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Hi and welcome, thank you for visiting !

The general tag for my snippets is my writing.

I do fantasy and whump sometimes, but this is mostly a heroes and villains blog now. I take requests for fantasy and hero/villain.

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[caffeinewitchcraft]

The Hero and Hope

Based off a world where everyone gets a Destiny they must fulfill. Bakers and Demon Kings (x) and Villagers (X). You? You are a Hero.

----------------

You are a Hero.

Nobody at the orphanage knows. The mark sets during the worst winter in three decades, when the windows have to be barred to prevent snow spirits from ripping them to shreds and the Director takes half the reserves and runs in the middle of the night.

Sarah, the only caregiver left in the rickety building, holds as many of the kids as she can while the snow spirits scream outside. You’d love to be in the circle of her arms, but you’re holding the door shut with as much strength as your eight-year-old arms allow.

She doesn’t tell you to get away from the door.

“It’s alright,” she says, voice trembling. Her brown hair, matted from the months indoors, hides her eyes. She croons to the younger kids like a bird, so softly and gently that you have to strain to hear it over the howling demons and roaring winds. “We’ll be okay. Our land’s Lord will send a Hero, you’ll see. We’ll be okay then.”

Your arms burn as intensely as your eyes. A Hero. Your stomach aches from hunger and your fingers sting from the cold. You aren’t sure how much good you’re doing keeping the door closed, but there’s something deep inside of you that tells you you must do something. The blows from the snow spirits outside vibrate up your arms, nearly throwing you back.

Heroes, you think, only matter if they show up.

Hope is traumatic. Eight-years-old and you’ve been returned from potential families twice. Three days ago, you found the beginnings of greenery in the woods behind the orphanage. When you excitedly raced back to tell the others that winter was ending, it was only to find the Director and most of the caregivers gone with a significant portion of the rations.

Then the storm clouds rolled in.

So that long, dangerous night, you don’t hope. You shut your ears to Sarah’s gentle comforts and the snow spirits’ shrieks. You focus on the burning in your arms, the blisters forming on your heels, the cold nipping at your fingers.

Hope is traumatic but trying is something you can do. You put your small body between all of the horrors outside the door and the other kids. You try to stand firm.

You don’t notice when the burning in your arms hides the arrival of a telling mark on your left bicep.

---------------------.

You are fourteen years old, one year shy of coming into your power, when a couple visits the orphanage intending to adopt.

Sarah is now the Director of the orphanage, awarded the position by the land’s Lord after that terrible winter six years ago. She’s different than she was then. You lost three kids to hunger before spring finally came and she held each one in their last moments.

You and Sarah never develop the close relationship she has with the other kids. But she always makes sure you have more meat in your meals than most and, when you hunt in the woods, you always let her decide how the food will be divided between dinner and winter stores.

“We’re Knights,” the potential adopters tell the Director. They’re a couple, a man and a woman with dark hair and muscular bodies. “Retired. We’re settling just north of here for good and are looking for a suitable child who can follow in our footsteps.”

Director Sarah looks at them coldly, leaning back in her chair and folding her hands over her stomach. If she notices you and two of the younger kids peeking through the crack in the door, she doesn’t say anything. “I apologize, Mr. and Mrs. Bahr, but it seems there’s a misunderstanding. We do not pair children with families based on their Destiny.”

“We’re not saying you do,” Mrs. Bahr says. Her gaze is cutting though her shoulders are relaxed. “Our Lord explained before we came. However, there is no rule against asking the children their Destiny, is there?”

Loophole. You pull away from the crack in the door, letting Hera and Josiah take your spot. You lean against the wall with your eyes closed. Orphanages aren’t allowed to disclose Destinies, but that’s where the protection ends. If someone sees a child’s Destiny or learns of it through some other means, that’s alright.

These people aren’t here to adopt because they want a child. They’re here to adopt for a guarantee. A guarantee of what remains to be seen. An heir like they claim? A prodigy for status? Or a weapon for them to control?

You listen for any other clues behind their motives, but the Bahrs don’t push the issue of Destiny again. They accept Director Sarah’s schedule for meeting the kids, even offering to host a picnic day at their estate as a treat. The couple wants to gain trust, you can tell, and by the end of the meeting it’s working.

Director Sarah sees them off to the door herself.

“We’ll wait for the invitation,” she says. She’s older now, her thin brown hair showing the beginning signs of going grey. But her handshake looks strong when she shakes Mrs. Bahr’s in farewell. “I’m sure the children will be thrilled.”

“I hope so,” Mrs. Bahr says. Her husband nods to the Director gravely, but Mrs. Bahr lingers. “I’m sorry if we came off a little…forward when we mentioned Destinies. Please believe me when I say that my husband and I aren’t so shallow. We are looking for a child – one we can call our own.”

“I see,” Director Sarah says. There’s a hint of warmth in her voice. “As I said, we look forward to your invitation.”

Mrs. Bahr nods and joins her husband in their carriage. They set off down the road without once having asked to meet one of the children on the first day of their introduction.

You can tell Sarah likes them.

“What do you think?” Sarah asks. She doesn’t turn from the road, even though the Bahr’s carriage is out of sight. “Isla?”

You don’t ask how she knows it’s you lurking in the shadows of the orphanage. Director Sarah is a Guardian. Her senses are elevated when it comes to those under her charge.

“I don’t think anything,” you say. You step out from around the corner with a sigh. No use hiding now. “They’re influential people if they were recommended here by the Lord himself. We’re fortunate.”

“You’re the right age for a Knight’s apprenticeship,” Sarah says.

“Hera hasn’t shown me her Destiny, but it’s probably something suitable,” you say. Hera is ten, one of the older kids at the orphanage. Last summer she lifted Josiah, only a year younger than her and already a head taller, out of the well before he could drown. “You should talk to her about what being part of a Knight family could mean.”

Sarah looks at you over her shoulder. The setting sun catches in her eyes, turning the warm brown into an unearthly amber. “I hope you can accept the possibility they might choose you.”

They won’t. “Aren’t I needed here?” you ask.

Sarah’s expression softens. “You are, Isla,” she says. She weighs her next words carefully. “But I am the one who’s responsible for all of you. I can take care of everyone. If the Bahr family is a good fit…”

“Sure,” you say flippantly. You shove your hands in your pockets and slink back into the orphanage. You don’t dare hope. “I’m going to help Josiah.” He’s on dinner duty tonight. He always cuts the onions too roughly. “See you later.”

You feel Sarah’s eyes on your back like a physical warmth.

-----------.

Being a Hero doesn’t change anything about you. You expected it to when you first noticed the mark but, even six years later, nothing’s different.

You aren’t kinder. When Josiah asks for your dessert, you steal a bit of his as punishment for even asking. When Hera asks for a bedtime story, you tell her one so scary that she has to sleep with one of the other girls. When Sarah asks you to fix the fence around the chickens, you whine and complain that you’re the only one who does anything around the orphanage.

“The curse of being the oldest,” Sarah says dryly. She hands you a hammer and a bucketful of nails. “Some posts were dropped off at the end of the lane. Make sure you’re back by sunset.”

Maybe you’re a little stronger than others. You can drag three posts at once and could probably drag more if you wanted. But another curse of being a Hero is that you’re very aware.

It’s not until you’re nailing a third rail to the fence that Mr. Bahr makes his presence known. You don’t turn even when he makes his steps purposefully heavy to avoid scaring you.

“You’re very strong,” Mr. Bahr says.

His shadow is long and thin, just like him. You observe it from your peripherals, unable to speak with the two nails you’re holding between your lips. You take your time pounding them into the wood. He’s arms, a sword at his hip, but his hands are loose at his sides.

“Good thing I am,” you say at last. You stand and turn in the same motion. He waited for you to finish without chastising you for not speaking right away. You perch the hammer on your shoulder. “Otherwise, the chickens would take over.”

Mr. Bahr laughs. Unlike when he was meeting Director Sarah, his face is relaxed and open. His blue eyes sparkle. “We couldn’t have that now, could we? I suppose we all owe you our thanks for preventing the coop’s coup.”

You want to laugh. You don’t. “Director Sarah won’t like you being here uninvited.”

“I just came to drop off an invitation,” Mr. Bahr says. He studies you for a moment and then smiles. “I hope you’ll accept, Isla.”

A chill races down your spine. How does he know your name? You wipe the sweat from your brow with a scowl. “Maybe I don’t want to be adopted.”

To your surprise, Mr. Bahr nods. “I can understand that,” he says. He looks up at the sky. The light is sliding from the sky, catching on the clouds and turning them a brilliant orange. When he looks back at you, he almost looks…sad. “Think of our invitation as a party, hm? No strings attached.”

For some reason your tongue feels heavy. It takes two tries before you can say, “I need to fix this part of the fence before dark.”

“Want some help?” Mr. Bahr asks.

“I couldn’t ask—”

“You didn’t ask, I offered,” Mr. Bahr says. He rolls up his sleeves and nimbly plucks the hammer from your grip. “I may be a Knight, but I’ve done my fair share of carpentry. Let me show you a few tricks.”

You listen quietly as Mr. Bahr shows you how to twist the nails to avoid splitting the wood. What would have taken you an hour to finish, he accomplishes in a quarter of one, talking to you the entire time.

It’s…odd to have an adult’s attention on you for such a long time. He’s careful not to get too close, always offering you the hammer to practice by setting it on the grass between you rather than handing it to you directly. When you manage to replicate his technique on your second try, Mr. Bahr is more excited than you are.

“Wonderful,” he compliments. He glances up at the sky. The first stars are twinkling. “I’ll be going now and you should too. Have a good night, Isla.”

