Five years ago I posted my first two audios; Introverted Incubus and Alien Abduction. This channel was a fresh start at making something new I'd never tried before. I felt like I was showing a part of my soul making these stories, so even with a new channel I was so nervous; I remember seeing Incubus having something like 12 views and being terrified!
Somehow, after everything, I'm still here. I still get nerves about what people will think especially when I try something a little different from what we normally do, but I have so much love for what I do. Even when IRL stuff fights me I'm more energised to create stories now than I've ever been! I am beyond thankful to all of you for sticking with me - you have no idea how much it means seeing names I remember seeing back in 2021, 2022. And here we are, close to seeing the channel hit 20,000 subscribers. That's your achievement!
It's no small thing to say this channel has changed my life. And while I still have a lot of things to figure out, this channel and its stories have always been about that journey. Thank you so much for walking it with me. I can't tell you how grateful I am <3
Your stuff is so good!! You should write a villain x weapon designer civilian snippet :0
Thank you, thank you, friend! Also, Iâm loving the idea of that dynamic, so here you go!
CW: Weapons, unconsciousness, knockout gas
...
âMove and Iâll blow your head off.â
The ridges on the gun's metal barrel dug sharply into Civilian's hand, but they managed to keep their aim and voice steady as they pointed both at the villain in front of them. The criminal was currently backed up against the train doors, hands in the air, gas mask dangling nonchalantly off two fingers.
The villain raised their brow. "What are you some sort of hero?"
"No talking."
"I've never seen you before. I thought I'd met all of the agency's sentinals in white. Though you're not exactly dressed for the position. Maybe you're not--"
"I said no talking!" Civilian barked, taking a step forward and jerking the gun forward menacingly.
"Ok! Ok!" Villain said. They raised their hands higher. âTouch-y.â
On any other day, Civilian would have been like the other passengers, huddled up together in the far corners of the train or pressed back tight in their seats, as if they could disappear by mere force of will. But today, Civilian had been tasked with transporting their newest prototype to the agency for a demonstration. An electro-pulse gun that theyâd tested on no less than five watermelons the night before. They were well acquainted with the damage it could do. Theyâd ripped the thing from its protective case without even thinking.
âIâve already alerted the heroes to your location,â Civilian said. âSo thereâs no point in fighting anymore. Stay still until the next station and youâll be arrested in one piece.â
âYou alerted the heroes?â The villain raised both brows high. âHow? I jammed the cell signals over the next twenty miles. UnlessâŠâ They grinned. âYou have some other form of contact. You do work for the agency, donât you?â
âHave you listened to a thing I've said? No more questions!"
âYouâre the one who keeps chatting, darling. What? Nervous?â
Yes. And no. Their body was alight with adrenaline, every nerve a buzzing, quivering charge, and yet at the same time, they were surreally confident, gut numb and mind blank.
Villain pushed lightly off the doors with their elbows, taking a small, probing step forward. âWould you even really shoot?â
âYou really want to try me?"
âYou heroes make a lot of talk but not much action. What, donât you have a code? 'Do no harm' or something like that? Besides, you're so cute." Another step forward. "I don't think you've ever been in a fight, let alone killed someone, so why don't you just--"
Civilian aimed the gun at the ceiling and squeezed the trigger. The energy projectile punched through the metal with ear-splitting BANG! The passengers shrieked. Villain knocked back against the doors with a thud.
The wind whistled loudly overhead as the air whooshed over the new gap in the roof, and after that shot, their ears might as well have been stuffed full of cotton, but even if they couldn't quite measure their own volume, they fixed the gun back on Villain's head and drove their point home.
âIâm really trying not to traumatize all these lovely people with the visual of your head exploding, and honestly, Iâd really rather not kill you. But if you press meâŠif you doubt me, youâll be dead faster than you can question me again.â
Villain gripped their mask abit tighter but their expression remained smooth and their posture loose. They whistled a long low note. âYouâre something else, gunslinger. When this is all over, feel free to look me up anytime.â
âFortunately, I donât frequent prisons.â
âMe neither." Villain flashed a broader grin, full of white teeth and pocked with a dimple on one side. "Looks like we have something in common.â
The train screeched, the deceleration sending everyone lurching a bit to the right. In that exact moment, when Civilian's gun swayed a few centimeters off target, the villain's free hand shot to their belt.
"Hey!" Civilian shouted, stumbling a little as the train came to a complete stop. Villain tossed something small and round to the floor. Ping! Ping! It bounced twice, rolled a little into the aisle, and exploded in a cloud of cool fog. No not fog. Gas.
Civilian immediately turned their face into their shoulder, tipping the gun even further off target. The whole train car shrieked while Villain calmly pulled the gas mask over their head, obscuring the beginnings of an infuriating grin. Civilian opened their mouth to launch another threat but immediately choked on the sickly sweet gas. It raised around them so rapidly, they could barely see the nose of the weapon let alone, Villain. Not to mention...everything was getting sorta...slanty...
"S-sleepin'gas?" they slurred.
"I was never here to harm any of you." Villain's muffled voice seemed to come from all directions, echoey and distorted.
Civilian fell to one knee. Was it normal to feel like their head was buzzing?
"You made a really cute gunslinger, though. Like a western sheriff. Or an outlaw. Bet you'd be good in a holdup."
The train doors hissed as they opened. As some of the gas slipped free, they caught a glimpse of the Villain's shoulder as they darted out onto the platform.
The gun suddenly felt so heavy in their arms but they forced it up anyway. The barrel tipped to and fro, and their finger trembled on the trigger. They wanted to risk a blind shot, but there could be dozens of people standing outside on that platform. If they hit anyone else...
Their vision blurred, then blackened. They barely managed to set the gun down on the metal floor before passing out over top of it.
When they awoke, they were in the agency medical wing. They recognized it immediately by its obnoxious orange bedsheets and, well, Keith. Sort of hard to miss a giant, shining man in hero-white scrubs.
Civilian slowly pushed themselves upright. Their head throbbed with the movement, and they let out a rogue groan.
Keith turned away from the figure two beds down, covered from head to toe in bruises and now enveloped in their own cocoon of white luminescence.
"Civilian!" Keith beamed, light glimmering off his teeth. "You've regained consciousness! Any pain?"
Civilian rubbed the bridge of their nose. "Just my head... Was I hurt?"
"Not necessarily." Keith pressed both large hands to the sides of Civilian's skull. Civilian closed their eyes as they healer's glow wrapped around their head. Warmth trickled over their face and under their skin, ebbing the pain away little by little. "Just a very large dose of some sort of gaseous anesthesia. Luckily, there have been no long-term consequences so far. The ventilation created by the hole in the roof probably lessened some of the potency. Your handiwork?"
The events on the train rushed back all at once. They pulled out of Keith's grasp.
"Did we get them?" They looked rapidly around their bedside. "Where's my pulse gun?"
Keith stepped back and leaned against the empty bed beside Civilian's. "The gun is in weapons testing, I think."
"And the villain?"
"No. They escaped. We arrived just moments too late before they must have blended with the crowd.
Civlian threw themself back against their pillows with a heavy sigh. "Great."
"You still helped. You stopped Villain from completing whatever they originally planned and provided many citizens with immediate medical treatment by calling us in."
"Oh yeeeeah, I'm sure the whole team was just dazzled by my competence and quick-thinking. Especially when I couldn't hold Villain in place on anything but a moving train."
Keith frowned. "You don't need the title to be a hero."
"Thanks, Keith, that's really nice and heartfelt, and I'm sure you believe it, but seeing how you do have the title, and no one in power here thinks the same, it doesn't really mean that much to me."
Keith frowned but luckily didn't argue any further. Civilian knew they were being rude, but they really didn't need anyone else telling them that they were special the way they were. That they could do good their own way. That being a hero didn't even matter that much. It mattered a whole lot to them. And now they'd practically proven the entire agency right.
"What were they even doing on that train?"
"Robbery?" Keith shrugged. "Knock out the passengers and loot all their valuables."
"Alone?" Civilian traced the lines of the ceiling panels with their eyes. "They didn't even have a bag. How much could they have gathered if they planned on knocking out an entire train?"
"We don't know they were alone. They could have easily had accomplices posing as civilians throughout the train."
"True... Does the agency have a file on them? Tall, skinny, long black coat, annoyingly perfect eyebrows. Didn't show a power."
"I could look...but I'm not supposed to share that sort of info outside of other heroes..."
"Come on! What was that whole, 'you don't need a title' nonsense?"
"It wasn't nonsense! You are a hero! Just...not a legally sanctioned one."
Civilian sat back up and lowered their voice. "Come on, Keith. I'm not going to do anything; I'm just curious. You don't even have to give me the whole file. Just take a couple pictures of anything you think might also be on the news."
Keith grimaced.
"Please? I was so close today. So close to being what I always planned to be... Just let me chase that high a little longer. Then I'll go back to the weapons lab and never mention it again. Promise."
Keith inhaled a long breath, letting it out in a loud, irritated sigh. "Ok, fine. But don't bring it up to anyone. Ever. And I'm only giving you the first page."
Civilian's insides sank a little; they weren't sure what a first page of a villain file looked like, but they could assume it wasn't much. But they couldn't really be picky, so... "That's fine. Just the first page is perfect."
Keith looked like they had hoped that detail would deter them, but he continued on. "It might take awhile. I'm a hero, but I'm a healer, so no one is expecting me to march into the files room and request info on villains."
