimes, even villains are in dire need of medical assistance. Fortunately, an unusual emergency crew is on call.
[Choice Misfits]
Series synopsis: a year ago, Former Villain joined the Hero Agency. Their truce with the other heroes rests largely on mutual avoidance whenever possible – until the new sidekick disrupts the peace.
[Sharing is Caring]
Series synopsis: Hero is missing a few days here, a few days there. Memory gaps would be upsetting enough, but then they learn that during their blackouts someone else is taking control of their body.
This story belongs to a larger series featuring the same Hero and Villain characters. For a list of all parts, in chronological order, check out:
[Masterlist: Fame and Flourish]
Synopsis: Hero is confronted with the reality of Villain's profession. Villain's methods, however, sure come as a surprise.
tw: queerphobic side character
Hero had been so naïve.
They’d had two mostly positive interactions with Villain. Two. – Two wasn’t even a pattern. And yet that’s all it had taken for them to start assuming … What? That Villain was their friend? No. Definitely not that. But maybe … friendly? Harmless like the mayor had suggested. Fun. Someone safe. Safe-adjacent.
That Villain was somehow on Hero’s side despite being what they were: one of the villains, small-time or no. And they hadn’t even tried to hide it. No lies, no promises, no clever misdirection. So how had Hero deluded themself into assuming Villain wouldn’t do anything … villainous?
Yeah, it really did sound stupid.
Hero of all people should have known better. Feeling betrayed now, when all the cards had been on the table all along, had got to be the pinnacle of stupidity.
And how the police were handling – or, in this case, not handling – the situation didn’t improve Hero’s mood in the slightest as they climbed over yet another trunk of yet another fallen tree and continued stomping through dense undergrowth, trying to keep the trees’ lower-hanging branches from snagging on their hair and ruining their French braid.
After almost an hour of tedious searching, Hero found the place.
The clearing stretched out before them, sunbathed and serene. A fairy tale film set. Like Hero’s meandering through the woods had accidentally led them somewhere beyond reality. An otherworldly oasis where tree stumps formed natural tables, wider on top than where they met the earth, with massive roots conveniently protruding from the surrounding mossy ground as if extending an invitation for passers-by to take a seat. Insects buzzed, birds sang, a small stream gurgled in the background. A solitary, ancient-looking, crooked willow tree sat enthroned at the centre of the clearing.
Leaning against its gnarly trunk stood Villain. So perfectly at home haloed by golden autumn light and the rustle of windswept leaves. A forest spirit. A fay creature.
As if they could sense the intrusion into their realm, Villain turned and, with a startling immediacy, their gaze fixed on Hero. Their face went through a flurry of expressions in quick succession, from stunned surprise to blank incomprehension to, ultimately, a dazzling smile.
“Oh, hey Hero!” Villain called out then, in a tone suggesting this was a casual meeting and they hadn’t just forced Hero to comb through half the park’s sizeable arboretum in order to find them. “What are you doing all the way out here?”
“Me? Seriously?! What do you think you’re doing? The police said you’ve got hostages.”
Villain said, “uh, yeah? But … I wasn’t expecting you. I can’t believe they called you in for that.”
(The police had not actually called them in for that. Hero just so happened to have run into the, in their opinion, too small group of officers assigned to the case earlier, and had decided to join their search. That Villain apparently hadn’t expected Hero to show up for this any more than the police officers had, irked them. As if this operation was somehow beneath Hero and no one could believe they would care to participate.)
They stopped what seemed a safe distance and then some away from Villain, just in case, and opened their mouth to tell them that—
“Whoa! Your mask!” Villain interrupted, smirking. “Heh. Looks like eyeliner.”
Hero bristled, instinctively. They barely stopped themself from taking an abrupt step backwards.
Why did every bit of scrutiny have to affect them so? Why couldn’t they just be cool, and not let themself be influenced or feel threatened by what other people might think or say?
They reminded themself of this spark of pure joy they’d felt when they’d applied the paint, the pride warming their chest as they’d checked the results in the mirror, how they’d vowed they wouldn’t get defensive or self-conscious later, that they were fine just the way they were, and that what felt right was right, and nobody would ruin it for them this time.
It was fine. They were fine.
Yes, the swipes of green on their mask resembled eyeliner. Yes, they’d deliberately drawn them directly below the eye holes to create that very effect. Yes, they did think the dual swirls of lime-green and pine-green made them look cute, thank you very much.
No, it wasn’t girly. No, it didn’t invalidate their identity.
And if they felt this stab of panic telling them otherwise whenever someone so much as glanced their way, they’d just have to keep reminding themself that this was nothing but their own internalised transphobia speaking. They were working on that and they could – would! – unlearn it.
“I told you your outfit needed some colour.” Villain’s smirk had widened to a proper grin, grown so very smug around the edges. They’d stepped a little closer still. “And now look at you.”
Immediately, Hero felt extra stupid again.
It was a compliment. Not a taunt. Not even teasing.
(Perhaps a tiny bit of teasing.)
Coming from Villain, it couldn’t be anything but a compliment. Adding highlights to Hero’s costume had been their idea after all. And Villain of all people wouldn’t mock anyone for a fleck of paint that looked like eyeliner. If anything, they’d sooner judge Hero for a lack of self-expression.
Villain, too, was out as non-binary and used they/them pronouns. And while Hero was clearly still struggling with the proud part of out and proud. Villain had no such limitations.
Weirdly, both of them seemed to aspire to androgyny. But whereas Hero had always aimed for an inconspicuous, palatable neutrality, Villain adorned themself with flashy colours and strangely intriguing campy fashion:
Today, Villain had donned a more practical outfit. Instead of their velvet coat and the figure-enhancing pants, they’d combined a long-sleeved grey cropped jean jacket with tie-dye cloth dungarees in vibrant shades ranging from sun-glow yellow to auburn orange. The dungarees’ colours paired with the fern pattern embroidered on top with thick silver thread created a certain autumn-forest camouflage effect that Hero strongly suspected was intentional. At about mid-calf, the trouser legs were tucked into lilac lace-up boots that, unlike the heeled ones from last week, actually looked like they were made for walking.
Villain’s equally lilac metallic lipstick contrasted nicely with the medium brown of their skin and complimented that bold shade of mermaid-blue Villain had dyed their hair.
They’d also replaced their golden mask with a silver one (though Hero couldn’t recall enough details to determine whether the design was the same or merely similar). Underneath the mask, Villain’s hazel eyes gleamed almost amber against the violet eyeshadow on their lower eyelids as they caught the light just right.
Which coincided with the exact instance Hero realised they’d spaced out and openly stared at Villain for an indeterminate amount of time. They quickly dropped their gaze.
After a moment, Villain’s head tilted. “No, really, I mean it: the green suits you. Brings out your eyes. I like what you did there with the darker green against the white and the lighter green layered on top to increase the contrast against the black.”
Somewhere out of sight, somebody coughed in that peculiar way of someone trying to hold in laughter and subsequently choking on it. Another person snickered in response.
Hostages. Right. They were here because of the hostages.
They crossed their arms over their chest and tried to channel their earlier disappointment and anger, with less than lukewarm success.
“I know I look nice,” they dared, feeling profoundly embarrassed and hoping it wouldn’t show on their face. “You can stop trying” – and succeeding – “to distract me with flattery. I’m here for the hostages.”
“Over here! Hi,” a voice – young, feminine, unexpectedly upbeat – called from the part of the clearing currently hidden from Hero’s view by the drooping branches of that gigantic willow tree.
They kept their gaze fixed on Villain’s shoes to avoid the possibility of accidentally making eye contact again as they circled slowly around the clearing to a better vantage point. Then, they looked up and stopped short, staring once more – this time, at the hostages.
Surprisingly, the entire situation seemed to be very much under control and unlikely to suddenly escalate.
(Just as the officer in charge had suggested when she’d briefed Hero and told them she doubted her team would need any assistance. They’d been indignant then. Now they were equal parts relieved and annoyed to find she had been correct in her irresponsible assessment.)
They felt entirely, though not altogether unpleasantly, confused. But no longer betrayed. No longer like they’d been robbed of something fresh and fragile that hadn’t had a chance to be much at all yet, but which they had – against their better judgement and in a moment of weakness – hoped might grow into something … meaningful.
Not that there could ever be a real connection between them and any of the villains. They knew that much. Even though duty, responsibility, and common sense had temporarily slipped their mind at Villain’s general lack of aggression and open hostility, Villain could not become their friend. At best, Hero could hope for one less enemy.
Either way, they couldn’t afford to let their guard down.
Right. They had to pull themself together and do their job.
“I— I really don’t know what I was expecting, but this is … not it.” They sighed, resigned. Nothing about this made any sense. They made a broad gesture encompassing the whole scene. “Honestly. I have no idea what this is, but I am here and it seems you do have hostages and I’m afraid I’ll have to arrest you. I don’t suppose you’ll come peacefully?”
Villain pouted. “Do you really have to?”
“Yes.”
“It’s just, I feel like today’s not a getting-arrested kind of day, you know. Much too nice out here. Unusually warm too for early November. This is probably the last pleasantly warm weekend we’ll get until spring. Wouldn’t arresting me be such a waste of a potentially great evening? Weather forecast says temperatures are going to drop starting tomorrow.
“No, no,” Villain concluded. “I’d say, all signs point toward a bit of sunbathing and a little tittle-tattle over a nice hot cup of tea and some snacks. So, how about it? You in?”
Granted, it was a really nice day. And it was unusually mild for the season. And the weather forecast had promised a cold front. But as far as excuses went, this was simply ridiculous.
And just like that Villain had them laughing again, despite everything.
“Is that why you’re making your hostages … have a picnic?”
“Well, I need them to be here; I don’t need them to be scared and miserable, or to get dehydrated and go hungry.” They turned to a group of four teenagers lounging on a checked-patterned blanket and nibbling on sandwiches. The kids were gawking – though more at Hero than at Villain (yikes) – and whispering among each other (double yikes). Villain waved to get their attention. “Yo, Antonio and co! How are you holding up over there? Got everything you need?”
One of the picnic’s unwilling participants waved back shyly. Another held up a mug in one hand and gave a thumbs up with the other. The third kid made a rude gesture and was immediately admonished by the fourth. Each of them had something that looked like interwoven strands of thin tree roots slung around one ankle to keep them from wandering off. None of them looked particularly traumatised.
A little to the side lay four BMX bikes. A dirt path with some ramps was barely visible through the columns of trees on the other side of the clearing.
