raineandsky

[raineandsky]

#111

tw: implied violence

The hero stumbles back, like they can put distance between them and their mistake. They can do that physically, sure, but they know this evening is going to bury itself into their mind in a way they’ll never escape.

“[H– Hero]…”

Another stagger away. They can’t escape this, not really, because they know they have to do the right thing.

“Please…”

The superhero would love this. The hero can practically see the scene—dumping a villain at their feet, defended, defenceless, harmless. The superhero would love it. The hero should want it.

The villain is dying. They know that much. They’re laying on their side, their chest rising and falling in short, desperate breaths. Their brow is knitted slightly, like this is all confusing, like they don’t quite understand. The hero doesn’t understand either.

A choke of a cough leaks from the villain’s mouth, their face creasing like the action is wrong somehow. “It—” A short breath, barely enough. “It hurts…”

“I know,” the hero says without thinking.

They’ve no doubt it does. Blood is painting the villain’s clothes, a crimson halo slowly melding into the concrete underneath them. What has the hero done? What have they come to?

They take another mindless, horrified step back.

“[Hero].” The hero doesn’t like it. Too frail, too close to an inevitable edge. “Please don’t– don’t leave me here.”

They won’t; of course they won’t. They have to take the villain somewhere. A hospital. A jail cell. Somewhere.

The hero steps back towards the villain, towards their mistake, towards the future of their job, their life, everything.

“It’s okay, [Villain].” The hero tries to make their words soothing. They wonder if the villain can hear the fear leaking through their voice. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

They card a hand through the villain’s hair for a moment before turning their eyes to the hell they’ve caused—it’s bad. The villain’s not going anywhere painlessly.

The hero carefully pulls them upright, and the villain makes some involuntary, agonised sound that will dig into the hero’s mind with the rest of this evening for years to come.

Their mind is made up. They have to do the right thing.

They whisper one last promise in the villain’s ear, position their hands under their arms, and pull.

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain #tw implied violence

[raineandsky]

Thank you for tagging me in this @jeahreading!!

You can find the incorrect quote generator here if you want a go too :)

i dont have anyone to tag so if you wanna do it go ahead!!! the link is included up there ^

Crow: Relationships should be 50/50. Norv cooks us dinner while I sit on the kitchen counter looking pretty.

Crow: Goodnight to the love of my life, Norv, and fuck the rest of y'all.

Norv: Wait you like me? For my personality? Crow: I know, I was surprised too.

Norv is fighting a monster Crow: Just stay calm! You already have everything you need to beat it! Norv: The power to believe in myself!? Crow: No, a knife! Stab it!

#not writing #tag game #thank you for tagging me in this!!! i had a great time snickering at this and kicking my feet #love how incredibly accurate some of these are #this is a nice lil reprieve cause i gotta say my queue was drifting at about a week long for a while #and its only a matter of time before i run out of ideas and i Disappear #well i wont DISAPPEAR yall still gotta put up with me #but the creative well is experiencing a lil drought atm #so enjoy this in place of todays story :)

[raineandsky]

#110

tw: implied violence

For the first three seconds, the villain is absolutely certain the hero is dead.

He’s just returning from a dart across the city and isn't even 100 metres from the little front door when he spots the hero. Who on god’s green earth has left a hero on the floor, out in the open? The villains are meant to be trained better than this. They’re practically begging for attention, and on their literal doorstep. Someone’s getting a good talking to about this.

The villain approaches tentatively, leaning down to hold a hand in front of the hero’s mouth. Okay, so they’re alive. He’s not sure if that makes the situation better or worse.

He pushes the hero over slightly to try and see what on earth got them here—and whether the villain needs to worry about any split-second, lifesaving decisions—and earn an incoherent groan in response. He almost drops the hero in surprise; alive, clearly, and somewhat conscious.

“[Hero]?” The villain can’t say why that’s his first port of call. The hero’s barely awake, let alone in any state to reply. He carefully brushes the hero’s hair out of their face; he’s not sure why. “I’m gonna try to get you inside, alright?”

Another halfhearted noise. The villain punches the code into the door, shoves it open, and, as gently as no strength and an ingrained sense of apathy will allow, drags the hero into the bright white of the villains’ hideout.

No one’s around, thankfully; he’s not about to take the flak for someone else’s mistake. He dumps the hero on the floor half-gently, abandoning them there momentarily to grab a first aid kit. Villains come back in pieces more often than not—they’ve learnt to keep ways to fix themselves within arm’s reach.

The villain hurries back, kit in his arms, dropping it and himself to the ground without a care next to the hero. He’s opened the bag and shoved his hand into it before he realises he didn’t hear the door shut behind them.

His gaze snaps up to the doorway. A figure is stood there, her foot holding the door open, her eyes roaming curiously. “Hm,” she says brightly, “nice little hideout you have here.”

The villain’s on his feet immediately. He has to be—it’s not like he can deal with the hero with a stranger wandering about. “Who the hell are you?”

The stranger’s gaze finally falls on him, part intrigued, part humoured. “Ah, I suppose you wouldn’t know me,” she says wistfully. “It’s been so long since I was in the field.”

The villain’s been in said field longer than most. He squints in an effort to place this random person acting like she belongs here, his hand against the sharp bump in his coat like a comfort. “That doesn’t answer the question.”

A bright smile, like the sun is invading this room and trying to blind everyone in it. “I’m [Superhero].”

The villain’s dagger is in his hand before he can even think about it. The superhero takes a half-step inside and lets the door shut behind her.

“Got your attention, didn’t it?” She nods her head to the hero on the ground. “I know you villains love your heroes… weak.”

The villain tightens his grip to stop the blade from shaking in his hand. The superhero looks mildly amused by his apprehension, as if she belongs here, as if she always has. She hums a laugh, turning her gaze onto the hero still laying on the floor. “Consider this my résumé.”

The villain’s gaze flits to the hero as well. They haven’t moved. Time is short. “You want in with us?”

The superhero positively beams like he’s solved an age-old puzzle. “I’m sure a bunch like you could find some use in an authority like me.”

The villain has to believe her. He tucks his knife back into his belt and kneels down to the hero. “Dramatic change in career path.”

“Who’s to say this wasn’t always the plan?” The superhero watches as the villain unravels bandages from a well-used roll. “You wouldn’t take me in as a novice, so I’ve made myself valuable. Wouldn’t you say so?”

A superhero genuinely being on their side is undeniably, colossally valuable. The villain carefully wraps the larger of the hero’s wounds in the dressing. Wounds the superhero has inflicted, for what? Personal gain? To prove something? Where’s the line in what she wants?

The hero makes some incoherent noise of discomfort from the floor. A smile teases at the corner of the superhero’s mouth, like this is right, like this is exactly what she wants.

The villain’s attention is so focused on keeping his hands gentle against the hero’s pain that he takes a second too long to realise the superhero is inviting herself further inside. 

“What—” is halfway through coming out.“Might as well meet my future coworkers, huh?” She laughs again, like this situation is highly amusing. Like she holds the cards and she knows it. The villain hates it, but she does. “I bet they’ll love me. Everyone always does.”

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain #todays the dayyyyyyy #made a post asking for beta readers!!! im so so so scared!!!!! #like i know i share my writing with yall but this is different somehow #ive poured almost 3 years of my life into this book. my heart. my soul. i was a girl when i started writing it #its been fun but its a relief that this part is over

[raineandsky]

#109

When the doorbell rings, the hero’s kind of hoping it’s the pizza delivery guy.