"That's ok, I can be patient. I work in weapons, remember? That's like the ultimate test in being patient."
Keith slid a hand over his face. "Ok. I'm also going to need more detail than 'annoyingly perfect eyebrows.'"
Adriano Senket was a man of many talents. He was renowned internationally for his innovations and mechanical brilliance, constantly opening up new avenues for humanity to explore. He was credited with almost single-handedly bringing an end to the stagnation of industrial scientific progress, and had conducted himself with great aplomb at conferences worldwide. He was a wealthy business owner as well as an inventor; several of the businesses he had grown from the ground up prior to his success.
Adriano Senket was renowned worldwide, but in the city he had grown to fame in? Senket was a bogeyman. Whispers circulated the streets, allegations of blackmail and extortion and fraud, along with far bloodier crimes had launched him to success. Offending Senket was a death sentence for anyone, be they an individual or a company, and his mark against you was likely to get you blacklisted from gainful employment across the board. So many of his enemies had packed up and left the state that he was the final verdict when it came to whether or not a new venture would thrive or shrivel up and perish. He was mostly interested in the transportation industry, so the average citizen wasn't likely to run afoul of him, but there were rumors all the same.
In a world where the courts were afraid to touch anyone with connections to Senket's holdings, where outspoken civilians disappeared after a few too many outcries about his power, the city kept quiet about their concerns. Adriano Senket, after all, wasn't hiding. He was in the spotlight, and oh, he shone. Unlike the villains and powered individuals who skulked about with code names and hidden dealings, Senket was open about most of his endeavors. The world had little clue how much he was feared in the city he called home.
After all, who would waste time with a man who, arguably, was doing more good than harm? Who had international acclaim and connections, friends in high places, and terrifying hints of friends in exceedingly low places? Heroes like Catharsis were busy tracking down serial killers, the police force were busting drug rings and domestic abuse cases, the courts were swamped with criminals of every shade and variety whose victims were brave enough to testify and against whom concrete evidence could be found. No one had the time, energy, or resources to go after Adriano Senket.
That suited him just fine.
....
Matthew Echald was the name that sparked the obsession. When he was approached by his lovely assistant about a man who had gone through great lengths to obtain his personal email address via a game of 'shady contacts who know a guy who know a guy who might be able to find out' telephone, Adriano was amused. He had private investigators or concerned reporters attempt to connect him to the criminal underworld before. It wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last. He wasn't unduly concerned about it.
He had his assistant conduct the usual protocol -- find everything about the man and his family and, if needed, hush him up and the idiots who'd employed him. What Quin found, however, was what really piqued his interest. There was no doubt that the quantity of information his assistant had compiled was genuine; nobody could fabricate the sheer amount of life history his assistant had managed to get their hands on.
Matthew Echald was his real name. He was not a cop or a journalist, nor did he have any ties to people that may have asked to use him to cover their own approach. He was just... Matthew Echald, a man who was looking to get into contact with Adriano Senket directly.
When Adriano checked his emails a few days later, his interest in the man solidified from bemused passing fancy into concentrated obsession. Matthew Echald was hoping to arrange a meeting to pitch "an untapped market" that "could greatly improve his public standing among the citizens" of the city he ruled. Unlike most of his (rather reluctant) local business partners, who preferred to meet and conduct all dealings through his various subordinates, Matthew Echald had taken the time and expended resources to approach him directly.
He could have found the very same email he'd played a dangerous game of telephone to get on one of Senket's corporate websites, but it was the thought that counted.
As the weeks leading up the date Adriano had set for the meeting went by, he found more of his time dedicated to thinking about the man rather than work. While his personal projects had projected timelines and schedules that served no other purpose than to challenge himself, for the first time in many years, he found himself falling behind. When he should have been refining digital blueprints, he instead poured over the swathes of information Quin had provided, searching through payment dates, school records, and job performance evals on the ridiculously average man.
Matthew Echald had done absolutely nothing of consequence beyond paying his bills in the entirety of his lifetime. Throughout his years in public education, he performed just slightly above average academically and had performed no extra-curriculars. He attended community college while living at home to obtain a degree in accounting. He then went on to rent a small apartment a few blocks away from his childhood home where he had lived the rest of his life working for his father's accounting firm. He had few friends, mostly coworkers, and drank an average amount for a man who never left the house except for work functions and family dinners.
His employment records were more than a little interesting. In a reverse sort of nepotism, Adriano had noticed that the man was being paid less, performing more, and had the most abysmal benefits offered for his position out of the entire firm. He hadn't had a raise since his fifth year of working there, and that was almost of no consequence. The man was getting severely ripped off.
The only possible factor as to why Matthew Echald, a man seemingly allergic to taking initiative his entire life, might want to contact him -- was found in a record of recent hospitalization and a drastic uptick in medical bills. Hospital expenses besides, the man had also acquired a hefty sum in both physiotherapy and psychotherapy visits, along with consultation fees for an issue that seemed to just get him bounced from one referral to the next. He appeared to have attended a surprising number of specialists and come away empty-handed and deeper in debt each time.
With the excruciatingly poor benefits his father had provided, it wasn't a surprise that he'd ended up unable to afford whatever he'd been quoted no matter where he tried to go. As a business owner himself, several of them nursed from grassroots ventures to the corporations they were today, Adriano found himself disgusted. He may not be the most ethical of persons, sure, but at least he knew to value a good employee when he had one. He may have spent some time scheming on exactly how he wanted to go about buying the firm right from under the lousy excuse of a father's feet and what he might do with it. He was going to hold off until he met the man, though. Matthew was probably one of those familial types, since he had stayed in such appalling circumstances for so long, and it was likely he or his father would lay the blame for such a fall squarely at Matthew's feet.
Well, foot. Adriano was pretty sure he knew what the upcoming meeting was going to be about. He was curious, though, how the man was going to attempt to pull it off. Matthew Echald had no idea just how much attention he had garnered for this little stunt. No idea at all.
....
Sweat dripped down his back, cold against his feverish skin. He hunched his shoulders further in the oversized jacket that swamped him, both for padding and warmth, and tried to ignore the racing of his pounding heart. The only people who knew the truth of where he was going today were the ones who had arranged for him to be picked up and driven there; it had not escaped his notice that they had told him to wait at the street lamp of a cafe kitty-corner to his apartment complex. It was a nice, classy way of saying "we know where you live."
He shivered again, leaning his weight against the pole to give the chafing along his side a break. Before the bus collision, he would have been able to make it to this location in a few minutes without even thinking about it. Now, his side was an angry sore of aches and irritated skin, along with --
He focused his eyes on the asphalt. Today, just for today, he could allow himself to not think about it. He was already experiencing tunnel vision from the anxiety. Denial wasn't going to lead to any real harm if he allowed himself to soak in it a bit longer.
Contrary to popular belief, Matthew Echald was not an idiot. Senket was someone he had heard his father rant about over dinner conversation a million times, his mother ending the conversation with a remark about how they should just be grateful his eyes had never landed on their family and how with their chosen business likely never would. With his usual quiet, thoughtful air, Matthew would usually spoon more green beans onto his plate and wait until his father had slipped into the next topic he wanted a captive audience to complain to about, and the conversation (if it could be called such) moved on.
He'd approached his father when it finally came down to eating or paying his bills. With a quiet sort of desperation that he had felt most of his adult life, he asked for a loan -- not even a gift to help, just a loan -- so that he could obtain the prosthetic his insurance didn't cover and finally be able to get back to work. He used to take the bus; his PTSD had ensured that at least for a while, that was out, so he was hoping to bike or walk, and he just couldn't make the journey to the firm on his rickety secondhand crutch.
It had gone about as well as he'd expected. His father's indignant refusal had devolved into a tirade about how he was already sacrificing enough by letting him take time off to attend his various medical appointments without penalty, and that if he spent less on his childish hobbies he wouldn't be in this position, begging like a useless panhandler for hard-earned money. Matthew didn't bother to mention that he'd given up the hobby his father was referring to the summer he turned twelve, when the man had told him that either he could ask for money to be spent on comic books or his little sister could eat lunch.
Matthew Echald was many things, but he was not as cowardly as his father liked to make him out to be. When he left his parents' home that night, he texted his little sister (attending university out of state, he was so damn proud of her) goodnight, and headed to the bar he knew was the frequent haunt of an acquaintance he'd avoided since high school. Something, luck or the devil, he'd take either at this point, must have been listening to his half-baked thoughts, because before he even made it to the bar, the man was in his path.
That night, Matthew Echald left with a belly full of anxiety and a plan. Pinkerton had always been clever, in a wily, feral, conman sort of way. Since his stint in prison had sobered him up, his intellect was sharper than ever. He'd been remarkably affable for having been actively avoided and never that close even in their teen years. Matthew had swapped numbers with him, finding that it was easier to talk to the ex-con than a great many of his coworkers. The grinning little man had promised to introduce him to his former parole officer and a few other friends, so that was... something. They'd promised to meet up again in the next month or so, and Pinky had startled a laugh out of him for the first time in far too long, so he was hoping to keep that particular appointment.
If he survived this one, of course.
....
The cab ride was quiet. The driver had pulled up, rolled down his window, and nodded to get in the backseat without a single word. Once his crutch was arranged in his lap, they'd peeled away into traffic, a silent acknowledgment passing between them that there was no turning back. Supposedly, the man behind the wheel was one of Pinky's personal friends. Matthew wasn't sure how to feel about that, since he was also a low-tier villain who went by the simple moniker of Taxi.
