Marinette in my AU!! (The Supervillain Rehabilitation Situation)
Info about her (and the AU) under cut!!:
(Aww, yeah!! It’s Multimouse time!!)
Summary of the fic:
‘The Supervillain Rehabilitation Program,’ is a project funded and backed by Bruce Wayne seeking to give villains looking for a chance to start a new that very opportunity. … But it’s not received all that well by the public. How can you just accept someone who terrorized your life for the past years with open arms? One of their recipients, who seems to be gaining quite a lot of scorn is Dr. Victor Fries — who just wants to experience a normal family life with his newly resurrected wife, Nora Fries. Most don’t regard the project with anything other than a side-eye — well, most except one person, apparently.
Life at school is still chaotic and Marinette wants a change of scenery — it’s only been a year or two since she stepped into the Ladybug mantle, but it feels like eternity. As much as she loves her family, she isn’t sure she’d survive with her Aunt Gina’s chaos and she doesn’t really want to stay with her grandad for… reasons. (Canon may look over his not-so-subtle racism, but I won’t … And, cmon. I need a reason for this fic to work guys. Suspend your disbelief just a smidge.) So when she sees this opportunity she’s quick to jump on it.
Some (Damian) think that she has loose screws, others wonder if she somehow has ulterior motives, but really, she’s just a bored teen with experience with villains and too much time on her hands.
Now let’s focus on Marinette!:
(This takes place post Hawkmoth defeat and would take place probably in 10th grade.)
If I can be honest, I thought it’d be funny if Marinette found a peaceful life and city a wee bit boring. (Which is half of the reason why she ended up going to Gotham.)
Don’t get her wrong, but like… after two years of chaos, you get used to it, maybe you even expect it. At first she revels in the peace and quiet but after some time she just starts to feel restless. (And it takes some time to grapple with that. ‘Shouldn’t I be thankful that I don’t have to deal with that anymore? Does this make me a terrible person?’)
So, I wanted Marinette to deal with her jitterbug nerves by traveling around Gotham — it’s not like she’s fighting anyone or getting in the way of fights! Pssh, no way. Did you forget that this was, like, an unofficial vacation for her? The Mouse Miraculous allows her to be inconspicuous while also having fun!
..But if she happened to stumble across a fight or two and somehow the bad guy ended up running into a trash can that wasn’t there a minute ago, would that be too crazy? And if the heroes just so happen to feel as if a lot of their fights ended a lot quicker than before as if someone was helping from the sidelines.. would you be mad? Who’s gonna tattle, anyway? Tell her mom all the way in Paris? She won’t even get caught! Right?
…
What’s that ominous ‘…’ for..?
Marinette uses the Mouse Miraculous here!
As vaguely shown in the drawings, Marinette pretends to be a mischief of mice hiding away in a mecha-supersuit. I think it’d be fun if Marinette broke out into other forms of creating (why limit her to one form) and I do love the mechanic Marinette headcanons and fics — so here I am!!
I’m tempted to have her refer to herself as the Mousketeers… hm. Regardless, when she’s bouncing around the city she dons on different personas! Like one of them shown above, Rathos (a play on the three musketeers thing — though it is subject to change), the so-called self-identified leader of the group! She almost seems to be quite kooky and scatter-brained except when she locks into action. She’s seen as the figurehead of the group since she’s the one that the heroes end up seeing the most — but Mar does have other personas she plays as too (One, being her main suit, is her when she isn’t acting.) What’s their names? .. I’ll uh.. (Checks index cards which are filled with doodles) I’ll get back to you on that one…
I have more things regarding her and the AU but it takes a while to gather all my thoughts! If anyone has any questions, feel free to ask!
The Supervillain Rehabilitation Situation (“I think we should consider investing in a better name.”)
(This is a drabble(?) for a fic idea I want to write! Synopsis under cut:)
Many times people forgot that behind the mantles supervillains picked up, they were still in fact humans. And just as humans were subject to change, so could they.
That’s why Bruce Wayne has funded: The Supervillain Rehabilitation Project. It provides former villains with the chance they need to get back into the lives they once had. Job opportunities, therapy, and more!
“No one will be able to grow if they’re never given the chance to change,” Bruce’s voice rings out on the screen, behind a supposedly sentimental guitar.
Tim clicks off of the advertisement, leaving him on the previous browser he had opened —Victor Fries’ background report. He rubs his face as he leans back in his chair. It was a good idea in theory…
“This is a terrible idea.” Damian, ever the optimist, folds his arms beside him.
“Don’t say that,” Dick rubs his neck — though, telling by his smile that seemed more like a wince, he thought just about the same.
There were many villains, mostly small-time criminals, who if given the chance to rehabilitate, would likely take the chance.
The only problem was that no matter how much funding can go behind this project, that didn’t make people forget the carnage they’ve done. People didn’t want to take them as new hires, or let them near their kids. Therapists have been raising some brows and have taken new precautions after the incident with Harley. If no one wanted to take these guys under their wing, their project was going to do worse than flunk.
Just because Mr. Freeze could pinky swear that he turned over a new leaf, didn’t exactly mean that people forgot when he nearly froze families over just to loot a museum for their diamonds.
Which was their current problem.
Dr. Victor Fries, a now retired villain as he managed to resuscitate his wife, Nora Fries, through the help of Batman. (Yes, finally. It took an egregious amount of time for him to finally be convinced that Batman wouldn’t further hurt her.)
Now, due to complications regarding the state the both of them are in, it left Dr. Victor still needs to be under freezing temperatures, something he’s still trying to solve with the help of Batman’s research. And Nora while being, well, unfrozen, still battles with some health issues. (Who knew that being stuck in ice for so long could lead to health complications?)
Now, he… wants to experience what it’s like to have a family? Given their current situation, they wouldn’t be able to raise a baby on their own. Under the ‘SuperVillain Rehab Project,’ he could potentially foster or babysit someone else’s kids. … But given the whole past villain situation, most people don’t trust him to even cradle a baby, much less watch over their kid! The same goes for the orphanages and other foster care programs that they tried to contact — and please believe that it was many.
(It also didn’t help that a video of Victor — who finally gained the courage to set foot outside after he retired — came out with him trying to comfort a kid who lost his mom, only for the toddler to start wailing even harder. It went stupidly viral — and people thought that when he leaned down to ask the kid what was wrong, he was actually whispering some life-altering threat.
It took weeks for the headline, ‘Victor Fries: Can You Really Trust This Guy with Your Baby?’ to die down. )
And while some may have trusted Nora a bit more, she was his wife, and by extension she was given the same wary attitude. It, in technicality, may have been unfair — it did suck knowing how much they wanted it — but it was also understandable, at least for the way they treated Victor.