Unlike the first time he said your name, it feels pleasant now. You mutter a goodbye and leave before he does, scurrying towards the orphanage with your bucket of nails clutched to your chest.

He’s gone when you think to check the road for his carriage. Did he walk here? Ride a horse?

You close and lock the orphanage’s doors behind you.

----------------.

The picnic isn’t scheduled until the middle of summer and it’s spring now. Still, it’s all anyone can talk about.

“We have plenty of time to get ready,” Director Sarah tells them. “The Bahrs will be dropping in from time to time until then. I expect everyone to be on their best behavior when they’re here.”

Josiah raises his hand. “I hear they live in a castle!”

“A manor,” Sarah corrects. “Given to them by our Lord for their years of service.”

“The Guard in town says they worked for the King once!” Hera says, wiggling in her seat. “Is that true?”

“You can ask them yourself,” Sarah says. She claps her hands together and starts urging the kids up. “It’s time for chores. Your assignment is posted by the kitchen…”

You stay seated at the breakfast table. You haven’t eaten your third egg or your last slice of toast. Your stomach feels queasy. You keep thinking about Mr. Bahr saying wonderful when you worked on the fence together.

You aren’t supposed to want to be adopted. You’ve had your chance and you ruined it both times. It’s not fair of you to imagine what it would be like learning swordsmanship from Mr. Bahr and what it’d be like to hear him praise you when you got the next move right. One of the other kids deserve that chance.

You can only do what you can do.

---------------.

Mrs. Bahr is alone the next visit.

No one recognizes her at first. She’s wearing a gown like a noble and her hair is gently flowing down her back rather than tightly pinned behind her head.

“I’ve received the Director’s permission to hold a lesson on writing,” she tells the children. She gestures to the bag she’s set on the table. “Come get a slate and a piece of chalk. We will work all together.”

The kids have never had slate and chalk before, not the real ones anyway. Sometimes you find a nice, flat rock they can draw on with charcoal, but it’s not as entertaining as what Mrs. Bahr brings. She watches everyone in amusement as they immediately start drawing instead of starting the lesson, flower and trees and swords.

“Look, Isla,” Hera says, tugging at your sleeve. You’re seated on the spare chair by the wall, away from the table. She twists from her spot to show you she’s drawn a shaky stick figure. “It’s you!”

Your eyes flick up to Mrs. Bahr. She’s not irritated by the distractions yet. You point with your bit of chalk at the drawing. “Which part of it is me?”

Hera points at a blob in the stick figure’s hand. “That’s the horned rabbit you brought home yesterday!”

You snort. The horned rabbit you’d killed yesterday wasn’t half the size of your body. “Are you sure that’s a horned rabbit? Looks like a turtle to me.”

Hera points to the stick figure’s face. “You can also tell it’s you ‘cause you’re frowning.”

“Hey!”

Mrs. Bahr claps her hands together. Instantly, she has the room’s attention. “I’m glad you all like my present. However, it’s time to get started.”

“Present?” Josiah asks.

“If you work hard today, you will be allowed to keep the slate and chalk as a present,” Mrs. Bahr says. She takes care to make eye contact with every kid. “Only those who work hard.”

It’s generous. You watch Mrs. Bahr from under your lashes as she talks everyone through writing the alphabet. It’s too generous not to be genuine. Try as you might, you can’t figure out any ulterior motive to spending so much on the kids. To look good? For who? For Director Sarah?

Director Sarah won’t be swayed by gifts like this even if the kids could be.

Mrs. Bahr stops well away from you, observing your slate from afar. “Very good, Isla. Do you know how to write?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Read?”

“Only a little.”

Mrs. Bahr hums. She doesn’t look disgusted by your stupidity or put off by your clipped tone. Your first family returned you when you told them. Mrs. Bahr’s lips curve. “Your letters are wonderfully steady. I can tell you will be a very good student.”

She turns before she can see you flush.

---------.

Over the next few months, there isn’t a week that goes by without at least one of the Bahrs visiting. They become a regularity around the orphanage to the point that even Director Sarah stops worrying about the state of their rooms with every visit.

“Kids will be kids,” Mrs. Bahr says when you ask her to wait while you tidy the toys in the parlor. “It’s alright, Isla.”

Your head spins. Sometimes, when one of them says something particularly bizarre, you feel like you’re outside your body. There was a time when they didn’t have toys to leave out in the visiting area. Thanks to the Bahrs, every child has a doll, a slate, a new set of shoes, and an abacus. You are still waiting for the strings that come with these presents.

There haven’t been any yet.

The kids love the Bahrs. Hera insists on baking fresh strawberry tarts for them after a day of gathering. Josiah carefully sounds out passages from their new books to show them that he’s still practicing his letters. Annie and a group of the younger kids spend all day weaving a flower crown for Mrs. Bahr that you have to confiscate before they can put it on her head.

“Go wash your hands,” you scold. Despite your tone, your hands are gentle as you push Annie to the schoolhouse. “Don’t touch your eyes.”

Annie blinks rapidly, trying to hold back tears. “I didn’t know it was poison, lady, I swear.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Bahr says, hand fluttering over her heart. She steps towards Annie. “Dear one—”

You give full body flinch when Mrs. Bahr stoops to hug Annie, but you don’t get between them. The Bahrs have won your trust in this. They won’t hurt the kids.

You sigh to hide your flinch when Mrs. Bahr stands. “Now Mrs. Bahr needs to wash. Poison ivy is no joke.”

“It is not,” Mrs. Bahr agrees. She ruffles Annie’s hair. “Go on, do as Isla says. Wash up.”

“We can go together,” Annie says with her big, blue eyes. She reaches for Mrs. Bahr’s hand and then thinks better of it. She tucks her hands behind her back and kicks at the ground. “If you want.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Mrs. Bahr says, smiling.

Annie nods and races to follow her friends.

“I’m sorry,” you say as soon as Annie is out of ear shot. You busy yourself picking up the fallen flower crown and the various trimmings of poison ivy they’d used for foliage throughout it. You feel flustered. “They really didn’t know any better—”

“I know,” Mrs. Bahr says so gently that you have to look up at her. She’s frowning at your hands. “I’m more concerned about you. Should you be holding onto it like that?’

“I’m immune,” you say. You’re not worried that she’ll guess your Destiny from that. Lots of Villagers are immune to poison ivy, particularly the ones in this region who rely on gathering and hunting. “Since I’m in the woods so much.”

“Knights are immune too,” Mrs. Bahr says. She follows you away from the orphanage and to the tree line. “You’re quite the hunter, aren’t you? I remember Hera saying you slayed a horned rabbit.”

Heat comes to your face. You stomp ahead of her to deposit the flower crown in some denser foliage where the kids won’t be able to get it. “I get lucky.”

“I’d consider it unlucky to run across a horned rabbit,” Mrs. Bahr says. She examines the forest with interest. “A demon is a demon. Even adults have difficulty with horned rabbits.”

It hadn’t been difficult. You’d been armed with a sharpened branch and, when the rabbit leapt for you, you knew right when to stab. You clear your throat. “It was difficult.” Then when Mrs. Bahr doesn’t say anything, you add, “It was frightening.”

She believes you. She lays a gentle hand on your shoulder to get you to look her in the face. “The orphanage budget is enough that you don’t need to hunt, Isla,” Mrs. Bahr says. “I know I don’t like the idea of a fourteen-year-old out here alone and unarmed.”

“Almost fifteen,” you say, “and I had a sharp stick.”

“A sharp sti—” Mrs. Bahr cuts herself off with a deep breath. “Regardless of your…aptitude, Isla, it’s dangerous. I’ve spoken to the Director and she agrees with me. You aren’t to go hunting anymore.”

The forest suddenly feels too hot. The leaves overhead rustle, but you can barely hear it over the roaring of your blood. “Excuse me?”

Mrs. Bahr steps closer. “You’re a very strong girl, Isla, but it’s dangerous. If you want to go out with me or Mr. Bahr—”

You shake off her hand. “The Director agreed with you? She said I’m not allowed to go hunting anymore?”

“Out of concern for your safety.” Mrs. Bahr looks like she regrets saying anything. “Once Mr. Bahr and I explained to her what a risk a horned rabbit poses—”

You run away. Mrs. Bahr calls out after you, but you don’t stop. Beyond the sting of Mr. and Mrs. Bahr not thinking you strong enough to hunt, there’s a deeper hurt. The Director agrees. Really? Really?

“Isla? What’s wrong? I thought you were with Mrs. Bahr,” Director Sarah says when you burst into her office. She sets the papers she’d been reading down and frowns. “You look—”

“I’m not supposed to go hunting anymore?” you ask.

Sarah’s face blooms in understanding. “After what Mr. and Mrs. Bahr said about the increase in demons in the area, I agreed—”

“It’s summer,” you interrupt. You stalk up to her desk, your fists balled at your side. “It’s time to hunt.”

“The Bahrs have agreed to accompany you—”

“They only come once a week,” you say. You’re being so incredibly rude to the Director, but you don’t care. “I need to hunt three times that at least. The game has been moving deeper into the forest—”

“Where you are not allowed to go,” Director Sarah says, this time interrupting you. She steeples her hands in front of her. “I should have curtailed this activity long before this point, but I thought you needed it.”

“We need it,” you say. You can’t believe what you are hearing. “We need to store up rations, you know that.”

“Our budget allows us to purchase rations in town.”

“But what if that’s not enough? It’s better to have our own supply—”

“It will be enough.”

“It still doesn’t hurt to have some extra jerky—”

“The store we have will be enough.”