Taxi was the one who had made this whole harebrained scheme of his possible. He'd affirmed that he'd ferried Adriano Senket and a few of his personnel about in the past (confirming that the man was not nearly as upstanding as his world-wide public image claimed to be, since Taxi's personal ability included the inability to be traced from location to location). Pinkerton had mentioned, in a tone that was abruptly far more serious than his usual gruff, garrulous persona, that if Taxi thought it was a bad idea to approach Adriano he'd be better off choosing to be homeless and jobless than attempt a meeting. Matthew took him at his word.
His hands shook on top of his crutch. Taxi's eyes were fixed on the road, but Matthew couldn't shake the feeling that he was acutely aware of his every movement. For a classified villain, he was remarkably nondescript, which probably helped with his day job. When he glanced up and they made eye contact in the rear view mirror, Matthew looked away. His throat was dry. That sharp, assessing gaze was not one he would forget easily. His knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip on his crutch.
They pulled up to an office building in a part of the city that he'd never frequented. When Taxi parked the car, he turned in his seat to glance over his shoulder, pinning him in place with those gleaming black eyes.
"Fare's covered," he said, as though that was remotely close to anything that was on Matthew's mind. "Pinky has vouched for you, so if you screw this up, it'll cost you both, you got that?"
His head jerked in a sharp nod. Taxi's eyes glittered, his gaze sharpening. He opened his mouth. His voice shook.
"Yeah," he managed. "I understand."
The cab driver's face mellowed into something distinctly unimpressed. He slid his gaze away, jerking his head at the car door. As Matthew scrambled to leave the cab, he heard the gruff mumble just before he shut the door. "We'll see."
....
@creweemmaeec11 your prompt was so much fun I really enjoyed this lol, a bit out of my comfort zone and that made it so much more fun haha
I am working on a part two! I just didn't want to let this installment get too out of hand....
Note to self: Don't watch r/InsaneParents compilations on YouTube prior to writing or this happens
"Are you trying to get yourself beaten to death?" Villain hissed.
Henchman huffed something close to a laugh. "Of course not. You're the masochist."
The villain stared, their lips parted, tongue worrying at the inside of their cheek. "Then shut the fuck up. Stop antagonising them."
"I'm having fun, aren't you?"
"I'm the masochist remember."
"But not a sadist?"
The villain's jaw clenched. They slowly worked it loose, the henchman avoiding their gaze. "What part of watching you get hurt is supposed to be fun?"
A surge of something fluttered inside the Henchman's ribs. But no. No. They couldn't say that here with the bars between them and the cameras always watching.
"You literally pay me to get hurt instead of you," Henchman pointed out, something hungry and vulnerable squeezing the breath from their lungs.
The villain growled in the back of their throat. "I pay you to hurt people for me while I hurt other people."
"It's fine, boss. I can handle myself."
The villain just stared at them, eyes roving over each and every bruise, cut, and drop of blood.
"I won't watch you die here." The words were barely a whisper. Henchman might've hallucinated them. Their ears were ringing still from the beating they had just endured.
"Then you'd better work on a way out."
"I order you to stand down."
Now Henchman laughed for real, pain spiking as their broken ribs shifted with it. It turned into a breathless groan. "I said I have it."
"You can't ignore a direct order from me," the villain objected, voice tight. The henchman knew the villain was close to losing their composure.
Ignoring their screaming muscles and bones the henchman stirred, propping themself up on their elbows so they could pierce the villain with a cold look. "Boss. Sir. Villain look at me."
Their gaze snapped up to meet Henchman's at the warning tone. Henchman waited until the villain settled, giving them their full attention. They watched until the tight knot of worry faded in the villain's eyes, replaced by something tender and trusting, and nodded once in approval.
"I am not letting them touch a hair on your head." Henchman forced their breathing to be steady as they gazed intently at their villain. "And you don't get to tell me how to protect you. Got it?"
Villain opened their mouth to argue but snapped it shut again at the steely look in Henchman's eyes.
"Good. Glad we're on the same page now." Henchman let themself collapse back to the cold concrete, making an effort not to wince or groan or reveal the level of pain they were in.
They knew the Villain would get them out of this, even if they didn't hold the same conviction as their second in command.
I've decided I'm gonna write out a bunch of quotes from @seriouslycalamitous, so send me your favorite quotes, whether thats from calam's fanfics, streams, or tumblr posts. The funnier, cooler, or more dramatic the better.
This will be the first because I found it incredibly funny
Henchman knew that Lover was hiding something. Had been since they started dating over a year ago. But everyone has their little secrets and itâs not as if Henchman was any less guilty of having a few themself. After all, the two had met in the first place working a bank robbery for Supervillain. Henchman had been working for Supervillain for three years, so they were asked to show the temp, that being Lover, the ropes.
It wasnât unusual for goons to be temps. Some just needed the money and took on one job every now and again for various villains. Others, like Henchman, preferred consistency. And there was a chance your boss would overlook a small mistake or two if you worked for them long enough to have demonstrated your skills.
But dating a superhero in disguise was unlikely to be considered a small mistake.
Henchman had barely enough time to pull out their gun before they were tackled to the floor, an iron grip on their wrists and Heroâs weight on their legs.
âYou fucker!â Henchman shrieked.
âJust let me explain-!â
âExplain?! How could you possibly justify this? You used me!â
âI never wanted to hurt you.â
âBullshit,â Henchman spat, trying to pry themself free of Heroâs hold, but it wasnât as if Henchman had any superpowers of their own to fight back with. âLet go.â
âIâll let go once you calm down and listen.â
âIâm not interested in anything you have to say.â
âThen I guess weâll be here all night then,â Hero sighed.
They stayed like that for a while, neither speaking as Henchman tried and failed to get loose whilst Hero effortlessly held them down. After five minutes or so, Henchman finally relented, slamming their head back in frustration before willing their body to calm down. Seeing this, Hero spoke up. âAre you going to hit me if I let you go?â
âI wouldnât tell you if I was.â
âIt wonât go down well.â
Henchman sighed, âIâm not stupid enough to punch you in your indestructible jaw. Happy?â
Hero seemed to take a moment to consider before relenting. They released their grip and pulled back slowly and cautiously, grabbing a hold of Henchmanâs discarded pistol as they did. Henchman sat up against the cupboards, checking their wrists for bruising whilst Hero emptied the bullets from their gun and placed it on the coffee table.
âYouâre not hurt, are you?â Hero asked, face masked with guilt.
âWhat do you care?â Henchman spat back.
âDonât be like thatâŠâ
âIâm sorry, did you expect me to be happy when I found out?â
âI didnât- I didnât plan on you finding out like this.â
âOr at all, you mean?â
Hero gave them a look.
âI wasnât planning on keeping you in the dark forever.â
âNo, course not. Iâm sure Iâd hear all about it during the arrest. Once I was no longer useful, obviously.â
âYouâre angry-,â
âWhat clued you in?â Henchman laughed bitterly.
â-And I completely get it. But you have to understand, I never had any intentions of hurting you-â
âNo intentions?!â
âThis was just supposed to be a recon job. Just a bit of information gathering. Everything else-â Hero took a breath. âEverything else was genuine. How I feel about you⊠None of that was fake, you understand that, right?â
âAnd you think that makes any of this better?â
âI didnât do this to hurt you.â
âYouâve killed me!â Henchman cried. âHow did you think this was going to play out? Youâve made me a traitor- a fucking rat! Do you know what Supervillain would do to me when he finds out-?â
âIf he finds out.â
âNo, when he finds out. Because if you seriously donât think he will, then Iâm starting to doubt youâve even thought this far ahead.â
Henchman was growing more exhausted as the argument went on. Their wall of anger slowly chipping away. They had nothing left to fill the cracks with except all of this hurt and pain, but they desperately filled it in anyway; despite knowing it wouldnât be long before they had a ship of Theseus on their hands.
âI wasnât going to let him hurt you,â Hero said, looking at Henchman like they really meant it. âIâm not going to let anything bad happen to you. No oneâs going to hurt you. No oneâs going to arrest you.â
âAnd your friends are alright with that, are they?â
âTheyâŠâ Hero cut themself off as they appeared to have stumbled into another bit of information they werenât quite ready to give Henchman.
âThey do know about us, donât they?â Henchman asked warily.
âThey do!â Hero admitted. âAnd they are willing to help. They just⊠have some conditions.â
Because it was never going to be a neat little solution was it, Henchman scowled but kept the thought to themself. âWhat conditions?â
âNothing big,â Hero placated. âTheyâre just having a hard time believing youâd change sides. But if you were to give up some information on Supervillain-?â
âSo, itâs bad enough that you made me an involuntary accomplice. Now you need to make sure I donât even have plausible deniability?â
âItâs not like that.â
âItâs exactly like that. I didnât ask for this.â
âYouâre in danger either way.â
âIâm in danger because of your decisions. Not mine. So donât you dare try and get anything more out of me.â
âIâm not trying to take anything else. Iâm trying to protect you!â
âSo I can be your little pet informant? Tucked safely away somewhere waiting for the day you miraculously manage to take down Supervillain?â
âWould you rather be on the run? Frightened for your life everyday with no one to look out for you?â
âIâd rather youâd have just left me alone!â
The silence between the two of them was dense enough to feel like you were drowning with every breath. If you could even bring yourself to breathe in the first place.