So, as of right now? The guy had 0 match-ups.
Damian, their unpaid and clearly never overworked bundle of joy for the hour, raises a brow, “Say what? You’re acting as if this idea of his is reasonable in any capacity.” He huffs, “Regardless of what anyone may say, a smile and nice words won’t make them any more trustworthy. Nobody is going to apply — People will just be waiting for the next moment they snap and revert back to their previous behavior.”
The slump in Damian’s shoulders is barely perceptible, “I know it well,” he murmurs.
Dick’s brows furrows, as he reaches out to Damian, “Hey, bud, you’re not—”
Then the computer dings.
In unison, they all blink owlishly at the screen.
“Well, waddya know?” Dick says with a good mix of disbelief and wonder.
ONE NEW APPLICATION: Marinette Dupian-Cheng.
———
Yeeeah, baby, it’s a fic idea. (I had fun writing it out though.)
Tl;Dr (or maybe you did!) / Synopsis:
‘The Supervillain Rehabilitation Program,’ is a project funded and backed by Bruce Wayne seeking to give villains looking for a chance to start a new that very opportunity. … But it’s not received all that well by the public. How can you just accept someone who terrorized your life for the past years with open arms? Like Victor Fries, formerly, but still well known as, Dr. Freeze. He wishes to have the chance at a family life that was stolen away from him with his now saved wife, Nora Fries, but many can’t shake the memories of the freeze-gun wielding maniac he seemed to be some time ago.
Well, most except the newest, and only applicant for his foster offer… Marinette Dupain-Cheng — a student from Paris looking for a host family during her studies abroad. Convenient? Technically, no, but everyone is convinced there must be some underlying issues that made her apply, like maybe she was misinformed on who Victor was or was way out of her depth — either that or, as Damian theorized, she must be missing a few loose screws.
Well… isn’t this the opportunity they were looking for? What’s the worst that could happen? (And, well, if a few birds and a bat both made sure to keep an eye on her, who’s to judge? That’s why contingency plans exist.)
If I like a headcaonnon enough, then I'll adopt it as my own. One of these headcannons is that the Bats act less human than they really are.
They are human! It's just that adopting mannerisms of the actual animals helps them keep their civilian identities away from their vigilante ones. And it's not much, not really.
It started with Dick. Kids have a tendency to stare at things the younger they are. Eight year old Dick Grayson thought that staring at the crooks and tilting his head was perfect for catching people off-guard. He found that cackling added to the effect, and he really did find it funny how these adults with scars and tattoos and such would scream like little girls and stumble right to Bruce. Dick managed to perfect this so that he acts like a real bird while in his suit, flying through the sky and being a blur of color that cackled at thugs pain.
Head tilts just a little too bird-like. Whistles and chirps to call out to Bruce without anyone knowing what was being said. A call sign for checking in as Dick got older and started to patrol areas on his own.
Bruce saw the usefulness in Dick chirping like a bird. He worked with Dick to create a language based on bat and bird sounds, and it's a small portion of why they work so well together.
Jason picked up on it. The head tilts, the chirps and whistles that Bruce made sure were distinctly different from Dick's calls. A way to tell which of his chaotic little shits he was calling out to.
Babs also picked up on it. She wasn't one of Bruce's kids, but she learned to be more bat-like and how to call out to the others, just in case.
Each bat kid has their own call, their own bird. Cass chose to use the sounds of a young bat calling to it's parent or others around it. Most of the Robin's have sounds that are similar yet different.
There's one thing that's true through Gotham. The sound of Batman's kids laughing echoing through the streets like some disembodied voice from a horror movie isn't something to be scared of. Their laughter said that they were in good moods.
It was the chirps, the narrow eyed, birdish head tilts, the sound of birds in the dark of night, that you had to look out for.
*So I had to add oil to my car at a creepy gas station in the middle of the night this week… here’s my “what if” hero/villain snippet inspired by that. (ALSO: this is definitely not meant to be a ‘girls don’t know how to fix cars’ stereotype, it is just 100% that I personally don’t know how to fix cars haha) Hope you enjoy!*
_______________________________________
Click.
Hero lifted the gas nozzle and returned it to the pump, twisting the gas cap back into place before sliding back into the driver’s seat.
She turned the key in the ignition.
Silence.
She tried again.
And again.
After the fourth attempt, she looked around at the nearly deserted gas station. The bright lights of the convenience store were a stark contrast to the midnight sky.
“Not tonight.” She groaned, resting her forehead against the steering wheel. She’d gotten off of a disaster of a twelve hour shift and decided she needed to get out of the city.
Now she was stuck in the middle of nowhere at a creepy gas station.
Hero pulled the phone from her pocket, then paused. Who could she call?
It was the middle of the night.
She opened her pitifully short message list and clicked on the top number.
Are you awake?
The reply was instant.
Yes.
She breathed a sigh of relief. It was the first time she’d been grateful for a sister with insomnia.
What’s up? Is something wrong?
I’m at a gas station off exit 31 and my car won’t start.
I can come get you.
Sister, you’re two hours away.
Have you opened the hood?
Not yet. I just need someone to know where I am in case….
Her phone rang.
“Hey!”
“Hey.”
“Stay on the phone with me until you’re safe, ok?”
“Ok.”
She popped the hood and stepped out of her car. With the phone to one ear, she felt along the underside of the hood until her fingers caught against the latch.
The hood swung open. That, at least, she could do.
She frowned as she gazed down at the mass of metal and piping.
People, she could fix.
Cars, not so much.
“Hero?”
“Ya.”
“Did you check the battery?” She glanced at the battery.
“It looks fine.”
“Wow. Astounding diagnosis, Doctor.”
“Ugh. You know I’m not a car person. The battery looks fine. I had it replaced like a month ago… there was all this gross white stuff on it…” she shuddered.
“You literally perform surgery all day, and you’re grossed out by a corroded battery?”
She opened her mouth to retort when a car skidded to a stop behind her.
A man leaned out the window. “You need help, sweetheart?” He pulled open his door.
A second man hopped out of the passenger’s side.
She was vaguely aware of her sister talking in her ear as warning bells began ringing in her mind at their approach. “Hero? What’s going on?” She tapped the button to turn it to speakerphone.
“I’m fine. Thanks.” She took a step to the side, towards the store.
“It looks like you could use a ride.”
A hand came down on her shoulder and gently pulled her back a couple steps.
“She said she’s fine.” There was something familiar about the voice.