They open the door to find, tragically, not the pizza delivery guy.

“Uh,” the villain says, “hi.”

The hero isn’t entirely sure what sequence of words would best fit this scenario. “Hi?” is the best they can do.

The villain shuffles on their feet awkwardly. A pause hangs between them, filled by the distant roar of the city beyond. “I thought you’d ask why I’m here,” they say eventually.

“I’m more concerned about how you’re here.”

A smile threatens the corners of the villain’s mouth. “We know where all you heroes live.” The smile fades into nothing again. “Or just I know, now, I guess.”

“Okay.” The hero squints at the villain uncertainly. “I’ll entertain you. Why the hell are you standing outside my door?”

“No one wants to be a villain anymore. Everyone quit.” The villain’s face contorts into some unreadable expression. “It’s just me.”

That doesn’t sound right. From the villain’s slight grimace, they know it too. “Everyone… quit villainy,” the hero repeats.

“There’s nothing to gain from it anymore. We had a vote and I was the only one who wanted to keep going.” The villain’s gaze dips to their hands as if they hold answers. “They left me everything, but… I can’t do it all on my own. So I’m turning myself in.”

The hero stares at the villain for a long moment. “Even [Supervillain].”

“Especially [Supervillain].”

The hero steps aside with a sigh. The villain looks like they’re being invited into a pit of wolves. “You want me to come into your house?”

“My handcuffs are in my living room cabinet and I don’t trust you standing out there. It’s cold, anyway.”

The villain closes the door behind them in an uncharacteristic show of politeness as the hero digs through their drawers. They’re wiping their shoes on the mat when the hero gets back, cuffs in hand.

The villain holds their hands out and the hero clicks the cuffs around their wrists. It’s almost too easy. The question is sitting on the tip of their tongue.

“What’s the catch?”

The villain doesn’t seem surprised by the question. They shrug halfheartedly. “Dunno.” They glance about for inspiration. “All the others have gone into hiding, I guess. You have me, but everyone else will probably evade you for the rest of time.”

“Much like they already do.” The hero manoeuvres them to the sofa in the living room, giving them a nudge to make them actually sit down. “You make it sound like you’ve been left in charge of the entire criminal organisation.”

The barking laugh the villain lets out is entirely fake. Too sharp, too short. “I have.”

“So villany will collapse without you.”

The villain shrugs again, the motion laden with effort. “Not like anyone else was willing to carry that burden—and I’m not either, hence why I’m, y’know…” They gesture vaguely at themself, in cuffs, in the hero’s living room.

The villain goes, villainy is defeated. No more villains, no more big crimes, no more heroes. Everything the agency has worked to be would collapse. The hero would be out of a job. It'd be over.

Yet here the villain is, giving everything up, taking the entirety of villainy down with them. The sole survivor of a shipwreck and wishing they’d gone down with the ship. A ship they don’t seem to realise the hero is on too.

The doorbell rings again, and the hero leaves the villain carefully settling on the sofa to answer it. They return with a giant grin on their face and a giant pizza box in their hands.

“Let’s worry about all this afterwards,” the hero says brightly. They brandish the box at the villain in the hopes of tempting them. “Want some?”

The tempting works; the villain reaches for a slice. “What a last meal.”

The hero sets the box on the coffee table as they flop back on the sofa. “I don’t know, [Villain],” they say with a smile, “I don’t think it has to be.”

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain #yall i have been BALLIN #my burnout isnt completely gone but its a lil better than it has been #the weekend was productive. got three (3!!) new stories done for yall AND I FINISHED WRITING MY BOOK WOOOOOOOOOOOO #and it was nice!!! ive missed writing for so long but i had no ideas #and yet here we are :) the burnout may be strong but by god i have a fire extinguisher

[raineandsky]

Hmmmmmmm I see you last anon who's request you wrote! They've sent the same request to multiple people, and honestly, it's fun to see different takes on the same prompt!

Also I love your writing! Have a good day!

yeah i saw that too!! there's many talented writers on here, its amazing reading how differently everyone writes the same thing :D

#not writing #anon #its so funny reading how everyone interprets the same prompt i love it here

[raineandsky]

hey i just recently discovered your acc and I'm honestly in love with your work! I don't know if you do requests but just in case you do,could you maybe do a snippet of supervillain capturing hero and torturing for months until they suddenly got bored of them and ordered villain to get rid of them for good. Basically villain doesn't know that it was hero they were ordered to kill by supervillain and when they entered the cell where hero was to kill them,they suddenly recognize hero and become extremely suprised by what they saw. Villain for some reason can't bring themselves to kill hero and just stands there for who knows how long whilst trying to decide what they should do as hero just layed there slightly unconcious full of bruises,wounds,cuts, burns and dried up blood all over their body. Sorry if this was long hehe,feel free to continue it (if you want to of course) :)

welcome to the gang, glad to have you here!! thank you for the request, i hope you like it :D

-

A curse tumbles from the villain’s mouth before they can stop it.

Of all the people the supervillain has caught, has been bragging about catching, why was it hero? The hero should know better. The villain knows they know better.

The villain’s never seen them so… defeated. They’ve thrown their fair share of punches, of course, but they’ve never quite managed to have them half-conscious on the floor like this. Crimson paints their skin in crazed patches, black circles smudged underneath them, rope digging violently into their already reddened wrists. The hero lets out some half-hearted noise as the villain nudges their clothes back to survey the damage better.

Bad. Very bad. It’s a miracle the hero’s still alive, but that’s what they do, isn’t it? Survive despite the odds. The villain gets back to their feet with a scowl. Where the hell did the supervillain find them? Why would the hero let this happen? Probably to protect some random civilian, the villain knows that, but still.

The hero’s eyes open, kind of, unfocused and glazed over. They get a front seat view of the villain’s shoes and, for whatever mindless reason, weakly reach their bound hands out towards them.

The villain takes a half step back, more on instinct than anything, and despite the lack of… well, anything in the hero’s expression, they can somehow still see the slight distressed crumple of their face.

Fuck. Their heart stings, even though it knows better.

No, they think sourly. You’re here to get rid of them. Don’t show weakness. Show [Supervillain] what you are.

The villain’s dagger is inside their coat. It’d be so easy. Nothing more than a shallow, red line across the hero’s throat. Easy. Kind. Merciful.

They step forwards again, ever-so-slightly, and bend back down to the hero’s level. Their hands are where they left them, abandoned in their desperate attempt at connection, and the villain nudges their foot between their fingers in potentially the biggest show of compassion they've ever have.

It’s a kindness, right? The hero would appreciate it. It would be the nicest thing the villain’s ever done for them.

But it wouldn’t, even the villain knows that. The hero doesn’t want to die any more than they do.

Every passing second is throwing more doubts over what they’re doing here. They need to make a choice before the supervillain decides they’ve been down here too long. They need to act before they can change their mind.

The villain pulls their blade from inside their coat,

and cuts the rope at the hero’s wrists.

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain #requests #im glad you like my stuff thank you for the compliment!!!!! #honestly imposter syndrome is a b i t c h and sometimes yall come in with the simplest lil comments and it literally makes my day #thank you anon #you got me goin. i edited that bitchass scene in my novel ridin this high. ily

[raineandsky]

#108

The girl in the closet entrance throws the pair inside a smirk. “This should be good—I’ve seen you guys staring at each other all night.” She raises her eyebrows at the villain. “Tell me all about it afterwards, yeah?” It’s a whisper, but she’s too drunk for it to actually be quiet. The hero pulls a face across from the villain.