Over by another one of those odd table-shaped tree stumps, an unkempt older man sat chuckling while the equally dishevelled woman next to him chugged apple juice straight from a carton. When he noticed Hero looking their way, he raised his hand – he only had the one – in a quick greeting. The woman didn’t acknowledge them. Neither of these two was bound by root shackles. Huh.
“See,” Villain said, self-satisfied. “No harm done. My hostages are doing great. I’m taking good care of them. They almost don’t want to not be here.”
“Uh-huh. What about this guy then?”
A collective groan from the assembled onlookers.
“Ah yeah,” Villain agreed. “Except that guy.” That guy being a middle-aged man in a dark suit currently tied with a wild tangle of vines to a tree a little aside from the rest of the group. He glowered at Villain from behind square glasses and Villain glowered back. “Unfortunately, I had to put Bob over there into timeout for, among other things, throwing a sandwich at me. And don’t you glare at me, Bob, you know you started this.”
Hero took a deep breath, let it out again. “I don’t suppose you’ll let Bob down if I ask nicely?”
“Not a chance.”
“Right. Could you at least … ungag him then?”
Another collective sound of disapproval.
Villain grimaced. “I would strongly advise against that.”
One of the teenagers mumbled “same” under their breath.
(At this point Hero did kind of regret not having listened to the lazy police officers. And how come the police still hadn’t arrived at the scene?)
They forced themself to say, “please.”
Villain shrugged. “All right. Fine. But don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.”
Immediately that thicker, woodier length of vine wedged between the man’s teeth loosened. He spit it out.
“My name isn’t Bob,” apparently-not-Bob complained.
Villain rolled their eyes. “Well, if you’d told me your name when I asked, maybe I—”
“Fuck you!”
Yup. All right. Should have listened. Gag should have stayed in.
Villain shot Hero their best what did I just tell you? look.
The man kept screeching, spittle flying from his mouth, “I didn’t start shit!”
“Oh, get over yourself and grow some common decency. As you are well aware, there are people on the brink of starvation in this city, Mr. Fuck You. Wasting food is disrespectful.”
The one-armed man with the scruffy beard nodded along and added a quiet “yeah, man. ’s not cool.”
Not-Bob turned his attention to Hero. “And what are you just standing there for? Will you do something already?! Do I look like I’ve got time for this crap. I have places to be. Arrest that fucking twink and free me!”
Villain calmly informed him, “that word isn’t nearly as insulting as you think it is.”
A nasty sneer spread on the man’s lips. “Cock sucking. Tranny. Fa—”
“WILL YOU,” one of the teenagers screamed back, “shut the fuck up already. ASSHOLE.”
For a moment, even the birds fell silent.
Villain turned their attention back to Hero, with a saccharine smile on their lips that only half reached their eyes. “So, anyway, in my defence – as Mil kindly pointed out, and I’m sure you’ve gathered yourself – that guy is a corporate ass-face with no moral backbone or integrity who’s got a heap of dog turd for a brain, and whenever he opens his mouth the only thing that comes out is hot air reeking of fart.”
Several someones snorted. Mil whooped.
The corporate ass-face went so red it was fair to assume he might start popping blood vessels any second now. But he didn’t say anything else because the moment he opened his mouth Hero shot him the darkest warning look they could manage. Thankfully, the man got the hint. Because otherwise Hero would have had no choice but to ask Villain to put that gag back, and they’d rather not face the awkwardness of making such a request.
“I do see your point,” Hero told Villain, wearily. “But that isn’t going to stop me from arresting you.”
“Hate to break it to you, superstar,” Villain said, mouth curving into a lopsided sneer. “In order to arrest me, you’d have to catch me first.”
Hah, sweet. Now this fell perfectly within the bounds of the usual script. This type of conversation Hero knew exactly how to handle.
“Oh? You don’t think I can?”
“I don’t think you will.”
“I’m fast.”
“Not that fast.”
“We’ll see.”
“No. We won’t.”
They both sprang into action at the same time. Hero dashed across the clearing; Villain spun around and fled into the woods.
Hero was undoubtedly the faster runner. At least out in the open. But Villain had been right: they weren’t nearly fast enough. They would have had to catch Villain during those first three seconds when they were both still in the clearing.
They understood the pointlessness of the chase as soon as they’d passed between the first row of trees. Roots immediately attempted to trip them up. Vines and brambles snatched at them, tried to ensnare their feet, slowing them down further. Low-hanging tree branches whipped down into their path to obscure their view of their surroundings to the point where they might as well have been staggering blindly through thick fog.
Less than two minutes into the pursuit, Hero had to admit defeat.
Hey! I hope you’re doing well. I was just about to ask you if you had plans to continue the series Fame and Flourish when I saw that someone else asked you the exact the same question and I’m so happy to know that we’re going to get more stories! I finished reading the series a few days ago and you have no idea how much I love it, Villain has such a likable personality, I love the dynamic between them and Hero, and I find Hero so relatable, it was impossible not to love those two. Reading Fame and Flourish was definitely a fun, heartwarming (the way Villain cares about Hero and is so respectful towards them is so sweet! The same goes for when Hero confessed how they feel about Villain in the last chapter <3) and personal experience to me. Anyway, you said you wanted to know which scenes we would be more interested in reading, and personally I think all of your ideas are amazing and I would be happy to read anything you decide to post, but if I had to pick a specific scene, then I guess it would be Villain meeting Hero’s family, their background story, how Villain and Hero manifested their powers and their conversation about powers and trauma, and something more introspective from Villain’s pov because I would love to know what goes on inside their mind and how they feel :) anyway, I hope you have a good day!
Hey there! Thank you for your sweet message and the feedback regarding which scenes for Fame & Flourish would be most appreciated!! Fills me with joy to hear you love the story and those characters so much 💜💜💜
More parts are definitely coming! But it's been a while since my initial response to @luluthespectator's ask.
I don't have a great excuse for the delay. I spent a lot of time with family, and then I honestly just got super distracted between Amazon offering me 3 gratis months of Kindle Unlimited (which I promptly had to cram 38 additional books into because I'm apparently insane; and I'm saying 'additional' because I've also been reading other books as well) and my two-and-a-half new vaguely related book hyperfixations.
So, as for a proper update on my actual progress:
I went through all my notebooks, note-taking apps, etc. and collected everything related to Fame & Flourish, then heroically waged war against the overwhelming chaos.
I'm gradually digitising all hand-written notes. I've done some editing on existing scenes and wrote drafts for a couple new ones.
Most importantly, I've mapped out key scenes along a timeline and approximately figured out which to prioritise based on what and how much context they provide for others. I've identified three equally important main priorities:
1. establishing early dynamic between Hero and Villain.
2. establish changed dynamic during team-up.
3. advancing the fake-dating plot line.
I'll be working on all of those objectives simultaneously.
At the top of my current agenda are:
1. Hero's and Villain's next interaction(s) shortly after First Impressions.
2. Hero and Villain during the team-up, working together to stop a hostage situation in an office building.
3. (and I'm not yet 100% sure I even want this to exist) a light-hearted, fun interlude between Favours Among Frenemies and the visit to Hero's family's place. Basically, one of Villain's friends (one we haven't met so far) would unexpectedly turn up at Villain's place and find them 'secretly' hanging out with Hero.
And if editing goes well, I'll have something new up before the end of the week 🦎🌹
I really like your Fame and Flourish series! I’ve been procrastinating on exam studying this week (unfortunately), and I was inspired to make a little drawing of Hero and Villain. I’m not an artist, and I doubt this lines up with how you imagine them, but I thought I’d share it anyway :)
I cannot express in words how much I LOVE this!!!
Thank you! Thank you so much for sharing this with me. I'm going to treasure it. I'll have some fancy photo shop print this out for me on high quality paper and then I'll frame it and put it up on my wall (you think I'm kidding but I'm not); that's how much I adore this!
Like, wdym I have FANART now?????? 👀💖✨
It's like you casually walked over, stabbed a sparkling rainbow syringe into my arm, and injected VALIDATION straight into my bloodstream!!!!!
Seeing your version of the characters was super exciting. And it got me thinking too.
I actually do have a weirdly specific image in mind for Villain (one I've spent a decent amount of time trying to recreate in various picrews over the years. Though, oddly enough, I got the most satisfying result so far from playing around with BG3's character generator).
Hero, on the other hand, I realised I hadn't really pictured at all yet. At best, I'd had a few vague ideas in mind, and those don't revolve around concrete physical details but rather vibes and abstract impressions: How they smile. Body language. When, why, and how they make eye contact despite disliking it. Stuff like that.
So when I first saw your version of Hero (and omg, their body language is perfect!!) my brain did this little double-take of "huh" and "interesting" and "well, that's not not what Hero looks like" and...
You know what? That is Hero. That's how I picture them now.
Will have to work a couple physical descriptions of them into my future Fame & Flourish content. The next parts will also include additional descriptions of Villain's eccentric styling choices, because they aren't nearly crazy enough yet and I've got so many fun ideas 😁
Btw, a little update: the next part of F&F is almost done, and I'm working on a couple more parts simultaneously. I should have something ready to be posted before the end of the week 🦎🌹
oh my gosh I cannot fucking believe this!!! Just got a message from my birthplace's registry office; seems like my name and gender marker change have been approved today 🎉🎉
my real name is now officially my legal name!!!!!
the registry office sent that message addressed to my real name; no "Herr" or "Frau" either
and I'm gonna have a passport with MY NAME on it!!!!!!
I'm literally squealing over here. this is the Best Birthday Ever
Hello, I hope you have a nice day. I came across your stories from Fame and Flourish.
Needless to say I absolutely loved everything about this series. I love the eccentricity of the villain and the fact that they’re still caring too. I can’t exactly relate but I understand the hero’s struggle.
It’s so refreshing to see such a good relationship between a hero and a villain.
I wonder if you have other stories about them in store? Will you make Villain actually meet Hero’s family?
If you don’t plan on doing that I understand and I hope you’ll have fun writing whatever you want to write.
Hey there!! Hope you're having a great day as well 😃 So sweet of you to message. Makes me happy that you're enjoying this story and those characters so much ^^
And, yes actually!! There are a bunch of half-finished stories sitting somewhere on my computer (plus several pages in my notebook of concept notes, scene outlines, and rough dialogue snippets) featuring these two. Some scenes are almost done, mostly written out but in need of editing; others are still very much in the early concept stage or still live entirely within my head.
But there is a lot. Even though I haven't posted as much as I have for some other projects, Fame and Flourish is definitely among the stories I've been most invested in. The characters are very dear to me and I've always wanted to revisit their story at some point (which might as well be now).
Thank you, for reminding me! 💚
Villain meeting Hero's family is among the things I plan on exploring.