âYou donât mean thatâŠâ Hero said softly. Sombrely. The words ached and echoed with all of the memories theyâd shared over the last year and change. No one had made Henchman laugh like Hero. No one had made them feel so happy they could cry. So wanted they could feel that want themself. Recollecting these memories used to make them feel so strong in face of the world.
They hadnât felt grief in so long, but this is exactly what it felt like.
âI donât knowâŠâ Henchman said just as quietly. They felt the last vestiges of adrenaline fade away, exhaustion coming in and numbing everything. They took a breath and tried to muster something up but found the whole thing more tiring than productive. They knew they couldnât continue like this. Knew it was only a matter of time before they just started nodding along to everything Hero was saying. They werenât in a state to be making those sorts of decisions without the feelings to back them up.
âIâm tired,â Henchman admitted.
âYeah, thatâs fair,â Hero sighed. âWhy donât we call it for tonight and figure out a plan tomorrow. Give us both some time to think.â
Henchman nodded, picking themself up off the floor and making their way to the cupboard by the door where they pulled out a coat and a bag they had packed for emergencies.
âWait,â Hero stood up from their own seat. âWhere are you going?â
âIâm going to stay with a friend.â
âYou- you canât just-â
âWeâll pick this up tomorrow, right?â Henchman asked with as much sternness as they could, though more than likely it just came out as tired and frustrated.
Hero looked like they were about to protest further but swallowed it down at the last second.
âNo, youâre right,â Hero said, shaking their head. âIâll see you tomorrow then. Just⊠stay safe, alright?â
Henchman did not go to a friendâs house. Or a hotel, or even one of the safehouses. They didnât know where they were going. The word âfarâ rang in their head and so that was the aim. The money they had stashed in their bag would determine where exactly âfarâ was.
They didnât let their mind wander from this goal. Didnât let it question what they were doing, whether they even knew what they were doing. Henchmanâs feelings for Hero were warped and chaotic, but they were still there. And those feelings were dangerous. Those feelings were going to get them killed.
When they finally felt safe enough to come out of the spiral, they were sat in a near-empty train coach heading god knows where. A quick look at the train ticket in their pocket gave them a general idea of what direction they chose and, judging by the price, was likely the last stop on the route.
Henchman didnât think Hero would try and track them down once they realised they were gone. Or even if they did, that maybe theyâd stop once they found out Henchman left of their own volition. But just to be on the safe side, they figured they should get off at a random stop along the way and head in another direction. Maybe find somewhere nice in the countryside if they could afford it. Or the beachâŠ
Henchmanâs thoughts were interrupted briefly by the announcement of the next stop. Three more stops, they told themself. Then weâll get on a bus, camp in a field for the rest of the night, and then weâll go from there.
The train started moving again. A couple more passengers came into the coach, a couple left⊠Henchman took a deep breath. Three more stopsâŠ
They opened their eyes and looked up, their gaze catching one of the other passengers further down by the doors just as he was taking a seat. Both of them looked away as soon as their eyes met and Henchmanâs heart sank. They knew him. The name didnât come to mind, but they were sure theyâd seen him at a few jobs they did these last few months. They looked back again to confirm but the chairs were blocking their view.
Itâs just a coincidence, they told themself. Or you were mistaken. Youâre on edge, and your brainâs playing tricks on you. They took another deep breath, the thoughts swinging back and forth as the argument with themself raged.
Iâm sure it was-
But itâs not.
Why is he here?
Heâs not here, youâre delusional.
But if that is him-
Then itâs just a coincidence.
And if itâs not?
âŠ
Paranoia made a compelling case. And on the off-chance they hadnât been recognised, they decided it was better to go towards a more crowded coach to wait until the next stop. Grabbing their things, Henchman quickly shuffled out of their seat, just pulling themself up to standing when they came face to face with a horrifyingly familiar figure.
Supervillain stared at Henchman in what seemed to be mild amusement. Henchman themself could barely hold the gaze, their fear paralysing them in place.
âHonestly now,â Supervillain smirked. âYouâre on a train. Where did you think you could possibly go?â
âI⊠I-â
âWhy donât you sit back down,â he suggested. Though in all likelihood it was definitely not a suggestion. âItâs a while before the next stop and I think you and I have a lot to talk about.â
Le general tagliste: @doctorsawyer, @whumplicity, @neon-kazoo, @stupidlypurplemist, @elfwhump, @imgoingtobiteyounow, @chaotic-orphan, @jumpywhumpywriter, @hymnusadbacchum, @atomicduckthefirst, @whump-till-ya-jump, @lazytoshiko, @human-123-person
Snyopsis: 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.
Being the first person out the door undoubtedly did Civilian no favors to their work reputation.Â
Anytime someone joked about it, often with an edge, Civilian would make excuses: their dog needed let out (they didnât have a dog), they had to get to the bank before it closed (they use their banking app 90 percent of the time), they liked having a work/life balance (that oneâs true).Â
The real reason, of course, was to avoid any encounters with them. Their newest colleague -- Jonathan Anderson. A bland, forgetful name for a bland, forgetful person. He arrived two months ago in her data entry division, dressed everyday in the same unremarkable navy suit with a grey tie, gave generic responses to small talk at lunch.Â
And he scared the shit out of them.Â
Luckily for Civilian, their paths didnât cross that often and when they would, Civilian had found ways to neatly side step them -- emails instead of face to face conversations, calling in favors, and once, even taking a sick day to avoid a meeting.Â
It worked great -- until it didnât.Â
The elevator descended at an agonizing snailâs pace. Civilian stood in the back, gripping the railing behind them with a sweaty hand and tried to breathe slowly and evenly.Â
 The only other person in the elevator with them -- and the only other person in the building -- was Jonathan Anderson. Because of course he would be working late the one time Civilian had a deadline change and a mad scramble to get everything read by tomorrow.Â
He stood in front of the buttons, his back to them, plain brown leather briefcase dangling from his hand. To everyone else, he looked harmless. But the sheer power of his aura radiated like the sun. It made Civilian light-headed being in such close contact with it.Â
Thirty more seconds, they thought to themselves. Thatâs all this elevator ride would last. After that Civilian could scurry off to the parking garage and screech out of here.Â
29 . . . 28 . . . 27 . . .26 . . .Â
The elevator came to a sudden, sickening halt and Civilianâs heart with it. They waited for the emergency alarm to blare, but the elevator stayed eerily silent.Â
âIs there . . is there something wrong?â Their voice came out shaky and hoarse. They cleared their throat.Â
For a moment Jonathan didnât respond. Instead he turned around to lean casually against the wall and survey them, his face as bland and unreadable as always.Â
âThatâs a question I think I should be asking,â he said, adjusting his glasses.Â
Instantly their hackles rose. It took considerable effort to keep the panic from their face, to force their shoulders to relax, to look confused and concerned.Â
âWhat do you mean?â
âYouâre afraid of me.â
The truth struck true, lodging itself between their ribs. Civilian swallowed, suddenly dry mouthed, and tried to find the air again.Â
âYouâve trapped me in an elevator and youâre bigger than me,â they pointed out.Â
âThat is rather nerve-wracking, Iâll admit. Itâs almost believable. But this started a long time ago, didnât it?â
He straightened and took a step towards them. And another. All while speaking in that affable, level tone, as if commenting on the weather. Â
 âSince my first day here. Donât think Iâve forgotten how you never shook my hand that day. Or that I donât notice all the little tricks you pull to avoid me. Yet weâve never had a negative encounter. Youâve never given me the opportunity to create a bad impression. Itâs rather baffling, donât you think?â
He stopped a safe distance away but close enough to prevent any attempt to escape. Despite being only a couple inches taller than Civilian, they loomed in the small space.Â
âSo tell me -- how do you know?â
âKnow what?âÂ
It was their only defense, this wide eyed denial. To pretend they were discomfited by a bizarre encounter with their coworker, rather than straddling the edge of a panic attack while stuck in an elevator with a man who could kill them with a snap of his fingers probably.Â
He snorted. âYou gave up the ability to be coy when you stepped into this elevator. Please donât make me ask you again.â
Though he made no threatening movements, the swell of his power spoke for him, the pressure of it nearly suffocating.Â
âI can feel it,â Civilian whispers shakily. âYour power. Anyoneâs power. They have an -- an aura about them and I can feel how strong it is.â
âSo you can tell, instantly, who is and isnât a powered individual?â he clarified, his focus sharpening like the sun through a magnifying glass.Â
They only managed a nod, their throat tight.Â
âFascinating.âÂ
The hint of awe in his voice would have been flattering if Civilian hadnât spent so much effort to avoid this kind of attention.Â
âAnd which organization is benefiting from this power? Who is keeping tabs on me?â
âNo one,â Civilian said hurriedly. âI havenât told anyone.â
A wicked smirk spread like slow poison across his face, transforming a visage that no one looked twice at into something terrifying.Â
âDo you think Iâm as stupid as I pretend to be for work? There is no possibility that any organization would allow someone like you to walk untethered. Now, answer the question before I show you exactly why my aura frightens you so much.â
His hand hovered just over their heart, the beat of which a cacophony in their ears. Nothing happened -- yet. But the anticipation of it, coupled with the fact that Civilian still had no idea what such power was, made their whole body start to tremble.Â
âThey donât know about me,â they said, throat tight. âNo one knows about me. Iâve kept it a secret my whole life.â
Jonathan still surveyed them with suspicion. âWhy? I imagine you would be an extremely valuable asset to them. And those tend to be very well compensated. You expect me to believe youâd rather be a data clerk for a bank?â
A flash of rage breaks through the fog of terror. âMy father was an extremely valuable asset. It didnât stop him from dying an excruciating and unnecessary death. Iâm not following in his footsteps.â
For a moment he looked taken aback at this confession before his eyes narrowed in what almost seemed like approval. It emboldened Civilian.Â
âLook, I donât know what youâre doing here and I donât want to know. If I tell anyone about you, it will blow my secret too. So just . . . let me stay out of your way?â They swallowed, tongue darting out to moisten cracked lips. âPlease?â
For several agonizing seconds he just looked at them, his face blank as printer paper. Civilian tried to meet his eyes, to look trustworthy, but the weight of his flat, calculating stare was too much. Instead, their gaze fell onto his hand, still hovering over their heart, ready to crush them or incinerate them or dissolve them or whatever ungodly thing he could do.Â
And then his hand slowly slipped down further between them and flipped up, palm open.Â
âWhat take out do you enjoy?â he asked.Â
â . . .what?â
âItâs a bit late for a restaurant, but I know several takeout places still open this time of night. Do you have a preference?â
It was Civilianâs turn to stare at Jonathan with their brow furrowed.Â
âYou -- you donât need to buy me dinner,â they stammered.Â
âOf course I do. Itâs customary for a date, yes?â
âFor a what?â Civilian choked.Â
That wicked smirk appeared again, giving life to the void of his neutral expression.Â
âYou know what they say. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.â
âI -- Iâm not your enemy!â
âAnd you will never have the opportunity to be one. Iâm ensuring it. And since you refuse to acknowledge my presence here at work, there is only one other recourse. Now choose or I shall choose for you.â
A date. Dinner. With him. Someone with the strongest aura Civilian had ever encountered. Someone who was definitely planning something illegal.Â
âI like tacos,â they said faintly.Â
With a wave of his hand, the elevator shuddered back to life and continued itâs gentle decent to the ground floor.Â
âThen we shall get tacos,â said Jonathan, taking their hand.