“But what if it’s not?!” You’ve raised your voice without realizing it, fists shaking at your sides. “The other kids are too young to remember o-or too new, but you and I do. That winter, we didn’t have enough. Why are you trying to stop me?” To your horror, your voice cracks. “I thought you understood.”

There’s silence in the room except for your panting breath.

“I’m sorry,” Sarah finally says. The sudden apology is enough to close your mouth against what you might have said. She meets your eyes. “You’ve always been so strong that I…Isla, you were a child. I will always be grateful for what you did that winter and for every winter since. I relied on you, a child, because I didn’t have any other option. We didn’t have another option. But now we do. We’re okay now, Isla. You don’t have to work so hard to protect us.”

“Yes, I do, I’m—” the Hero “—I can do it.” There is something inside of you telling you that that is what you must do. You think that it’s part of being a Hero.

((You’re worried that it’s because you’re scared.))

“My decision is final,” Sarah says. She picks up her documents and straightens them. “You are only to go hunting with an adult from now on. If I find out you went to the woods without one, there will be consequences.”

She’s using the same tone she uses on the other kids when they’re misbehaving. I mean business. You stare at her for a long, breathless moment. You jerkily turn to go.

Mrs. Bahr is hovering in the doorway. She looks guiltily between you and Director Sarah. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop…”

You shove past her and run to your room.

-------------.

Somewhat counterintuitively, as an orphan you’re never alone. You throw yourself face down on your bed.

A shocked silence swallows the occupants on the other bed.

“Is she okay?” Josiah asks Hera.

“It’s Isla,” Hera answers. There’s the rustling of bedsheets as Hera climbs out of bed and then the soft sound of socks on hardwood as she comes over. “You okay?”

You are not okay. There’s an intense war of emotions in your chest. Anger that none of the adults seem to think you’re capable. Betrayal that Sarah isn’t on your side. A sick fear at the thought of being unprepared for winter. And, now that you’ve run away so spectacularly, shame. They probably think you’re overreacting, but they’re wrong. They’re the ones who are being naïve. They’re the ones who—

A gentle hand on the back of your head freezes the thought. Hera pets your short, black hairs in an attempt at comfort. “It’s okay, Isla. You can just sleep. Sleep makes everything better.”

That’s what you tell the younger kids. The difference between you and Hera saying it? When Hera falls asleep, you work to fix the problem. If you fall asleep, no one is going to fix the problem for you.

You flip over, dislodging Hera’s hand. You look up at her as if seeing her for the first time. She’s ten, two years older than you were when the winter happened. She was four then. You want to ask her if she remembers, but instead you ask, “Do you think Sarah hates me?”

“What?” Hera’s eyes are wide. “No! What makes you think that?”

“Nothing,” you say. “It’s stupid. Forget I asked.” You turn on your side, your back to them.

“I know she’s worried about you,” Josiah says. He offers the information tentatively. “I overheard her and the Bahrs talking. Did they ban you from the woods?”

You don’t move. “What else did they say?” You’re afraid that he’s going to say they called you weak. Or, worse, a nuisance. “Did they say anything else about me?”

“Not really.”

Nobody hears anything useful around here. You close your eyes. “I just want to be alone for a little while. I—”

There’s a knock on the door. “Isla? It’s me, Marie. Can I come in?”

Marie? Too late you remember that that’s Mrs. Bahr’s name. She’s been trying to get the kids to call her be her first name. So far no one’s taken her up on it and she hasn’t pushed.

Hera opens the door. “Hi, Mrs. Bahr. Isla is being moody.”

You sit up with a squawk. “I am not!”

“If it’s alright, I’d like to talk to Isla for a moment,” Mrs. Bahr says to Josiah and Hera. “Alone.”

“Don’t let her yell at you,” Hera says as she passes Mrs. Bahr. “She never means it.”

You are going to strangle her. “I don’t yell!”

“That’s not an inside voice,” Josiah says. He dodges the pillow you throw at him, pulling the door closed behind him and Hera.

You are suddenly alone in the room with Mrs. Bahr.

You sit up further, pressing your back against the headboard. Mrs. Bahr doesn’t look mad. Her hands are clasped in front of her and she’s looking down at the floor. It almost looks like she’s the nervous one. You hug your pillow to your chest. “You can sit down if you’d like.”

Mrs. Bahr looks up at you. Her lips twitch. “Thank you, Isla.” She sits down on Hera’s bed gingerly as if afraid it wouldn’t be able to take her wait. When she’s settled, she says, “I wanted to apologize to you.”

Your arms tighten around your pillow. “Why?”

“Not for saying you shouldn’t hunt alone,” Mrs. Bahr says. She’s not a mind reader but sometimes it seems like she is. “For not understanding what hunting means to you. I would have approached things differently if I’d known.”

“Known what?”

“About what you’ve been through.”

The winter. That’s the only thing Mrs. Bahr could be talking about. She must have heard more of your conversation (argument) with the Director than you thought. “It was a long time ago,” you say. You really don’t want to talk about this with Mrs. Bahr. Not when you can still feel that winter’s desperation in your molars like a memory. “I’m fine.”

Mrs. Bahr is quiet for a moment. She studies you much like Mr. Bahr did all those weeks ago mending the fence. “I was a knight for 30 years, you know. I supposed it’s not weird that a Knight worked as a knight for so long. As soon as I came into my power at 15, I was compelled to hold a sword. To seek out evils and defeat them. To follow my Lord into battle no matter the cause.” She looks up at the ceiling. “I’ve had a lot of adventures and helped many, many people. But there was a time when I wanted to quit.”

You start. “You did?”

“I wanted to work in a flower shop,” Mrs. Bahr says. She leans back on her hands. “What a life it could have been! Waking up before the sun and hiking to the flower fields…I had my new house all picked out. It’d have a koi pond and a row of red rocks from the Harrow River. That’s where I met Ivan.”

Mr. Bahr. He’s been trying to get you to call him by his first name too. Unlike Mrs. Bahr, he’s much pushier about it. “What made you want to quit?”

“Exhaustion,” Mrs. Bahr says. She closes her eyes. “It seemed that there was a new threat to my Lord every day. An assassination attempt from a branch family. A territorial dispute. A new influx of demon beasts. It got to the point that I hardly left my Lord’s side for fear of returning to find him dead. He was the first Lord I swore my loyalty to. I always felt like I was failing those days. So I wanted to quit.”

You’ve felt like that before. Sometimes it seems like you never catch enough while hunting, that you’re never kind enough, that you’re never strong enough. You’ve never thought about working in a flower shop though. “Why didn’t you?”

“I did.” Mrs. Bahr laughs at your shocked expression. “I was in my twenties. They tell you things calm down after your teen years, but that’s not true. I handed in my resignation and fled for the nearest town.” Her smile softens. “Ivan followed me.”

“He was there?”

Mrs. Bahr nods. “We were sworn to the same Lord. He came galloping up with my resignation clutched in his hand. His face was so red!” She laughs. “’What does this mean, Marie? He was crying! You can’t quit! I haven’t beaten you yet!’”

“And that’s what convinced you to stay a knight?” you ask. That doesn’t help you. You don’t have a significant other to come racing after you.

“No,” Mrs. Bahr said. “Ivan didn’t know why I wanted to quit. I can’t do it, I said. I can’t keep the Lord safe. I’m not enough. You know what he said?”

You shake your head.

“He said, Of course, you’re not enough,” Mrs. Bahr says. She’s lowering her voice in imitation of Ivan’s. “You were never going to be enough.” You’re gaping at his harsh words, but Mrs. Bahr looks amused. “That’s why we have a squadron. The job is too big for one person. All you need to do is your part.”

You stare at her, not understanding.

“The world isn’t carried by one person,” Mrs. Bahr says. “I was so convinced that everything was up to me – the Lord’s safety, the next campaign’s success, or defense from monsters – that I buckled under the pressure. What I didn’t see that it wasn’t all my responsibility. I was part of a team. All I had to do was one part.”

You think of the winter night and holding the door shut. There hadn’t been anyone to help you then. Someone needed to comfort the younger kids. Someone needed to try and protect them. “What if there isn’t anyone else?”

“Then we do our best,” Mrs. Bahr says immediately. She meets your eyes. “But are you by yourself now, Isla?”

Yes. You open your mouth to tell her that, but the word won’t come out. Are you? Director Sarah looked so defeated when you accused her of not understanding. But didn’t she understand better than anyone else. You swallow. “No. There’s Director Sarah.”

“What does she do?”

“She takes care of us,” you say. “She makes sure the money we get goes to the right things.”

Mrs. Bahr smiles warmly. “That’s right. Who else?”

“…Hera,” you say. You remember she pulled Josiah from the well before Annie even had the chance to tell you what had happened. “She watches the younger kids.”

“She’s very good with them,” Mrs. Bahr says. “Who else?”

Your mind blanks. Who else? “Josiah. He helps us study.”

“And?”

And? “T-the Lord. He makes sure we have the funds for what we need.”

“Including winter provisions,” Mrs. Bahr agrees.

You frown. You suddenly see where this is going. “The amount of winter provisions he thinks we need.”

Mrs. Bahr hums. “What happens if he’s wrong?”

“That’s why I hunt,” you say. Maybe now she’ll understand. “So that we’ll be okay if he’s wrong.”

“What if you don’t hunt enough?” Mrs. Bahr asks.

Your chest is tight. You rub at your sternum and try to breathe deeply. “We starve,” you say. You wheeze and then clear your throat. “We’d starve, but that’s not going to happen. Because I always hunt enough.” I have to.