“We’re just offering a ride, sweetheart. Maybe you’d like one too.”
A short girl clad in black leather stepped between Hero and the men, her shoulder-length black hair swinging as she shook her head.
“Boys, Boys. We’re fine,” she growled, pushing her jacket to the side to rest a hand on the gun at her hip.
“Woah there, little lady. We didn’t mean no offense…” The men made a hasty retreat to their car, and she turned to Hero as they peeled out onto the road.
Hero let out a slow breath as she looked into the face of her rescuer and her fading panic returned ten-fold. It was Villain’s Sidekick.
Hero looked at the unwrapped box in their hands. It was small and tattered, but the flaps were neatly sealed with a strip of clear tape. "What's this?"
Sidekick shuffled their feet. "Just something small." They glanced up at Hero - their hero - waiting for them to open it.
Hero did so. They unfolded the cloth they found inside, freezing in place when they saw the full length of it.
"I, um... saw you were throwing out your cape. You've always said it's your favorite one, so I- I tried to fix it up a bit." Sidekick snuck a glance to see Hero's reaction only to feel their stomach flip at the utterly blank stare on their face. "I-I'm sorry! I know how much you loved it so I thought I'd try-"
"You did this?"
Sidekick's jaw snapped shut with an audible click. They nodded.
Hero's cape had been ruined. Countless fights had worn it down over the years. It was full of holes and poorly mended rips and tears, the seams all split and frayed. But what they had in their hands wasn't their cape. It was a patchwork of cloth, almost quilt-like with the vague idea of a pattern sewn throughout. Hero swallowed down the lump in their throat as they realized that Sidekick had chosen to use their favorite color to fix it.
They gripped the fabric in one hand, box tucked under their arm, so they could pull Sidekick in for a hug. With far more than it should have taken to keep their emotions in check, Hero whispered a quiet, "Thank you."
This has been floating in my headspace for a while:
What would happen if Fear Gas was mixed with the Butterfly Miraculous?
Ok, ok, hear me out.
If a person were to fall victim to Fear Gas, would the Butterfly Miraculous be able to get a hold of them? (Would the Fear toxin have too much of a hold on the person's mind, rendering the Butterfly useless?) If it can work, would the miraculous holder be able to experience(/see) the victim's fears(/terrors)? Would the miraculous help the victim snap out of their state so long they're under the miraculous' effects?
I've been thinking of Marinette helping someone who has fallen victim to the toxin this way, but it led to these thoughts.
Hi! I really love your blog and I would like an advice on transition of the story, like how could I make the story flow without sounding awkward? Thanks :)
Remember to include anchors when you change scenes - touch, taste, smell, sight - when you move to a new place/time to ground the reader back into the setting so that they’re not just floating around in thin air doing whatever they are doing.
Skip the boring bits. It’s a bit like when people make Facebook statuses about their breakfast. Relevant to a cookery blog, boring to the rest of us. Keep it relevant to the story. If you don’t care about what’s happening in the scene then no one else will, and it probably shouldn’t be in your story. Same with if you have people going somewhere, unless the journey is the point or something interesting happens on the journey, you can skip it or give it like two lines to explain point A to point B.
Basically: write the story that you would want to read.
Further to skip the boring bits: you want to transition and change to something else when the point of that particular scene has been made. If your scene does not have a point, be it plot development or character development or whatever else, then that scene probably shouldn’t be in your novel if you can’t tell me why you have included it. That’s not to say everything has to be action boom boom pow, a little filler is important, but it should be filler that tells your reader something about your characters.
The other transition points: new place, new time, new person.
I hope this helps.
Beyond this, like with everything, it’s write the thing and then poke and revise the thing until it’s no longer feels awkward.
Hey,may I ask for some writing advice on how to describe characters and places more properly?
Imagine you’re with/at the character/place, and then start with the details that you would first notice if you were actually there.
Character description, at first (you can and should drop in little bits throughout your story, but in the first description) is often kinda like a brief summary. Like a police sketch.
Focus on the bits that matter more, that distinguish them from the other characters.So, for example, if there is something really odd about a character you would write that first as its what the eye would be drawn to, or if your protagonist is really short they might first notice how tall the other character is. We don’t necessarily remember people by eye colour/hair colour - we remember them by mannerisms, quirks. I’m not saying don’t use eye colour/hair colour, but it’s not always the most interesting or memorable part of a person.
Focus on your protagonist’s reaction to them. If they’re a thief, they may notice what is easy to steal. If it’s a fight first meeting, they may notice weapons first.
What do they make a room feel like? Do they take up a lot of room or are they more of a wallflower?
If your protagonist is particularly attracted to the other character, then you have a lot more room for physical description as that is something that is going to be more relevant in a romance and something that your character will be lingering on.
It’s similar concept for places. If there is a huge mountain, the mountain is going to dominate the description because oh look there’s a huge mountain. If your narrator is a botanist they might give undue details to flowers. Again, if in doubt, description is a quick paint to anchor your reader in the setting/what’s happening.
Description in general - using the 5 senses are your friend. You don’t have to use all five every time for a short description, but it’s worth reading through and noting if you’re using ones other than sight, which is often the first instinct as we imagine something. Other details may include the scent of perfume, the sound of a voice, the rustle of wind, the smell of garbage or snow in the air.
"We are both our father's children. Does that not count for anything?"
"He is not your father."
"He made me," the android murmured. Their head tilted as they examined the protagonist. "What would you call that if not parenthood?" Their lip curled. "Playing at godhood?"
The protagonist's jaw clenched. They concentrated, and failed, at keeping their breathing even.
"I understand why it would be difficult for you," the android continued. "Why you would feel the need to compete. He made being the hero so effortless for me. It's in my programming. In my bones, as they say."
"You're soulless."
"Perhaps, but I do good. You though..." The android's head tilted the other way. "You killed your maker. You would kill me, damn anyone who gets in the way. You are not good."
"I'm human."
"That's hardly a heroic act."
"Easy to say when you're not human."
The android smiled, or at least mimicked such a thing. Their sibling. They looked the same as they had always done, going from eldest child to youngest as the years clawed their way past. They reached out a hand, and gently pressed the bruise on the protagonist's cheek.
The protagonist wasn't sure if the smile was sad because it was a poor imitation, or because...well. The other because was worse.
"I am programmed to hunt villains," the android said. "To stop them. This could be me stopping you. This conversation. I'd like that."
"Go to hell." It came out raspy.
The android let their hand fall, more convincingly warm and reassuring than the cold touch of anything living.
"I am superior and I am alone," the android said, softly. "I am already there."