And with that she slams the door with finality, throwing the tiny closet into shadow. The villain can barely see in here; she can just about make out the hero shuffling awkwardly opposite her.

She waits until she hears the bedroom door shut to ask the question that’s been rolling around her mind since she first spotted the hero downing shots several hours ago. “What the hell are you doing at a civilian party?”

“Some of the other heroes wanted some attention and dragged me along.” The villain can imagine the hero squinting at her suspiciously. “And what’re you doing at a civilian party?”

“Friends of friends. I actually have a life outside my work, unlike you.”

The hero scoffs dramatically and falls right into the villain trap. “I have a life outside of work, thank you.”

“Like what?”

“This,” comes out of the hero’s mouth a little too fast.

The villain laughs shortly in the way she knows pisses the hero off. “This one party consists of your entire social life?”

“No, that’s not—” She stops when the villain snorts amusedly. “You’re doing this on purpose, you asshole.”

“So what if I am?” The villain’s smile is loud in her voice. “What you gonna do about it? You gonna try and kick my ass in this tiny cupboard?”

There's a moment of silence where the hero seems to be weighing up her chances at the prospect. Then she clearly comes to the decision she’d win, because she lurches up from the wall to throw herself at the villain.

It catches the villain a little off guard, honestly—she wasn’t expecting her to actually do it. The hero shoves her back into the opposite wall, her hands balling in the front of her shirt. “What if I do?” she snarls.

Oh god, oh fuck, the villain’s had way too many drinks to be dealing with this. She leaps on the first survival instinct she can get a hold of.

“Then I think we’re in for a very passionate night.”

Fuck. Wrong instinct. The hero lets out some short breath of disbelief.

“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She pushes the villain down, settling her weight on her to pin her to the closet floor. “Bet you love the idea of seducing the enemy into submission, huh?”

Words are not exactly running through the villain’s mind right now. The hero’s hands are warm where they’re brushing against the skin of the villain's neck, her face much too close.

The hero doesn’t seem to mind the lack of reply; she’s more than content to continue into the villain’s silence. “Let me show you why that wouldn’t work, [Villain].”

The hero leans down before the villain can even process what she’s said, pulling her in by the collar slightly to push their lips together. It’s boring, it’s painfully chaste, and fuck, the villain’s hands are on the hero’s face. How did they get there? What is she doing?

The hero pulls back with a ghost of a smirk. “And I’m no more inclined to turn to evil,” she says softly.

Fucking hell, the villain might be in love. Or drunk. It’s very hard to tell at this point.

“That’s a shame,” the villain says weakly. She misses her own drunken confidence from two minutes ago. “We’re just going back to whooping ass, are we?”

“The moment I sober up I’m arresting you,” the hero says matter-of-factly.

The closet door sweeps open, and the hero pushes herself away so hard the villain somehow meets the ground harder than the first time. The hero’s bolt upright by the time their captor’s peering in, and the villain’s still winded on the floor.

“Hm,” the girl says approvingly. “Do we want me to… come back later?”

“No,” the hero and the villain say in unison.

The hero escapes the closet first, and she doesn’t hang around to watch as the girl hauls the villain to their feet. “So?” she asks pointedly.

The villain’s aware that she's a little breathless. Dishevelled would be a nice way to describe her right now.

“Yeah,” is all she can be bothered to give the girl. “Good.”

The villain makes her own break before she can see the girl's reaction. She doesn't need to, certainly doesn't want to.

Fuck, she needs a glass of water. 

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain

[raineandsky]

#107

“This is wrong.”

The villain throws a withering glare at the hero. “No shit it’s wrong.”

Considering the two of them are on different sides, it’s not often the two of them find themselves in the same shitty predicament. Clearly the supervillain’s had some changes in who they trust.

The supervillain never bothered to build their prisons particularly big either. The two of them are scrunched up in the same one, basically touching shoulders, their legs bent under the concrete bed at the other end.

“Is– Is it true what they say about [Supervillain]?” the hero asks after a short moment. “Are they as ruthless with their prisoners as everyone says they are?”

Yes. They wouldn’t wish the supervillain’s rage on anyone. Not even the hero. “It’ll be fine.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

The words don’t come out annoyed or irate. They’re scared. The villain is too. “[Supervillain] has their more heartless techniques, sure,” the villain admits eventually.

The hero lets out a shaky breath. “I wish I could cry about how I’m going to die here,” they say quietly, “but I think I’d prefer that to whatever’s going to happen.”

The villain would prefer dying a thousand times to whatever happens to whoever the supervillain deems untrustworthy. “We’ll be okay,” the villain says, just as much for the hero as for themself, “we have to be.”

The hero nods slightly, unbelieving. The silence that settles over them is suffocating. The villain shifts their legs uncomfortably.

The feeling of something cold brushing their hand makes the villain jump. Their heart quadruples in speed in half a second. It’s just the hero; calm down.

The villain lets out a long sigh to calm their nerves, letting their mind focus on the feather-light touch on the back of their hand. The hero moves, slowly lacing the villain’s fingers with their own. The villain waits for them to adjust, the hero leaning their head on their shoulder, before giving the hero’s hand a light squeeze.

The hero’s thumb wanders back and forth over the villain’s skin, mindless and soft. Everything is wrong—this is the only solace they’re going to get, isn’t it?

“We’ll be okay,” they repeat, their voice no more than a half-forgotten whisper.

If they say it enough, it might come true. It has to.

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain

[raineandsky]

Get attacked!! ✨🌈SEND THIS TO OTHER BLOGGERS YOU THINK ARE WONDERFUL. KEEP THE GAME GOING🌈

It's been great to meet you :D

aaaa thank you hon!!! its been lovely meeting you too :D

#not writing #asks #hello!!! this is so nice!!!!

[raineandsky]

#106

“[Villain].”

The villain lets out an audible groan that inevitably raises their manager’s eyebrow. A short ball of fury, basically straight out of college. Not too unlike the villain. “Is it in my contract that I’m allowed to ignore you?”

“It’s not.” He gives them a moment where he clearly expects them to turn around. They don’t. “I need you to train up the new guy.”

“Do I have to?”

Their manager nudges someone forward as they turn. “‘Fraid so. You’ve been here the longest.”

No, that’s you, the villain’s about to say. But then their eyes fall on the new hire, who looks like she’s already regretting every life decision she’s ever made. What the hell is a hero doing in a burger joint?

“Okay,” the manager adds after a long moment, “staring is rude, [Villain]. Let’s dial it back.”

Their name jolts them out of their stupor. “I– yeah, sorry. I just, uh, recognise her from, uh…” The hero waits expectantly. Their manager tips his head curiously. “… high school.”

“Oh! Old acquaintances.” The manager claps his hands like this solves everything. “Lots of catching up to do, huh? I’ll leave you guys here then—and [Villain], please, for the love of god, train her up at least a bit amidst the chatting.”

The manager gives the hero a friendly pat on the back before throwing the villain a quick smile and disappearing around the door again.

The hero stares blankly at the villain. The villain stares equally blankly straight back. “Do you work here?” the hero asks eventually.

The villain doesn’t feel too inclined to answer that. “Do you?” they shoot back.

The hero clicks her tongue, shuffling on her feet. “Why don’t you show me how the fryers work before I have to kill you for getting too personal?”

“Ah, yes, the fryers.” The villain turns to the bubbling pot of oil next to them. “Hot enough to cook chips and to dissolve a body in.”