“This year,” Mrs. Bahr says, voice gentle and soothing, “say you don’t hunt anymore. The winter is harsher than expected and the orphanage’s stores are depleted. What do you think will happen?”

You laugh and gasp at the same time. “They’d all starve,” you say again. What doesn’t she get about that? “First the little ones then—”

Mrs. Bahr is shaking her head. “No, Isla, that’s not what would happen.”

Your temper flares. “That’s what always—”

“What would happen,” Mrs. Bahr says in her even tone, “is that Mr. Bahr and I would come deliver extra provisions to you.”

All the air is chased from your lungs. You feel eight again, small and vulnerable and cold. You’re shivering as you stare at her. “You would?”

“We would.” Gently, as if afraid she might scare you, Mrs. Bahr moves from Hera’s bed to yours. She puts a warm hand on your knee. “We’re a fortress. The Lord gives us part of the emergency fund in order to keep our stores and grounds ready for refugees. Mr. Bahr keeps fifteen percent more than the most generous estimate out of an abundance of caution. We would come and make sure nobody starved.”

For some reason, that makes you want to cry. You blink against the sudden heat behind your eyes. “Oh.”

“That’s why we don’t want you to go hunting,” Mrs. Bahr says. Her thumb rubs over your knee. “It was worth the risk before. You worked hard to keep everyone here alive. You are incredible, for that, Isla. I can’t tell you how much I admire your strength and your bravery. But things are different now. You don’t need to do as much as you did before. There are other people on your squad.”

But I’m the Hero, you want to say. Heroes are supposed to save the day, aren’t they?

Knights help save the day too.

You let Mrs. Bahr pat your knee for a long time. She seems content to let you think, her energy a pleasant hum next to you. A knot is untying in your chest. If you don’t hunt, it’s not the end of everyone. There will still be the funds from the Lord. Sarah’s always been excellent at stretching those as far as they need to go. And, if they aren’t enough, there’s something different this year. The Bahrs are here.

“You’d help us even if you’re only going to adopt one of us?” you ask.

Mrs. Bahr’s lips thin. She looks sad, but hides it quickly. “We’re Knights,” she says. “Even if we are retired. We’ll be here the moment you need us.”

You don’t hope. Hope is traumatic. But…

You believe her.

--------

(Part 2) (part 3)

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Thanks for reading! There will be a new part of Hope and the Hero every Friday!

If you'd like to read the whole story now, please consider supporting me on Patreon (X)!

There's also a new story up there, a sequel to my Dandelion villain story (X)

Summary: You are free of mind control for the first time in a year. The only things standing between you and your revenge are the heroes.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Hey. Guess what. I’m writing a novel!

A powerful superhero agency has hired this little vampire guy up there. Unfortunately, he is best described as “annoying as hell” and “sadistic asshole”.

Trouble ensues.

It’s comedy, it's horror, it’s about power and helplessness, it’s about people doing their best in a weird world, and most important of all, it’s mindbogglingly silly.

You can read the snippets that inspired the novel here.

I'll keep you informed.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Current word count: 50 000+

It's far from being finished though....

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

help my silly vampire/superhero novel has Themes and Worldbuilding

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

We're now up to 100K words. Yep. That sure is happening.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

One-Word H/V Prompts: Queer Edition

It's Pride month, so...

Villain has a crush on Hero and invites them to dinner. Unfortunately, not only is Hero aro/ace and every flirty comment passes over their head/annoys them, but they’re also a foodie. Endless critics ensue.

“I knew it! You two are lovers!” “No, we’re more than that. We’re friends.”

Hero discovers that the cute twink he has a crush on at this “normal” work is actually a huge bear as a Villain (serums were involved). It’s confusing.

Hero has the weird power of transforming the bodies of everyone else but them. They wished they had something cooler, but soon after a lot of people come asking for their help.

Villains/Hero recruits people who are thrown on the streets because of their queerphobic landlords/family. It actually works out quite well.

This Villainness’s power is a mesmerizing voice, but it only works on women. Heroine wonders why.

Supervillain is definitively a man, but he’s a man of fashion. Only dramatic dresses can properly fit his peacock’s brand of style.

To protect their identity, Hero presents as a man under their civilian identity and as a woman as a Hero. That makes them realize something about themself.

NB Thief has all the genders and is a master of disguise. The only way to recognize them is how stunning they are, but then again, maybe Detective has a crush.

An intersex hero is a lady with a beard and no one, actually, gives a damn – are you insane, that’s what you focus on? She can shoot fucking lasers with her eyes !

Villain specializes in smuggled goods, including banned books. Soon they notice that a lot of teens/young adults flood to them for reading references.

“Be gay do crimes” stickers on Villain’s evil lair everywhere on the walls.

“Be gay stop crimes” magnet on Hero’s fridge.

Hero, Villain, Supervillain, Superhero, Henchmen and Sidekicks try to kill each other all year, but they agree on one point: protect the Pride cortege. They all have their own reasons (queer themselves, they have a close one in the cortege, they like the outfits, they like the challenge to authority/norms, etc)

*

Back to the Hero x Villain Masterlist.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Hiiii

Hi there, sorry for the delay.

I'm seizing the opportunity to apologize to y'all! I know it's been a while. Just letting you know I'm not dead or gone and I'm still very much on the Vampire Hero novel and I'm doing everything I can to make it worth the wait! The thing is, I don't have a lot of energy left for this blog, because as you sure have noticed, it's 2026 and everything is *waves*.

Sorry. And thank you. And sorry. I promise I'll be back.

[archiveofidentityconstellations]

A totally random sleeping beauty origin story in which the king and queen go to outside help to conceive. the gorgons, the creatures that lay in the belly of the swamps, slithering in the boiling pools, grant the couple’s request. they are loyal subjects, after all.

they promise that the child will live a long life. they promise that she will have great strength, will speak many tongues, and that she will strike awe into the hearts of men.

the queen thanks them, but before she can go they stop her with one last promise: if the child is not loved, then they must give her back.

I will love my child, say the two, and race off atop a shimmering steed.

9 months pass and the queen gives birth to a child, a healthy baby girl. but as time goes on, things start going wrong. servants start burning from the inside out, objects begin to vibrate from the toddler’s cries. the princess howls like a never-ending night, and nursemaids leave blind.

this cannot go on, the people hiss. this cannot go on.

and so the king and queen place her away from the castle’s inhabitants, far up in a tower. there she may scream and the world may tremble. there she may cry and no one’s ears will bleed. there she may live her life, among four stone walls. alone.

they send instructors up to the tower, one by one. a professor. a sorcerer. a hunter. a tamer. each attempt more desperate.

until there is nothing left to do. and so the princess is left in her tower, viewed as more monster than girl, fed by scraps through the door.

the parents do not fulfill their promise.

they do not give her back.

the princess, in filthy tatters and between clawed walls, pleads to be let out. i will be good, she promises tearfully. i will be good, just let me see them. I want to see them.

but she cannot control her nature, these sick powers she has been given. so she is left, often starved.

over time her pleas become bargains. i will not scream, if you let me see them once. i will not look upon you, if you let me touch them. i will not kill you, if you only let me be with them one last time.

none of these are accepted.

the princess turns fourteen. she grows strong. she speaks many tongues. and she strikes awe into the hearts of whoever she meets.

and why not? her eyes are yellow, like a deathly hawk. her hair hangs low, like the night. her teeth shine brightly, like the fang of a beast. her skin, though. oh, her skin. it glistens and glimmers and it is cold, like a reptile.

and her heart grows stunted. small. shattered.

they did not love her. no one did. they did not give her back, either.

months pass and crowds gather, swooping into the castle in courtly procession. the princess stares down in curiousity, but also longing. why are they here? what has happened below?

for the first time in her life, she escapes. i will not tell you how. perhaps because it is terrible and wicked. perhaps because it is clever. and perhaps because it is boring.

only you really know.

“the baby princess,” the people whisper to each other, while she clings to the shadows. “the baby princess.”

she is not a baby though, is she.

is. she.

and so the christening begins, golden plates and golden goblets set down. each numbered correctly, one for each guest.

the fairies of the glen. oh, how beautiful they are. their wings gleam like dewdrops in the morning, and their hair slips over their shoulders like the sun peeking through trees. they have made this possible, everyone murmurs. we must be thankful to the fairies, for they have given the rulers their daughter.

they all sit down to dine, and the princess–the eldest, the first born, the forgotten–stumbles in. her hair is lank. her eyes bleed tears. and her skin is cracking, old and scaly. oh, she is gruesome. the courtiers gag at the sight of her.

“leave, witch!” they order, but she pays them no heed. she walks up to the throne, and smiles at the king and queen.

“remember me?” she murmurs, teeth sharp but smile pleasant. she looks around. “every plate and every goblet. every person has a setting. except for me. now, why wasn’t I invited?”

“we don’t know who you are,” they reply fearfully.

“oh?”

the ground begins to shake. the guests scream. people howl, ears bleeding.

“you should not have struck another bargain so soon, you know,” she says, glancing at the fairies’ iridescent wings. “for everyone knows that gifts from the forest folk are not gifts. song, beauty, grace, wealth. are these all not useful to the fairies? and they will get their gifts back.” she stares at her parents. “they always get their children back.”

“please,” beg the king and queen, kneeling before their daughter. “please.”

the girl steps aside and walks to the cradle.

the guards surge forward.

“I WANT TO SEE HER!” screams the princess. the guards collapse in a shot of ash. “I want to see her,” she whispers brokenly.

the girl inside is like the dawn, blonde and gold and rosy. noisy, too.