Further items on the agenda are: some background information for both characters (there's a scene in first person narration of the day Villain manifested their powers, which I was planning on working into another snippet miniseries, perhaps during the visit to Hero's family's place, where Hero and Villain talk about powers and trauma ... though I might change that scene to third person narration, not sure yet);
scenes of Villain interacting with their (very much existing and really lovely) friends;
scenes from during Hero's and Villain's team up (in particular, one from Hero's pov of another vulnerable key moment that shaped their view of who Villain is as a person);
more scenes from the beginning of their acquaintance, where Villain is actually 'working' and not merely dropping by to just chat;
something more introspective from Villain's pov;
another scene from Villain's pov of their last conversation with Hero a couple weeks prior to the events in Favours Among Frenemies;
and maybe scenes featuring Vigilante too (I've got a half-finished spin-off snippet featuring two of the city's other villains ... bonding over one of Vigilante's little power-fantasy 'punishment' games. Really tame though; sounds much worse than it is. Basically, it's Vigilante accidentally, or not so accidentally, who knows, playing matchmaker xD)
Lots of stuff, really. Hard to choose what to work on first 😅 Is there anything in particular (from the above list or otherwise) you'd be especially interested in reading? Can't promise that's where I'll start, but I sure wouldn't mind some feedback/input 😉
tw: nsfw (could be consensual kink or noncon. whatever best floats y'all's boats)
"Shivering in anticipation, are you? Cute."
The villain threw one of those poison-sweet smirks their way as they circled behind the chair the protagonist was strapped to, bound and gagged.
"What was it again? Something, something, fear and arousal."
The villain stopped right behind them, looming, out of sight.
"Such a thin line indeed."
The villain leaned in until their breath fanned warm against the protagonist's cheek. Gentle hands touched down on their shoulders, caressed down their shackled arms.
"Like the one between hatred and love."
Soft lips brushed the shell of their ear. The villain's voice had dropped to a saccharine whisper. It made them shudder anew.
"Disgust and desire."
A kiss to their temple.
"Punishment and reward."
A nip of teeth on their neck, teasing.
"Pain and pleasure."
The sudden bite of the villain's sharp nails digging into their forearms.
They made an embarrassing sound in response, somewhere between a scoff and a whimper. The villain chuckled.
"Horror," the villain murmured, reverential, as if uttering a prayer, against the crook of the protagonist's neck, "and holiness."
Throughout the rest of the night, the villain demonstrated, by means of tongue, lips, teeth, and fingertips, just how thin a line there could be between sacrilege and worship.
Secret Santa snippet for @kaiwewi! I hope you like it!
Prompt: A hero and a villain team up to confront a civilian who's writing an insane amount of fanfiction about them
918 words
"Well, hello there."
Civilian jumps at the voice in their ear. The seductive, sultry, melodical tone that fills the videos in the corner of their laptop screen.
They spin around.
Villain's lounging against the doorway, a smirk on his face.
"Am I interrupting something?"
Civilian swallows nervously. "No. No, nothing at all." As Villain shifts slightly, they slam a hand down on their laptop, abruptly remembering its contents. "Can I– can I help you with something?"
"Maybe. You're Civilian, correct?"
Civilian gulps, nods. Villain knows them by name. Why?
There's a low chuckle from someone behind him. Civilian flinches, then feels themself heat up at the absurdity of the reaction. It's just a laugh.
"Stop scaring the civilian, Villain." Hero sounds amused as they push their way past Villain, coming to stand by Civilian's window. Civilian doesn't miss how this covers both of their exits.
Them working together is near-unheard-of in public, but Civilian makes a mental note to include it in something later.
Hero smiles disarmingly.
"Hello, Civilian. How are you doing?"
Civilian swallows.
"Um. Hi. I'm fine."
"Good, good. You're panicking. Don't. We just want a quick word."
"Um. Okay. What about?" They want to deny their feelings but Hero will know. Empathic powers. It's the source of their emotions, all the confessions...
Hero's blinding smile drops into something much more serious, and Civilian's stomach plummets with it. Oh shit. Oh shit. What have they done?
"Your writing habits."
"More specifically, where they regard us." The 'us' is punctuated by a flash of white teeth.
Civilian tries to inch out of their seat, though they know there's no hope against Villain. Maybe they can get closer to Hero...
Villain places a hand down on the table beside them, blocking their exit, and just stares. Somehow, that's the most menacing thing he could do.
"It's just a hobby!" they burst out, babbling. "I just– I just like to write, I don't mean anything by it!"
Villain rolls his eyes and opens up the laptop, scrolling through the open tabs.
"Videos. More videos. Ooh look, a forum. And your *word document*. I wonder what you're writing now."
He bends over to look closer, humming. Civilian wants to sink into the floor. Better still, into the centre of the Earth and scrub this night from their memories entirely.
Hero crosses their arms.
"Villain. *Behave.*"
Villain sighs, but draws back, looking mutinous. In a dim corner of their mind, Civilian wonders what the arrangement was. Neither seems happy with it.
"I– I can stop. If you really want me to."
Villain opens their mouth, receives a glare from Hero, shuts it with a snap. Despite what they said, Civilian starts to make mental notes of all of this, all the minute body language and conversation between them, because this– this could really up the realism. Make everything in their writing so much more real. And it fits so well! They're so accurate!
"It's your private life," begins Hero, "and what you do with it is your own affair. Really, this shouldn't be any of our business, except people just have to keep showing us." A fact Civilian knew, and has never been sure what to think about, but one look at both faces and it's– it's definitely bad. "And wow. You write so much. So–"
"What do you see in us?"
Civilian stares. So does Hero, looking thrown. Civilian is suddenly, 100% certain that this wasn't part of the plan.
"Villain..."
Villain ignores them. "You're by far the most prolific writer. So why do you do it? What do you see? Besides the whole 'enemies-to-lovers' thing, which is ridiculous if that's your only reason, by the way, there's way better tropes out there."
Civilian swallows, throat dry. What do they say? The truth? A lie about it being a joke? Hero would probably see through that. What if their reasons aren't good enough, will Villain kill them? No, no, Hero wouldn't allow that. Would they?
"Stop looking like I'm the last thing you'll ever see and tell me."
Hero rolls their eyes. "I won't let him kill you. Melodramatic much."
Right. Right. No deaths. Not that Hero's words are very reassuring.
"You um. You're always fighting each other. And I mean, you're nemeses but Villain doesn't fight anyone else. You once waited three hours for Hero to turn up, just repelling everyone else with a forcefield, because you wanted a 'proper fight'. You send each other Valentine's Day gifts, and okay they're not what one might call traditional courting gifts, but still. Villain, whenever you're injured Hero avoids hitting that spot, even though it'd be an easy win, and Hero, you always go slow when Villain's ill. There's footage. And when was the last time you monologued for anyone but Hero, Villain? Your displays for everyone else are lackluster in comparison. You clearly enjoy each other's company at the very least. And I know that could all be platonic but just... it's fun to imagine... and..." Civilian trails off uncertainly as the tips of Hero's ears, the only thing visible under their mask, turn bright pink and they rush out of the room.
"Do not move one inch," growls Villain, not even ensuring Civilian will obey before running after Hero.
New writing ideas chase themselves around Civilian's mind, but only as an undercurrent now. Is this real. Is this really, actually, real?
They pinch themself. Ow.
And another thing.
How long is it going to be until Villain gets back?
I LOVE IT!! This is everything I hoped it would be 😍💖
Soooo, the vibe I get from the villain is he's secretly a fan. He's so reading the civilian's work all the time. He's probably mostly there to get a sneak-peek of what they're working on, to stop the hero from ruining it, and to provide the civilian with new inspiration. When he says there are way better tropes than enemies-to-lovers, he has a list in mind and he's going to share it with them later 😂😏
Secret Santa gift for @the-modern-typewriter
Prompt: "Scary villain x hero in a Christmas setting of your [the writer's] choice. Could go spicy, could go whumpy, could go unexpectedly sweet!"
Hope you like this! Merry Christmas!! 🎅🎁
“You recognised me,” the villain observes, his tone unnaturally flat. His face betrays no emotion.
“Kinda hard not to, with your…” – the hero tilts their head at where the villain’s magic continues to spread, coiling around their limbs and securely fixing them in place – “…snake thingies?”
The individual tendrils really do vaguely resemble snakes, although the magic in its entirety reminds them more of some writhing alien monster plant from an old Sci-fi B-movie whose title they cannot remember. It’s not a good comparison anyway. The movie hadn’t been scary at all.
They experimentally try to wrestle one of their arms free, but despite the magic’s apparent fluidity, the moment they push or pull in any direction, whatever give appeared to be there all but disappears and they can’t move a millimetre.
“Oh.” The villain’s eyes widen. “You can see it.”
“See it. Feel it. Didn’t expect it to be this hot.”
An awkward pause follows.
They are decidedly not blushing. It’s just warm. All of them is so warm now that the villain’s powers have moulded themselves around the hero like something liquid but alive. Wherever the tendrils touch bare skin – their ungloved hands and that area just above their ankles where their pants don’t quite meet the rims of their boots – the raw energy buzzes, prickles just short of stinging.
They’d been shivering just minutes ago in their much too thin poncho and the not seasonally appropriate Agency office uniform. Well, they still are shivering, just no longer from the cold.
Where the villain’s magic is fever-hot, his scrutiny runs icy.
“You can see it, but not fight it,” he muses. “How curious. The Agency must be understaffed to send their defenceless little office drones out into the field.”
The hero would be glaring if the villain weren’t underscoring the point by pulling his magic tighter with the mere flick of a finger. That small, anxious sound that escapes them in response brings a self-satisfied grin to the villain’s lips.
“It’s Christmas,” the hero says, once the magic has settled again.
The villain raises a brow.
“Most of the regulars are on holiday, Christmas being a time best spent with family … or so I’m told.”
“Yet you are working.”
“Don’t have anyone.” They aren’t technically without family just … Sometimes, family isn’t a place of refuge and welcome. Not a home to turn to for holiday celebrations or company. Some families fashion themselves exclusive clubs with strict rules that refuse or revoke memberships as they please. The hero forces some levity into their tone. “I have nowhere else to be today, so, I’m helping out here.”
The villain chuckles. “Helping is perhaps not what I would call that.”
“Hey, I did recognise you,” they say, defensively.
“And look where that got you.” His smile is sharper than before, meaner. “Am I your first villain? My heartfelt condolences.”
They don’t dignify that with an answer. But the answer is yes. The villains they watched being interrogated through one-way mirrors at HQ don't count.
“Pity,” the villain says with zero warmth, “that you couldn’t just look the other way. What is it with you people that you're always so eager to cause unnecessary conflict.”