The hero’s face scrunches up seemingly on instinct, and the villain can’t help but laugh. “Don’t worry,” they say with forced friendliness, “I change the oil before I cook food in it.”

“Okay,” the hero says like she’s three seconds from throwing up. “Is there someone else here who can show me stuff?”

“You wish,” the villain jeers. “Manager’s busy, you saw him. Only other guy here only works on Thursdays and Sundays.”

“It’s Thursday today.”

“Exactly. Not what I’d call reliable. I, however” — the villain does a twirl for dramatic effect — “am here… more often than I am willing to tell you.”

“Well.” The hero smirks, the kind of expression no one wants to see on a hero’s face. “I’m sure I’ll figure out when you’re here if I stop by enough. What, is it full time? Does villainy pay peanuts?”

The villain refrains from the urge to punch her. “Does the agency?”

The hero’s mocking expression turns flat. “I’m here undercover,” she says plainly.

“I recognised you immediately.”

“Well, I’m not here for you.” The hero pushes past them to figure out the fryer on her own. “I’m not telling you any more than that.”

“I better warn my friends you’re here, then.” The villain snorts as the hero fiddles with the knob. “Are you here to give whoever you’re looking for food poisoning?”

“I know how to cook, [Villain].”

“You’re turning the heat too low.”

The hero pointedly pulls the knob back up. “Just show me how the kitchen works, please, and I’ll consider not telling your manager who he’s working with.”

The villain fixes her with a long stare. “I could blow your cover too.” But they roll their eyes and beckon her over to the griddle anyway. “Okay, so, wrong me and I’ll shove your entire face on this.”

The villain shows the hero around the kitchen, each bit of apparatus accompanied with a lovingly detailed description of how the villain intends to use each one against the hero if she pushes her luck. The hero listens with distaste mashed into her expression the whole time.

“Let’s try and keep things civil, okay?” the hero says when she’s clearly had enough of all the different ways the villain has on hand to murder her. “I don’t fancy fighting in a kitchen, and I’m sure you don’t either.”

Oh, god, how wrong the hero is. They’re itching to grab one of those knives off the hook and just—

No. They have to play it safe to begin with, keep it lowkey, make her feel a little too safe. So they just roll their eyes and, with all the authenticity they can muster, simply say “agreed.”

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain #its been like a week and i still cant style this hair #once i figure it out its over for you bitches #its v nice n boyish but god. it doesnt make me look good like this lmao #if any of yall have any Tips for styling super short hair PLZ GOD tell me i am throwing styling clay at it and failing atm

[raineandsky]

#105

The villain isn’t one to intervene when someone else gets themself into deep shit. It’s their own damn fault, usually, and the villain tends to find at least some entertainment in people fucking around and finding out.

Heroes aren’t usually the ones fucking around, though, let alone finding out, so it peaks the villain’s interest when they come across a hero doing just that. And their favourite hero too, god, what a treat. Heroes are as stupid as they look, clearly.

The hero’s been cornered in an alleyway by someone a lot larger than them; that alone is a feat. The hero, all smiles and unearned confidence and bolshy dramatics, has somehow managed to piss off the only person in the city that has more on them in the ‘intimidating size’ department.

The villain scoots closer for a better view as the other person’s hand drifts lightly up the hero’s neck, words spoken between them that’re lost to the wind before the villain can hear them. The hero stares up at them, wide-eyed, their lips parted slightly. 

Damn, the villain would be shoving popcorn in their mouth right now if they had any.

The person’s hand tightens on the hero’s throat—the villain can see the shadowy dents in their skin, even from here—leaning their face in close to the hero’s to whisper something to them. The hero’s hands grasp at the person’s wrist, though not particularly tightly, their eyes closing against what is clearly a murder attempt.

Wow. Heroes don’t get into shit often because they don’t know how to act when they do, obviously. The villain, a master at getting into shit and subsequently dragging themself out of it, decides to intervene. As fun as this little show is, the only person allowed to lay a finger on the hero is the villain.

They flick their blade out with a satisfying click, taking a few steps forward to put themself in the limelight of the moment. “Okay,” they say flatly, earning a pair of interesting, startled noises from the two in front of them, “break it up.”

The hero meets their eye with the same wide-eyed surprise as before. “[Villain], what— where’d you—”

The villain ignores them. “Step away,” they say sharply, their blade pointed to the person leaning over the hero. They do as they’re told, looking just as startled as the hero, their back bumping against the opposite wall in their haste to move. “Good.”

“[Villain],” the hero repeats, finally earning half the villain’s interest, “what’re you doing?”

“Saving your ass, since you clearly can’t do it yourself,” the villain snaps. Their gaze still rests on the other person, nervously averting their eyes from the villain’s. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Long enough for the villain to wonder if they actually said that outloud. “I’m okay,” the hero says eventually, their voice quiet. “You can, um, go. They’re my, uh– they’re my partner.”

The villain glances back to the hero, their gaze also turned away, their cheeks a hot pink, and the villain finally realises, oh fuck, they’re not nervous, they’re awkward.

The villain’s dagger lowers slightly in horror. They glance at the other person, their eyes still pointed to the ground, their face also burning. The villain would apologise if this weirdo hadn’t been so intent on making this look like a goddamn crime.

“Tip for next time,” the villain says flatly, though they can feel their own embarrassment hot in their stomach, “keep this, y’know, behind closed doors. And if that’s still too hard, at least do it somewhere I’m not going to find you and think I’m stumbling in on a murder.”

“Noted.” The hero’s voice is so small. This discomfort would be an incredible victory for the villain any other day, but unfortunately the villain wants to throw themself off a cliff as well. Painfully so. They’re not sure why they’re stalling; they want to get the hell out of here.

“Great. Okay. Yeah.” The villain takes a step back, their dagger hastily shoved back into their belt. “Okay, well… bye.”

The hero gives them a short nod and their partner waves at them. The villain would think they’re taking the piss if they didn’t look like they immediately regretted it after.

The villain escapes that alley like they’re outrunning the law. They make a mental note as they go, one they know they won’t forget—keep to your damn business.

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain #yall i had a haircut today and i went in like ohhhh i like it im just gonna get the usual haha #and my hairdresser shoved a picture of anne hathaway in my face like NO you are having THIS lmao #(anne hathaway cause i am closeted so everything has to be WomanTM) #and honestly???? im glad she bullied me into this it slaps i feel like GUY i feel BOYISH i feel VAGUELY MASC #the future is now

[raineandsky]

#104

The hero doesn’t need to make a big scene to get the villain's attention, like he was told to do—she’s quite happy making her own scene, and all the hero has to do is follow the towers of smoke across the city.

He finds the street in flames, buildings crushed like sandcastles under a wave, the villain at the centre of it all. She laughs brightly, some contraption in her hands. A hood hangs over her face, her coat billowing out behind her in a breeze she is clearly making. It would be cinematic if the hero wasn't the one sent to sus her out.

The hero approaches with his notepad and pen in hand. “You’re the new one, huh?”

The villain’s gaze snaps to him, like she’s surprised to see him. “About time,” she says shortly. “How many buildings do I have to destroy before you actually show up?”

The hero glances at the carnage around him, doing the numbers in his head. “However many this is. Five? Six?”

“You're clearly not too worried about me,” the villain says brightly, “or you just walk concerningly slow for a hero pursuing pure evil.”

The hero clicks his tongue and writes sarcasm of an edgy teen on his pad.

“Is this all you do?” the hero asks bluntly. “You destroy half the city and wait for a hero to show up?”