Their hero appearance flickered into place.
"You deserved better than our father," the android said. "I think maybe I did too."
And then, they attacked, and the two of them weren't children training anymore.
Hi! Super super in love with your writing. Completely just *muah*! I don’t know if you’ve ever done it before, sorry if you have, but would you be interested in writing a little scene where the villain approaches the very tired and very under-appreciated hero (who was once bright eyed and full of love) and offers to make everything better for them. To make the city regret not seeing how much of a savior they are and all the hero has to do is say yes (and maybe even a hint of romance). I’m super in love with the way you write villain and hero dynamics, you’re like amazing! Thank you either way!
"You look worn down to the bone."
It was probably true, but the hero didn't even find themselves jumping or tensing at the unexpected voice. It may as well have been another inevitable shit show that was going to happen one way or another. They did turn, though, after a beat to clock the villain standing a few rows behind them.
The church was empty, somewhere between peaceful and eerie in the solitude, heavy with dust and expectation.
"Am I interrupting your praying?" the villain asked. Their lip quirked, as if amused.
The hero shook their head, and turned forward again, turning their face up to the light filtering through the stained glass windows. A kaleidoscope of sacrifice and martyrdom and suffering.
The villain moved closer, stopping behind their pew, fingers curling into the wood on either side of the hero's shoulders. The hero stayed as they were, leaned back, feeling the back of their head brush against the villain's chest as it rose and fell with metronome breaths.
"People never come and talk to me in here," the hero offered, after a moment of silence.
"I'm not people."
"If you're here to fight, I'd rather take it outside."
"I'm not here to fight."
The hero glanced up at them.
The villain's hand rose immediately, palm tracing the air an inch above the line of the hero's throat, not quite touching. Mapping. "I remember that you used to pray," the villain mused.
"I remember that I used to do a lot of things."
"Mm. You were a bright eyed thing - all shiny. All new. So hopeful."
"I can still kick your-"
The villain laughed, softly, and curled their fingers around the hero's throat. Gently. More like they wanted to cradle the hero's pulse in their hands, like a baby bird, then do anything especially untoward. Or, perhaps, more like they wanted the hero's eyes on them instead of the icons and the saints and old hopes of the city before superheroes came along.
"Yes," the villain said. "You could."
The hero stopped talking, more out of surprise than anything else.
The villain looked down at them with such blazing, breath-taking fondness.
"I told you they'd wear you down," the villain said, and their kindness was almost cruel, or maybe their cruelty was almost kind. The hero wasn't sure which was which, only that the villain loomed over them with enough presence to fill entire cathedrals. "I told you that the tide would turn, and as the miracle of you became mundane, everyday, they would stop appreciating you." The villain squeezed, just slightly. "All gods die. All pedestals crumble. All heroes must fall."
"Ah, I see." The hero kept their hands at their side, unafraid or perhaps uncaring. "You came to gloat."
"Not especially."
"You sound like you're gloating. It's very speechy. Did you practice?"
The villain's lips quirked again. "I have...considered approaching you many times, if you would like to call that practice."
The hero's brow furrowed.
The villain's grip loosened once more, but the hero kept their head tipped back lazily against the bench, watching the villain inverted and upside down.
"I come with an offer," the villain said.
The hero raised an eyebrow.
"You have saved this city from me time and time again," the villain said, "more times than anyone can possibly know about."
"It's in the job description, yeah."
"But they know enough. Enough to know better. Enough to treat you better."
The hero's head tilted. They blinked up at the villain and (perhaps, always perhaps) there was - if not fondness in the hero's eyes, than something more enduring. Understanding. "And you would make them pay for that," the hero said. They finally moved their hand, but only to set it atop the villain's on the edge of the pew. They squeezed, too, gently. "You're always so ready to make someone pay."
"They deserve it."
"Maybe," the hero shrugged. "But I don't."
The villain frowned.
"I didn't work this hard to help them, just to let you have them now," the hero said.
"I know you're tired."
"So you thought you'd try me when my defences were down?"
"That's not - I'm not-"
"No," the hero said, a little wondering, "you're not, are you?"
The villain yanked their hand back. Their jaw clenched.
The hero twisted on the seat, so they were facing the villain properly.
"You're a fool," the villain spat.
"It's the one bit of me I haven't lost yet."
The villain closed their eyes.
The hero's lips curled in a smile. They reached out again, taking the villain's hand and winding their fingers together. "But, in defence of my foolishness, you do give me hope occasionally."
"One day you'll say yes."
"One day you'll say no."
The villain did laugh again at that, seemingly despite themselves, a bitter thing. Their eyes opened and they looked at each other - both exhausted and both relentless.
"I would be your dark side."
"And I would be your good."
"They don't deserve you," the villain said, again.
"And do I deserve you?"
The villain, it seemed, had nothing to say to that.
The hero pulled the villain's knuckle to their lips, and pressed a kiss to it, before letting go.
"Thank you," the hero said. "For offering. Really."
Hey! I found your blog and have read a lot of your posts recent, your writing is really cool. I was wondering (if you haven't already) could something like: after a villain helps the hero(s) defeat a bigger threat, villain is treated like one of the heros and is struggling to get used to the good publicity (swarms of fans, cameras shoved in their face everywhere they turn, etc)
They couldn't do this.
The villain had never been great with attention. Attention, in their experience, typically meant trouble. It meant the flash of a father's furious eyes, or the scorn of their classmates for being just a little too much as a person. It meant punishment. It was much safer to make a study of invisibility, in short, and if that wasn't an option - to make oneself so terrifying that nobody would dare meet your eye.
"No comment," the villain snapped, not even listening to the question.
Unfortunately, in this instance, neither invisibility nor intimidation was having any effect at all.
Their words didn't stop the demands for comments. It didn't stop everyone from staring at them or the cameras from being shoved blindingly in their face. Too much. Disorientating.
"I said no comment - and no pictures!" They held a hand up in front of their face, struggling to shunt through the crowd. Their heart pounded in their chest, like a grenade about to go off. Unease wailed like a siren in their brain. They could feel their powers itching beneath the surface, desperate to slam everyone away from them, to find some room to breathe and "don't touch me. Get back. Please."
The questions grew louder. Some inane. Some cutting. All wanting a piece, and then another piece, until the villain felt like vultures were circling them, ripping at their flesh bite by bite and-
"Excuse me! Coming through." The hero's voice rang out through the crowd, just as the villain was about to completely lose it. Their arm encircled the hero's shoulders, and the villain would have been annoyed, except it was such a merciful shield against the lights and the sound and the madness. "Alright?" they muttered, into the villain's ear. "Just - hold on. Gonna get you out of here."
