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kaiwewi · 8 days
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Prompt (297)
“Can you stop playing that music?” The hero said.
The villain frowned. “But it’s how I get pumped up to fight you!”
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kaiwewi · 17 days
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Once upon a time, my entire high school had to be evacuated and we all got a homework-free, longer-than-usual weekend after one of our chemistry teachers dropped a bottle of this stuff xD
Hey I wonder what this red liquid do-
*evaporates*
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Yeah, bromine tends to do that.
Hey, where did they go?
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kaiwewi · 2 months
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(lmao, I'm back again and I won't even try to make promises I can't keep 😂 Many thanks to @kaiwewi who added me in the masterlist of @the-modern-typewriter for hero/villain blogs! 🥰 I think I can speak for all the inactive and partially active people when I say: We are very touched that people see our small contributions and think of us... It really means a lot. 🥰🙏🏻 So, please enjoy this snippet and have a good time. 😄)
#13 – Shame
Can I ask you something, [Villain]?
– Um.. Sure, what is it?
How did you end up working for [Supervillain]? You must've known that they were evil, haven't you? So what in the world brought you there?
– ...
Jesus, who cares about that, [Sidekick]? They've done more than enough to show us that we can trust them. Hey, [Villain], you don't have to share things you don't wanna talk about, okay?
– I..- Um, thank you, [Hero]...
"You know, [Sidekick] was right", [Villain] said, their eyes fixated on the ground. They had sat down next to [Hero] a few minutes ago, feeling the cool summer breeze that grazed their own skin and the one of their new teammate. "I've known all along."
[Hero] looked at their former foe in confusion. "What do you mean?", they asked, turning towards them.
"I knew who [Supervillain] was", [Villain] said with a hollow voice, "...What they did."
[Hero] frowned. "[Villain] you don't have to talk about this, if you don't want to. [Sidekick] shouldn't have said that an-"
"But they were right", [Villain] interrupted, "I must've known who they were and I did. I knew who they were. I knew everything and I joined them regardless."
[Villain] pulled their knees closer, resting their chin on them. Their expression became distant as they started talking: "You know, before I joined [Supervillain], my life was a mess. I grew up in a world that didn't have any mercy for weaklings or outsiders like me. I was hurt, angry and alone and I wanted nothing more than to be with someone who actually liked me. I wanted to belong somewhere... I wanted that feeling you and your friends experienced every day and seemingly took as a given."
[Hero] suppressed the urge to say something. They had not at all expected this kind of talk from their former enemy – especially not with them. Still, they nodded seriously to encourage [Villain] to keep talking. It seemed to work:
"I... I didn't even know that I was searching for something. I didn't know how desperately I wanted to feel needed... Useful, you know?", [Villain] let out a trembling sigh. They closed their eyes before they continued: "I didn't know that, but [Supervillain] did. It was easy for them to bait me with the interest they showed in me and my abilities. I knew that what they did was wrong, but I-.. I just thought if I worked hard enough for them, then at least someone would see something in me... That I could-", [Villain] pressed their eyes together as tears started to spill,
"Oh, Villain...", [Hero] murmured softly. They reached out to gently touch the other one's shoulder, but [Villain] pulled away.
"Don't." [Villain] whispered and wiped their tears away. They took a deep breath. Their face had hardened into a blank mask when they continued:
"[Hero], I don't deserve the place you offer me. I don't deserve to be in your and the team's presence. I don't deserve the kindness you gave me since I came here. I'm not worth-"
"[Villain], stop." [Hero] had put a warm hand on [Villains] wet cheek. The softness of the gesture startled [Heros] new partner who looked at them with wide eyes. [Hero] managed a small smile before pulling [Villain] into a warm embrace.
"Don't say things like that. You're here, because you did what was right. You came to us and helped us out, because you knew what [Supervillain] does is wrong. Because you couldn't bear it. That says a lot about you as a person.", [Hero] gave [Villain] a small squeeze before letting go. They put their hands on [Villains] face again and smiled as they locked eyes with their former enemy.