you may be thinking that some of the reactions to the tumblr update are unfounded or panicky. but i meant what i said: this will fucking destroy any artist on this site.
for your reference, i tracked down one of my original posts; which had a notes section that looked like this:
and here is what it looks like now:
holy shit. by my math, that is not even two percent of the amount of aggregate notes my writing actually has. i am not able to see any of the literal hundreds of replies, comments, or tags.
maybe this is a bit presumptuous but i consider myself to be fairly popular on this site. i still remember the first time a large blog "picked up" my work - how quickly all of a sudden i was getting seen. notes on my poetry jumped from like 10 to 300 to 3k. overnight. that was the magic of tumblr, and the incredible writing community i found here.
but now if i answer any of my fellow writers, if i say please go check this out or even if i add additional context to my own work - the artist is removed completely from their own content.
do you want to reply to an "ask game"? do you want to reply to a story prompt? do you want to just make a funny joke with your friends? well, that sucks - you might be depriving them of literally 98% of their notes.
it isn't about clout chasing. it is about giving creators control over their own materials. even a silly post deserves to be connected directly with the person that thought it up.
the tumblr feedback form is currently crashed for me, but when it's up, everyone please go (politely! calmly! like you're walking in a burning building!) tell them what you think. in the meantime: @staff @changes like... i am begging you. literally just set up a suggestion box for ideas on how to monetize tumblr, surely one of us can help you.
I genuinely have no idea: am I supposed to reblog this? Will that help at all? If this doesn't get reverted, are reblogs now detrimental to helping a post get seen? Cos now it's my post, not the OP's. I've taken ownership of it, and anything you respond to it with, OP will not be able to see.
This is a genuinely atrocious change, it genuinely only seems to be set up to fragment communities and reduce engagement, that's literally the primary functions of this change
Hi! I really like ur writing I've read almost all of ur snippets. Can you do a detective x villain? It's ok if you can't :)
Thanks!
Of course I can! Thank you so much for the request!
This one ended up being a bit longer than intended, but I hope you enjoy.
Warnings: Really creepy villains, blood, broken bones, and talk of torture. Please be safe my dears!
Gravel bit into Detectiveâs knees as they layed, shaking and sweaty, under the railroad car. Fresh rain pitted and patted against the dusty rocks that lined the rails, causing particles to rise into the air in a futile attempt at remaining dry in the onslaught.Â
Futile being what Detective felt their efforts at escape were.Â
Shit, shit, shit! Theyâd really done it this time.Â
When Partner mentioned they had seen Hero hanging around the docks and rail stations as of late, theyâd meant it as a passing comment. But Detective suspected a bit more. Hero wasnât one to go to the âlower dregs of the cityâ as they so eloquently put it, so Detective figured Hero was looking for something or someoneâŠonce again not informing the police of their actions.Â
And OH BOYÂ had Hero been looking for someone. And they had found them, getting off the ten oâclock shipping special dressed as a poor rail riding hobo.Â
The disguise might have fooled the odd passerby, but not Detective. No, they had poured over the warrant lists too many times during too many late nights not to recognize the one person present on all of them.Â
What was Hero doing smuggling Other Villain into the city? Why had they embraced like friends?Â
A crunch and slight scuffle on the gravel took Detective from their thoughts. The two were getting closer. No more than a couple cars over now. Should Detective make a run for it? No, trying to out run two supers was not only futile, but would anger them further. Best to stay in their hiding spaceâŠwith any luck the sound of the rain will cover Detectiveâs breathing enough that Heroâs super hearing will gloss over it.Â
Their leg shifted involuntarily causing loose dirt and rock to scuff against their shoe. Dammit! Detectiveâs shaking was getting out of control. They couldnât remember the last time they felt this scared. Three years on the job and Detective had felt they were pretty experienced. Yet, here they were, most likely about to die. No wonder the older guys still called them a green horn.Â
They didnât even call Partner. Never had the chance. Other Villain caused Detectiveâs phone to turn white hot in their hand the moment it was close to their ear, just before Detective ran into the maze of railcars. The palm of their hand stung with a burn they knew would scar.Â
âI know youâre here Detective,â Heroâs sickenly sweet tone floated from a few cars away. âI can hear your heartbeatâŠfluttering like a little rabbitâŠtell me Detective, are you scared? Or is it the thrill of the chase? It is for meâŠâ
Detective squeezed their eyes shut at the words. In their mind they could see the autopsy reports of Other Villainâs victims, so many victims, from the years when Other Villain owned this city. The things done to themâŠthey had not died quickly.Â
It had taken years to run them out of town. And Hero was bringing them back again.Â
Hero let out a sharp laugh, now much closer than they had been.Â
âI heard that Detective! The skip in your heartâŠyouâre not just scared are you? Youâre terrified!âÂ
Detectives forced themselves to breathe slower, hearing their racing heart themselves as it pounded in their ears.Â
âThatâs good,â Hero continued; each sentence getting them closer and closer. âOther Villain likes them that wayâŠterrified and quiveringâŠnever saw the appeal myself, but for you Iâm willing to make an exception. Who knows? Perhaps you can live up to that baby face of yours and we can get you crying before you die.âÂ
As scared as they were, Heroâs words sent a jolt of anger through Detective. Like Hell! They might become just another tally on Other Villainâs record, another autopsy report, but hell if they werenât going to go down fighting. They vowed not to shed a single tear.Â
They had to do something! Detective frantically whipped their head around, looking from the gravel under them to the heavy iron aboveâŠsurely there was something they couldâŠTHERE!Â
As fast, and as quietly as they could, Detective gripped the old rusty nail from among the rocks with their uninjured left hand. With their right, they used the tips of their fingers, avoiding their burnt palm, to take hold of a larger stone. With a prayer and a wish they tossed it out and away from where they were hiding. They knew Hero finding them was inevitable, but with the rain and now the sound of the thrown rock, perhaps Hero finding them could be delayed long enough for Detective to leave a message.Â
They shifted onto their back and, with the old nail, started scratching into the rusted iron above as fast as they could.