“come now,” she soothes the child, smoothing back a curl. “do not cry. out of the two of us, i am the more ugly one,” she teases. “you are my family, you know. my own little sister, wound by the spring petals as i was forged by the burning pools. we are together, in that. they will not understand half-beings such as us. in fact,” she looks up at the court, cracked lips winding into a smile. “i, too, would like to give a gift to the child.”

her parents recoil, but it is too late.

far, far too late now.

“she will be yours until she finds my tower. on that day, she will learn what has been done, all your great sins against me. i will take her with me, show her the chaos you wrought into our veins by asking the forest for what was not theirs to give. thus, i give you this last promise: if she does not love me, i will give her back.”

and the princess strode from the castle, ripping the stone walls down. only the tower remained.

what happened next was simple, really. it was just the middle and the ending. every story has to have it, as you well know. but the middle and the ending are vague things. you will have to decide what happens.

after all, this was just the beginning.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

The Little Escape

Buildings were exploding under the melting sun. The sky was red and pink and the shade of magenta of a bleeding heart. It was quite beautiful, actually. From down there, people looked like ants, moving in silence.

Villain was contemplating the scene from above, feeling strangely peaceful, when something poked his arm:

“Wake up. Night shift.”

He mumbled before reluctantly opening an eye. In front of him, there was a TV’s black screen, and behind that one of these white walls landowners were so crazy about, as impersonal as marketable. Himself was on an old couch that had seen better days, probably when dinosaurs learned to fly. There was a crack on the floor, and...stuff...more or less describable...everywhere else on the floor. Some were his, some belonged to Hero. His host was walking around, now fumbling in the kitchen. Villain groaned and scratched his neck and complained:

“Did we really pass the last night binging soap operas?”

“Yep.”

“Can two grown men get lower?”

Hero appeared in his sight, yawning behind a large cup of coffee:

“Every day. Check the news.”

Villain stared at the TV’s screen in answer. It’d been switched off since long ago. Hero paced the room, picking up plates and newspapers while somehow pocketing his keys and finishing his cup. He wasn’t making a very good job at cleaning the mess. Then again, even spotless, it’d be a depressing place, though much better that Villain’s. Their employers had found that a cave suited his character better than a home. It was beautiful and dark and wet, the ground was so uneven no furniture could stand for long, and it was best not to mention the bathroom at all.

Maybe he should have accepted the evil lair inside the volcano.

“Come on! We have a fight in two hours. Hat shop. You want a run-on?”

“I cause trouble, and you save the day.”

“Of course, but there’s some one-liners-”

He crossed Villain’s eyes and decided not to end his sentence.

It was Hat Shop Time. Villain went first, barging in his cape and black tight suit, threatening all the smiling employees with his stun gun while collecting beanies and caps and fedoras. Then, when he was ready to make his escape, Hero came and shrieked to “unhand these beautiful, wonderful accessories, you’re not worthy of them”. They fought, gave each other some carefully planned scratches, letting Villain pulling off a miraculous escape without his loot. Then it was the CD store’s turn, followed by the bakery and one or two bookshops.

It was a busy day. They only had five minutes for lunch. Villain bit once into his bagel and stopped there. Hero, who had inexplicably found the time to gobble two wraps and was on his third, sent him an interrogating glance.

“Do you sometimes wonder about what we’re doing?” he asked.

“We do a lot,” protested Hero. “We help the local economy. Sales boom every time each time you steal from a shop. We have a steady income and fame. It could be worse.”

“We’ll never be able to have a house.”

“No one does now.”

“Do you have friends? Do you have the time to party? To have hobbies?

Hero devoured the last bites and wiped his fingers:

“Well, we already meet lots of interesting people in our work, don’t we? I give autographs to children, people give you their fanfictions-”

“It’s all a lie.”

“No, it’s pretend. Would you rather real people getting hurt?”

Villain dragged his hand over his face:

“That’s not what bothers me. A villain should question the status quo. All I do is reinforcing it.”

“Is that so bad?”

“It’s not what I’m supposed to do.”

Hero shrugged, putting back his gloves as well as he could. During their break, they were sitting in the back of their corporation’s truck so people couldn’t risk seeing them together off the clock. It was hard to see anything in the flickering light, and harder to decipher Hero’s expression.

“There’s the only thing I’m able to do,” he whispered gently. “I gotta put food on the table. Let’s go.”

Villain watched him as he went out of the car. Hero’s shoulders weren’t hunched; he wouldn’t let that happen.

The next mission of the day was meeting Mrs. Cream. Her necklaces clanked when she greeted them. Everything glittered on her from her dress to her shoe buckles, and she had the happy smile of people who never needed to worry about their next meal. Her jewels aren’t selling like they should, so she settled them behind her tiny desk and explained:

“I thought a little kidnapping wouldn't hurt anyone; I don't want to put any employer at risk, so what about me? Try to be gentle, of course, haha.”

“Haha,” they answered automatically.

“I am known in town, so it should give all of us a little visibility boost.”

She winked at them and kept talking, but none of her words reached Villain. His sight blurred. A nondescript person was on front of him, talking about visibility and stats, a smirk on its lips, unreachable, all-powerful, and he could do nothing but lowering his head and thanking it for the great favor of being used-

It held out its hand smiling, knowing it won, and Villain punched its face.

It screamed. In a flash, she went back to be Mrs. Cream, who'd always been sweet and kind and patient and thanked them for the help. He watched her stumble and fall on her chair. Hero appeared between them, horrified, and rushed over her while she began to cry. Villain just stood there, unable to move.

Adrenaline was still pumping in his blood, and he felt good. He didn’t remember the last time it has happened. His blood sang so loud it was almost obscene.

It was bad and inexcusable and for once he'd acted just because he felt like it.

He left and no one stopped him. Maybe Hero yelled at him, but if he did, Villain had no memory of it.

A couple of hours later, Hero slammed his apartment’s door, cheeks red and bags under his eyes, and he screamed:

“You!”

“Me,” said Villain.

He had answered without thinking, then realized what he’s whispered, pinched his mouth as if he’s just tasted a rare wine, and repeated once more with satisfaction:

“Me.”

“What you did- you are- you’ve done a horrible thing!”

“I know.”

“Mrs. Cream is a lovely lady!”

“I know.”

“You don’t look like it- you should feel bad!”

“I know.”

“The boss is furious and he wants to see you as soon as possible.”

There was no answer to that, so Hero was forced to use his eyes and watch what is happening. The room was much cleaner. For a minute, the thought that his colleague had done a little spring-cleaning as a way to say how sorry he is crossed his mind, but he shook that off. It wasn’t cleaner, it was emptier. Villain was filling suitcases.

“What are you doing?”

Villain raised his head and gave him a peaceful, if a little vacant stare.

“It’s rotting,” he said.

“What are you talking about?”

“My soul. It’s molding. It’s gonna go worse if I keep on like this. I’m going.”

Hero said nothing. He didn’t help, he didn’t try to stop him. He sat on the couch with an ashen face. The door closed on him as gently as possible.

On top of a hill, Villain turned back. Down there, the town was glittering uselessly, unchanged by his departure. Buildings were not exploding, and the sun was not melting, but he was away.

Good enough.

He sat and waited. After a while, something moved to his right, huffing under the weight of too many bags.

“Took you long enough,” whispered Villain.

Hero shrugged, his gaze also wandering on the setting sun gliding over the rooftops.

“I’m scared. I’m scared stiff. But it’d be even scarier to face another day without you.”

He sat down, pulling off one of his bags from his shoulders:

“Besides, if you go on a rampage, who’s gonna stop you?”

Villain nodded without a smile. Hero’s hand was in reach and he took it.

*

Back to Hero x Villain Masterlist

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

TTD - On their own (2)

Part 1

The Hero Agency prided itself on having the most comfortable prisons of the country. Some of them had TV, video games, and working out equipment. No more of these wet, dark cells. These miserable little holes without light were a thing of a past.

Unless, of course, all the other cells were taken.

As a result, Villain was curled up against the stone wall, staring between the bars. As they could see through any kind of darkness, they saw that the 6-foot square space had a wonderful minimalist style in its total absence or furniture.

They missed a little more the colored cushions Hero put everywhere in an attempt to make people believe that yes, they could decorate a place with no trouble, haha. They missed the comfy chair in the living room. They missed the smell of something sweet and spicy in the pot, a sign that Hero had enough time to cook that day. After all, colors and sweets were the burden of Villain's existence, and without burden, life is not that fun.

However, despite how bare the room was, there was too much of something. Or, to be precise, someone.

Superhero stared blankly at their shadow from a corner. He was gripping his phone and answered it sometimes, but the red pupils never left the cell. Villain swore he never blinked once.

They prided themself on their monologue knowledge and knew one was going to happen, so they waited, fixing the dust patterns on the bar. Hero would have thrown such a tantrum if they’d seen that.

“You haunt my nightmares,” said Superhero.

He stood up slowly, and his hands were shaking just a little bit as he stepped forward.

“You always did. Every time I let my mind wander, I see this little girl killed. I forgot her name. I didn’t forget her face.”

He looked straight at them:

“I hope you’re happy about that.”

“I am a creature of darkness. I am to haunt nightmares.”

“Well I am not- I am not...”

Superhero clenched his fists. His mouth moved silently in an effort to say the last word before giving up.

“I am scared,” he admitted, his jaw clenched. “I am weak that way. But I’m working on it.”

“You seem under the illusion I have a modicum of care about you. Rest assured, I do not.”

“You've changed your target. What do you plan to do with Hero?”

“They’re my nemesis. I didn’t need help from you to destroy them.”

“I am making them stronger,” grunted Superhero. “If they can’t lead in battle, they don’t have the strength to stand up to you.”