"You did some bad things and you need to take on responsibility for that, but you won't have to do that alone. You are with us now and we will support you, okay?"
[Villain] shook their head in confusion. "H-How can you take me in... Just like that?", they whispered while new tears stained their face and [Heros] fingers, "How could anyone possibly want me after I what I've done?"
To that, [Hero] knew the answer.
"I can, because I like you. Because we like you, [Villain]. Because you're worth staying and because you have good inside of you... Because you chose the light, even though your life was set up for darkness." [Hero] said warmly. They smiled at [Villains] unbelieving expression, before embracing them once again.
"...One day, you will see that, too."
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kaiwewi · 2 months
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...and here are even more names, because Tumblr just wouldn't let me tag all of them in one post xD
@patchworkorphan, @paladinsandruffians, @silver-ink-iron-words, @surplus-of-sarcasm, @teaoftheoldestflower, @of-wildflowers-and-stars, @that-storming-writer, @depressed-werewolf, @writinggoblinslivehere, @key-a-rah,
@cookiethreat, @pen-dipped-in-moonlight, @the-burning-sea, @acids-bases-salts, @token-homosexual, @wellthatsjustpeachyhuh, @nixylubouv, @llamabird-writes, @villain-filled-writing,
@chaoticgoodandu, @inkygemuwu, @undeadnotunreasonable, @crazy-sevens, @caker-baker, @accordion-noises, @malneiro, @hotchocolatewriting, @toomuchponytail, @villainousauthor,
@the-writer-whos-never-written, @snippetsnitch, @messythoughtsandscribbledplots, @villain-enthusiast, @scrawl-your-heart-out, @astridalen, @morallygreyprompts, @alilbatflies, @tiredtreebranch1, @the-broken-pen,
@starry-night-author, @neon-onyx, @prettyboytortureclub, @depressedgaywriting, @autocrats-in-love, @a-dead-tea, @navigatorwriting, @paperburrows, @writing-on-the-wahl, @esperosisdoeswriting, @stellarbook,
again, thank you all so much for your hard work writing all these stories that brighten my days and fill my world with colour!
Hi! I’m looking for some more tumblr writing blogs similar to yours if you had any recommendations you’d be willing to share!
There are a lot of hero and villain writers on tumblr! @creweemmaeec11 has a whole community going, so may be more up to date than me!
(Sorry if this list misses anyone! It's by no means exhaustive.)
@gingerly-writing, @yourheartonfire, @thepenultimateword, @trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room, @saltydumplings, @save-the-villainous-cat, @creweemmaeec11, @amethystpath-writes, @selene-stories, @some-messed-up-writing-for-you, @onestopheroxvillain, @booberryfun, @watercolorfreckles, @vigilantetendencies, @enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers, @nuttynutcycle, @defectivehero, @caffeinewitchcraft, @recklessfiction, @snowshowerwriting, @deckofaces
Anyone else who writes in the hero/villain, enemies to lovers, romance/fantasy ballpark, please feel free to add your name so people can find you!
#<3
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kaiwewi · 2 months
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That is one excellent selection of writing blogs!
I adore the hero/villain community and all the fantastic people in it. I've been around for a couple years now. I've read so many great stories and also wrote a few pieces myself.
And I'd like to add a lot of other names to this list. Many of them aren't that active anymore, some seem to have quit at some point, some only ever posted a handful of pieces and then disappeared again, and some others are still fairly new. But everyone of them brought me joy with the writing they posted, and even if they were to never post another thing ever again, the stories that remain might yet bring joy to someone else. Therefore, I'd like to share some of their names here, in no particular order and regardless of how active they are now or how many snippets or prompts they wrote or how often they posted:
@hero-x-villain, @dark-noctis, @writingwiththeghosts, @nightfrostshadow, @flowerypeaches, @prompts-and-prose, @daydreamed-snippets, @poisoned-by-royalty, @sunflower1000, @chocoazuluniverse, @akawrites000,
@villainsandheroes, @levwrites, @winters-dream, @epiclamer, @ocean1221, @angrycowboydreamland, @writersagony, @skys-fantasy, @thegirlwholived1213, @hufflepuffwritingstuff2,
@mirohtron, @arealphrooblem, @sunnynwanda, @muses-of-the-mind, @puddleslimewrites, @talesofurbania, @villainsandcivilians, @lefttomyownvices, @thermitetermite, @dragonindigo245prompts,
@gayacademicwriter, @rainy-knights-of-villany, @avvail, @the-luminol-writer, @whump-a-la-mode, @letters-unsending, @celestiallights515, @maybeitsalivescribbles, @ravings-of-a-mad-scientist, @doorlampwrites, @world-of-fire-and-flight,
thank you to all of you for creating all those lovely stories!