“Reporting suspicious behaviour is kind of my job.” It comes out barely above a whisper and carries the distinct cadence of an apology.
“Ah yes, and my mere existence struck you as suspicious behaviour because …”
Admittedly, once they’d recognised the villain, they hadn’t taken the time to consider his appearance beyond the magic he’d been wearing around his shoulders like a particularly weaponizable scarf. The lack of a combat suit in favour of a sleek, dark coat over a woollen jumper and cargo joggers – either an outfit designed to blend in or just what the villain happens to like to wear when he isn’t working – hadn’t registered any more than the total absence of weaponry other than his powers. And while he could have hidden those better, it’s not like he could have simply left them at home.
There hadn’t been time to ponder. It had all happened so fast. Their eyes had met, and a moment later the hero had already been scrambling away from the crowd, past a stall selling mulled wine and into the nearest alley, where they’d scrolled through their contacts with stiff, unfeeling fingers. The villain had caught up with them before they’d managed to call for backup.
Their gaze darts to the remnants of their smashed phone, sprinkled across the muddy snow, mere metres away but entirely useless even if they could reach it.
What if the villain hadn’t had anything nefarious planned? What if the hero’s brain had naturally jumped to the most prejudiced conclusion all on its own?
Of course, it is unfair to treat his mere presence as if it is a crime. But the things he could do ...
They think about the parents with their cameras, filming their ice-skating children, the squealing toddlers on the merry-go-round, the nice old ladies selling tea out of the back of a car.
“You could be a danger to all those innocent people,” they defend their judgement.
“And you could be a danger to me,” the villain replies coolly. “Would be unwise, letting someone roam free who can pick me out of a crowd with a glance. Perhaps I should thank you for revealing yourself. Very ill-advised. But quite convenient. You were so obvious about it, too.”
He has crossed the distance between them while speaking. Close enough now to reach out and tuck an unruly strand of hair behind their ear with his cold, slender fingers. His other hand settles almost gently on their throat, atop the magic that has slivered around their neck at some point during the conversation.
The tip of a new tendril is in the process of worming its way lower, nestling into the collar of their shirt. It laps against the crook of their neck and they cringe away from the touch as much as the magic allows. It doesn’t hurt. It would be so much easier if it did. The touch is light; it kind of tickles and, given the overall direness of the situation, the hero really isn’t in the mood for that. Or, they shouldn’t be.
Unhelpfully, their traitorous mind supplies them with a thoroughly inappropriate image of what else someone who isn’t the enemy could be doing to them with magic such as this.
“Tell me,” the villain says as the power shifts upwards, tilting their chin back with the movement, so his nails can bite into the newly exposed skin below their jaw, “is there anything else troublesome about you, or is it just the eyes?”
He looks most pleased when their breath hitches despite their best efforts to remain stoic. His grip tightens. He’s studying them intently, staring at their eyes like those are priced gems he considers adding to his collection.
Maybe, underneath the mockery, he actually does consider them somewhat of a threat. If he didn’t, why would he be looking at them like that.
It’s stupid, truly and utterly stupid, to feel flattered. This is not respect, they know, just sharp, calculating consideration. His attention promises imminent danger, might turn lethal at any second. It’s not something they should revel in. Still, it feels good, too – being seen.
Has anyone ever really seen them before?
Or perhaps that is the lack of oxygen speaking.
They struggle to focus their vision but all the twinkling Christmas lights in the trees are starting to smudge into dull, red and golden blurs. Vertigo is clawing at them.
There is absolutely nothing they can do against the villain's grip. They're so pitifully out of their depth.
They think about their bland, only half-furnished two-room apartment; their first day at the Agency HQ; their nth day – no more eventful than the first – sitting at the exact same desk in the exact same office and working on the exact same old computer; their colleagues’ looks of pity when their 14th application for a transfer to field work is being denied and their boss tells them, in stern admonishment, that their skill sets just aren’t suited to solo missions. They think about her condescending smile when she finally does assign them the Christmas market job, clearly convinced the worst thing that could possibly happen here is people getting drunk enough on punch to start throwing punches.
They think of their first split-second impression of the villain as just another guy standing by the ice rink with a cup of something steaming in his hands and a mellow, unguarded smile curving his lips.
They hope this montage doesn’t count as their life flashing before their eyes. It’s way too sad a summary of their depressing lack of accomplishments.
They think, with equal parts age-old bitterness and new-found sarcastic vindication, about their colleagues’ infantile, unofficial, end-of-the-year office rankings where flashier heroes with more impressive abilities always receive titles such as most likely to hook up with a hot reporter or most epic battle or best one-liners.
Meanwhile, all the hero has to show for are three consecutive wins of least likely to die on the job.
Which might have been a reassuring sentiment if it weren’t so clearly code for “you’ll never be a real hero”. Real heroes risk their lives on the job all the time.
Well, look at them now!
Will their colleagues manage to come up with a new title for them in time, they wonder, if the villain kills them now, just a week before this year’s poll results will be released?
Most unexpected death has a nice ring to it.
They should be trembling in terror. Might have, if the villain’s magic weren’t encasing them so – tight but soft and deceptively warm, lulling them in. The sticky heat of it leaves them squirming, stuck in a confusing limbo between gooey not-quite-discomfort and hot-bath sluggishness.
They’re drifting. Until they’re not.
It’s impossible to discern how much time has passed or when exactly the villain has released them; but their thoughts are beginning to clear and their brain catches up to the fact that there is air in their lungs again, and that the breathless, hiccuping gasps uncontrollably tumbling out of their mouth aren’t sobs. It’s laughter.
“Are you enjoying this?” The villain sounds incredulous.
They shake their head. “I don’t know,” they manage, between hysterical giggles. “Maybe. Yes?”
“How did you know I wouldn’t kill you?”
“I didn’t.”
That startles a short laugh out of him.
“I’ve never” – they pant, still struggling for air – “felt this alive before.”
“That sounds ... unhealthy.”
There is a long pause in which the villain silently stares at them while they are more or less regaining control over their breathing.
“You wouldn’t get it,” they say then, perfectly aware they must seem most unhinged. “Bet you don't even know what boredom is. Because your life is fun. Mine is not. I practically live at my stupid job, and my stupid job doesn't even pay well. No one there gives a fuck about me. And nothing exciting ever happens. So can I please just have this one damn moment without being judged?”
The villain hums, low. “And here I thought we were ruining each other’s days.” He presses a hand to their forehead. “Did the heat fry your synapses?” he asks, sounding more amused than concerned. His other hand comes up to cup the nape of their neck, as if he can’t help but reach out. Just as they can’t help but lean into the cooling touch. His gaze drops, as if drawn, to their lips. “Or, are you just naturally this unusual?”
They can smell gingerbread and mulled wine on his breath.
“Are you going to kiss me?” they ask, because yes their synapses are definitely fried and they do not care about consequences, awkwardness, or sanity anymore.
“Would you like me to kiss you?”
“I’d certainly much rather be kissed than killed. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” he repeats, smirking. “But we've established I’m not about to kill you. And that wasn’t a yes.”
“It’s not a no either.”
“Not how consent works, darling.”
They scoff. “You didn’t ask for consent first when you strangled me five minutes ago.”
The villain laughs again, in genuine delight judging by how his magic ripples and purrs.
“Okay, fair enough,” he whispers, shifting so his lips almost brush theirs.
The kiss that follows is sweet, surprisingly chaste, and initiated by the hero.
“So, since you mentioned earlier you have nowhere else to be today,” the villain says, afterwards, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “Have you ever had the pleasure of being kidnapped?”
Pleasure, as it turns out over the course of the next few hours, is an understatement.
If anyone at the office were to find out what the hero has been up to during their first (and best) and possibly only solo field mission, not only are they guaranteed to get fired, their colleagues will also surely create an entirely new office ranking category in their honour:
“Has anyone ever told you how pretty you look when you’re focused?” The voice shocked Hero. They spun away from their desk only to scatter a slew of papers. From the shadows came a chuckle and Villain emerged.
“You’re not supposed to be able to get in here.”
A feline smile graced the Villain’s lips, “You of all people should know I have a knack for being places I shouldn’t.” Their gaze fell onto the scattered files and Hero instinctively fumbled to fix the mess before them. Not however, before Villain managed to snatch a paper of their own.
“Quite the thorough research you have.” Villain smirked. They took their sweet time reading it even as Hero reached for them. An array of well placed blocks was enough to finish the contents of the sheet all while leaving the Hero an amusing shade of red., “You really are obsessed with me, aren’t you?”
“You can’t be serious,” Hero sputtered. They leapt for the sheet, successfully managing to tear it from the Villain’s hands all while their nemesis raised a knowing brow. “You’re a Villain, it’s my job to do all I can to stop you.”
“Because knowing my favorite kind of flower is so beneficial to my demise,” Villain strode forward, stopping the Hero from fleeing by bracketing a hand on either side of their hips. They leaned close, lips ghosting just over the shell of Hero’s ear, “Don’t be naive sweetheart. Trying to hide your little crush is as hopeless as this ‘work’ of yours.”
The blush they got in response was absolutely ravishing.
Aww, love that villain, and the dynamic between these two 🥰
(kinda hilarious though. In one of my snippet series, a favourite flower is exactly the piece of beneficial information that will eventually lead to the hero uncovering their villain's identity, purely by accident 🤣
and someday, when I find the motivation to unearth and edit the remaining drafts, I might even upload the rest of that story...)
Once upon a time, my entire high school had to be evacuated and we all got a homework-free, longer-than-usual weekend after one of our chemistry teachers dropped a bottle of this stuff xD
(lmao, I'm back again and I won't even try to make promises I can't keep 😂 Many thanks to @kaiwewi who added me in the masterlist of @the-modern-typewriter for hero/villain blogs! 🥰 I think I can speak for all the inactive and partially active people when I say: We are very touched that people see our small contributions and think of us... It really means a lot. 🥰🙏🏻 So, please enjoy this snippet and have a good time. 😄)
#13 – Shame
Can I ask you something, [Villain]?
– Um.. Sure, what is it?
How did you end up working for [Supervillain]? You must've known that they were evil, haven't you? So what in the world brought you there?
– ...
Jesus, who cares about that, [Sidekick]? They've done more than enough to show us that we can trust them. Hey, [Villain], you don't have to share things you don't wanna talk about, okay?
– I..- Um, thank you, [Hero]...
"You know, [Sidekick] was right", [Villain] said, their eyes fixated on the ground. They had sat down next to [Hero] a few minutes ago, feeling the cool summer breeze that grazed their own skin and the one of their new teammate. "I've known all along."