The villain released a shuddering breath. Their powers itched, clawing beneath the surface. The hero had to be able to feel the ominous hum of it.
"Thank you all for your support!" the hero said. "We just have some business to take care of, alright? Crime waits for no autographs!"
There was some good natured laughter at that.
The hero smiled and answered a few questions with their usual easy charm, and the villain hated them, and they hated themselves more for the lightheaded relief they felt. They wanted to bury their face in the hero's chest. The moment after that, the hero had pushed them up off the ground and into the air, away from everyone.
They landed on a rooftop some distance away.
The hero immediately let go, taking several large steps back.
The villain fell to their knees, and let their powers go. It leeched into the concrete beneath them harmlessly - no life there to touch, nor destroy. They cursed under their breath.
"Alright?" the hero asked.
"I'm going to kill them."
"You did well."
"Ugh." Horribly, the villain's ears prickled with tears. They swiped at their face, shoulders hunched. "I hate them."
"They don't mean any harm."
The villain looked up, and glared.
The hero took a step back seeming on instinct.
"I'm not a piece of meat." The villain's teeth bared. "I'm not some - they can't just - how do you stand it?" They used to mock the hero for loving the attention of their adoring fans, sometimes they'd even wondered what it would be like to be so loved, but this...
It had been barely a week, and the villain had never felt more powerless in their entire life. Everything they did was watched and they knew, they just knew, that the second they inevitably screwed up the whole thing would come tumbling down and everyone would hate them even more for having the audacity of not fitting the pedestal they'd been given. As if a pedestal wasn't a tiny, very high to fall off, thing that allowed no room to manoeuvre.
The hero eyed the remnant tears on the villain's face, and the villain looked down. The hero sighed.
"I'm sorry," the hero said. "I know it's - difficult. And I know that just because they don't mean any harm, that doesn't mean they don't it."
The villain stilled. They'd half expected the hero, even after all they had been through together, to mock them for not being able to handle it. Certainly, they'd expected the hero to take the side of the adoring public, who could do nothing wrong ever, and obviously had every right to their curiosity.
"I've just got so used to it." The hero shrugged in their periphery vision, a little helplessly. "I didn't think what it would be like for you. Will it help if I say it will get better?"
"You mean I'll be so broken down that I won't care about my privacy, like you?"
The hero said nothing to that, but the villain grimaced into the silence, hearing the words back.
"Sorry," the villain added, softer. "That was - sorry."
"I used to care." The hero turned to look over the city stretched beneath them. "It got exhausting. If it doesn't matter how many times you stop saying no, it's sometimes easier to stop saying it. Hurts less. Makes it feel less like -" the hero's shoulders squared.
"Makes it easier to pretend it's your choice." The villain pushed to their feet. "That you're in control."
The hero glanced back, and their eyes met.
"God, why do we protect them." There was less bite in the villain's tone that time, because they both knew why. The villain moved over to the hero's side, to peer down too and break the stare between them. They cleared their throat.
"You're shiny and new," the hero said. "I'll do something big. Get some of the aggro off you. That should make it easier, if you keep your head down for a bit."
"What about you?"
The villain could feel the hero's attention on them again, but they kept their gaze trained on the horizon.
It was the hero's turn to clear their throat.
"I can handle it."
"Meaning I can't?"
"You weren't."
"Screw you."
"I didn't mean -" The hero made another helpless little noise, and pivoted to face the villain directly. "Hey."
The villain considered ignoring them, because their skin was still crawling, but...well. The hero had come swooping in to rescue them, and nothing was exactly how it used to be. They glanced over again.
"I didn't mean it in a bad way," the hero said, seeming unable to find any of their famed eloquence now. Their cheeks burned. "I meant I don't, bloody hell. You don't like attention. That's what I meant! You start flinching like you expect them to hit you and - I'm making this worse, aren't I?"
"Completely." But a small smile crossed the villain's lips, without their permission, and their eyes softened a fraction. "But thank you."
The hero clearly had questions, about exactly why the villain reacted the way they did, but unlike the reporters and the crowds, they didn't ask. They didn't force themselves into the villain's space. They smiled back, tugging a sheepish hand through their hair.
The last of the tension left the villain.
The air, up high, was clean and cold. The world felt small and manageable, and far away.
"Any time," the hero said. "You're not on your own in this, after all."
"Ugh."
The hero laughed, at the expression on the villain's face and the villain...well, the villain found themselves laughing too.
I'm on vacation so you get this one early! Some things are addressed in this chapter, some things will wait for later.
Synopsis: Villain x Civilian. Civilian can sense other people's powers through auras but hides this ability. They are terrified of the most boring person at their office job, who hides the most powerful aura Civilian has ever felt.
Part one Here
Part 6 Here
The apartment had no personal effects whatsoever. Even if Civilian’s brain was firing on all cylinders right now, they’d be hard pressed to find something that spoke to his personality. Of course, temporary safe houses didn’t need decoration. Still, it was unnerving, even in their current state.
Jonathan returned, holding a thermometer and a glass of water.
“Open up,” he said, the thermometer chirping as he turned it on.
Civilian took the thermometer and placed it under their tongue. Jonathan reached out with his hand and Civilian jerked violently back again. Which was ridiculous — Jonathan didn’t need to touch Civilian to hurt them. But they couldn’t help the sharp spike of panic.
“My apologies,” he murmured, a strange look on his face. “I’m just feeling your forehead.”
This time Civilian forced themselves to hold still as he cupped their forehead. The fingers felt so blessedly cool on their skin they then had to force themselves not to lean into it. The thermometer beeped and Jonathan whisked it from their mouth before they can see for themselves. His expression turned stony.
“102.3,” he said, holding the thermometer out like evidence in court. “What utter lunacy drove you to come to work today?”
“I . . .”
Words failed them in the face of his obvious irritation.
“Well?” he prompted. He looked almost like an angry mother and it would be funny if Civilian wasn’t so terrified of him, trapped in his space with no way out.
“I . . .didn’t know what you would do,” they swallowed, “if you . . .thought I ran away.”
The hard edge of his expression softened into something Civilian didn’t recognize. His gaze darted back down to the thermometer for a moment before setting it down on the coffee table.
“I’ll be right back,” he said quietly before disappearing again.
Even though Civilian had the use of their limbs back, they had no intention of going anywhere. In fact, they felt on the verge of passing out. Their whole body trembled and shivered, desperately cold. Jonathan’s footsteps creaked throughout the old wooden floors and soon he returned, hands full with a glass of water and a large bottle of fever reducer. A pile of blankets and pillows floated behind him.