And a special thanks to @writtentodeath who was the first writer in the hero/villain community that I spoke to and the one who encouraged me to start posting snippets myself. Thank you!
A big warm thank you also to @wingedcat13 whose Synoverse stories might just be my favourite thing on Tumblr. Synovus has been and continues to be a great source of inspiration and positivity in my exploration of my own non-binary gender-identity and transition goals. I can't put into words how much this character means to me!
Hi! I’m looking for some more tumblr writing blogs similar to yours if you had any recommendations you’d be willing to share!
There are a lot of hero and villain writers on tumblr! @creweemmaeec11 has a whole community going, so may be more up to date than me!
(Sorry if this list misses anyone! It's by no means exhaustive.)
@gingerly-writing, @yourheartonfire, @thepenultimateword, @trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room, @saltydumplings, @save-the-villainous-cat, @creweemmaeec11, @amethystpath-writes, @selene-stories, @some-messed-up-writing-for-you, @onestopheroxvillain, @booberryfun, @watercolorfreckles, @vigilantetendencies, @enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers, @nuttynutcycle, @defectivehero, @caffeinewitchcraft, @recklessfiction, @snowshowerwriting, @deckofaces
Anyone else who writes in the hero/villain, enemies to lovers, romance/fantasy ballpark, please feel free to add your name so people can find you!
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kaiwewi · 3 months
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Oh my gosh!! THANK YOU!! This is gorgeous 👀‼️
I admit, I so did NOT expect whump and torture but, DAMN, am I DELIGHTED 🔪❤️❤️ The pain and the fear are palpable. So good!
im writing for @kaiwewi for this year's Secret Santa :) their prompt was:
Please write a story about a villain who is more of a mascot for their group of competent 'henchman' rather than an actual boss/leader.
Technically, the villain should've had the foresight to see this coming. They should've, probably, mentioned it to their leader, and if not them at least some lower-tier henchman. At least casually. Been like, hey, if I get kidnapped, you'll wanna save me, right? Could be hard to replace me.
Oh, man. 
This wasn't really happening, was it?
A rough, hard punch to the cheek sent their whole world spinning. A pink leather-clad hand yanked them up from the back of their hair to keep them from sinking. The villain considered screaming for help and quickly thought against it. They had to stay put. Had to.
"Got you now," said the crueler hero. What was her name again? Something pretty and harmless that didn't match her dreadful grin. The guy beside her was all red and gold muscle. The villain had seen him grace the covers of a couple magazines before; their mother had been subscribed to Vanity growing up.
Oh, if only their mother could see them right now. Getting kidnapped in a back alley in the dead of night. In civilian clothes too, at that. Embarrassing.
"Took you long enough," the villain replied, and the next punch knocked a tooth out. They spat it out in a bloody glob, staining the red hero's boots. On the black asphalt, their molar looked like a red fucking star. Or perhaps a bloody ship lost at sea. Their saliva was salty and their breath metallic.
Fuck. Fuck, they should've brought this up with their leader at least once.
Red circled Pink like a slinking cat, waiting to strike at her say-so.
"Hurt them," she ordered, and Red drove his knee into the villain's gut, driving all the air out of their lungs, and threw them to the asphalt. Their palms scraped against loose gravel. Their tooth was right beside their little finger. The villain's lungs spasmed and they could barely catch up to their pain.