[Hero] looked at their former foe in confusion. "What do you mean?", they asked, turning towards them.
"I knew who [Supervillain] was", [Villain] said with a hollow voice, "...What they did."
[Hero] frowned. "[Villain] you don't have to talk about this, if you don't want to. [Sidekick] shouldn't have said that an-"
"But they were right", [Villain] interrupted, "I must've known who they were and I did. I knew who they were. I knew everything and I joined them regardless."
[Villain] pulled their knees closer, resting their chin on them. Their expression became distant as they started talking: "You know, before I joined [Supervillain], my life was a mess. I grew up in a world that didn't have any mercy for weaklings or outsiders like me. I was hurt, angry and alone and I wanted nothing more than to be with someone who actually liked me. I wanted to belong somewhere... I wanted that feeling you and your friends experienced every day and seemingly took as a given."
[Hero] suppressed the urge to say something. They had not at all expected this kind of talk from their former enemy – especially not with them. Still, they nodded seriously to encourage [Villain] to keep talking. It seemed to work:
"I... I didn't even know that I was searching for something. I didn't know how desperately I wanted to feel needed... Useful, you know?", [Villain] let out a trembling sigh. They closed their eyes before they continued: "I didn't know that, but [Supervillain] did. It was easy for them to bait me with the interest they showed in me and my abilities. I knew that what they did was wrong, but I-.. I just thought if I worked hard enough for them, then at least someone would see something in me... That I could-", [Villain] pressed their eyes together as tears started to spill,
"Oh, Villain...", [Hero] murmured softly. They reached out to gently touch the other one's shoulder, but [Villain] pulled away.
"Don't." [Villain] whispered and wiped their tears away. They took a deep breath. Their face had hardened into a blank mask when they continued:
"[Hero], I don't deserve the place you offer me. I don't deserve to be in your and the team's presence. I don't deserve the kindness you gave me since I came here. I'm not worth-"
"[Villain], stop." [Hero] had put a warm hand on [Villains] wet cheek. The softness of the gesture startled [Heros] new partner who looked at them with wide eyes. [Hero] managed a small smile before pulling [Villain] into a warm embrace.
"Don't say things like that. You're here, because you did what was right. You came to us and helped us out, because you knew what [Supervillain] does is wrong. Because you couldn't bear it. That says a lot about you as a person.", [Hero] gave [Villain] a small squeeze before letting go. They put their hands on [Villains] face again and smiled as they locked eyes with their former enemy.
"You did some bad things and you need to take on responsibility for that, but you won't have to do that alone. You are with us now and we will support you, okay?"
[Villain] shook their head in confusion. "H-How can you take me in... Just like that?", they whispered while new tears stained their face and [Heros] fingers, "How could anyone possibly want me after I what I've done?"
To that, [Hero] knew the answer.
"I can, because I like you. Because we like you, [Villain]. Because you're worth staying and because you have good inside of you... Because you chose the light, even though your life was set up for darkness." [Hero] said warmly. They smiled at [Villains] unbelieving expression, before embracing them once again.
I adore the hero/villain community and all the fantastic people in it. I've been around for a couple years now. I've read so many great stories and also wrote a few pieces myself.
And I'd like to add a lot of other names to this list. Many of them aren't that active anymore, some seem to have quit at some point, some only ever posted a handful of pieces and then disappeared again, and some others are still fairly new. But everyone of them brought me joy with the writing they posted, and even if they were to never post another thing ever again, the stories that remain might yet bring joy to someone else. Therefore, I'd like to share some of their names here, in no particular order and regardless of how active they are now or how many snippets or prompts they wrote or how often they posted:
thank you to all of you for creating all those lovely stories!
And a special thanks to @writtentodeath who was the first writer in the hero/villain community that I spoke to and the one who encouraged me to start posting snippets myself. Thank you!
A big warm thank you also to @wingedcat13 whose Synoverse stories might just be my favourite thing on Tumblr. Synovus has been and continues to be a great source of inspiration and positivity in my exploration of my own non-binary gender-identity and transition goals. I can't put into words how much this character means to me!
im writing for @kaiwewi for this year's Secret Santa :) their prompt was:
Please write a story about a villain who is more of a mascot for their group of competent 'henchman' rather than an actual boss/leader.
—
Technically, the villain should've had the foresight to see this coming. They should've, probably, mentioned it to their leader, and if not them at least some lower-tier henchman. At least casually. Been like, hey, if I get kidnapped, you'll wanna save me, right? Could be hard to replace me.
Oh, man.
This wasn't really happening, was it?
A rough, hard punch to the cheek sent their whole world spinning. A pink leather-clad hand yanked them up from the back of their hair to keep them from sinking. The villain considered screaming for help and quickly thought against it. They had to stay put. Had to.
"Got you now," said the crueler hero. What was her name again? Something pretty and harmless that didn't match her dreadful grin. The guy beside her was all red and gold muscle. The villain had seen him grace the covers of a couple magazines before; their mother had been subscribed to Vanity growing up.
Oh, if only their mother could see them right now. Getting kidnapped in a back alley in the dead of night. In civilian clothes too, at that. Embarrassing.
"Took you long enough," the villain replied, and the next punch knocked a tooth out. They spat it out in a bloody glob, staining the red hero's boots. On the black asphalt, their molar looked like a red fucking star. Or perhaps a bloody ship lost at sea. Their saliva was salty and their breath metallic.
Fuck. Fuck, they should've brought this up with their leader at least once.
Red circled Pink like a slinking cat, waiting to strike at her say-so.
"Hurt them," she ordered, and Red drove his knee into the villain's gut, driving all the air out of their lungs, and threw them to the asphalt. Their palms scraped against loose gravel. Their tooth was right beside their little finger. The villain's lungs spasmed and they could barely catch up to their pain.
Their henchmen never hit them. Sure, the villain was used as a mascot, was the assigned 'fall guy' if it all went to shit, but their henchmen never hit them. Why would they? There was no reason to damage your mask... unless they ratted you out to a bunch of heroes.
What a wonderful excuse that would be. Hitting them to build up pain tolerance so they wouldn't go around breaking in interrogations. The villain wasn't even sure what these heroes did to get people like them to break. They'd heard horror stories about electrocution. Hallucinogens. It made their stomach churn.
Pink dug the heel of her boot into the villain's sternum, watching them struggle to breathe. Beside her, Red silently watched the scene occur like a good toy.
"Look at them," she remarked. Her eyes were alight with a predatory glow. "Helpless without their minions."
"Like you without your bitch," the villain rasped.
Pink's expression turned terrible, and she brought her boot down on their face with fury.
The world went white.
—
There is no point in explaining how they got into this position. The only thing you need to know is this: despite the fear surrounding the villain’s name and their face, despite their grandeur, and even despite the terrifying speeches they spent hours poring over before releasing to the public, all the villain was, was a mascot to their henchmen and their shadowy leader. They were powerless, merely a result of perfect cues and perfect illusions. Behind the scenes, they were as replaceable as a magician’s cards.
—
The villain could not see for several hours.
It was possible that nobody was coming. A small part of their mind, harbouring a particularly loud voice, feared that their henchmen were already looking for replacements. Maybe they already had a list of candidates that they were crossing out.
In the most pathetic parts of the villain's mind they considered giving up every bit of information they knew, inclined to believe that somewhere out there, was a body double suited up and in the midst of memorising a script. Perhaps in exchange for information, they’d be offered a stable life. How delusional.
Someone had taken their sweater off, and some skin on their forearms was raw and red from when Red shoved them to the ground, tender in the chilly air of whatever room they were held in.
Rough hands forced their arms to wrap around the backrest of a metal chair. The villain took in a wheezing gasp and struggled as they heard the rustle of a thick cord being unwrapped.
"Ugh," came an apathetic voice, and a third hand wrapped around the back of their neck and forced their head down. They couldn't struggle like this; the metal dug into their flesh and they weren't strong enough to put up a fight.
The cord was fastened, and the blindfold over their eyes was yanked out.
Neon lights as bright as the sun blinded them, and they caught the glint of water just below their vision.
“Now,” commanded a voice, and a red hand caught their hair, and before the villain could register a goddamn thing they were drowning.
The villain made the biggest mistake of their life: they breathed, and their brain went into instant shock as water burned their airways. They opened their mouth to gasp and choked on liquid death, ears popping, their body's temperature dropping. The bowl's edges dug into their neck and jaw and they struggled and struggled, feet kicking the floor, hitting table legs and air and other useless things.
The hand on their neck kept them down, cold, unfeeling. Murderous. The villain's lungs burned; the water remained ice cold. Their heart jack-knifed in their chest, threatened to break out of their ribs. The water suffocated them mercilessly.
They were dying. They were dying and nobody was coming to help.
The world went as white as those neon lights.
—
Cold water ran down their chin, wetting their chest, making their hair stick to their face. The skin on their arms burned from the metal chair. The interrogation (torture?) room was all metal walls and neon lights.
The villain's lungs burned with each breath, but they took in air graciously. Had they blacked out?
A blurry face, pale and cruel, came into view, haloed by the lights. Behind Pink, the villain spotted cuffs hanging from a stained wall. Beside her feet were worn cords, dried blood on them.
The metal on this chair was rusted. They'd need a tetanus shot if they got cut from this, right?
Pink turned to Red, who stood behind them. "Dim the lights."
The hand on their hair left. Pink caught the villain's jaw, leaning down to look at them eye to eye.
The villain took in another noisy, unsteady breath. Their stomach still churned. Their chest felt as cold as their chair.
The lights dimmed until Pink's features were highlighted ghostly white, shadowed menacingly. Red's presence behind the villain felt radioactive.
Someone had to come. Someone had to. They were a good mascot, weren't they? But acrobats were as replaceable to circuses as playing cards were to a magician. They clenched their corded hands into tight, trembling fists.
Her grip threatened to bruise. "I knew there was something wrong with you," she said. "So brave playing the evil guy, treating the city like it's a stage, but without your employers, you're just another regular crook, aren't you?"
The villain’s chest seized at the accuracy with which she’d clocked them, but they forced themselves to give her the most cutting grin they could muster. "We're much more similar than you think, you and I."
Red pulled their head back and pressed something metallic to their neck—a blade. The villain let out a terrified sound, and Pink laughed. "Look at them," she said. "Shaking like a leaf at a blunt knife."
"I could do a lot of damage with it," said Red. He dragged the knife down, rusty just like everything else in this damn room, trailing grime down their skin in its wake. He aimed the point of it at the hollow of their throat, and the villain choked on a noise. "Could poke here with enough pressure, see what happens."
The villain desperately shook their head as much as they could. Pink seemed to delight in their reaction.