H X OVâŠthe scratching was louder then they anticipated and they heard the abrupt scuff of steps changing direction⊠PP DOXâŠThe steps had turned to heavy stomps as Hero followed the sound and got closerâŠ9 30 NO V⊠Detectiveâs hand shook as they scratched as fast as legibility would allow, Hero was only a couple cars awayâŠTL FM SRYâŠ
A firm hand clamped painfully on their ankle and Detective was ripped with brutal force from their hiding spot. There was no resistance they could give, the strength was unmatched. Detective felt their back rip across the large stone ballast and the back of their head hit the rail. In less than a second they were lying prone in the space between cars, the rain not hitting their face due to the weight which had settled above them, across their middle and hips.Â
A sharp, piercing, deranged, cackle rang across the railyard.Â
Detective squinted their eyes open. Above them, now pinning them to the ground, was not HeroâŠbut Other Villain. Detective moved to pull their gun from their holster, but Other Villain was fast, deceptively, powerfly, fast, and with the same speed and strength that had pulled them from under the railcar, Detectiveâs gun was thrown at least ten years from them and their wrist was gripped and twisted until a loud and sickening crack echoed in the rain.Â
Detective screamed, instinctively pulling their broken wrist closer only to have Other Villain grab both arms and wretch them over their head. The burn on their right hand throbbed, and the broken wrist on their left was white hot agony.Â
âNow, now, nowâŠno need to use something so primitive,â sing-songed Other Villain. âThough, I guess when you're so mundane, thereâs nothing else for youâŠâ Other Villain leaned down, so close their nose almost brushed Detectiveâs. âI can smell your fear.âÂ
Detective snarled, bucked and kicked, but it was no use. Other Villain was not gifted with just one, but many, powers. Speed and strength being the top two.Â
âItâs been so long since Iâve experimentedâŠtell me, how long do you think you can live as I pull out your organs one by one?âÂ
Detectiveâs eyes widened at the words and their useless struggles took on new life, but still to no avail.Â
âSurely, not as long as a superâŠbut maybeâŠyou do seem a determined one..â Other Villian shifted Detectiveâs arms to only be held down by one hand, while the other slid down to grip the side of their abdomen with their clawlike nails. Detective gasped. âI could start here. Do you still have your appendix? I guess Iâll find outâŠâ
âOh do stop teasing the poor wretch,â came Heroâs voice. Crunching gravel echoed in Detectiveâs ear as Hero came to stand next to their head and leaned into their view. âWe canât kill them until theyâve answered a few questions. Not that Iâm adverse to the idea,â Hero nudged the tip of their boot into Detectiveâs armpit, making them jerk. âThis oneâs been a pain in my ass for a couple years now.âÂ
Other Villain leaned away to address Hero, but still kept pressure on Detectives wrists and side, the nails now surely drawing blood with the force that they gripped with. âThen perhaps the less important ones first? Theyâll have to talk once one of their kidneys is dangling in front of their face.âÂ
If Detectiveâs heart sounded like a rabbit before, it was supersonic now. But despite the fear, Detective held their tongue. They would not talk.Â
Hero threw back their head and laughed, âOh my friend, I forgot how deliciously ruthless you are!â
Other Villain turned their attention back to Detective, their nails dug in further; Detective winced and tensed.Â
âYou ask the questions,â Other Villain told Hero, âIâll get the answers.âÂ
âSounds like aâŠâ
BOOM!
The sound of an explosion cut off Hero words. The force of it reverberated through the ground and Detective felt it through their bones.Â
âWhat the hell?â
 BOOM!
Another, much closer this time, shook the train cars and caused Other Villain to lean forward for balance and place more weight on the hand digging into Detectiveâs side.Â
Detective yelled as they felt blood pour freely from the wound.Â
Other Villain and Hero were looking frantically around now, trying to assess the new threat.Â
BOOM!
Another explosion rocked the ground, this time only a few rails away.Â
Heroâs eyes settled on the withering Detective.Â
âWho did you call?â Hero demanded.Â
Shaking and wracked with pain, Detective shook their head.Â
BOOM! Another explosion. Closer still.Â
âWho did you call?!â Hero pushed Other Villain off Detective and pushed their polished boot into Detectiveâs stomach.Â
Detective, once again, shook their head.Â
BOOM!
The train cars to Detective's right groaned with the impact.Â
âDammit, Detective! Who did you call!?â Hero was screaming now, in a voice that Detective only distantly realized was fear, but the force of Heroâs weight on their stomach made thinking impossible. Hero leaned in, placing all of their weight on the one foot as they matched their face with Detectiveâs.Â
Detective gagged as Hero made it impossible to breathe.Â
âWHO?âÂ
âGo...toâŠhellâŠâ Detective choked.Â
With a look of pure fury, Hero raised their fist and Detective knew they couldnât survive a hit from their super powered arm.Â
It seemed their time was up.
The fist came down and Detective closed their eyes.Â
The hit never came.Â
In a sudden and whirling sound of fire and impact, Detective felt the weight on their stomach vanish and their body leave the ground. It was disorienting and loud, and they could only spare the single thought that they had been caught up in one of the oncoming explosions, before the sensations became too much and they felt themselves lost between awareness and unconsciousness.Â
There were distant screams which Detective wasnât completely sure werenât their own.Â
They came too in what could have been minutes, seconds, or even hours later to find themselves half seated in wet grass and half cradled in someoneâs arms. It took another few minutes for them to realize words were being whispered into their hair as a hand raked up and down their back in soothing motions.Â
âItâs okay, youâre okayâŠI know it hurtsâŠIâm sorryâŠIâll make it betterâŠplease wake upâŠI know it hurts, but you need to wake upâŠyouâre okayâŠâ
In the haze of words, Detective felt themselves going back and forth as the person holding them rocked ever so slightly. Whether it was for Detectiveâs benefit or their own, Detective didnât know. The voice sounded so panicked.Â
Detective twitched their head a bit and let out a groan, awareness brought back the pain of their many injuries.Â
âDetective?â The rocking stopped and the voice went from panicked whispers to a shocked croak. âDetective? Are you awake?â
Detective shifted and gasped, they moved their head to look up at the cloudy sky, feeling the lips which had been rhythmically whispering pull back.Â
It was no longer raining, but the sky was still overcast.Â
âDetective?â Came the tentative voice.Â
It was only then that Detective realized who the voice belonged to.Â
Not wanting to move their neck any more than needed, Detective shifted their eyes to focus on the person holding them and whose face was staring directly down at them.Â
âVilâŠVillain?â Detectiveâs voice sounded like it had gone through a shredder.Â
A smile broke through Villianâs tear stained face.Â
âI have help coming. A healerâŠweâll get you patched upâŠdonât worry.â Judging by the look on Villainâs face and the grip with which they held on, Detective wondered if Villain was more worried about their wounds then they were.Â
âNoâŠwhyâŠâ
Why did you save me? How did you know? Where are we?
All the questions got lodged in their throat and couldnât make it out.Â
âWeâll talk after, okay? Iâll explain everything. Just focus on getting better right now.â The words were so soft, nothing like the Villain the Detective knew, nothing like the Villain who terrorized the city on a weekly basis.Â
âYouâre okay,â Villain whispered again. This time more to themselves. âJust focus on getting better. Youâre okay.â
"[Civilian]! [Civilian]!" the reporters cried, crowding the civilians back against the wall. "What's it like dating the most powerful being in the city?"
"What are you--?"
"From your knowledge, what does the fate of our city look like? Has Villain said anything about their plans for the citizens?"
"I really would have no idea; I think you have the wrong--"
"What is your role in the latest uprising? Is it possible that Villain will offer a joint rulership?"
Just as the civilian was getting ready to scream for everyone to get away from them, a heavy arm dropped around their shoulders. The crowd immediately scrambled several paces back.
"So because you couldn't get an interview with me, you thought it was a good idea to ambush my little cinnamon bun?" Even with terms of endearment dropping from their mouth, Villain's voice sounded sinister, hints of a growl lingering in the back of their throat.
The reporters fumbled for words in a jumbled, nervous mess of voices. Luckily, Villain cut them off before the unintelligible cacophony could get too headsplitting.
"Get off my property. Now."
Suddenly cameras disappeared under arms and microphones into coat pockets. Within minutes the entire courtyard almost looked like it had never been filled. Almost.
A few petals had been knocked off the zinnias, and the little mystery blooms sprouting through the cracks in the cobblestone had been completely trampled. Not that that was what was most important right now.
"What is going on?" they exploded before they could remember who they were talking to. After all, this person had just taken over the city and not out of diplomacy.
"They think you're my lover."
Civilian's eyes widened. "How on earth... But...why would they... I don't understand..."
"Could you do a longer interview tomorrow afternoon?" Villain said obviously not interested in Civilian's incessant rambling.
"Excuse me?"
"You're good publicity, my dear. Everyone's so focused on the civilian who wooed, no, 'tamed' the likes of me, that the circumstances of my coming into power are hardly a footnote on the front page. And those are messy events I'd prefer pushed under the rug. So. Another interview? I'll write up a script."
Civilian could feel their mouth gaping. This wasn't real. This couldn't actually be happening. "You just hired me to water your plants!"
"I'll pay you extra of course. Consider it a bonus."
"The authorities are seeking the public's assistance in identifying the individual known as Villain. The following image was shared by authorities and comes from security footage related to Villain and Hero's recent scuffle."
Civilian glanced up from their phone mid text to see the image. The fight was not far from the apartment so always good to be informed. Their eyes widened and they pushed the pause button.
The image remained still on the screen. It was zoomed in on a rip in Villain's suit, where a scar peaked out. The shape was unique, not clean as if from a blade. It was almost like the skin had been torn itself apart and then reformed.
It was a shape Civilain had traced countless times. At first, out of curiosity and exploration and then slowly out of idle habit.
Cold dread pooled in their stomach the longer they looked. The more they were able to match the ridges and not finding a discrepancy.
"I was thinking we could order sushi in. What do you-." The voice stopped as it moved behind Civilian.
Civilian whirled, pushing themselves off the couch and putting what little distance they could between them.
Their partner held their hands up placatingly.
"Let me explain."
Civilian moved on instinct, trying desperately to get to the door before their partner could stop them.
Their arms hooked around Civilian's waist. It wasn't the playful enveloping they were used to. This was harsh and unyielding. The fact that their partner's hand moved without hesitation to cover their mouth somehow made the betrayal worse.