Their henchmen never hit them. Sure, the villain was used as a mascot, was the assigned 'fall guy' if it all went to shit, but their henchmen never hit them. Why would they? There was no reason to damage your mask... unless they ratted you out to a bunch of heroes.
What a wonderful excuse that would be. Hitting them to build up pain tolerance so they wouldn't go around breaking in interrogations. The villain wasn't even sure what these heroes did to get people like them to break. They'd heard horror stories about electrocution. Hallucinogens. It made their stomach churn.
Pink dug the heel of her boot into the villain's sternum, watching them struggle to breathe. Beside her, Red silently watched the scene occur like a good toy.
"Look at them," she remarked. Her eyes were alight with a predatory glow. "Helpless without their minions."
"Like you without your bitch," the villain rasped.
Pink's expression turned terrible, and she brought her boot down on their face with fury.
The world went white.
There is no point in explaining how they got into this position. The only thing you need to know is this: despite the fear surrounding the villain’s name and their face, despite their grandeur, and even despite the terrifying speeches they spent hours poring over before releasing to the public, all the villain was, was a mascot to their henchmen and their shadowy leader. They were powerless, merely a result of perfect cues and perfect illusions. Behind the scenes, they were as replaceable as a magician’s cards.
The villain could not see for several hours.
It was possible that nobody was coming. A small part of their mind, harbouring a particularly loud voice, feared that their henchmen were already looking for replacements. Maybe they already had a list of candidates that they were crossing out.
In the most pathetic parts of the villain's mind they considered giving up every bit of information they knew, inclined to believe that somewhere out there, was a body double suited up and in the midst of memorising a script. Perhaps in exchange for information, they’d be offered a stable life. How delusional.
Someone had taken their sweater off, and some skin on their forearms was raw and red from when Red shoved them to the ground, tender in the chilly air of whatever room they were held in.
Rough hands forced their arms to wrap around the backrest of a metal chair. The villain took in a wheezing gasp and struggled as they heard the rustle of a thick cord being unwrapped.
"Ugh," came an apathetic voice, and a third hand wrapped around the back of their neck and forced their head down. They couldn't struggle like this; the metal dug into their flesh and they weren't strong enough to put up a fight.
The cord was fastened, and the blindfold over their eyes was yanked out.
Neon lights as bright as the sun blinded them, and they caught the glint of water just below their vision.
“Now,” commanded a voice, and a red hand caught their hair, and before the villain could register a goddamn thing they were drowning.
The villain made the biggest mistake of their life: they breathed, and their brain went into instant shock as water burned their airways. They opened their mouth to gasp and choked on liquid death, ears popping, their body's temperature dropping. The bowl's edges dug into their neck and jaw and they struggled and struggled, feet kicking the floor, hitting table legs and air and other useless things.
The hand on their neck kept them down, cold, unfeeling. Murderous. The villain's lungs burned; the water remained ice cold. Their heart jack-knifed in their chest, threatened to break out of their ribs. The water suffocated them mercilessly.
They were dying. They were dying and nobody was coming to help.
The world went as white as those neon lights.
Cold water ran down their chin, wetting their chest, making their hair stick to their face. The skin on their arms burned from the metal chair. The interrogation (torture?) room was all metal walls and neon lights.
The villain's lungs burned with each breath, but they took in air graciously. Had they blacked out?
A blurry face, pale and cruel, came into view, haloed by the lights. Behind Pink, the villain spotted cuffs hanging from a stained wall. Beside her feet were worn cords, dried blood on them.
The metal on this chair was rusted. They'd need a tetanus shot if they got cut from this, right?
Pink turned to Red, who stood behind them. "Dim the lights."
The hand on their hair left. Pink caught the villain's jaw, leaning down to look at them eye to eye.
The villain took in another noisy, unsteady breath. Their stomach still churned. Their chest felt as cold as their chair.
The lights dimmed until Pink's features were highlighted ghostly white, shadowed menacingly. Red's presence behind the villain felt radioactive.