Oh, god. They scrambled for some lines stored in their head, from watching movies and reading scripts and writing speeches. "Come on," they tried, struggling to get their voice to adopt a careless lilt. The blunt point of the knife felt suffocating. Was it blocking their blood flow? "Can't we all come to an agreement here?"
They weren’t even expecting a proper response to that. But Pink’s entire attitude seemed to flip, and the look in her eyes went from sinister to eager with such swiftness that it made the villain shiver. "Oh, we could," She said, crouching down and looking up at them with sudden kindness. "Tell me," she said, "what your henchmen are up to." She traced her thumb over the villain's knee. "And I will personally assure your safe withdrawal from them, and you'll never see us or them ever again."
The villain looked down at her in silence, unnerved. A cold drop of water dripped down from their hair, down the bridge of their nose. They wouldn't snitch. They couldn't.
She traced the outline of their kneecap patiently. Behind her, Red stood in silence. His knife was gone. The villain could hear their heartbeat.
"You know," said the villain. "Oddly enough I don't believe that."
Pink lit their knee on fire, broke a fucking bone, did something horrible, because their kneecap lit up in absolute agony and they screamed, and Red was drowning them again.
—
Their chest was soaked, their jaw ached from all of the punches and backhanded slaps they'd received, and their scalp felt bruised from the harshness with which Pink and Red manhandled their head.
Nobody was coming. The lights were dim and the sun was probably rising outside, and a rising sun meant no shadows for their leader to travel with. They couldn't tell how long it'd been.
It'd been long enough for an alarmingly red bruise to start forming on their knee, though. Perhaps a couple hours. Their leader’s right-hand had once told them how long it took for bruises to form. They reckoned this one would turn a hideous purple in a couple of days and stay like that until next week. If they were alive until next week.
They coughed up water and phlegm. Pink nudged them with rough fingers to their temple. Red sharpened that blunt knife with a whetstone, the sound of it piercingly loud in their ears. It wasn't rusty. It bled, staining the water red, making it glint like the devil's eyes in the low light.
Pink held out her hand. "Bring it over."
Like a fucking dog, Red obeyed. Pink flicked the knife around like a magician did their cards. The villain flinched.
She laughed. God, that dreadful laugh. She pressed the cusp of her palm down on their forehead and a whimper eked out of the villain's throat, but they couldn't snitch. They couldn't. Yes, they were expendable. Yes, they knew their henchmen looked down on them to some degree. And yes, all that they were, was a mask for a coalition of bad guys to hide behind.
But. But.
They didn't have anywhere else to go.
The knife pressed cold against their neck. Red walked over to see, curious like a child. The lights were so dim that the ceiling was pitch black.
The villain stared at Pink with wide eyes, unsure if this was a threat or the real deal. But then the knife began to slice, and the villain jerked and flinched in their restraints.
Oh, god, oh god oh god oh god. The villain strained their wrists against the cords once more, dug their toes into the fucking floor, wishing something would swallow them up.
"I'm sorry!" they said in their absolutely ruined, drowned voice. "I'll—I'll tell! I swear I'll fucking rat those guys out like it's no tomorrow."
"There it is," said Red in his detached voice.
"There it is," repeated a pleased Pink. She turned the knife up and pressed it to a vein that the villain knew was important because the leader's right hand had mentioned it once. The jugular, or something? They choked on a breath. "Let it all come out, honey."
Oh, god, were they really going to do this? The villain looked at the ceiling, praying for something to come and help them. Their legs and arms shook. Their knee ached. They looked at a shadowy, void-like patch tucked away in the upper corner of the ceiling as though it would save them.
The void stared back.
The villain choked again.
One eye, glowing gold like a ring stared at them. Then another. A pair of eyes staring back at them, familiar ones, gold, like...
Their leader’s face emerged from the shadows, a finger pressed to her lips. Burning relief flooded the villain's veins.
Pink stared at them intently, patiently still. Waiting for a response. Their leader slinked back into the shadows, snake-like in her smoothness, and the villain scrambled to put on a mask.
Like an actor on stage, they twisted their face up in pain, anger, hurt, grief. "They're such cruel people," the villain said, staring deeply into Pink's eyes. "Such terrible, cruel people."
Their leader approached.
Pink leaned in, handed the knife over to Red to pocket. "Poor thing," she remarked.
The villain nodded, leaning in with her. "Yes," they breathed. "Poor you."
They kicked her knees and heard a crunch. Pink screamed, stumbling back, and their leader shot out of the darkness, fist curled and glinting—brass knuckles?—and punched the back of her head. She went down like a rag doll.
"Holy shit—" Someone snapped their cords off, and the villain was quickly hauled up to their legs, that same blade pressing into their neck. They seized.
Red's fist shook as he clutched the villain's hair. The knife quivered.
Their leader froze.
"Get down." Red's voice was calm, but his chest rose in unsteady breaths behind the villain's back.
The other raised her hands up placatingly, slipping the bloody brass knuckles off. At her feet, Pink's body twitched, her hair stained, blood pooling around her head and spreading at an alarming rate. Her twitching seemed to make Red tick worse.
The villain's heart felt close to bursting. Their chest was still wet from that water bowl, and their knee threatened to give out on them. The room was growing darker. "Stop that," gritted out Red. "I'll give you your mascot if you leave us alone. I need—I need to fix her."
"You'll remember us. You'll remember them." Their leader carefully gestured to the villain. "I can't let that happen."
Red didn't want to hear that—the blade twitched against the villain's neck. They whimpered in fright. The shadows twitched closer. "You hit the back of her head."
"Yes, I know how to give someone amnesia."
"I can heal the wound, but the brain damage will remain. She won't remember anything, and, and—" Pink twitched again, some horrible noise escaping her throat. Red's glove squeaked with the effort it took to not simply drive the blade into the villain's neck. "I'll give you your goddamn mascot if you take back the shadows, just let me save her."
The leader looked at the villain, no doubt taking in their dripping wet hair, the slowly forming bruises on their cheeks, the steady way the tiny cut on their neck bled.
The shadows retreated. Red shoved them forward and dove to Pink, quickly removing his gloves and hovering a shaking hand over her wound. He whispered soft, soothing things to her and caressed her bloodstained hair as his hand took on a healing, golden glow.
The villain stumbled into their leader's arms, completely wetting the front of their shirt, but the leader didn't seem to mind. Her arms wrapped firmly around them, protective, and pressed them closer. The villain gladly melted into their embrace, taking in trembling gasps.
Their leader bowed her head to whisper into their ear, "You betrayed us."
The villain bodily flinched. They looked up at their leader, but her expression was blank, unreadable. "What?"
One hand left to fish something out of their pockets, the other arm remained to keep the villain pressed close like a cord. Their leader pulled out a gun and the villain froze, paling, but she merely struck the butt of it against Red's head. It was too harsh; his whole body moved with the hit, and he was thrown to the side. His fingers were still stained with Pink's blood. "You broke, didn't you? You must've told them bits and pieces of information, to keep the pain at bay."
"I—I didn't..." The villain didn't what? They knew they should be defending themselves. But their throat was merely closing up. "Ma’am," they restarted. "She put a knife to my neck."
Their leader cocked their head to the side, as though they were trying to spot a lie. The villain stepped back and looked down at their feet, pressing a finger to their bleeding neck.
Stationed outside of what turned out to be an old, run-down building was their leader's right-hand. They took one look at the villain's limp and clucked, giving them their arm to hold on to.
It was still a couple hours from sunrise. The villain glared at the ink-blue sky stretching out into the horizon and let the right-hand inspect all the bruises and cuts they could see.
Their leader left to pull out the sleek black car they'd be travelling in.
—
So their henchmen hadn't come because they cared. They'd just come to protect themselves. Technically, the villain couldn't blame them—they'd been desperate enough to consider spilling all the information they knew to save their own skin.
But still. But still. They'd been drowned.
The villain stared out at all the buildings and streets they passed and tried to get any depressing thoughts out. They'd get out of this. They'd clear their name. And their leader would trust them less, but at least they'd still have a home.
—
The ache in their knee grew worse with time. To their chagrin, the right-hand carried them into the lair like a bride, and the mascot (they didn't need to pretend anymore) stubbornly stared at their hurt knee, chest still squeezing, heart still pounding.
The right-hand wanted to take them to the med bay; their leader told him to look after the mascot in her quarters. As the right-hand moved aside paperwork, bottles of ink, and stacks of files and folders from their leader's desk, she went fishing for a medkit in her ensuite.
Right-hand caught their chin, tilting their face up to the light. They brushed a thumb against the corner of the mascot's frowning lip, ignoring their worry. "They punched you?"
"My tooth's gone."
The right-hand perched them over the expensive wood, their hands steady and oddly comforting. Gone as soon as they were done. "And what happened to your knee?"
"I don't know. One of them squeezed it or something."
"I see." The right-hand brushed their fingers over the front of their damp shirt, frowned, and went to look for drier clothing.
Their leader came back and placed the medkit down on their desk with too much force. The mascot flinched. Their right-hand glanced at them from where they fished for new clothes.
Her expression said: explain. The mascot swallowed.
"I didn't tell them anything," they said.
Their leader tilted their head to the side, and it made the mascot's chest squeeze. She leaned into their space and the mascot clenched their fists. "I'm being very gentle because I know you don't like pain, and I know that that would've made you betray us back in that old warehouse. That red hero knew you were a mascot. What else did you tell them?"
"I didn't—I wouldn't—"
"You would."
The mascot shoved them. The right-hand glanced at the two, alarmed. "If you were as helpless as me, you would crack too!"
Their leader, to the mascot's frustration, showed no reaction to that shove. They went down on their feet despite their hurt knee, putting more distance between the pair. Their hands shook. Some papers flew off of the desk, and the mascot didn't care that they stepped on them.
"I know I would have." Their leader took on a faux-soothing voice. "That's why I'm asking you—what did you tell them?"
"Nothing!"
"You were ready to rat us out like no tomorrow. That's not nothing."
"What?" the right-hand asked from near the wardrobe.
"Shut up!” yelled the mascot, feeling slightly hysterical. This wasn’t going well. This wasn’t going well at all. “I had a knife to my neck!" They pointed to their cut. They could feel their throat closing, their voice growing croaky. "I was drowning, and they were hitting me, and—" To their embarrassment, wetness was coming to their eyes. They felt terrible. Of course their leader wouldn't trust them; the mascot didn't trust her either. But they felt hurt regardless.
They thought they were worth saving. Weren't they?
"Oh." The leader sounded disappointed. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Don't cry like that."
The mascot threw a bottle of ink at them. It shattered against their chest, staining it black.