Civilian thrashed and cried out. They weren't sure when, but at some point, their phone had left their hand. They tried to headbutt their partner. Instead, they ended up staring at the ceiling.
"Shh, you're okay." Their partner tried to soothe while moving them both further from the exit. "You're okay. I'm not going to hurt you."
They dragged them deeper into the apartment. Away from the door and away from anyone in the hall who might have heard something.
Civilain gave one final vicious but unsuccessful thrashing of their body before collapsing against their partner, against Villain, as tears streamed down their face.
"I'm so sorry." Villain whispered. "This- you were never meant to find out."
Psst, there's a part two now. (I love you. So, so much)
found out about ASMR script guild discord which is extremely cool and useful so I shared whatever art i had to use for free but the more i do it the more it bothers me when I see AI and stolen art used for thumbs sigh...... It's so demotivating. As you can bring a horse to water but can't make it drink, you can bring people to free art but not make them use it
at this point i'm actually excited when I see traced art thumbnail because it least means they gave half a shit
On the topic of humans being everyoneâs favorite Intergalactic versions  of Gonzo the Great:
Come on you guys, Iâve seen all the hilarious additions to my âhumans are the friendly onesâ post. Weâre basically Steve Irwin meets Gonzo from the Muppets at this point. I love it.Â
But what if certain species of aliens have Rules for dealing with humans?
Donât eat their food. If human food passes your lips/beak/membrane/other way of ingesting nutrients, you will never be satisfied with your ration bars again.
Donât tell them your name. Humans can find you again once they know your name and this can be either life-saving or the absolute worst thing that could happen to you, depending on whether or not they favor you. Better to be on the safe side.
Winning a humanâs favor will ensure that a great deal of luck is on your side, but if you anger them, they are wholly capable of wiping out everything you ever cared about. Do not anger them.
If you must anger them, carry a cage of Xâarvizian bloodflies with you, for they resemble Earth mo-skee-toes and the human will avoid them.
This does not always work. Have a last will and testament ready.
Do not let them take you anywhere on your planet that you cannot fly a ship from. Beings who are spirited away to the human kingdom of Aria Fiv-Ti Won rarely return, and those that do are never quite the same.
Basically, humans are like the Fair Folk to some aliens and half of them are scared to death and the others are like alien teenagers who are like âI dare you to ask a human to take you to Earthâ.
We knew about the planet called Earth for centuries before we made contact with its indigenous species, of course. We spent decades studying them from afar.
The first researchers had to fight for years to even get a grant, of course. They kept getting laughed out of the halls. A T-Class Death World that had not only produced sapient life, but a Stage Two civilization? It was a joke, obviously. It had to be a joke.
And then it wasnât. And we all stopped laughing. Instead, we got very, very nervous.Â
We watched as the human civilizations not only survived, but grew, and thrived, and invented things that we had never even conceived of. Terrible things, weapons of war, implements of destruction as brutal and powerful as one would imagine a death worldâs children to be. In the space of less than two thousand years, they had already produced implements of mass death that would have horrified the most callous dictators in the long, dark history of the galaxy.Â
Already, the children of Earth were the most terrifying creatures in the galaxy. They became the stuff of horror stories, nightly warnings told to children; huge, hulking, brutish things, that hacked and slashed and stabbed and shot and burned and survived, that built monstrous metal things that rumbled across the landscape and blasted buildings to ruin.
All that preserved us was their lack of space flight. In their obsession with murdering one another, the humans had locked themselves into a rigid framework of physics that thankfully omitted the equations necessary to achieve interstellar travel.Â
They became our bogeymen. Locked away in their prison planet, surrounded by a cordon of non-interference, prevented from ravaging the galaxy only by their own insatiable need to kill one another. Gruesome and terrible, yes - but at least we were safe.
Or so we thought.
The cities were called Hiroshima and Nagasaki. In the moment of their destruction, the humans unlocked a destructive force greater than any of us could ever have believed possible. It was at that moment that those of us who studied their technology knew their escape to be inevitable, and that no force in the universe could have hoped to stand against them.
The first human spacecraft were⊠exactly what we should have expected them to be. There were no elegant solar wings, no sleek, silvered hulls plying the ocean of stars. They did not soar on the stellar currents. They did not even register their existence. Humanity flew in the only way it could: on all-consuming pillars of fire, pounding space itself into submission with explosion after explosion. Their ships were crude, ugly, bulky things, huge slabs of metal welded together, built to withstand the inconceivable forces necessary to propel themselves into space through violence alone.
It was almost comical. The huge, dumb brutes simply strapped an explosive to their backs and let it throw them off of the planet.Â
We would have laughed, if it hadnât terrified us.
Humanity, at long last, was awake.
It was a slow process. It took them nearly a hundred years to reach their nearest planetary neighbor; a hundred more to conquer the rest of their solar system. The process of refining their explosive propulsion systems - now powered by the same force that had melted their cities into glass less than a thousand years before - was slow and haphazard. But it worked. Year by year, they inched outward, conquering and subduing world after world that we had deemed unfit for habitation. They burrowed into moons, built orbital colonies around gas giants, even crafted habitats that drifted in the hearts of blazing nebulas. They never stopped. Never slowed.
The no-contact cordon was generous, and was extended by the day. As human colonies pushed farther and farther outward, we retreated, gave them the space that they wanted in a desperate attempt at⊠stalling for time, perhaps. Or some sort of appeasement. Or sheer, abject terror. Debates were held daily, arguing about whether or not first contact should be initiated, and how, and by whom, and with what failsafes. No agreement was ever reached.
We were comically unprepared for the humans to initiate contact themselves.
It was almost an accident. The humans had achieved another breakthrough in propulsion physics, and took an unexpected leap of several hundred light years, coming into orbit around an inhabited world.
What ensued was the diplomatic equivalent of everyone staring awkwardly at one another for a few moments, and then turning around and walking slowly out of the room.
The human ship leapt away after some thirty minutes without initiating any sort of formal communications, but we knew that we had been discovered, and the message of our existence was being carried back to Terra.Â
The situation in the senate could only be described as âabsolute, incoherent panicâ. They had discovered us before our preparations were complete. What would they want? What demands would they make? What hope did we have against them if they chose to wage war against us and claim the galaxy for themselves? The most meager of human ships was beyond our capacity to engage militarily; even unarmed transport vessels were so thickly armored as to be functionally indestructible to our weapons.
We waited, every day, certain that we were on the brink of war. We hunkered in our homes, and stared.
Across the darkness of space, humanity stared back.
There were other instances of contact. Human ships - armed, now - entering colonized space for a few scant moments, and then leaving upon finding our meager defensive batteries pointed in their direction. They never initiated communications. We were too frightened to.
A few weeks later, the humans discovered Alphari-296.
It was a border world. A new colony, on an ocean planet that was proving to be less hospitable than initially thought. Its military garrison was pitifully small to begin with. We had been trying desperately to shore it up, afraid that the humans might sense weakness and attack, but things were made complicated by the disease - the medical staff of the colonies were unable to devise a cure, or even a treatment, and what pitifully small population remained on the planet were slowly vomiting themselves to death.
When the human fleet arrived in orbit, the rest of the galaxy wrote Alphari-296 off as lost.
I was there, on the surface, when the great gray ships came screaming down from the sky. Crude, inelegant things, all jagged metal and sharp edges, barely holding together. I sat there, on the balcony of the clinic full of patients that I did not have the resources or the expertise to help, and looked up with the blank, empty, numb stare of one who is certain that they are about to die.
I remember the symbols emblazoned on the sides of each ship, glaring in the sun as the ships landed inelegantly on the spaceport landing pads that had never been designed for anything so large. It was the same symbol that was painted on the helmets of every human that strode out of the ships, carrying huge black cases, their faces obscured by dark visors. It was the first flag that humans ever carried into our worlds.
It was a crude image of a human figure, rendered in simple, straight lines, with a dot for the head. It was painted in white, over a red cross.
The first human to approach me was a female, though I did not learn this until much later - it was impossible to ascertain gender through the bulky suit and the mask. But she strode up the stairs onto the balcony, carrying that black case that was nearly the size of my entire body, and paused as I stared blankly up at her. I was vaguely aware that I was witnessing history, and quite certain that I would not live to tell of it.
Then, to my amazement, she said, in halting, uncertain words, âYou are the head doctor?â
I nodded.
The visor cleared. The human bared its teeth at me. I learned later that this was a âgrinâ, an expression of friendship and happiness among their species.Â
âWe are The Doctors Without Borders,â she said, speaking slowly and carefully. âWe are here to help.â
Villain froze at the sound of the familiar and way too cheery voice behind him. A stab of panic pierced his heart â at least, he assumed it was panic, because this was not how he had imagined their meeting again: with him being caught off-guard in an ambush.
He turned haltingly away from the store and looked straight into the cheerful face that went with that cheerful voice. Only it was too close. Way too close.
He startled. Actually recoiled a little and fell back a step.
âWhaâ Huh?!â
Civilian laughed, a bright titter accompanied with a wide, almost mischievous smile. He hugged himself and lightly doubled over. Then aimed a charming glance up. âWere you waiting around for me?â
âNo?!â Villain blubbed, aggressively indignant. His mouth fell open, but something hot crept up to his cheeks and he quickly turned away. Was it that obvious?! Or was Civilian just messing with him?