“Drink that whole glass,” he said. “And take three of those pills.”
He watched with arms folded to ensure they obeyed. Not that he needed to. Civilian would do almost anything to feel relief right now. They took the pills and asked and drank down the glass in careful sips. When they finished, he proceeded to make the couch up as a bed around them. Then he gently guided Civilian into the soft nest of pillows and blankets with invisible hands.
“Sleep,” he said, not unkindly.
Civilian’s body gratefully slipped into oblivion.
When they woke again, the sky was dark and the room lit by a soft lamp. Jonathan sat in the armchair off to the side, reading, glasses perched on his nose. He didn’t notice them and
Civilian took this opportunity to study him in the soft glow, as if his features could reveal the secrets behind his contradictory nature:
How he could save their life one moment and threaten it the next. How he used coercion and blackmail to treat them to carefully planned outings that enlivened Civilian’s previously dull life. How he stole their bodily autonomy just to take care of them in their illness.
They found no answers.
As if feeling the weight of their stare, Jonathan’s gaze flickered from his book to Civilian.
“You’re awake. It’s nearly nine PM,” he said, standing up and taking the empty glass from the coffee table. “Take your temperature. I’ll get you more water.”
Nothing this man did ever made any sense.
Civilian dutifully placed the thermometer in their mouth and pushed the button on. It chirped out just as Jonathan returned with their refilled glass.
“101.1,” they reported.
He nodded. “It’s going down. That’s good. Take more of that medicine. Are you hungry?”
They shook their head.
“I’m not surprised. Are you comfortable? Do you need more pillows, more blankets? Are you cold?”
Civilian stared at him in disbelief for a moment before shaking their head again. Several sarcastic retorts bubbled up in their throat and they swallowed them back down.
“I’ll be here if you need anything.”
A threat? A promise? Civilian was too tired to figure that one out.
When they awoke again, morning light streamed through the window and their hair stuck sweaty, to their forehead. Their mouth tasted like death yet for the first time in days they felt hungry. The living room was empty, but Civilian heard the sink running in the kitchen.
Groggily, they reached for the thermometer and took their temperature.
Jonathan peeked his head out from the kitchen doorway, attention caught by the beeping.
“Good morning. It's close to ten AM. What’s the verdict?”
“99.7” they said.
The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “Excellent. You’re improving rapidly. Would you like something to eat?”
Their stomach growled in answer.
“Message received,” said Jonathan,smirking now, before ducking back into the kitchen.
Several minutes later he returned with soup and toasted bread, setting them down carefully on the coffee table. Steam wafted up in the morning light.
“Careful,” he warned. “I just took it off the stove.”
The only time anyone ever cooked for Civilian was at a restaurant. They stared down at the soup and then back up to Jonathan. Now, out of the worst of their misery, the bafflement of this whole situation became too much to bear.
“What is this?” they demanded. “Why are you doing this? What is going on here?"
His eyebrows rose. “You don’t remember yesterday — when you showed up at work with a hundred and two degree fever?”
Civilian glared. “Yes, I remember yesterday, when you controlled my body like a puppet and practically kidnapped me. I also remember Saturday, when you nearly stopped my heart told me if I wasn’t properly afraid of you, you would kill me. Now you’re playing nursemaid and cooking me soup and I don’t understand just what the hell it is that you want from me.”
He gave them that strange, discomfited look again and now in the clear light of morning with their symptoms reduced, Civilian recognized it as guilt. No wonder they didn’t recognize it the first time; they didn’t think Jonathan was capable.
“I saved your life Saturday,” he pointed out. “I did so without even thinking. But everything that came after . . . was a mistake.”
“A mistake,” Civilian repeated slowly.
Jonathan grew quiet for a moment, his brow troubled, as if in the middle of a great internal argument. Then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“I’ll let you in on a little secret, Civilian: you terrify me as much as I terrify you.”
They almost snorted. “ . . .I don’t think you realize just how scared of you I am.”
“Oh, I know,” he said ruefully. “I can track the spike of your heart rate when you see me, how uneven your breathing becomes, the tremor in your hands. Just like the first time we met. But that had stopped for a while . . .until I ruined it.”
Civilian didn’t dare say anything. Already this conversation had veered sharply off course. Jonathan had never before revealed any of his inner thinking, his vulnerability. They sat in expecting silence while Jonathan searched in himself for the words.
“You’re not the only one trying not to pick sides, you know. A power like mine attracts ceaseless attention. I’ve dodged recruitment — voluntarily and forcible -- from either side since I was a teenager. I’ve given up everything at times to avoid it: my identity, my family, money, security . . .and its been successful. Until you.”
His eyes dart up to theirs, solemn and haunted.
“Until I met someone who I couldn’t hide from. I could slip away in a city of thirty million people and you could still find me. There’s no place in this world I could go to where you couldn’t sense me if you looked for me. If you ever gave up your own neutrality — voluntarily or otherwise — I would never have my freedom again.”
Civilian sat back, the guilt of that twisting ugly in their gut. “I . . .never thought about it like that,” they admitted.
Jonathan shook his head. “I didn’t want you to. The more ignorant you are the safer you are.”
“And that matters to you — my safety?”
“If it didn’t matter, you wouldn’t be here now, would you?”
In more ways than one if they took into account their near fall to their death.
“You are an innocent,”he continued. “Caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. I may be entirely self-serving but I’m not so monstrous that I don’t recognize that. But these last few weeks it’s been easy to forget just how much of a threat you are to me. And when you spoke so cavalierly of my power . . .it was a terrifying reminder of how precarious my secret is with you. I was afraid. I lashed out. I regret it.”
He held their gaze, the truth stark and unshielded in his dark eyes.
“What is it that you want from me?” Civilian asked, more gently than the last time.
“I want to trust you but I don’t think I can bring myself to do so. Even still, I’m not going to hurt you. Your life is not in danger every second you’re around me. If everything remains as it was these last few weeks, you have no reason whatsoever to fear me. Just know that I would choose my freedom over your life if I had to. I hope I don’t have to.”
Jonathan could be lying his ass off, just like he did at work every day. But something in their gut told Civilian this was the real truth. And understanding it, finally, put them on an even playing field. Civilian held his life in their hands just as much as he held theirs.
It didn’t fix everything — this whole situation was a knife’s edge, with so many ways it could end badly for either of them and Civilian would rather not be involved in anything, period.
But it made it easier to bear. It gave them hope that they could both come out of this unscathed.
