I just wanted to try something. This is not related to the villain and mittens series in any way or maybe it is idk
In the shadows of a desolate laboratory, the once formidable villain lay weakened and alone. His grand plans for domination had crumbled like dust, betrayed by those he had trusted most dearly.
It began with whispers among his closest confidants—the Scientist, the Right Hand, and the Henchmen. They had grown weary of his tyrannical ways, his relentless pursuit of power at any cost. Their loyalty wavered as they saw the devastation he wrought upon innocent lives.
One fateful night, as the villain toiled away in his laboratory, his former allies crept in, their hearts heavy with treachery. The Scientist approached first, bearing a vial of poison disguised as a remedy for the villain's ailments.
"Drink this, my Lord," the Scientist murmured, his voice laced with false concern. "It will ease your suffering."
But the villain, though weakened, was not blind to the betrayal unfolding before him. With a trembling hand, he pushed the vial away, his eyes burning with betrayal.
"Traitors!" he cried, his voice echoing through the empty corridors. "You dare to defy me?"
The Right Hand stepped forward, his gaze cold and unyielding. "It is time for a new era, my Lord," he declared. "An era free from your tyranny."
And with those words, the Henchmen moved in, their once loyal eyes now filled with malice. They bound the villain with chains of steel, leaving him to wither away in the darkness of his own creation.
Alone and forsaken, the villain watched helplessly as his former allies vanished into the night, their laughter echoing like a cruel symphony of betrayal. With each passing moment, his strength waned, his hopes of redemption fading into the abyss.
In the end, the villain was left to face his demise alone—a tragic figure, consumed by his own ambition, abandoned by those he had once called friends. And as the shadows closed in around him, he whispered a final lament, cursing the darkness that had consumed his soul.
The sentence made Henchman pause from unraveling the blueprints on their boss’s desk.
"Tired, Boss?" they ask, looking up at the seated criminal before them. "Would you like me to come back another time?"
"No. Pushing things off until later won't fix anything," Villain murmurs, resting their head on the back of their hand. “It’s not that kind of tired.”
The henchman’s brows furrow slightly. “...I don’t think I understand.”
The villain lets out a small sigh. “..No, I suppose you wouldn’t.”
There’s a moment of silence that fills the room.
“...I believe I am experiencing burnout, Henchman. …Or maybe I’ve just forgotten what exactly it is I am fighting for. ..I don’t see the point in continuing this cat and mouse chase with Hero anymore.”
"Come on, people!" - Right Hand exclaimed, hurrying the henchmen along. "We don't have all day!"
"Uh... Actually..." - the villain next to them muttered quietly, making sure their minions couldn't hear them. "We do have all day..."
The right hand rolled their eyes. "Well, they don't need to know that, now do they?"
Villain went to reply but before they could, a grin crossed Right Hand's face as they continued. "And besides, the quicker we get this done the quicker I can drag you away and kiss your stupid mouth."
Villain scraped another pan of burnt eggs into the trash and settled for a piece of bread for breakfast. It was nearly 10:00 am, and Righthand still hadn't left their room. Villain had really screwed up.
Villain rubbed their knuckle painfully hard into their forehead. "Yeah, I have two people I can't decide between. What should I do? Oh I know, I'll just pull a third person into the mix. Because I'm stupid."
They shoved half the bread slice in their mouth at once and dropped their bulging cheeks downcastedly in their hands.
They'd just...been so upset. Righthand said nice things like that all the time, but that type of devotion, that depth of unconditional love in that moment of vulnerability, it was like a lifeline, and Villain didn't want to drown. And Righthand had kissed back so-- No! No excuses! No matter how Villain looked at it, they were in the wrong. Righthand was a subordinate. If they hadn't gone along out of pure survival instinct, it must have been out of obligation. Besides, Righthand was gifted at many things, and they could dissect anyone or anything better than anyone, but there was a reason they stuck to bookkeeping instead of fieldwork. Weak lungs meant they had to be careful when exerting themselves, and a lifetime of little to no physical strain had left them small and delicate. They couldn't have fought Villain off if they tried.
Maybe Villain should check on them. Would that make things better or worse? Usually, they would have asked Righthand a question like that, but considering the situation...
Villain wouldn't want to see a person who'd forced themselves on them. They should give them a little space for now. If they weren't out by lunch then they'd talk to them.
They began to follow the carefully written blueprints of one Righthand's new schemes, but other tasks were difficult to focus on. They practiced a knock on every door they passed, and the search for the rights words constantly fought for precedence at the forefront of their mind. By 12:15, they'd barely finished a thing, but at least they had a halfway decent apology, and they were just on their way to use it when they ran into Righthand outside the kitchen.
"Righthand!" they cried, a little louder and more desperate than they'd intended.
"Your Excellency," Righthand murmured with a curt bow. Their eyes were swollen and bloodshot, and a small scab on their lower lip was a violent period to last night's events.
Villain was scum. Their practiced apology could not be found anywhere in the creases of their mind, and they frantically reached for something new.
Righthand broke the silence first. "I'm sorry, your Excellency. I wasn't feeling well this morning, but I'll get started on lunch right away."
"Ah, before you do that, about last night--"
"Let's not talk about it," Righthand snapped in a tone they'd never used before.
Villain stared at them.
"Please."
"Ok," Villain said.
They trailed Righthand into the kitchen and sat at the table, watching quietly as the criminal took up a large knife and began mincing ginger into oblivion. Villain wasn't accustomed to watching their second in command work--their tasks were usually completed by the time Villain arrived--but the deftness of their fingers drew them in. How could they switch from chopping to stirring to frying and back again without anything burning?