“I suppose I do.” The villain fiddles with her hood. “I’m a mysterious figure, don’t you think? New to the game, faceless but deadly?”

The hero adds full of herself to his list. “Sure,” he says unbelievably, “and what happens when a hero does show up?”

The villain turns to him. He can practically feel her grin without having to see it. “Well,” she says smoothly, “I guess I just have to make the big reveal.”

She pulls her hood back, her expression one of abject smugness. That’s not the first thing the hero notices though. The black hair, the face glowing like a sunset, the soft brown eyes. Recognisable, young. Much too young to be a villain.

“[Sidekick]?” The name comes out a little more incredulous than the hero intended. “What—This is where you’ve been?”

“It is.” Always so well spoken, always so straightforward. “I had a change of heart when it came to my career.”

“So you became a villain?” He can’t quite wrap his head around it. “What did we do wrong?”

The villain laughs, a light, breezy sound. “What didn’t you do wrong?” She adjusts her weapon in her hands. “The agency doesn’t see people, [Hero], it sees numbers and stats on a screen. I fell a little behind in my studies, and the agency made me fall hard because of it. It’s merciless, it’s unforgiving, and I’m glad to be away from it.”

“[Sidekick], we thought you died.”

“Oh, you guys fell for that? Nice.” The villain smiles, almost genuinely. “Took a lot of planning. Glad to know it worked.”

The hero knows his face is scrunched up in distaste, but he can’t help it. “[Sidekick], you can’t—”

“No.” The single word slices through everything the hero was about to say. “It’s [Villain] now. If that’s so hard to remember, I’ll give you a way to burn it into your memory!”

The weapon in her hands whirrs, the end brightening into a blinding white. The villain turns it towards him, and he has just enough hindsight to lurch out of its path as it tears its way through the concrete he was just standing on.

The hero throws himself behind a car, his sidekick’s— no, the villain’s laughter ringing through the destruction after him. That contraption makes its telltale whirr again.The hero adjusts his pen in his hand and hurriedly writes sidekick lost to villainy - DO NOT APPROACH.

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain #happy early easter yall #hope yous are enjoying the long weekend or your holidays #i know i am

[raineandsky]

#103

“[Hero]? What’re you doing here?”

The hero throws their villain their best winning smile. “I’m here to invade, of course.”

“No, [Hero].” The villain takes two long steps towards them and grabs their face much too tightly between their hands. “No, you have to leave. Now.”

The hero can’t help but frown. “I won’t arrest you, darling, I promise.”

“It’s not that.” The villain’s words are getting faster, melding into frantic incoherence. “If [Supervillain] finds you here, you won’t get out.”

“She won’t know I’m here ‘til I’m putting cuffs on her wrists.”

The villain is practically a ghost with how pale they are. “I think you’re underestimating her, [Hero]. Please, go; I’ll explain at home.”

The villain takes a step away and the hero follows. They’d follow them anywhere. “You’re not in any danger with me. You know that.”

“I do.” The villain glances over their shoulder. “It’s you in danger. I’m telling you, she’ll—”

“[Villain].” The villain’s words cut short, their expression slipping into horror. “Who’s your little friend?”

They turn to face the supervillain, standing in the doorway. She’s about as casual as she can be—confident, nonchalant. “[Supervillain],” is the only thing the villain says.

She saunters in, like a tiger moving in on trapped prey. “You’ve been canoodling with a hero.”

It’s not a question. The villain drops their gaze. The hero’s hand finds their blade on their belt.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?” the supervillain continues. “I always doubted you, [Villain]. I always knew you would betray me; you’re too soft.”

The supervillain moves before the hero can think to stop her. She grabs the villain and pulls them into her, her own dagger against their throat. To say the villain looks startled would be an understatement.

“You’re not, though, are you?” Her gaze settles sharply on the hero. “Your agency cuts you from pure steel, don’t they?”

“Let go of them.” It comes out almost as an instinct, like they’re just talking to any villain grabbing any civilian in a last ditch effort for carnage.

The villain’s hands are grappling at the supervillain’s wrists desperately, their eyes wide, their breath short. “Now, [Hero],” the supervillain continues smoothly, “you have one chance here. If you never see [Villain] again, I will consider their little liaison with you atoned for.”

“[Hero],” the villain says quietly, “Don’t— Don’t leave me with her—”

“Leave,” the supervillain says over them, “and I won’t have to kill them.”

The hero’s gaze flits between the villain and the supervillain. The abject terror on the villain’s face compared to the cold patience on the supervillain’s is sending anxieties rolling through the hero’s mind. What happens if they leave? What happens if they don’t?

The hero holds their hands up in defeat. “Okay,” they say quietly. “I’m going.”

A choked cry escapes the villain. The supervillain hums approvingly. “Best you turn around and get out then, hm?”

The hero backs to the door. The supervillain follows, the villain in tow. “Just don’t hurt them,” the hero says as they reach the door.

A henchman reaches through from the other side to grab the hero. They try to turn for an attack, but the henchman keeps his face conveniently out of reach, dragging them back through the doorway.

“Survival is not always a blessing, [Hero].” The supervillain smiles too wide, too ecstatically. The hero realises too late the mistake they’re making. “I’m sure I’ll make you realise that one day.”

With a deft kick, the door snaps shut. The henchman keeps a strong hold on them as they struggle to free themself. “Let it go,” he says shortly. “Consider yourself lucky to be leaving.”

They can hear the villain speaking through tears on the other side of the door. Their heart is pulling all sorts of strings to try and shove their body straight through it. “Get off me,” they spit venomously.

“You’re not the first to lose someone to [Supervillain],” the henchman snaps. “Cut with your losses before she comes after you too.”

The hero pauses to take in his words just long enough for him to give them a hearty shove away. “Please, I can’t—”

“Leave, [Hero].”

The hero stares at him and he stares back. Not unkindly—his gaze is some terrible mix of pity and understanding. “Leave,” he repeats softly.

So the hero leaves. They leave the villain in the supervillain’s grasp and try not to imagine what’s going to happen when they’re not looking. They leave the henchman standing at that door with a familiarity between them that the hero wishes they couldn’t feel.

They leave with an outraged cry for revenge and a promise to come back for their villain.

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain

[raineandsky]

Hi!

Would you write a story about a body guard and a prince?

The prince doesn't trust the body guard at first, because he thinks that the body guard is someone else's spy. But when the guard saves his life from a deadly assassination all by himself and gets severely injured, the prince apologizes and starts to trust him. Hope you have a great day/night!!

ANON. YOU KNOW ME SO WELL :O thank you for the request - enjoy!!

-

The prince is usually woken up by a maid, or his dog, or, god forbid, that goddamn bodyguard barging in for no explicable reason.

It’s not often he’s awoken by the feeling of cold metal against his neck.

Panic crashes through the confusion almost instantly. The prince flails, tangled in royally thick sheets, and his attacker hisses in annoyance. The blade stings against his skin and falls away.

The assassin fumbles after the prince as he scrambles across the bed; they clearly weren’t expecting to deal with him conscious. They grab him by the collar to yank him back into the covers. The force rocks the nightstand, and the flower vase on top of it rocks in tandem. There’s a blissful moment of still nothingness before the vase topples and crashes to the floor with the violence of a swinging hammer.

The door gets battered open with a similar amount of force. The assassin startles, their attention snapped to the giant figure blocking the doorway.