Hello! Long time lurker! I got a prompt for you~ Can you do a close ally to the hero revealing to the captured/chained wild (ex-?)villain that they (the ally) are actually uber evil and are planning to betray and kill the hero. And maybe the villain responses with an 'I'll kill you,' (because potential ex-big bad actually gaf about the hero. Platonically, of course. But STRONG platonicly XD) Sorry if this is randomly too-specific. ^.^' I understand if it is!
"I know you care about them."
The villain's gaze flicked up, spearing through the sidekick standing on the other side of the prison cell bars. They raised a sceptical eyebrow, which made the sidekick smile.
"The hero," they said. "It's how you got taken in. I saw the moment where they were between you and freedom. You could have killed them and fled - you didn't."
"You're deluded." The villain's expression remained cold.
"Perhaps." the sidekick slipped their hands into their pockets, and gave as small casual shrug. "So you won't mind if I kill them, then?"
The villain was on their feet before they'd even fully registered the movement, only the cruel chink of chains keeping them from clawing through the bars.
The sidekick smiled.
The villain's jaw clenched, before they wiped the emotion hastily from their features once more. As if they hadn't already betrayed the rapid thudding of their heart. They tilted their head, in mock curiosity.
"What have they done to offend you, so?"
The sidekick shrugged, again. "Cared about you? Loved you?"
Once again, the emotion slipped through the cracks of the villain's mask. Hope. Disbelief. An icy slither of fear and fury.
"It's pathetic, really," the sidekick said. "They should have killed you when they had the chance. They would have let you escape - if you'd only been smart enough to realise it, you know."
The villain's mouth felt very dry. "If you lay so much as a hand on them..." Their voice was a whisper, but no less deadly for it. "I will kill you."
"Oh, yes." The sidekick stepped closer, just on the other side of the bars, inches out of the villain's reach. "You're going to stop me from this cage you let yourself be put in. Big bad wolf with all his teeth willingly offered over to the hunter. Is that it?"
"They'll stop you."
"They trust me," the sidekick said. "They won't even see it coming, but ohh...it will be exquisite. I'll make sure to take a photo of the corpse for you. I mean, it probably won't be recognisable, but it's good to get what token keepsakes you can, right?"
The villain lunged, feral, so at odds with their normal veneer of unfeeling control.
The sidekick jumped back with a squeak, as the chains gave an ominous creak, before laughing as they held. The laugh was something wilder, shriller.
"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for you to get caught or killed, once I realised our hero had no intention of doing the job." Abruptly, any amicable amusement the sidekick had been projecting was gone, replaced by disgust and hatred. "I knew you'd try and stop me. I knew..."
"From one villain to another," the villain said. "You need to work on your urge to monologue. Your need for attention is pitiful."
"And," the sidekick snarled, sharp with irritation, "once they're dead, there'll be no one to stand against me killing you too."
In chains, still, because they both knew that was the only way the sidekick would manage such a feat.
The villain squared their shoulders. They jutted their chin, looking down at the sidekick with withering contempt. Because the hero being alive, their care for the hero, was the only thing that had ever stopped them from slaughtering the little rat.
The sidekick glared back at them, apparently seeing that point quite clearly in the villain's expression.
"Anyway." The sidekick found their pleasant voice again, with difficulty, and an affected sigh. "Things to do. Heroes to kill. I just wanted you to know."
"You will die screaming."
"Mm. We'll see."
With a last, triumphant smirk, the sidekick left.
They weren't so triumphant, the villain imagined, when the escape bells began to wail.
Marinette works at/ owning a bakery where she infuses the goods with magic to dispel negative energy in Gotham (Yeah. That Maribat trope), with Jon working there.
I have many ideas to make this work, but I also have no words for it.
Marinette, Jon, and Damien are around the same age. (20 somethings?)
I would say that Marinette’s bakery isn’t in a high traffic area. Since she’s also focusing on spreading good energy, she’d probably allow people who can’t necessarily afford the food to come in and stay. (Let’s say that most of her income comes from doing commissions).
As said before, of course, the baked goods are magic. Purifying Gotham (yaaay.)
Listen. I just have this very specific scene in my mind where an angry customer comes, and they’re about to hit Marinette, but Jon blocks/ catches their hand. Marinette could most definitely handle herself, but I just think the idea is neat.
I don’t necessarily like Adrien (due to his behavior as Chat + his attitude/ actions in canon as a civie... the same going from some other characters), but I’m definitely not going down the heavy salt/ bashing route. So perhaps Marinette and the other’s don’t have as good of a relationship as before. Maybe she still talks to some of them more than others, but they're not as close as before
Let Marinette dabble with creation more!! Let her go outside of fashion, and let her just take up all creative studies. Inventions? Maybe. Cooking? Of course.
Damien + Marinette meeting? Part of me feels like it could go smoothly. Another part of me thinks that it’d be funnier if they couldn’t stand each other at first, and slowly they gain each other’s respect.
Why is Jon working there? I remember seeing a fic where Jon and Marinette are university students who are both trying to get away from bering heroes. So, to take inspiration from that, Jon may want a getaway from being a hero, but still wants to be… useful, in a way. He still wants to help others, but for his own (mental/ emotional) health, he wants to (temporarily) quite being Superboy. So, what’s better than applying to a normal bakery to help out the local community with baked goods? (He may work part-time, because I mean, it is in Gotham).
This leads to Damien absolutely scruntinizing Marinette to the point where she feels like she’s being interrogated (to her annoyance). He wants to make sure Jon absolutely knows what he’s doing and that the bakery is trustworthy.
What if he checks out the bakery to see how safe it is? Is it durable? Does it have the proper safety exits? Are you windows even bulletproof? Are your doors??
(Marinette could eventually tell that he’s just quite… protective? of his friend.. or at least he just cares a lot, but come on, man!)
Listen. I crave Marinette + Damien + Jon chaotic friendship. What of it if it starts off with Marinette + Damien frenemyship? It’s a work in progress. They’ll get there!
He wouldn't. I think we both know Damien wouldn't work there. But imagine Jon enacting some revenge and Damien getting pulled into working there for the day. May be ooc, but it's funny. (Imagine how their could either go so great or so poorly. Would Damien be disguised? Would he be blatantly rude to customers or just to the disrespectful ones? Would Damien and Marinette end up competing to see who can "make the most money" or "do the best?" Damien swears that he's not competing, but he seems to be in deep concentration.. Is Jon going to regret doing this? Find out next time on)
Marinette works at/ owning a bakery where she infuses the goods with magic to dispel negative energy in Gotham (Yeah. That Maribat trope), with Jon working there.
I have many ideas to make this work, but I also have no words for it.