Villain didn’t answer. Superhero's phone rang first. He listened to the call without paying much attention first, but his eyes focused. His fist clenched.

“They are what? They cannot be-all...They can't be all-”

The man stared in horror, then rushed out of the room without a second look.

“Peon's tool,” whispered Villain, getting out the Amazing Listening and Answering Device (of Doom) of their cape. (Though Hero had qualified it of beetle, and they had to acknowledge they quite liked it.)

“May your voice arise, predestined foe,” they mumbled.

The wonderful machine (of amazement and terror) buzzed in return. They counted the minutes. After four thousands eighty-one seconds, a whisper answered:

“How are you?”

Villain looked around.

“I am in a dark, quiet place, forgotten by the rest of the world.”

“Oh, good,” sighed Hero with relief. “I guess. Coming from you. That’s your kind of place.”

Villain pursed their lips, but there was nothing they could say against that.

“I’m- I’m so very glad you’re okay. I want to tell you- err- you might stay with Superhero for a while.”

Villain blinked, then scoffed.

“That will never do. My soul shivers at the mere idea of an extended proximity with such an abjection of nature.”

“You said that about my CDs collection, and it went fine. Look, I’m sure it can be sorted between you two. After all, it’s just a misunderstanding. He’s not that bad, and you’re- you’re-”

There was a funny noise, quickly interrupted:

“Look, I wanted to say that -um- being roommates with you was- it was good. Yeah. It was nice. I hope you don’t hate me too much because- I-I don’t.”

“Hero.”

“Yeah?”

“Where are you?”

No answer came out. In fact, that was the last time Hero answered at all.

Several miles away, in a cell that was coincidentally very similar to Villain’s, Hero sniffed as the beetle was snatched back by a grinning Henchman.

“Isn’t that interesting.”

The guard stepped forwards as Hero clenched their fists. The door opened wide, but instead of going in, the henchmen grabbed them.

“Get out, small fry. The boss wants to see you.”

*

Check the These Two Dorks Masterlist or Tag for more snippets with this Hero and Villain. This is how they met and now they’re roommates.

Well...they were...

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Not now kiddo, busy writing the silliest book under the sun

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Whumps of March 4- Mirrors

“No, I get it. You’re jealous.”

Sidekick could hear Henchman’s voice loud and clear. It left a faint echo around, somehow bouncing over the rocks that made the walls. He forbid himself to think how still beautiful that place was, just behind the waterfall. The eerie light came from the sunlight filtered by the water. Sure, that gave out a beautiful glow, but it made also very hard to see where his prey was.

“I’m not the one who’s hiding inside his own cavern,” he noticed.

“That’s right! Because you got fired.”

Sidekick stopped dead in his tracks. Took one long deep breath.

“Turned out I was made for better things.”

A laugh tenfold enhanced by the walls answered him.

“Sure, you’ve glued yourself to the next powerful people in town and voilà! Job changed...congratulations.”

“I switched sides for the good of-”

“Oh, please, not to me. You don’t care about good or evil. You’re a little sycophant that only wants power and revenge. Hero still hadn’t figured you out, uh?”

Every step from Sidekick sounded like a beating drum, not that it mattered much. Villain was away, and Henchman was no match for him. If there hadn’t any changes since his departure, the tunnel would lead to Henchman’s quarters. Really, there wouldn’t be any changes; it wasn’t like his stay here had mattered at all. It was the only exit, and he was blocking it. The rest was a matter of patience.

“The important thing is that I’m here, Hero has cornered Villain, and there’s no one to come to your rescue.”

“You have to take my confession, then. Here it is! I’ve done everything you couldn’t. Become the right-hand man? Check. Be at their table? Check. Win their trust? Check. Oh, the tales I’ve heard about you trying to earn all these things – and failed miserably.”

“Too bad for them if they couldn’t see my worth.”

“Yes, I’m sure there’s something very subtle about you and your super strength we just didn’t understand.”

Sidekick raised his head. A strange phenomenon was taking place on the lair. Silver water ran from the floor, making a puddle near him. He leaned over. The substance looks thick and slimy, and he groaned. Henchman’s power was... unconventional. Some heroes could bend the earth, minions like Henchman has to contend himself with making mercury. Metallic liquid formed from the tip of his fingers, slimy and gray, waddling like little tentacles. Points for originality, zero for efficiency.

Still, it was annoying. If Henchman kept this out, Sidekick would soon be surrounded with poison.

“What’s wrong?” taunted the infuriating voice. “Can’t bear your reflection? Understandable.”

Sure enough, a distorted image of Sidekick could be seen in the mercury puddle. Distorted glint in the eye, distorted grin. It wasn’t his twisted face that interested him, however - the silver surface reflected light, dimming shadows. In a few strides, he dashed towards a round rock and towered over a crouched Henchman. His prey gave out a faint smirk.

“My turn to laugh, now,” said Sidekick.

“You sure you want to do that to a better version of yourself?”

The second after, Henchman was flying over, landing roughly in the mercury. Sidekick watched him, his face stained by the thick liquid.

Yet, yet, the other was still smirking.

“Careful. You know what they say about breaking mirrors.”

*

I’ve already written about mirrors, but this one is fluff.

Back to Whump/Horror Masterlist.

[letters-unsending]

Power Exploration: Regeneration/Healing Factor

————

Social Considerations

No one needs to look after Hero when he’s injured. His survival is guaranteed, but he sometimes envies the care and concern given to others.

Due to his regenerative powers, Hero has been raised as a human shield. He spends most of every battle flinging himself in front of his teammates and taking blows. Bonus: Villain is horrified seeing this take place. Or Villain refuses to have Hero do the same thing for him.

No one else would survive the injuries that Hero does. No else has to see videos or pictures of the multiple ways they’ve been gruesomely injured throughout their career (because anyone else would be dead). Furthermore, it’s hard to connect with a public who has seen you in such horrific states. Hero is viewed as more of a boogeyman than a savior.

Hero is instructed to go into battle or through possible traps first, even if whatever lies on the other side is incredibly painful, because he can take it. He’ll always survive.

Hero loses his healing power. His tolerance for long term pain is low, but he’s ashamed to speak up about it because his teammates have dealt with so much worse. *

Hero is sick of being the only survivor.

Organ/Blood Reservoir

Hero’s blood has regenerative properties. The Organization takes his blood daily. They never tell him where it goes.

Hero would be a good organ reservoir, but they quickly discover that his organs are toxic when transplanted.

Hero donates his organs regularly. He has a small connection to each organ he gives away. Supervillain disappears for a while and when he returns, Hero can feel one of his hearts thumping in the man’s chest. *

Hero’s blood is constantly replenished. Vampire Villain takes advantage of this.

Healing Wrong

Hero’s healing factor doesn’t prioritize injuries correctly. It’s entirely focused on mending superficial wounds. He grabs his open stomach with a perfectly healed hand and waits and waits for the healing to reach somewhere vital.

Hero is pinned down. His arms and legs keep regenerating into the rubble, even though the weight holding him is preventing his flesh from regrowing in the correct places. He will have to correct the growth later.

Hero’s healing goes into overdrive. He starts creating too much skin, too much bone. His body creates extra, unnecessary organs.

Or Hero’s immune system becomes overreactive. The initial response obliterates most fatal diseases and toxins but the strength of it wipes him out. His body may develop an autoimmune response (attacking itself). He could also develop allergies to harmless substances.

Biological/Behavioral

Note: I am applying the common understanding that healing factor requires a lot of energy, so Hero deals with higher metabolism.

Increased metabolism makes it easier for the Hero to develop vitamin deficiencies.

Hero struggles with the guilt of needing to eat more than his teammates. Food stores are running low.

Higher metabolism means higher body heat. Hero has to keep his body cool enough so that his body can continue to function normally.

Hero struggles to eat enough to meet his body’s metabolic demands. He often relies on intravenous nutrition and other technologies to ensure his body doesn’t cannibalize itself in its attempts to constantly regrow. This makes him entirely dependent on the Organization’s care.

Hero needs a scaffold to heal. For example: nutrient matrix, a special healing water, plants/mushrooms.

Regenerative Coma

Hero goes catatonic when they have to heal/conserve energy, but healing won’t start until the body recognizes it’s safe.

Safety is associated with more animalistic behaviors, such as burrowing, cramming themselves into tight spaces.

Some animals also isolate when ill or stressed so Hero has to deal with being irritated by the presence of other people when injured.

When they are extremely injured, they instinctually run off to recuperate alone. Their teammates find them passed out in dangerous places. Bonus: Villain finds them either passed out somewhere unsafe or passed out in their lair (where Hero instinctively deems it safe).

Hero needs someone else to wake themselves up from a regenerative state. Bonus: they entrust Villain with this task.

Other

Hero has a scheduled regeneration period. Maybe it’s every month, so when he gets critically injured, his teammates just have to keep him alive long enough to make it to the next cycle.

Phoenix Hero that turns to ash when critically injured.

Hero has a debilitating chronic condition. The Organization has given him healing powers to manage his condition in exchange of a lifetime of servitude.

Hero will heal as long as he’s in a certain area. For example, this range may be restricted to the city he protects, so that he is forced to remain in the city and protect it.

Hero’s self-healing has slight regenerative effects for the people and environment around him. People use this to their advantage. He’s stowed away in hospital wings, constantly injured so that he heals the people around him. Or he’s made to bleed over barren fields so that they will become lush once more. *

Hero can control whether he heals or not. Sometimes he wants to bleed. For example, he’s caught while in his civilian identity, so he has to fight back his urge to heal so he can keep suspicions at bay.