Their right-hand was frozen. The mascot swayed on unstable feet, head pounding. Their leader looked at the mess on their chest in mild shock, eyes imperceptibly wider than before. That didn’t make the mascot feel better.
A tear, traitorously, escaped and ran down their cheek. The mascot covered their red face. They could hear their heartbeat. It drowned out every other noise there could be.
"I was afraid you wouldn't come," they confessed. A soft hiccup escaped their throat, and their body felt tight in their discomfort. "It's not like I shattered. I was afraid the moment they caught me. I was afraid I was going to be replaced up until the moment I saw you. But I didn't say a single thing, not until they cut me, because they were cruel—I didn't want to lose my fingers and teeth to people who would never come to save me."
For a very, very long moment, nobody said a goddamn thing. The mascot wished to disappear. Someone touched their shoulder and they swatted that hand off. "Don't touch me."
The moments ticked on. The mascot stared at the floor in a quiet, tired sort of anger. The kind that a toddler experiences after throwing a tantrum that gets them nothing but a tired body and a tear-soaked face.
They should’ve never been saved.
“I’m sorry,” came the leader’s quiet voice. The mascot glanced up and saw that she was not looking at them. “I have misjudged you. I shouldn’t have.”
It would be the mature decision to accept that apology, but the mascot didn’t want to do that. So they stared at their feet and said, bitterly, “When have you not?”
Their leader’s hand was stained with ink, as dark as their shadows, and they rubbed the pads of their fingers together. “You can retire to your quarters now. I’ll send my right hand to check on you soon.”
The mascot was thankful for that; they stepped out of the room and burst into tears immediately.
—
The right-hand’s fingers rested on the mascot’s hip as they applied a salve to their hurt knee.
“I’m sorry,” came their quiet apology.
“What are you apologising for?”
They didn’t meet the mascot’s eye. The right-hand gazed at their thumb, which traced circles on the villain’s slowly numbing knee. “It wasn’t a unanimous decision to save you, I admit. There was a fight. But the leader and I wanted you back. We were all divided. But she insisted.”
The mascot laughed wryly. “‘Cause I’d leak information?”
“That’s not what was on the forefront of her mind.”
“Then what was?”
The right hand looked up at them, and they really did seem regretful. They cupped the mascot’s jaw. “I knew you were missing a tooth the moment I saw you. We found it, you know, in a back alley near your apartment. She flipped before we could even confirm it was yours.”
“You…confirmed it was mine?”
The right-hand turned a bizarre shade of pink. “When you first joined us, you gave up your medical records. And that includes your dental records, so…”
“...Oh.”
—
Crickets chirped past their bedroom window. The mascot stared into the darkness of their room, sleep slow to catch up to them. The salve’s effects were wearing off, the pain coming back in growing aches. Faint rays of five a.m. sunlight trickled into their room through gaps in their curtains, glowing prussian blue.
When their eyelids began to grow heavy, the shadows in their room curled towards them, hesitant to touch, keen on encompassing.
“You came,” the mascot mumbled tiredly. The shadows came nearer. “Because you thought I was hurt?”
I was afraid for your safety, said the shadows. But I didn’t make that clear, and I let my paranoia get ahead of my better judgment. For that, I am sorry.
“But you still came,” they repeated, “To save me.”
As soft as morning mist, the shadows slithered around before their lips. I did, it agreed. Of course I did.
Secret Santa gift for @chaoticgoodthief
Prompt: "Two people with opposite personalities falling in love and balancing each other out."
Merry Christmas!! 🎅🎁
Synopsis: Supervillain gives her second in command a new mission. The job, (un)fortunately, comes with a new teammate.
“What do you make of this one?”
“The newbie?”
Frowning, they scanned the newspaper clippings Supervillain had spread out on the desk between them. The lack of enthusiasm on the journalists’ part was plain to see in the five unremarkable blocks of text with unimaginative titles. A small, slightly blurred image next to a short article on a mall robbery a month ago showed the grinning rookie villain dodging out of the way of some local hero’s attack. He held a fistful of jewellery in one hand and a hot dog in the other.
With an attitude like his, one could only wonder how the guy hadn’t been caught or killed yet.
They shrugged. “Amateur. Opportunist. Reckless. Flippant. More luck than brains.”
Supervillain hummed. She wore her impervious poker face. Everything about her posture and tone indicated disinterest. To so unnatural a degree, in fact, that it was fairly obvious she did have an agenda.
They internally groaned. This wasn’t going to end well, was it.
“Why are you asking?”
The corner of her lips twitched with something that might have been amusement at the audible unease in their question.
“No more than simple curiosity,” she said, clearly deflecting. “The other day, he approached me. Asked if we were hiring. Said he’d be eager to join us.”
Of course he would be. Any new villain in the area would grovel for a chance to work even a single job for Supervillain. Instant infamy by mere association. But the newbie’s audacity, bypassing the official procedures and approaching Supervillain directly…
“Ah, great. Reckless, flippant, and presumptuous.”
“So, you do not believe him promising?”
“Promising?” They made no effort to hide their scoff. “All I see is a liability.”
“Or a great asset, under the right person’s supervision.”
“You must be joking.”
That phantom of a smile on her face grew teeth. She was most definitely not joking.
“Surely you could utilise a versatile new piece on the board to its full potential, brilliant strategist that you are.”
“You know I don’t work well with unpredictable people.”
“You work fine with me, don’t you?”
She made that sound like casual banter; it smelled an awful lot like a trap.
“I don’t know why this newbie intrigues you so,” they said, weighing their words carefully, “but, and please pardon my bluntness, I do not want rogue pieces fucking with my game.”
“I’m afraid I need you to give him a chance,” she said as she produced a thin folder from the upper-most drawer of her office cabinet and slid it across the desk, “because I already hired him for this job I’m putting you in charge of.”
“Unbelievable! You could have asked me first.”
She should have asked them first.
“You would have said no.”
Damn right, they would have.
She gestured at the folder. “Christmas Eve. Your target is the Downtown Museum’s special End of the Year Exhibition. Can I count on you?”
Always. And she bloody well knew it too.
They heaved a heavy sigh.
“Fine. One chance. But I swear, if he fucks up…”
***
In the end, as irony would have it, when their meticulously crafted plan did fall to pieces, it wasn’t the newbie who’d fucked up.
He, against their admittedly low expectations, had listened most attentively, had carried out his orders diligently, hadn’t so much as offered a single sign of a contrary disposition. He’d checked in every other minute to report his position, had followed the exact route he’d been assigned at the exact pace they’d agreed upon.
So, as they guided him and the rest of the team through the first stage of their plan – getting everyone inside the museum undetected – they’d had to begrudgingly admit to themself that the only thing that stood out about the newbie was his annoying enthusiasm for doing a fantastic job.
And then, just when they’d started to think that maybe this would be another flawless operation after all, one of their field operatives, Tempest, reported in.
“—s….hing’s wrong. Sec..ity guard in Sector E. Hav. ..en spotted. Abort—”
Her voice cut off. Replaced by nothing but eerily crackling white noise.
It didn’t make any sense. How was there a guard in Sector E? They’d done the maths. They’d checked everything, countless times. Security wasn’t supposed to be in Sector E for at least another 10 minutes.
Not that it made much of a difference now that their cover had been blown.
Abort operation…?
Really the only viable option at this point. But that was unprecedented. There’d been hiccups on other missions, sure, but they’d never had to call for a full hasty retreat before.
Supervillain would be so disappointed.
But they had to. By the looks of it, they’d lost one operative already. They had to get the rest of the team out. This was their responsibility. Their fault. They had to do something before—
“Reporting in,” the newbie’s voice rasped from the radio. “This is Ghost. Current position: Sector E, entrance to Stairwell 4. Assisted Tempest. She is unharmed. But the security guard escaped. And he is not one of the regular crew. I repeat, the security guard is not one of the regular crew.”
Different security. Why was there different security?
They sucked in a breath that hardly made it past their throat and did nothing to relieve them of the tightness in their chest. Then they picked up the radio, and faltered.
Which of the escape routes was least likely to be compromised? It had to be an exit point everyone was able to reach. And quick. That security guard must have raised the alarm by now.
Precious seconds ticked away.
“Exit Strategy B,” they croaked. “I repeat, Exit Strategy B. Abort operation.”
***
A mere 40 minutes after their first failed mission – hardly enough time to begin to come to terms with how badly they’d fucked up, let alone recompose themself – the newbie found them sulking at the little table in the corner of the HQ’s staff kitchen.
If he’d seen them hastily brush some wetness from the corners of their eyes as he entered the room, he didn’t let it show on his face. Instead, he wordlessly walked over and set a tray of cookies down next to their still untouched cup of black coffee.
They couldn’t bring themself to contemplate where he’d found those and they didn’t particularly feel like eating anything either. They took a cookie regardless.
“Great hiding spot,” the newbie said after a moment of tense silence. “Took me forever to find you.”
That’s because they hadn’t wanted to be found.
“What do you need?” they said, speaking more to their coffee than him.
“Nothing. But I’ve got something for you; thought it might be able to lift your spirits.”
Yeah, not bloody likely.
“No thank you.”
“Why not?”
Because they didn’t deserve cheering up.
“I messed it all up,” they said, and it felt like too much of an answer. Too raw. Too honest.
Their voice shook horribly. Pathetic.
“Nah, that was bad luck. Your plan was genius.”
“My plan failed.”
“You got everyone in and out.” He offered a loathsomely genuine reassuring smile. “That the museum spontaneously hired a different security team sucks. Not your fault though. No one could have seen that coming.”
They listlessly stirred their coffee with their cookie and laughed bitterly as it broke apart and disintegrated. Just like their plan. Nothing but lukewarm wet mush.
“I should have considered the possibility. I should have had another contingency plan. You don’t understand, do you? Knowing things, anticipating events, is my job. What good am I to my team when I can’t ever acquire crucial information? I almost got Tempest arrested.”
“But she wasn’t arrested.”
“No thanks to me.”
“You weren’t there,” he said, and somehow made it sound soothing rather than accusatory.
A beat of silence in which they forced another shallow breath into their lungs.
They wanted to scream. But they had to keep their frustration in check, be professional. The newbie didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. None of this was his fault. He’d done great. Without him there…
“Thank you,” they said on the exhale.
“We are a team, you know. You do the research, prepare the operation, brief us. You find us a safe way in and out.” As he spoke, the newbie scooped up a ridiculous number of cookies from the tray. “You’re not a field operative like Tempest and me. Reacting to unexpected events and new information in the field is our job,” he said kindly, then unceremoniously dumped the entire handful of cookies into his mouth.