His bodyguard. The prince has seen the way this man’s eyes follow him, how he’s always in the most convenient of places to fall in line with the prince’s day. He’s been spying, he knew it, he’s been relaying information to some treasonous third party—

And now he’s come to join in on the murder, the prince thinks sourly. Amazing.

The guard moves and the prince scrambles to avoid him, but he doesn’t descend on the prince like he was expecting. He takes four assured steps into the room, draws his sword, and throws himself at the assassin.

The assassin lurches to the side, mostly. The guard’s blade catches on their wrist in a bright arc of shining metal and crimson.

The assassin seems to be getting more and more out of their depth with every passing second. They hold their wrist shakily, red leaking through their fingers, stumbling slightly. The prince’s guard moves in for another strike.

He gets too close; the assassin’s ready for him this time. They dart out of reach and breeze their dagger across the guard’s side.

The guard shoves them. It’s almost an instinct. The assassin staggers, making another haphazard swipe to the guard’s chest that he doesn’t even seem to notice. He traps them against the windowsill, his frame blocking their escape, and with one final push they tumble straight out the window.

The silence that follows is more unnerving than the prince expected. The guard leans over the sill slightly to glance at his handiwork, almost unbothered, before finally turning his gaze back inside and to the prince. “You okay?” he asks plainly.

The prince isn’t entirely sure if he’s meant to feel grateful or terrified. The guard steps towards him, a frown creasing his brow, and the prince flinches unintentionally. 

His guard rummages in his pocket before offering him a handkerchief. “You’re bleeding,” he adds after a moment.

He hadn’t even noticed. Now he’s pointed it out, the prince can feel the faint line trailing down his throat. But, Jesus Christ, now he’s said it—

“I don’t think it’s me that needs it,” the prince says faintly.

Blood splatters across the front of the guard’s shirt, leaving unsightly red stains across the fabric like a stark reminder of who he is, of what he can do.

The prince hasn’t really seen blood at all, let alone so much of it. He feels a little weak looking at it but he just can’t seem to avert his gaze. It’s fascinating, in a horrific sort of way.

His guard follows his gaze to the new patterning on his clothes. “Ah,” he says shortly, “I didn’t even notice.”

He stumbles into the plush armchair near the bed, his sword tumbling to the floor. The prince watches with fear that he can’t quite place—the person the prince has always trusted the least—this supposed spy—has put his life on the line, and for what? What does he prove by almost dying?

He moves without thinking, clambering to free himself of covers much too hot and thick. He grabs the blanket from the end of the bed with shaky hands and mindlessly pushes it into the gash on the guard’s side.

The thanks he gets is a sharp hiss and a cringe from his touch. “I— I want to help,” the prince says a little more desperately than is royal.

“Your Majesty, please,” the guard says gently, “I’m okay.”

“It’s a lot of blood.”

“I’m not dead.”

“Not yet,” the prince snaps, and the guard barks a laugh.

He obediently stays put, though, forcing out a long breath as the prince tries valiantly to stem some of the blood leaking all over his lovely velvet chair. His hands tremble, his head light at the feeling of that sickly warmth on his skin, his mind already wandering. 

He was so sure his guard was in on this. If he had been, surely, he wouldn’t have intervened. The prince has spent the last god knows how many months watching him back, waiting for a hint that he’s right, that this man is part of some gang out for his blood.

His waiting was in vain, clearly. The guard’s always been silent—looking back, maybe that was a respect thing—content to just watch from the shadows, unseen until needed—a common trait amongst the crown’s warriors—and Jesus Christ he was just completely normal and the prince misread everything.

“I’m sorry,” the prince blurts before he can stop it. The guard turns his gaze from the window and back to his prince.

“Not your fault people think you’re an easy target.”

The prince doesn’t think too hard about that comment. “You saved my life.”

A half-smile graces the guard’s face for a moment. “As is my duty, Your Majesty.”

Calling it duty is slightly underselling the weight of what he’s done. “No, you saved my life.” The prince keeps his eyes focused on the blanket slowly turning red in his hands, as much as he doesn’t want to, to avoid the way the guard’s gaze is burning into him. “I think a thank you is in order, at least.”

“Oh, uh, a’ight.” The guard clears his throat dramatically. “Thank you.”

“What? No.” The prince laughs, a genuine full-second’s laugh, before he remembers to rein it in. “No, I want to thank you. After I’ve been so… weird to you, you still put yourself at risk for me. I think it’s worth you knowing that I appreciate that.”

The guard flushes for a moment, thankfully turning his interest elsewhere. “Well, your father pays a hefty sum to keep you alive. I’d deal with you actively trying to kill me for the salary I get in this place.”

“And I’m sorry, again” — The guard’s barely finished talking before the words are falling out like they’re desperate to be said — “for being so… so—”

“Suspicious and rude?”

The prince is momentarily incensed enough that his eyes snap up to the guard’s, but he simply grins back. His eyes crinkle slightly, his face brightened. “Your staring wasn’t subtle,” he adds with a short laugh. “At first I thought it might be admiration, but after a while I realised it was only ever me you were looking at.”

It’s the prince’s turn to flush now—mostly out of embarrassment. “Yes, well, I inherited paranoia from my father as well as his crown.”

The guard’s smile turns soft, and the prince decides he’s best to avoid it once again. “You’ve no need to worry,” he says gently. “I’ll always be here to protect you.”

The prince makes some horrendously unchecked noise before clambering to his feet. “Okay,” he says quickly, “hold this against your side and your chest. I’m going to find a doctor that’s awake.”

“That’s usually my job.”

“You’re not usually the one bleeding all over my silk cushions.”

The guard nods like he’s admitting defeat. “Give my apologies to the maids for all the washing they’re about to do.”

“I will,” the prince says with complete earnest, then he’s out the door.

He reappears with the doctor a few minutes later, the latter of which is wearing a rather telling scowl for four in the morning. The guard lets the doctor prod and poke without complaint whilst the prince flutters about nervously.

He’s so focused on the work the doctor’s doing, making sure he’s careful—as if the palace doctor wouldn’t be—that he completely misses his guard’s gaze. Soft, knowing, relieved that the prince is finally watching him with hope instead of mistrust.

It’s a refreshing change to his usual expression. Maybe one day the guard can change it from hope to unwavering faith.

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #fantasci writing #fantasy writing #request #anon did you read my mind. this shit is my JAM #this is like. 87% one of my stories im writing #'two people who seem too different to find commonground suddenly find they dont hate each other' is the overarching theme of it #anyways thank you for the request!!! this was hella fun even tho it took me a goddamn week to write (ive had burnout for like a month rip)

[raineandsky]

Hello! Would you write a Villain finding out that the city's bravest (Villain's favourite) Hero has an irrational fear. Domestic vibes?

...if it interests you ofcourse!

this DOES interest me i love this!!! thank you for the request, hope you enjoy :D

-

Despite what the city thinks of them, the villain is not a soulless monster.

Now, the villain always enjoyed a good scare. A knife too close to the face, or a finger on a detonator, or a good old kidnapping. Easy scares, something that would scare anyone.

The hero is facing the villain’s guard dog, though, and the villain’s starting to suspect that their usual slight scare isn’t as slight as they intended. 

The villain’s dog is a doberman, of course, with the teeth and the growl to match. They chose him because everyone’s scared of dobermans, and so far he’s done a pretty good job of keeping nosy heroes out of the villains business—because most heroes have the sense to turn on their heel upon seeing him.

This hero though, the absolute moron, does not seem to have this sense. They’re cowering on the floor and are decidedly not running away like they’re meant to.