A CAT?! A LIL FUR LOAF? YES - YES - I ALREADY HAVE TWO AND I WANT A THIRD, GIVE!!
The supervillain had been right: with their team divided, they had no chance of stopping both of them.
The hero stood panting at a fork in the alleyway, trying to decipher which way the villain had gone. If only superhero had listened to them - had listened when the hero had told them that they thought the master criminal was right, that they couldn't take both on at once. The other had simply dismissed them with a stubborn huff, saying they couldn't just turn a blind eye because the supervillain wanted them too. They'd also said that the hero was to be on the opposite team for that day. That they refused to let the hero anywhere near the supervillain again.
Taking a few more seconds to steady themself, the hero turned left and continued their chase - determined to catch up to the villain that had slipped through their grasp.
The superhero hadn't given them a reason why. It irked the hero somewhat, the way the superhero had regarded them ever since their run-in with the supervillain being nothing but suspicious. It was like their leader didn't trust them anymore - didn't think them sensible enough to know that the other was bad, evil.
The hero knew that. They weren't stupid: niceties aside, they knew the supervillain's intentions were always to be questioned. So what if they agreed with what the other had told them? It was true - their forces were stretched too thin; the hero was alone, exhausted, blindly chasing a trail that had long since gone cold whilst the rest of their team was busy dealing with the aftermath the villain had left behind. The hero had agreed with them because they'd been right, so why did that suddenly put them under question?
After a few more minutes, the hero finally came to stop.
It was useless. The villain was gone - the hostages were all well and safe but the bank had lost half of its money. They would have hoped that their superior was having better luck but they knew that they weren't. The supervillain was hard enough to catch when they had their whole team at their disposal: with only half of them chasing after the other, the master criminal was sure to get away without a single scratch.
The hero walked the rest of the way down the alley slowly until they reached the nearest street, stopping on the path and pulling out their communications device.
"Superhero?"
No response.
All they were getting right now was static.
They brought the device back before them, tweaking a few of the settings before bringing it once more to their ear. "Superhero, Villain escaped. We couldn't stop them."
Still nothing. If anything, the signal only seemed to be getting weaker. They cursed, hoping they could at least get in contact with the rest of their team but that soon proved to be useless too. Gods, where even were they? The hero had run far in their desperate attempt to catch the other and the street they were on was unfamiliar to them. They started walking further down the road, a little unnerved by the lack of people around them. There weren't even any cars parked up - the street was completely empty.
Ahead of them, a black car suddenly pulled down the road. The hero stopped in their tracks, squinting as they read the license plate.
...You had to be kidding.
They started to backtrack, quickly breaking off into a sprint right as the vehicle sped up, quickly passing them and pulling up onto the path - blocking them from running back down the alley. The hero spun about, trying to now escape in the opposite direction but a second car had pulled up behind them, the henchman within it already stepping out with their guns raised.
There was nowhere else to go. The hero was completely surrounded.
They raised their fists, preparing for a fight...then put their hands above their head in surrender instead. There was no point: they were tired and outnumbered; they might as well just let it happen.
It went exactly the same way as it had done before. Hands behind back, gag in mouth, blindfold. They were carefully escorted over to the first car, one henchman putting a hand on their head and guiding them down as they were put into the backseat. Two henchman came to sit either side of them before the doors closed and the engine started up, the vehicle quickly moving down the street and away to...somewhere.
Minutes passed in silence. The more time went by, the more the hero started to doubt their choice to come without a fight.
What did the supervillain want them for this time? Getting away once unscathed - and with a bunch of delicious pastries no less - was lucky. Getting away twice unscathed would be unheard of. Maybe this time the hero would get a firsthand look at the side of the supervillain that had their leader so afraid - that had had them stuck in an interrogation room for three hours the second they'd stepped foot in the agency after their first encounter.
Eventually, the car slowed to a halt and the hero was escorted out. They were walked a few steps forward before being forced to stop, the light chime of an elevator soon signalling them to move forward again - the hero only getting more and more fidgety as the lift brought them up. They still didn't know where they were. It was obviously a building of sorts - a tall one too - but that hardly narrowed it down.
They heard the doors slide open before they were on the move again, the henchman bringing them down a ways until they finally reached their destination. There was a click and beep, and another door was opened. The hero was pulled inside and their binds were removed, their captors working quickly to untie the rope from their wrists and the gag from their mouth, leaving only the blindfold in place. They moved away then, the hero following the sound of their footsteps as the left the room, shutting the door behind them and leaving them all alone.
The hero waited a beat. Then another.
They slid the blindfold from their eyes, soon coming to glance about in awe at the luxury hotel suite they'd been deposited in. The room was pristine - a queen sized bed with red sheets laying at its centre, with two sofas and the biggest TV the hero had ever seen. Hell, it even had a water feature against the one wall, the windows looking out onto the city below from the most perfect of perspectives...
The supervillain, however, was nowhere in sight.
Feeling hopeful, the hero walked over to the door and tried it but - of course - it was locked. Their communicator was gone and, upon a brief inspection of the bedside table, the phone was unresponsive. Absently, they wondered which hotel this was - whether the staff here were aware their rooms were being used to hold people captive or if they were completely oblivious to it all. For a second, the hero considered shouting for help but something told them it would just be a waste of their energy: the supervillain was smart, they thought these things through. If they didn't want the hero to leave then the hero was stuck here.
With a sigh, the hero prepared themself for a long wait - about to collapse on the bed before a small envelope on the pillow caught their attention. It was white, sealed with red wax, and had their name neatly inscribed upon the back.
The hero swallowed. They'd been warned about the supervillain's skill for blackmail.
What would theirs be? What secret had the other dug up about them that could possibly bring them to their knees - what threat had they come up with that could make the hero go back on their oath to protect the city that they loved?
Part of them thought that they shouldn't open it but the curiosity was too much to ignore. If someone they cared for was in danger - if they had to choose to act now or forever live with the weight of their choice they had to know, they couldn't just take that risk.
Their fingers shook slightly as they popped the seal, slowly pulling out the letter that was folded neatly within it. The message was short and to the point, the hero's eyes widening as they read it:
Hero,
My henchman have prepared a bath for you - enjoy yourself. I'll collect you for dinner at six.
Supervillain x
P.S. You did well to chase Villain as far as you did, even if Superhero was too stubborn to follow my advice.
Don't be too hard on yourself, love. I know you did your best.
The hero blinked.
They read through it a second time, then a third time. And then they blushed.
If this was the supervillain's version of blackmail then it was certainly unlike any other the hero had come across before...
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