Like this was coffee and cake at grandma’s and not him obligingly turning a blind eye to the fact his team leader was about to have a most unprofessional breakdown in front of him.
Gosh, it was so very hard not to judge him for his table manners. It was so ridiculous it almost startled a laugh out of them despite everything.
“For what it’s worth—” they tried for a small apologetic smile “—you did do a splendid job out there. I’ll make sure to inform Supervillain about that. I know how eager you were to work with her. I cannot imagine she’ll be best pleased when we turn up empty-handed … but I’ll do what I can to ensure this mess doesn’t reflect badly on you.”
Hazel eyes watched them closely while the newbie chewed and swallowed audibly. He licked the residue powdered sugar off his lips, off the tips of his fingers. The slight creases lining the outer edges of his lower eyelids bestowed a slightly impish quality to his gaze.
The only prominent lines on their own face were those born of frowns and brooding.
His was the face of someone accustomed to grins, smirks, and laughter.
He wasn’t grinning now, of course, but …
They’d expected him to be upset. Disappointed. Anxious, perhaps, that he might have lost his one chance to impress Supervillain. But, if anything, he appeared clad in an air of nervous excitement.
“Soooo,” he drawled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Speaking of Supervillain … I was wondering. Why didn’t you tell us what we were to steal for her? Why weren’t we supposed to know until we reached Gallery 5?”
“No particular reason,” they said, careful to temper the displeasure creeping into their tone. “It was information you didn’t require prior to reaching the target location.”
The newbie pulled a face and visibly bit back what would have undoubtedly been a snide comment. Instead, he asked, “yeah okay, but what was it?”
“Hardly matters now, does it.”
“Actually, I really think it does.”
They scrubbed a hand down their face, sighed. “How so?”
“Say, what if—” he stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and lifted his shoulders in a shrug “—I had, hypothetically speaking, ignored your final order, made a breezy lil detour, and used Exit Strategy A instead of B?
“And what if,” he continued, “I had, hypothetically speaking, grabbed a couple souvenirs along the way?” He gave them a sheepish look as he pulled his hands back out of his pocket, producing two messy piles of tangled jewellery and trinkets that he placed on the table between them. “Because, confession time: I did.”
And there it was, amidst all the precious metals and all the valuable stones, their target – the ancient, allegedly cursed, Amulet of the Mothers’ Sorrow.
All they managed was a choked, breathless laugh. Their head swam with so many questions and yet they couldn’t seem to locate enough words to form a single sentence.
The newbie began answering the most pressing of them – HOW!? – without prompting.
“Well. When I pulled that guard off of Tempest, I noticed that shiny keycard hanging right there on his belt, and … I nicked it. Just couldn’t help myself. Grabbed his communicator too. Also wanted to knock the guy out, but he got away.” He made a small disgruntled noise, followed by a snort. “But then the idiot ran down Corridor 14. Like, I don’t think he was even familiar with the museum’s layout.
“Anyway, I figured I’d have at least 4 minutes before he’d find the next phone or reach another guard. And even if he found a panic button, security would still have to regroup first. And with access to the staff elevator … reaching Gallery 5 would take me, maybe, 2 minutes at best. And there I’d already be in the perfect position to use Exit Strategy A.
“Long story short: I know a worthwhile opportunity when I see it. Of course—” and here his voice gained an unmistakable edge “—I hadn’t been told what exactly I was supposed to steal. So I had no choice but to stuff whatever I thought were the most likely candidates into my pockets, hit or miss, and make a run for it.”
He made a vague gesture encompassing his loot.
“Did I get the right one?”
“I—” They cleared their throat and reached for the dark amulet – a filigreed pattern, seemingly liquid, a mercury river delta, against a background of polished onyx – on a necklace with a rich green cord woven through a silver chain, and untangled it from the other treasures. It was so pleasantly warm still from when he’d carried it in his pocket, on his person. His body heat seeping into the palm of their hands as they cradled the amulet to their chest.
They could have cried. Or kissed him.
“Yeah,” they said, barely above a whisper.
“Well then,” he offered, amiably, “lucky you. And maybe next time just tell the rest of us what it is we’re going after.” A grin tugged on their new favourite teammate’s lips. “Merry Christmas.”
The newbie took a bow, turned with an exaggerated flourish, and, humming a festive tune, strolled off towards the exit.
They stared after him, transfixed.
On the doorstep, with the door already opened, he stopped and looked back over his shoulder.
“By the way,” he said, “you got it wrong. Supervillain’s cool all right. But it isn’t her I’m eager to work with.”
~~~
Epilogue: New Christmas Traditions
“How’s the plan for this year’s Christmas operation coming along, darling?”
Their partner came up behind them, slung his arms over the back of their office chair and around their shoulders, and let his upper body go slack. As he nuzzled against the crook of their neck, he leaned on them like a particularly heavy but not at all uncomfortable scarf.
“Almost done.” They scanned the markings they’d made on the map covering half their desk. “I know how to get us inside. Currently working on how to get us out afterwards.”
“My criminal mastermind. Always gotta have at least 3 escape routes.” Their partner chuckled, somewhere between fond and mischievous, and started walking his fingers slowly down their chest.
“I prefer ‘exit strategies,’” they said, and caught him by the wrists before he got the chance to fully launch his tickle attack. “The word ‘escape’ implies opposition or pursuit. Ideally – assuming a certain someone’s antics don’t negatively affect the quality of my work – we’ll encounter neither.” Nevertheless, they turned their full attention to him now. “But should something ever not go according to plan,” they murmured into his hair, “I know I can always rely on my partner’s quick wit and nerves of steel.”
He pressed a kiss below their ear. “Damn right. Those heroes will never catch us.”
“Partners in crime.”
“Partners in crime.”
They shared a hearty laugh and a few seconds of tranquillity.
Then they gestured towards a booklet half-hidden beneath a stack of documents. The catalogue of the current target’s exhibits. “Have you had a chance to compile your wish list yet?”
“Nah,” their partner said, “I think I’d like it to be a surprise. I’ll know which ones I want when I see them. You?”
“I have picked a few favourites.”
“Perfect,” he purred. “You can tell me all about them over dinner. I made lasagna.”
Synopsis: the villain seems to be seeking a diplomatic solution, but Hero already has other plans.
Two weeks.
Two entire weeks! Lost. Stolen.
But hey, fantastic news! Their pretentious health-freak demon had turned out to be just some apparently telepathic scientist villain. Hm, yes, great. Completely reassuring. No problem in sight anymore. Perfectly peachy. Didn’t they just feel so much better already?
Yeah … nope.
If anything, Hero was even more angry. Livid. Fuming.
The stupidly neat pile of notes on the desk did not pacify them in the least. Neither did the seminar certificate. That the villain had gotten the highest possible grade somehow seemed yet another insult, further mockery. Like the villain was trying to prove themself a superior version of Hero. Like they thought they were so perfect and benevolent, doing Hero such a grand favour, and now Hero owed them compliance or something.
As if they would ever surrender to some lowly, lying body thief. How dare the villain use that patronising tone with them, as if Hero was just an unruly child throwing a silly tantrum? How dare the villain pretend this messed up situation was normal and everything was fine and the two of them could just coexist?
The bastard had made it sound like they were planning on making a permanent home of Hero’s body. As if Hero would ever tolerate the villain’s presence. As if they would stand by and do nothing while the villain robbed them of half of their time – half of their life.
Or rather, their whole life, considering they couldn’t hope to have any normalcy at all when they could never trust in tomorrow. They wouldn’t be able to make plans, or sustain friendships, or hold a job. If they didn’t get rid of the villain, Hero would only ever be able to live spontaneously, one day at a time.
And that wouldn’t do. Besides, this was their body and theirs alone!
The villain might have won a battle, stealing a staggering two weeks at once, but Hero was not going to lose the war. Their righteous revenge would not be long in coming.
But they had to be smart about it. Their first theory, about switches occurring once the one in control had slept thrice, was officially obsolete. The pattern they’d thought they’d found in the data must have been a coincidence; even if it had worked out for them last time. However, it was ludicrous to assume that someone like the villain might have only slept three times during the last two weeks.
Back to square one. Unfortunately, they’d have to consider the inconvenient idea that the switches could be entirely erratic.
So, poisoning themself was also off the table now – the villain was right, it wasn’t feasible in the long run, and the unpredictability of the right timing made physical discomfort too much of a gamble to be an effective weapon – but they still had a plethora of alternatives up their sleeve.
“Demon or not,” they said, though they were pretty sure the villain couldn’t actually hear them, “compared to what I’m about to put you through, hell will look like a sweet vacation spot.”
…
An hour later, they finished installing the last mini speaker below their desk drawer’s newly constructed false bottom and hooked it up to the rest of the secret audio system they’d hidden all over the room. – Five mini speakers, each with their own specially programmed time switch controls, connected to tiny audio players full of short, creepy sound clips. A power bank on each of them would ensure they weren’t going to run out of energy even if Hero should be unconscious for longer than a few days again. The entire setup could run uninterrupted for at least ten days. As long as it stayed undetected, that is.
Of course it would have been funnier to simply blast wretched music or unbearable noise, but then the speakers could easily be located. Therein lay the real genius of short clips played at a low, almost subtle, volume and at random intervals: it would be near impossible to determine where exactly the noise had come from before the speaker fell silent again.
The villain would never find anything without tearing the entire place apart; and, the first few times, the sounds might even seem mere figments of the imagination.
What a recipe for paranoia and anxiety.
They were already rather proud of this one, but they weren’t quite done yet …
With a sadistic smirk, they fetched their bottle of bitterant. Colourless and odourless and, as the name implied, disgustingly bitter. The stuff was meant to be used as nail polish to discourage nail biting, but Hero had decided to put it to even better use. They whistled an upbeat tune as they went over the contents of the fridge and applied the bitter liquid to all the villain’s vegetables and healthy snacks. Served that bitch right for throwing all the fast food away, again.
The lighting was next up on the agenda. Nothing flashy here. Just some occasional, quick flickering to add to the overall uncomfortable atmosphere. A few seconds at best at a time – never long enough to immediately warrant closer inspection.
Then came the TV. With just the right gadgets and a few tweaks it would develop a mind of its own and turn on by itself in the middle of the night with the volume turned all the way up. Given the villain’s proper sleeping routine, they were in for a bunch of rather unpleasant awakenings.
Snickering, Hero connected one last master time switch control to the system as a whole and set it to activate at a few minutes past noon tomorrow. If they were still around by then, they’d simply postpone the activation by 24 hours. And should the villain be the one to wake up tomorrow … well.
Time for some good, old-fashioned psychological terror.