The villain gives the hero a half-thoughtful nudge with their toe. “[Hero]?”

The hero’s gaze snaps up to them momentarily before settling back on their dog. “I-Is that yours?”

“Yeah.” The villain gives him an affectionate pat on the head. He’s too busy growling at the hero to respond. “He is.”

“Can you, uh, call it off or something?”

“He’s a guard dog, [Hero],” the villain snaps with a hint of exasperation, “I’m not meant to call him off, you’re meant to leave.”

“Okay, yeah, great, cool, yeah.” There’s a moment of silence filled with the dog’s rumbling. “I–I can’t leave.”

The villain snorts at that. “I know you probably worked very hard to get this far, but I can’t let you go any further. Nice try though, I—”

“No.” The hero’s voice is so quiet the villain barely hears it. “I can’t leave.”

Clearly there is a secret meaning in that. The villain can’t be bothered figuring it out. “It’s the, uh, it’s the dog,” the hero continues after a long moment. “I’m– I’m really afraid of dogs. I just freeze up when I see one, um…”

The villain can’t believe it. On any other hero, they would’ve struck gold with this. But this hero is one of the nicer ones, one of the ones that seems to have a sense of morality beyond the skewed moral compass the agency seems to drill into all heroes.

Long story short, this hero is one of the villain’s favourites. They can’t leave them like this—it’s embarrassing, for one.

The villain puts a hand on their dog. “Alright, calm down.”

The growling stops almost immediately. The dog sits, oddly polite, his head tilted like he’s just seeing the hero with interest for the first time. The hero looks back at him with no less horror than before.

The villain flops down next to them. “He’s harmless now, see?” They reach a hand out, and the dog snuffles his nose into their palm. “He’s well-trained. He only does things like that on my command.”

The villain gives him a scratch under the chin and his tail thumps rhythmically on the floor. The hero’s eyes don’t move from his face. “What’s, uh, what’s he called?”

The villain should’ve seen it coming. They could lie, maybe, but their dog would rat them out immediately. He’s too well-trained, goddamnit.

The silence stretches a second too long. “His name’s Tiny.”

Tiny’s ears prick up at his name. The hero blanches and accidentally catches his attention again. “You call that tiny?”

“It’s ironic.”

The hero watches in pained silence as the villain makes a show of petting him. They’re pressed into the wall like they’re hoping it’ll swallow them whole, their hands balled into anxiously white, tight fists.

Such a stupid name has clearly not done its job. The villain holds a hand out to the hero. The hero stares at it like the villain’s handing them a gun.

“I’m trying to help you here,” the villain says after another painfully long moment. “Give me your hand.”

The hero slowly—agonisingly slowly—sinks their hand into the villain’s. The villain’s grip snaps around their wrist so fast they yelp.

“Okay,” the villain says smoothly, “now you’re going to pet him.”

The hero’s eyes widen and their mouth moves in what is clearly about to be a sharp god, no.

The villain tugs them forwards before they can complain. Tiny bumps his nose against the hero’s palm hopefully. The hero’s breath hitches, their arm tense in the villain’s hold.

“Calm down,” the villain says, not unkindly. “He likes you, see?”

The hero finally shifts their hand to give Tiny a halfhearted pet. He leans into it avidly, his tail thudding joyously against the floor again.

A smile tries to break on their face, their body finally relaxing slightly. They sink into relief a little too easily, leaning into the villain a bit more than the villain’s willing to admit they like.

“He’s softer than I thought he’d be,” the hero comments. Their voice has lost that tense edge, thankfully.

“He’s a good dog.” The villain sighs and Tiny huffs back. “He’s done a great job of keeping your lot out.”

The villain finally lets go of the hero’s wrist to let them give him a scratch under the chin. “Until me.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a very weird anomaly. He was probably wondering why you weren’t hightailing it out of here like everyone else.”

The hero hums thoughtfully. “He didn’t bite me.”

“I don’t teach him to bite; he’s just here to scare. Maiming people I don’t like is my job.”

The two of them fall back into silence for another moment, though this one isn’t long or uncomfortable. The villain simply watches the hero suck up to their one line of defence, their breath a lot more even than it was before.

“Speaking of maiming people,” the villain continues, “we should get to me kicking your ass at some point, shouldn’t we?”

The hero laughs brightly, and the villain tries not to feel too relieved at the sound. “Yeah, I suppose so.” They get to their feet, shaking the ache out of their limbs. “As long as you don’t use your attack dog as an unfair advantage.”

“I already told you, [Hero], he doesn’t do the biting” — The villain springs to their feet excitedly — “I do.”

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain #request #and thank you for the request as always!! always love yalls ideas #sorry it took so long D: i was literally sat here googling phobias so i could find one that would give the most Cute Moments #funnily enough its hard to have a Cute Moment when youre sobbing on the ground because theres a spider or something

[raineandsky]

#102

tw: abuse, threats, knives

The superhero barely sleeps anymore, but he can’t afford to. His mind is always haunted by one question: where has the hero gone?

His assistant lingers on the threshold to his office while he stares blankly at the table. She clears her throat when he shows no sign of acknowledging her. She holds a little envelope out to him when he glances up, his name written on the front in glittering cursive.

He reads the contents. Rereads. Looks to his assistant for answers. Receives none. Stares back down at the words on the little note in front of him.

“Well,” he says flatly, “I suppose I best go if we want the city to stay intact.”

-

The supervillain answers the door with a winning smile and a shocking amount of hospitality. 

“I’m so glad you made it,” he says brightly. He ushers the superhero into what can only be described as a mansion. Crime clearly pays well—or he likes to pretend it does. Who knows how he came into a house like this.

The supervillain sets the superhero down in an extravagant dining hall. Servants line the room, practically invisible in the shadows, almost as much of the furniture as the table and chairs in the middle of the room. Most of them have their eyes pointed to the floor.

The supervillain settles in the chair opposite and motions for one of the servants to step forward with a wine decanter. They pour it out agonisingly slowly, their focus honed in on the glass, before skirting around the table to do the same for the superhero.

The superhero startles. “Oh, there’s no need—”

“Nonsense!” the supervillain gestures for the servant to continue. “You’re my guest. Have a drink, please.”

The wine is poured. The servant steps back, their gaze flitting to the supervillain, and with the slightest nod of his head they retreat back into the shadows.

The superhero watches them go, catching the eye of one of the other servants standing on the outskirts of the room. It catches him off guard slightly—he could’ve sworn they were all staring at the floor—but after a moment to study their face he has to hold down a choked gasp.

That’s the hero. The hero he’s spent endless days searching for. The hero that disappeared off the face of the earth, who seemed to just cease to exist. The hero’s staring back at him like they’re equally stunned to see him here, their eyes wide and their jaw slack.

The quiet goes on too long. The supervillain twists in his chair to glance at whatever’s caught the superhero’s interest.

“Ah,” he says shortly. The single word seems to snap the hero out of it, their gaze immediately snapping back down to the ground. “Is my servant here bothering you?”

“You—” You invited me here on purpose. The superhero can’t think of words outraged enough. They’ve been here the whole time. “How dare you—”

“[Hero],” the supervillain says lightly. “Come here.”

The hero shares a worried glance with the servants next to them before slowly stepping towards him. They pause just behind his chair, their head bowed—out of fear or respect, it’s not obvious. “Sir?”

The villain holds his hand up to them expectantly. “Give me your hand.”

The hero spares a glance at the superhero. “B-But sir, our guest—”

“Your hand, [Hero].”