Hero has a new power. It doesn’t seem like much. His wounds heal a little faster. His colds never take him down for more than a day. In the end, his little healing quirk does nothing to save him. He dies. Months later, he awakes six feet under ground.

Hero has tried to get tattoos. He regenerates so quickly that they never last for more than a week. However, when Villain marks something upon his skin, months pass, and the mark is still dark and defined, fresh as the day it was made. *

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Prompt 1

“Detective?” asked a nervous voice.

“Yes?”

“Detective…”

“Yes.”

“Detective!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, I know this is my [Placeholder Name ™] ! What?”

“Um...there might have been...kind of a robbery down there…”

Detective stared at Citizen, who was shuffling their feet. He put his drink back to the table.

“No,” he said.

“Well, there…”

Detective had a nervous laugh and stood up:

“No, no, no. Let’s sum this up. Last year I was on a holiday, there was a murder on my hotel. The last time before that, it was a kidnapping, and also, later, a murder. Even before, there were mysterious disappearances, sabotage, stolen artifacts, yada yada. So yeah, I don’t doubt there was "some kind of a robbery". My point is: it always happens when I try to rest. Always. Every time I get involved, it ends with a murder. So no, this time, I’m not raising a finger.”

“But you always find who did it.”

“At what price?”

“You speak as if you were responsible.”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder. Every holiday...it can’t be just a coincidence.”

“Perhaps it’s the other way around,” suggested Citizen. “Perhaps the thing had to happen, and the universe calls you to get justice done or something.”

“Well, in that case it could fix the problem itself.”

Detective gave a steely glare.

“I’m not moving.”

*

It's been for ages in my drafts, and I can't continue...but maybe you can. Tag/reblog if you do, I wanna see!

I've written some grumpy detectives here, here and here.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

One Masterlist to rule them all

Hero x Villain Masterlist

These Two Dorks Masterlist

Vampire Hero Masterlist

HxV Prompt Masterlist

Fantasy Masterlist

Whump/Horror Masterlist

Masterlist perfect size for reblogs! Inside much stories no insanely detailed recaps put Masterlist on your blog. Put Masterlist in your reblogs, no problems ever because good shape small discreet matches the vibe of your tumblr so well. Masterlist yes a writing blog for your tumblr put Masterlist in your tumblr can trust Masterlist to get good love from mutuals. Friend Masterlist

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Hero x Villain Masterlist

Reverse chronological order. (prompt) indicates when the original idea is from someone else.

Weeping Trees (prompt): When new heroes decide to kill most everyone for a better world because that always works, Hero has no choice but to ask help to his old foe - they're not going to play nice anymore.

Surprise guests: It’s Hero’s off day – and of course, henchmen pay them a surprise visit.

The Fourth Player: Sidekick and Hero prepare to spend a nice evening with the old and beloved Superhero. However, others have more sinister plans.

Pillows, plushies, piles of blankets: for flufftober. Superhero might be a little young, but she is a very good girl who brushes her teeth and learns her lessons and politely invites anyone to play with her! Meanwhile, Villain has the scariest day of his life.

Late Night Talks: for flufftober. Hero meets Thief. Thief has jewels. Thief gets arrested, right? Unless...

Sidekick in distress (Part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 Last): A Detective with zero power accepts to help Sidekick running away from a very powerful hero, with only his friend Healer in his corner. This can only turn well.

Accidental Summoning: Villain decides to summon the dead for a tip.

Catch and release: Let's be honest, Villain is a failure. So how could they catch Hero this easily?

Echoes from the past: Superhero has just been redeemed! Yay! However they have...complex feelings about it.

Feveruary 2025: Four short H&V prompts. Villains getting sick, Reporters getting poisoned, Heroes getting out of their depth, no one is spared.

Oh no they're kidnapped: Hero and Sidekick finally catch a kidnapper in action. Hero is surprisingly chill about it.

Uncanny Rescue: Henchman is valiantly saving Villain, but Villain has their eye on another prisoner.

Bad fashion: Designer decides to side with Villain: their side wears better clothes.

Augusnippets 2024: Want something short to read? Check this collection of lil’ snippets. Reporters having complicated relationships with Heroes, Supervillain giving great advice and heroes offering presents to foes, friends and families, it’s all in there.

Poll Prompt 1: Civilian is trapped in a strangely nice room. Meanwhile, Supervillain has a bit of a crisis.

The Fakers: Three heroes in a small town despair: there's no villain around. What can they do?

A taste of revenge: Supervillain doesn’t really mind the three young heroes who keep coming after him, until the fateful day everyone goes for ice cream. (ask)

Through the mirror : What’s the thing to do after having an epic fight with the local Villainess ? Drinking a couple of beers with her, of course. It’s only polite.

Crash Meeting (prompt): Detective tries to bring down Villain. They don’t succeed, but what they’ve just discovered might be even more important.

Jack-in-a-box Surprise: A bunch of civilians are stuck in the room with a villain taking the form of their worst fears. Good luck with that.

Pounding Headache (sicktember): Thief has a bad day. The burglary didn’t turn well, Villain turned on them, what better moment for a migraine to begin?

Gilded Cage (prompt): Villain has Hero trapped in a ghastly – wait actually, it’s a pretty cool apartment. That’s a trick, right?

Who dies, who lives (prompt): You’ve always been a fan of Superhero, and you don’t take too well that they’ve just been killed. Where’s your partner anyway?

To make a right (prompt): A gritty detective informs his unlikely friend and unanimously beloved superhero Sunblade that distasteful things were made in his name.

Mind-Melting (prompt) part 1 and 2: Hero has a lot to do between an amnesic Supervillain, an emo teen Sidekick, and a cat. One of them is much more powerful than the others. One of my first posts here so the style is, ah, certainly made of words.

Detective x Thief

Cold Case (for sicktember): A detective gets hired to find a stolen painting. Unfortunately, he catches a cold before catching the culprits.

Cold Meeting (prompt): This detective really wishes this client would leave him in peace. He might have secrets of his own.

Recurring concepts/characters

These Two Dorks Masterlist (mostly fluff but angst looms on the horizon, hurt/comfort)

Vampire Hero Masterlist (black comedy, affectionate whump parody, lots of torture attempts/mentions even if that rarely turns out the way the torturer planned)

1-Word Prompt Masterlist: Marvel as I turn one random word into a bunch of H/V prompts. Plus, it's short for once.

*

And now for something mildly different:

Whump/Horror Masterlist.

Fantasy Masterlist

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Well this is getting insanely long. I must act.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Hey. Guess what. I’m writing a novel!

A powerful superhero agency has hired this little vampire guy up there. Unfortunately, he is best described as “annoying as hell” and “sadistic asshole”.

Trouble ensues.

It’s comedy, it's horror, it’s about power and helplessness, it’s about people doing their best in a weird world, and most important of all, it’s mindbogglingly silly.

You can read the snippets that inspired the novel here.

I'll keep you informed.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Current word count: 50 000+

It's far from being finished though....

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

help my silly vampire/superhero novel has Themes and Worldbuilding

[writinggremln]

AI-less Whumptober 25

Magical bind, Pinned down, "And what do we have here?"

"Wow, take your damn time."

"Hey, which one of us is a master thief?"

"...no one. Thief is a master thief."

Villain sighed. "Picking locks takes time. And relax, would you? You're the one that said Superhero was asleep around this time."

"I did..." Sidekick nervously glanced around. It was dark in their mentor's boss' house. On hindsight, maybe breaking in one of the best heroes' mansion based on a conspiracy theory wasn't the best idea. "Hey, uh, Villain?" Especially with their mentor's nemesis.

The villain grunted in response.

"Maybe Superhero had nothing to do with Hero's dissapearance."

Villain stopped their lock-picking and gave them a look. "It's a bit late to turn back now, isn't it?"

"It's never too late." Sidekick instinctively recited back. It was one of Hero's first teachings. Villain's eye twitched.

They turned their head toward the big box they were trying to open. "Look, we've been through this before. All leads lead to Superhero and their weird obsession with perfection." They rolled their eyes. "And, since nobody's perfect, one needs somewhere to keep their dark secrets hidden. A place, such as... a basement, a small apartment, a safe..." As if on cue, the safe door clicked opened slightly. The villain smiled. "So, if you're not willing to do everything in your power to save your precious mentor, the window's right there. Be my guest." Villain opened the door fully. "Then at least one of us would get out of here alive."

"Superhero wouldn't kill us." Sidekick's hands balled to a fist.

Villain scoffed. "Sure kid. Wow, look at this load of cash in here." The criminal's eyes twinkled. Sidekick risked a glance inside the small safe. They'd gotten this far...

Woah, Villain was right. That was a load of cash... and a bunch of papers?

"What're these?"

"Don't know. Take a look." The villain was too busy stuffing their pockets. "This has to be blood money."

Sidekick gave Villain a judgemental look and reached their hand towards those papers when something caught their eye. Something that looked round and sharp at the same time. Sidekick gasped.

"Hero's mask!"

"Hm?"

Sidekick forgot about the papers and grabbed their mentor's mask, bringing it to the moonlight. "This is Hero's mask. But why was it..." they thought their heart stopped beating. The mask was covered with dry blood.

"Now you see what I mean?" They heard the villain say behind them. Their hands trembled.

"I don't understand..."

"It's always the perfect ones you gotta watch out for..." Villain took the mask in their hands and stared at it grimly. "I wouldn't be surprised if they'd got Hero locked up in their basement or something."

"You don't think they're-"

"Dead? No, of course not." Villain shoved the mask back on the strucken sidekick's hands. "They're Superhero's prized possession."