Villain couldn't even cook eggs, but in a little over half an hour, Righthand had two plates of spicy, vegetable curry, poured over rice and ready to eat.
"Would you like anything to drink?" Righthand asked, leaving their own plate to the side to grow cold at Villain's whims.
"Just water."
Righthand removed a frosted glass from the top rack of the fridge--had that always been there?--and filled it from an equally chilled pitcher.
"Have you talked to Hero or Supervillain?" they asked, taking their seat on Villan's right side and gluing their eyes to their plate.
It was a perfectly natural question, but today it sounded strained.
"No. Hero called last night, but I didn't want to talk to them."
How could they after everything that had happened? It would've felt like a betrayal on all sides. Even if Hero hadn't heard the guilt in their voice, Villain couldn't pretend it away as if Righthand were nothing.
"You're still worrying?"
No, I'm too busy worrying about you!
Obviously, Righthand was bothered, so why didn't they come out and say it? This faux normalcy simply festered the issue, putrefying the confidence between them by the second.
Instead of answering their question, Villain heard themselves blurting, "I don't want to lose you, Righthand."
A muscle in Righthand's cheek twitched, but otherwise, they were unreactive. "You haven't. You won't."
Then why did it feel like they were slipping away?
Righthand took a determined bite of curry. Had they always been so staunch in the face of hurt? Were there other times when they'd been bothered but simply moved on? Villain had never paid much attention before. Righthand had always been a constant: supportive, helpful, never complaining. It had almost felt like their purpose of existing was for Villain. And that was where Villain had crossed the line.
"I know you don't want to talk, but I need you to know how truly sorry--"
"Please don't apologize, Your Excellency."
"I want to. I was in a vulnerable state last night, and I latched onto your kindness. I don't want you to worry--"
"Stop. Please--"
"Look, if I could take it back I wou--"
"Yes, you've made that perfectly clear!"
Righthand shouted so loud, that it reverberated off the kitchen cabinets. Their knuckles were taught and white, but their eyes, impossibly wide, had already gone from deadly to shocked. They stared at Villain as if they were the real source of the outburst, or as if, they had tricked something very secret into the open.
Righthand stuttered a moment, and those slender fingers flew over their face, the backs of their hands turning a light pink rather than the furious red from yesterday.
Oh.
The damage was an entirely different type than what Villain had assumed, and they'd just twisted the knife. Maybe it should have been obvious with the way Righthand doted, but they'd always been so earnest in their advice, they'd never even imagined--
It hit Villain all at once. They had kissed them yesterday. Kissed them and then repeatedly expressed their regret. They imagined what it might feel like to help the person you care about end up with someone else. To have your hope written off as a mindless blunder. To try to carry on like it didn't happen.
"I've used you cruelly, haven't I?"
Righthand didn't answer. Villain took advantage of their current unawareness to study them closely. The messy ribbon holding back their ash brown hair, their clever, calloused hands, the way their little body hunched in like an understuffed ragdoll when they were nervous. They'd never looked at Righthand in that way before. Despite always being around and needed, they'd been something almost invisible, something in the background.
"Can you give me some time?" Villain said quietly.
"Don't." It muffled in their hands. "I don't need kindness."
Villain grabbed their hands away from their face and looked deep into their baby blue eyes. "I'm serious. I want to think about this properly. So, please. Some time?"
Tears shone in Righthand's already puffy eyes, but they still searched Villain's face for deceit. Their lip quivered.
Hero lay unconscious a few feet away from Sidekick, knocked out by a well-timed blast from Villain.
"My what a...compromising position you've found yourself in Sidekick~" An infuriatingly charming voice cooed from behind them, causing Sidekick to crane their head back to look. Villain, Right-hand, and Supervillain all stood behind their immobilised form, looming and ominous and terrifying.
Their torso was trapped under the rubble Right-hand had telekinetically manipulated around them, trapping their upper body and arms but leaving their lower half free to squirm around.
"If you're going to kill me," they trembled out, gritting their teeth to appear more menacing, "then at least give me the courtesy of fighting back." Supervillain tsked, moving forward in slow, measured paces until the warmth of their body radiated against Sidekick's legs.
"Kill you? Dear Sidekick..." a warm, gloved hand smoothed over their upper thigh and came to rest on their ass, "we've found you'd be far more useful to us alive."
The hand on them grabbed the fabric of Sidekick's suit and ripped, startling a gasp out of them as cold air brushed against their naked flesh. Their private parts now lay bare and open to the three antagonists, who now crowded around their incapacitated form.
"And far more fun, of course." Right-hand piped up, fingers ghosting over the exposed skin, "we can't let you go to waste now can we?"
The word ‘Hamsa’ means ‘fire’ representing the fingers on the right hand. For Hindus and Buddhists, it symbolises chakras, energy flow in the body, the five senses and the mudras that effect them.
When worn facing down, The Hamsa attracts goodness, luck, fertility and abundance. When the hand is worn facing up, it is a more powerful symbol of protection against the evil eye and negative energy and represents power and strength.
It is also known as the Hand of Fatima, after the daughter of the prophet Muhammad, the Hand of Mary, the Hand of Miriam, and the Hand of the Goddess.
It is most commonly carved in Jet or formed from Silver, a metal believed to represent purity and hold magickal powers. 💙💙
Source: ‘Demystifying The Hamsa’ @https://spiritualgangster.com.