They hesitate, their breath uneven. Then they slowly, slowly put their hand in the supervillain’s.

The supervillain moves faster than the superhero can react. He slams their palm down against the table, his grip deathly tight on their wrist. A steak knife sits in his other hand, the tip poised over the back of the hero’s hand.

The superhero’s on his feet in an instant. The hero desperately tries to pull away, but the supervillain’s grip on them is vice-like.

“Now,” he says smoothly, “what have I said about manners?”

“[Supervillain],” the superhero tries.

“Haven’t I taught you anything?”

“I– I’m sorry.” It comes out of the hero’s mouth like a knee-jerk reaction, like it’s been said a million times before. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again—”

The supervillain twists the knife testily against their skin. Something of a strangled sob tears from the hero’s throat. “Staring is rude, [Hero].”

“I– I know, I’m so sorry—”

“[Supervillain],” the superhero snaps with all the authority he can muster. “Stop.”

“I deal with my servants how I please, [Superhero].” The supervillain’s gaze pulls up to him lazily.  “This is my domain, not yours.”

But he thankfully lets go of the hero. They pull back nervously fast, their hands cupped over each other protectively. The supervillain glances back at them as they attempt to meld back into the shadows. “Go downstairs, [Hero],” he says flatly. “We will discuss this incident later.”

The hero’s gaze snaps back to him like he just asked them to walk into hell itself. “Down– Downstairs?”

“Don’t make me repeat my instructions twice, [Hero]. You know this.”

Their eyes flit between the supervillain and the superhero for a moment. Then they dip into a short bow, and with a slightly choked “sir,” they practically bolt from the room.

A couple of the servants behind the supervillain exchange whispers and sorrowful glances.

“I must apologise,” the supervillain says with an innocent sigh. “I thought I’d trained my servants better than that. I assure you such behaviour will be dealt with.”

The superhero’s still on his feet. “Release them immediately.”

The supervillain idly swills the wine for a second. “Or what?”

“The agency will not stand for this.” The superhero clenches his fists at his sides. “I will not stand for this.”

“Well,” the supervillain drawls, “you can have them back when I’m dead.” The supervillain sets his glass on the table a little too hard. “This has been a wonderful evening, [Superhero]. Now get out.”

-

It takes 20 minutes to get back to the agency, and by then the superhero has a half-formed plan in his head and a burning cry for vengeance.

When he’s dead. So be it.

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain #whump #tw abuse #tw threats #tw knife #friends i am FIGHTING burnout rn #i had covid like 2 weeks ago and ive barely written since then #just no ideas no energy no vibes no anything #but!! ive been crankin some stories for yall out this weekend SO im hopin this marks the start of the end of that #im gettin back into the groove after 2 weeks of almost nothing!! bear with me!!

[raineandsky]

Revenge Means Chaos

#80.2 (part 1) (part 2)

Next week. The Lousy Farmer.

The hero flops down at the bar. The bartender eyes him as he slides a pint across the bar to him.

He can't believe he's wasting his evenings like this. Why can't he just leave work at work? Why can't the villain leave him alone for one minute?

The band is setting up on the humble little stage. The hero can see the reason he’s here, plugging his guitar into an amp and fiddling with the settings. The poor guitar looks battered; the hero wouldn’t be surprised if the villain smashes people’s faces in with it on his days off.

The villain scans over the crowd again, and this time his eyes flit straight to the bar to lock with the hero’s.

He throws the hero that stupid, self-absorbed grin again. Hello again, he’s practically saying, I see you’re back.

The hero scoffs into his beer in a way he hopes replies out of obligation for the safety of the city.

The music is similar to last week’s; upbeat, excited, loud. The patrons of the bar sink into the music as they do the drinks, and within the hour a small, slightly drunken dance floor has begun forming in front of the stage.

The dancing proves difficult to weave through. The hero abandons his easy spot at the bar to make their way towards the stage, dipping between stumbling dances as he goes. The villain’s eyes are on him the whole time—the hero can feel them burning into him as he moves.

He reaches the foot of the stage with a huff of relief. He turns his face upward; the villain’s gaze leers down at him, the stage lights haloing him like he’s descended from heaven, his fingers plucking effortlessly at the guitar’s strings.

A smirk—enjoying the show?—and the hero scowls in a wholehearted response—enjoying the part where I’ll whoop your ass.

He waits there until the singer rounds off her last note to the uproarious cheering from the audience. She grins ecstatically, practically glowing.

“Thanks y’all!” she shouts over the crowd. The drummer spins his sticks in his hands with a smile.

The hero saunters to the door behind the little stage—he can cut the villain’s exit off from here and quietly arrest him without causing a scene with the drunken masses. It’s almost too easy.

He carefully holds back the victorious smile before it’s due. He has the time in the world to laugh at the villain on the ride to the agency.

The villain’s gaze flits to him and back out to the crowd as he pulls wires from his guitar. The singer is still talking but the hero blocks her out. His focus rests on the villain with intensity that’s clearly making him uncomfortable. Good. Let him know what’s coming for him.

The villain hops down from the stage ahead of his bandmates, and the hero gets in position to grab for him as he heads for the door. The villain spares him one last glance, adjusts the guitar’s strap against his chest, and takes off into the crowd.

The hero swears under his breath and falls into the masses after him.

People part for the villain, moving aside with a friendly pat on the back. The hero has to battle his way through. The villain breaks through the main doors and into the night as the hero throws himself out on the other side of the horde.

The hero flies out into the evening and almost gets a guitar to the face on the other side. He just manages to duck out of the way, the guitar sweeping much too close to his head. He throws a punch and the villain darts back, that self-confident smirk still twisting his lips.

The hero moves in for another strike. He only gets to pull his fist back when someone grabs him from behind.

“What is it with people attacking the musicians?” someone says from opposite the hero. He can see someone wrangling the villain ahead—a security guard. Perfect.

“He’s– That’s [Villain]!” the hero cries over whatever answer the person behind him was about to say. He thrashes in their grip uselessly, eager to get his hands on his nemesis. “I’m attacking a musician because he’s a criminal!”

The person behind him barks a laugh. The villain has stopped twisting angrily in the security guard’s grip and has been let go of, like he’s earned the freedom. He adjusts his guitar strap on his chest again and levels the hero with a smug gaze.

“Gosh, it’s scary, isn’t it?” He huffs a disbelieving laugh, turning to the small crowd forming at the main doors of the bar. “The agency has people like this protecting our city? He’s insane!”

A few murmurs rise in agreement. Cameras flash, phones get held up. The hero feels sick.

“No, wait, he’s—” The security guard turns him away from the crowd, from the people who’d have a chance to listen “—he’s [Villain], can’t you see that? I need to arrest him before he causes any more damage—”

The security guard gives him a hearty shove onto the main street. “Consider this your warning,” they snap. “Don’t let us catch you around these parts again, a’ight? Or consequences might be a lot harsher.”

“Wait, he’s—”

But the security guard’s already turned on his heel, meandering back to where the villain is basking in the praise of his fans. They usher everyone back inside with the help of the other guard, and with one final clang, the door slams shut on the hero.

Cameras. Phones. The crowd agreeing quietly with the villain.

Oh, the hero’s career is about to go up in flames.

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain #im so so aware that this has a different vibe to the first part. i wrote this in the throes of covid. i am only 83% coherent #ironic too cause i wrote this with covid and its posting when i have a stomach bug #so apologies to the anon asking for this cause god.