Sidekick was too shocked to let out another word, horrible scenarios running all over their head.

The villain also didn't know what to say. "...Look, kid. Let's put that back and get out of here."

"..huh?"

"We're too unprepared for this. Let's just go back and maybe we can come up with some concrete plan, yeah? I can even round up my guys to-"

"And what do we have here?" Sidekick squeezed their eyes shut at the strong blinding light that was suddenly on their eyes. They heard Villain curse.

They risked their eyes open. Shining a flashlight at them, was Superhero themselves.

"Well, you two are an unexpected pair." Before the villain could grab their weapon, they were hoisted up in the air by Superhero's telekinetic powers. "And here I thought it was just a couple of rats..." The criminal struggled as Superhero squeezed their arms against their waist. The hero's eyes landed on Sidekick and the mask they had on their gripping hands. Their lips quirked to a horrible smile. "Ah... about that. Hero's a bit busy this month."

"Kid, run!" Villain screamed before choking on air. "Gkh-! Seriously?" They wheezed.

At Villain's wheeze Sidekick was snapped out of their trance. "Villain! Superhero, let them go!"

"Hm... no."

"Oh, fuck..." The villain moaned as they tried and failed to escape Superhero's magical grip.

"You two've seen too much."

"Kid, get out of here! G-Get...!" Villain's breath hitched and Sidekick put their hand on their mouth in horror when they realized they could see directly where Superhero was squeezing. The villain's voice got smaller. "...help."

Get help? And leave them there? No. No no no, Sidekick couldn't do that... Sidekick wouldn't do that! They were trained the opposite of doing that and Villain knew.

"Hey." Superhero's cold voice got their attention. "How about we make a small deal?"

Sidekick blinked. "What?" They croaked.

The super smiled, ignoring the villain's struggles and thrashing, which were getting weaker. "I don't want the committee to lose another worker. Lord knows we're short-staffed as it is. And you look young. Are you new?" They lowered their arms. The villain was suddenly slammed on the ground. Sidekick nearly choked on their gasp. "It would be a shame to get rid of a young hero full of potental. How about this?" The superhero continued, wiggling their fingers. Using their telekinesis, they urged the villain's unconsious body to them. They held the criminal by the hair as they focused their faze on Sidekick, who wanted to throw up. "They stay. You leave, and forget about all of this."

It took a moment for the young hero to find their voice. "You... you're letting me go?" Sidekick was eager to leave. And forgeting about all of this was tempting. So tempting.

But they couldn't. Not with the injured villain still in their line of sight. Not with the dried blood on their mentor's mask still on their hands.

"Just like that?"

"Juat like that. And don't you worry," Superhero grinned their usual charming grin, the one that made you feel special. Sidekick was ashamed to say that it still worked, even now. "Since you're new, I'll explain everything for you."

They eyed the villain, who blinked dazely. Oh god, they were still conscious. They couldn't tell if this was good or bad. "What about Hero?"

"Like I said, they're not available."

"What about Villain?"

"Oh, don't you worry about them." Superhero jerked their hand and an invisible force punched the Villain in the gut. Well, it sure looked that way. Sidekick was too focused on the vomit and blood the criminal was currently throwing up to give it much thought. "I'll take them to their rightful place in prison. And you," Sidekick flinched, "will be back at work tomorrow morning, none the wiser."

"T-Tgh...ack.." Villain croaked something, but Superhero shushed them by giving them a kick on the stomach. Something cracked.

"Stop!" Sidekick's voice trembled. "Please, stop."

Superhero gave them a look and smiled, not unkindly. "You really shouldn't care about scum like them. It's bad for our image."

The small hero didn't say anything.

"So, about that deal..." Superhero walked up to them and it took everything in Sidekick to stay still.

"..ake it." Both heroes glanced at Villain's trembling form. "T-Take the damn d-deal..."

Oh. So that's what they were trying to say before.

"I'm with the scum on this one." The superhero smiled brightly. They reached out their hand. "So? What do you say, little one?"

Yes, taking Superhero's deal seemed like the smart thing to do. Sidekick could easily lie and say they would forget about all this. Then they could track down a few of their friends and villain's henchmen to do the job. It's not like they were experienced in all this, not yet. Sidekick raised their hand slowly.

Time seemed to stop. But what was going to happen to Villain if they just left? What about Hero? Even if they did form a team, by the time they would confront Superhero, who knows what the super might've done to the two. Sidekick bit their lip.

And retracted their hand the moment it brushed Superhero's fingertip, leaving the hero's hand reaching out pathetically in the air. "No."

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

No masterlist so I have to gush here about how good this writer is. Great characterization and dialogue, read them if you haven't yet !

[writing-prompt-s]

You are a retired supervillain. Your old nemesis approaches you looking worn and haggard. He begs you to come out of retirement saying that the new generation of heroes is beyond cruel and out of control. "You realize what you are asking for, what my power can do?" You say. He only nods.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Weeping Trees

(tw high body count, again – I’m in that mood)

You cross your arms. Though you’re actually wearing an apron because those pies won’t bake themselves, for a moment it’s like you both hear your former cape floating in the wind.

It’s been a while. Yet the legends are true: it’s nice to see your rival squirming at your threshold. His crumpled face and battered clothes offer a stark contrast to the surroundings, with the breeze carrying some lonely bird singing and the scent of your carefully-trimmed roses. There never was a battle here, mostly because they ended before they started. You’d be almost tempted to thank him; he’s the one pushing you out of your former life, after all.

For once, though, your curiosity takes over your pettiness.

“I want the whole story”, you say.

“Don’t you read the news?”

“I don’t need to anymore.”

He scratches his head, and for a moment you’re twenty years younger and you see a man with false confidence but real skills to back it up, him who can make you bleed – the only one who ever accomplished such a feat. It annoys you to no end. You must repress your younger self’s voice, telling you to kill him now.

“Do you remember when we were young?”

“When you were young, old man. I am myself quite in my prime.”

“Keep telling yourself that”, he snaps without thinking. “Get moving, I’ll explain on the way.”

“If not?”

“Then the town will die, both of us included.”

“I’m wearing an apron.”

“Fine. Good. You look harmless. Clever disguise.”

Without saying another world, he turns his back, and you feel forced to follow him. Like always, he’s making steps too big for his body, making him look like a cartoon character, and certainly much too big for you. You don’t like the idea of rushing around and even less the idea of trailing behind your nemesis without knowing why, like a tamed dog. As always, your curiosity is the death of you, or at least your self-respect. Maybe there’s a hint of nostalgia too. Looking after your garden is fine, but epic fights and merciless slaughter of innocents induce that kind of adrenaline you can’t quite find back into baking your own bread; barely a twist of excitement runs along your back when you see nothing had exploded in the oven.

The town is not far. You’re only separated from it by a small forest. Since your retirement, you never bothered going that far. You’re coming here for the first time since decades. Though you are what you are, once the most powerful supervillain the country ever knew, for a moment you’re like a small child going into the cursed woods.

A shiver runs along your back. There’s no witch nor monster. The monsters have already passed. They have left behind them a trail of corpses. Some look like citizens, powerless people of all ages laying on the ground, and you pass among them with indifference; but you stop when you notice other figures, more familiar ones.

You see Villain, who was your unlucky rival once and might have had a change to shine after your departure. You see Villain, who was a kid when you’ve departed but had a promising future. And you see Villain, who worked with you one and saw you leaving with puppy-dog eyes.

“Do you see now?” dryly asks Hero. “Do you understand?”

You nod.

“Revenge. Reckoning. I thought these were things for my side.”

Hero lets out a bitter laugh:

“It’s much worse than that. It’s cleansing. It’s killing the impure to build a better world.”

“And everyone is impure but them, I suppose.”

“Go tell them.”

Hero stops abruptly, without a warning. You have reached the limits of the woods. The streets of the once busy town are eerily empty, and yet you hear screams all around.

“I can’t deal with them”, he says. “No one but you can deal with them. I’m sorry.”

You grin. Slowly, you’re stepping forwards. It feels good. The usual emotions are finding their ways back to you, as if they’d never really left. The burning anger, the cold contempt, and covering it all, the certainty of your superiority. You’re marching into the streets like an ancient monarch in exile deciding they wanted that crown after all.

It’s like slipping into old shoes. It might be nothing to brag about, but it feels very comfortable.

They’re not slow finding you. Two silhouettes flying in the sky are diving towards you. It only takes a wave of your hand. They stop midair. Warned somehow, others arrive.

They have the cape and the suit and wear silver and white, but there’s a look in their eyes – they’re not heroes. They’re not villains either, not quite. Villains are at least honest about their intents. Whatever it is, you’re glad you’re stopping it.

Your laugh build in your chest and is rushing out of your throat without needing to think about it. Your hands move like a conductor’s. And they all freeze at your command. They’re a dozen. You feel the ripples of their combined power struggle against yours. That only makes you roar louder. They blush and shiver and shake and can’t do one thing about it.

You’re not going to stop there. You’re the villain, after all.

You clap your hands once. Twice.

“My thanks for what you did to the forest,” you say. “How about I do something for the town in exchange?”

Mouth that can’t scream open in vain and become knots. Limbs twist and jerk before turning into roots. Hair is flowing around, transforming into a lovely foliage. In front of you, there’s now a dozen of chestnuts and yews and oaks that can’t do anything but shiver in the cold evening wind.

Hero move behind your back, but you turn around. Fun’s over. Pies to bake.

“Do call me if you need anything, partner. It’s been…most interesting.”

*

You can read about another supervillain who just happens to stop bad heroes here. It's sweeter.

Back to Hero x Villain Masterlist