âWell, youâve been standing around doing nothing but staring at that shopping display for a while now⊠I saw you.â Civilian tried to catch a glimpse of his face in the sunglasses mirror that Villain had been using to keep an eye out behind him, to stare at the platform where he knew Civilianâs train would arrive.
And he was never, ever going to admit that. âIâm just trying to find a place out of the cold! Thatâs all!â
This was not going to plan. At all! Yes, he couldâve found any place out of the cold. But of course, he chose the train station. Knowing that Civilian came from downtown, lurking near the stairs to the right platform so he could see him arrive. Where they would just happen to run into each other. And Villain could go all lazily, âOh, hey, itâs you.â Because that would be his line! And heâd deliver it all aloof, laid-back, cool. Not in such a happy-go-lucky tone! But like he was brushing off this total coincidental chance meeting. Not like he was waiting to see Civilian again. Just hiding inside from the cold, man.
Civilian kept smiling but the mischievous glee dropped from his grin and his eyes. âYouâre right,â he said. âIt is cold.â He stepped away, stopped fluttering around Villain to try and see his blushing face and straightened up, putting his hands to his back. After a few seconds of silence, lulling Villain into a false sense of safety that made him turn around and face him, he blurted, âSo wanna go grab a coffee?â
And that blush burst back forth. Or rather, it felt like his head was gonna explode with the pressure that was building up inside of him.
âIâ I thinkâ"
âDonât worry, itâs my treat.â
âThatâs notâ!â
âCome on, you saved my life. I owe you a lot more than just coffee.â
Saving his life was a bit of an overstatement. It had been just a mugging, but Civilian didnât want to hear that. And for Villain, it was nothing more than chasing thugs off of their turf.
He let out a sigh to calm down. âAlright. But you donât owe me anything. Clear?â He wasnât here to take advantage, but he did want to cash in. He was here for a reason, after allâŠ
âAlrighty.â And Civilian already turned to the nearest fancy coffee store.
Villain followed. He hadnât been there before; didnât seem like his joint what with the teenagers and the nine-to-fivers in their chic outfits coming for their lattes or espresso shots, needing either excessive amounts of sugar or caffeine to get through their day.
âWhat can I get ya?â Civilian pulled up a plastic covered menu and slid it in front of them as they leaned against the far edge of the counter; him with both arms resting in front of the menu like an excited kid, Villain a little more aloof with just his shoulder leaning against the fake marble.
âJust black.â
âEhh, thatâs boring. You can get that at home. Itâs spooky season. Fall calls for something a little moreâŠâ Civilian let his finger dance over various sorts of lattes and syrups. ââŠSpicy. Something that keeps you warm while youâre out and about. You know, when hiding from the cold.â He gave him a conspiratorial nudge with his elbow.
The rush of blood was already doing that for him. As did this meeting. âIâm not gonna take pumpkin spice.â
âThen Iâll take a pumpkin spice and you can taste a sip from me,â Civilian said and Villain felt some spike of indignation again at how he said it. But before he could sputter a protest, Civilian continued as if he didnât notice. âAs for you⊠hmm. Oh! If you like black, Moroccan spiced coffee would be perfect.â
Villain followed his finger to a picture of an almost black coffee, with just a touch of cream bubbling in the middle. Seemed normal. Fine then. âMoroccan spiced coffee would be nice,â he muttered, keeping his eye on the picture. Around the cup lay some assorted spices he didnât recognize. Except maybe the cinnamon?
He glanced up, side-eying Civilian as he talked to the barista. Seemed like he was just one of those guys who was nice to everyone; making small talk, but smiling broadly. A smile that just lit up his entire face, that made his eyes twinkle, that made people drawn to himâ
Villain looked away with a soft grunt. He could understand making nice with the barista. But why did the guy keep coming back to him? Okay, yeah, no, Villain came back in this case, but Civilian allowed these chance meetings, even went along. He couldâve just brushed it off, with an awkward excuse that he had to get home. Civilian was supposed to be scared of him. Giving him a wide berth, like most people did.
But he didnât; he wasnât scared. Not even when Villain had fought off those thugs, when his knuckles were stained with blood and he had glanced down with probably wild looking eyes to Civilian who was sprawled out on the ground. But instead of scrambling off without a word of thanks, like Villain had expected, Civilian had looked up at him in awe. Thanking him profusely. And he hadnât left his side until Villain finally, begrudgingly, accepted his invitation to grab some food as a way to thank him.
And now, here they were again, getting coffee.
He didnât even notice he was still staring at Civilian in a leery side-eye until they made eye contact.
Civilian looked up when heâd given his order. Found his. And his eyes squeezed together in a smile.
Villain took a deep, deep breath.
They collected their take-out cups and walked outside, despite Villainâs grunts of protest which Civilian deflected with ease â âBecause how else will we know if the spice actually warms you up?â â and they settled on one of the tall ledges surrounding the station, under one of the trees near the little stream. A wealth of colour pooled around them and fluttered down; small golden leaves that twirled so fast it seemed like they vibrated, deep red leaves draped on top of the more yellow-y green ones at their feet.
âI love fall,â Civilian said with a wistful sigh as he sat down and he swung his feet back and forth through the pool of leaves like a little kid.
Villain remained standing, but Civilian brushed a few leaves aside and patted the ledge beside him.
They sat in silence for a bit, both savouring the warmth of the cups in their hands and taking their first sip.
His coffee was more spicy than heâd thought. Actual spice, like there was pepper in it. It wasnât bad, Villain had to admit. And it spread this nice, tingly warmth from his throat all the way to his stomach. He could pretend it was just the coffee.
âGood, huh?â Civilian said, as apparently the pleasant surprise was plain to see on his face. âI had it the other day. Want to try mine?â Civilian held out his cup.
Villainâs focus was drawn to the tiny opening in the lid, where only seconds before he couldnât help but notice how Civilianâs lips pressed against the plastic as he took a sip. How he broke away and his contentment was visible in an icy puff of air that probably still smelled warm like cinnamon. He looked away, willing to reset his thoughts. âThanks, Iâm good.â
âCome onnn.â
Villain hesitated. Didnât that bother him? Someone else, some random guy, drinking from his cup?! But Civilian kept nudging the cup at him and Villain finally took it.
Again he paused, reluctant to press his lips against the cup. Something deep inside him told him that he wanted to. But why? Why would he want that? And even if he did, was he allowed to? Would Civilian get angry if he did so, never to share a drink again? What were the rules here?! So instead, he cracked open the plastic lid just a bit. A hot whiff of air puffed free and the smell of cinnamon wafted up.
He took a small sip.
It tasted a little sweet. Not like coffee, really, but not unfamiliar either. It reminded him of the biscuits he had when he was a kid, that his mother would get around this time of the year. But those werenât pumpkin cookies, right? Did this even taste like pumpkin? What did pumpkin actually taste like?!
He wanted to take another sip to find out more, but resisted. Instead, he put the cover back on and held the cup out to Civilian without airing most of the questions that swirled around. âYouâre right, itâs good. It tastes like those biscuits.â
âRightt?! Speculaas! I thought the same when I first tried it.â
Civilian took his cup back. The tips of his fingers brushed over Villainâs as he did and Villain froze up for a second. But Civilian didnât seem to even notice it and just took a sip of coffee again, wrapping his hands around the warm cup and rolling it lightly back and forth.
Okay, well, if itâs not a big deal then he should act like it as well. âI thought pumpkin spice was just for girls?â
âWell, girls often have the right ideas about whatâs good.â
That they had⊠Villain admitted with just a little side-nod. Maybe he should get a pumpkin spice for himself sometime. Drink it with some speculaas biscuits, see how it compared. Or see what else the girls at the coffee joint ordered. As long as no one at home found out about this⊠Heâd never hear the end of it.
They chatted for a bit, or rather, Civilian talked at him and he listened, occasionally replying and asking more questions. He liked hearing him talk; liked hearing about a world that just seemed⊠so different.
âSo, did that warm you up a little?â Civilian stood and reached for Villainâs empty cup, lightly tugging at it until he released it.
âI think so. But to be sure, we should try this again.â Villain instantly shut down and it felt like he was spiralling down the drain. What was he saying?!
But Civilian laughed that infectious laugh again. âYouâre right. We should.â
And Villain relaxed just a tad, glad he wasnât outright rejected.
âI get off here from work,â Civilian said. âMostly around the same time.â
I know.
âSo maybe weâll run into each other again,â Civilian continued.
Villain certainly hoped so. But next time he should be more alert. No more getting ambushed. Just chance meetings. Carefully set up chance meetings.
They said goodbye and Villain watched as Civilian disappeared down the stairs underground to the bike storage. Then he punched his fists into his pockets, drew up his shoulders, and walked off as well.
He didnât understand why this man flustered him so much. He prided himself on being stoic; nothing could sway him, no one could bait him, enrage him, or get to him. And here this guy was, admittedly doing all of the above. And he let it happen! Couldnât get a word in, couldnât rebuff him. He just couldnât understand what was happening.
And worst of all, why it made him smile like an idiot.
He opened the door to their safe house and he was brought straight back to earth, to his place. His smile instantly disappeared as he noticed one of his seniors was waiting for him.
âWhat are you smiling about?â the man grunted. âWhere the fuck have you been?â
-
Oh, should I tag this? It's not whump but it is a long drabble. Who knows, maybe there's whump in the future: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @auroragehenna @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop @treasureguardingdragon @morning-star-whump
jimmyeatworldofficial
titsay