Someone had to come. Someone had to. They were a good mascot, weren't they? But acrobats were as replaceable to circuses as playing cards were to a magician. They clenched their corded hands into tight, trembling fists.
Her grip threatened to bruise. "I knew there was something wrong with you," she said. "So brave playing the evil guy, treating the city like it's a stage, but without your employers, you're just another regular crook, aren't you?"
The villain’s chest seized at the accuracy with which she’d clocked them, but they forced themselves to give her the most cutting grin they could muster. "We're much more similar than you think, you and I."
Red pulled their head back and pressed something metallic to their neck—a blade. The villain let out a terrified sound, and Pink laughed. "Look at them," she said. "Shaking like a leaf at a blunt knife."
"I could do a lot of damage with it," said Red. He dragged the knife down, rusty just like everything else in this damn room, trailing grime down their skin in its wake. He aimed the point of it at the hollow of their throat, and the villain choked on a noise. "Could poke here with enough pressure, see what happens."
The villain desperately shook their head as much as they could. Pink seemed to delight in their reaction.
Oh, god. They scrambled for some lines stored in their head, from watching movies and reading scripts and writing speeches. "Come on," they tried, struggling to get their voice to adopt a careless lilt. The blunt point of the knife felt suffocating. Was it blocking their blood flow? "Can't we all come to an agreement here?"
They weren’t even expecting a proper response to that. But Pink’s entire attitude seemed to flip, and the look in her eyes went from sinister to eager with such swiftness that it made the villain shiver. "Oh, we could," She said, crouching down and looking up at them with sudden kindness. "Tell me," she said, "what your henchmen are up to." She traced her thumb over the villain's knee. "And I will personally assure your safe withdrawal from them, and you'll never see us or them ever again."
The villain looked down at her in silence, unnerved. A cold drop of water dripped down from their hair, down the bridge of their nose. They wouldn't snitch. They couldn't.
She traced the outline of their kneecap patiently. Behind her, Red stood in silence. His knife was gone. The villain could hear their heartbeat.
"You know," said the villain. "Oddly enough I don't believe that."
Pink lit their knee on fire, broke a fucking bone, did something horrible, because their kneecap lit up in absolute agony and they screamed, and Red was drowning them again.
Their chest was soaked, their jaw ached from all of the punches and backhanded slaps they'd received, and their scalp felt bruised from the harshness with which Pink and Red manhandled their head.
Nobody was coming. The lights were dim and the sun was probably rising outside, and a rising sun meant no shadows for their leader to travel with. They couldn't tell how long it'd been.
It'd been long enough for an alarmingly red bruise to start forming on their knee, though. Perhaps a couple hours. Their leader’s right-hand had once told them how long it took for bruises to form. They reckoned this one would turn a hideous purple in a couple of days and stay like that until next week. If they were alive until next week.
They coughed up water and phlegm. Pink nudged them with rough fingers to their temple. Red sharpened that blunt knife with a whetstone, the sound of it piercingly loud in their ears. It wasn't rusty. It bled, staining the water red, making it glint like the devil's eyes in the low light.
Pink held out her hand. "Bring it over."
Like a fucking dog, Red obeyed. Pink flicked the knife around like a magician did their cards. The villain flinched.
She laughed. God, that dreadful laugh. She pressed the cusp of her palm down on their forehead and a whimper eked out of the villain's throat, but they couldn't snitch. They couldn't. Yes, they were expendable. Yes, they knew their henchmen looked down on them to some degree. And yes, all that they were, was a mask for a coalition of bad guys to hide behind. 
But. But.
They didn't have anywhere else to go.
The knife pressed cold against their neck. Red walked over to see, curious like a child. The lights were so dim that the ceiling was pitch black.
The villain stared at Pink with wide eyes, unsure if this was a threat or the real deal. But then the knife began to slice, and the villain jerked and flinched in their restraints.
Oh, god, oh god oh god oh god. The villain strained their wrists against the cords once more, dug their toes into the fucking floor, wishing something would swallow them up.
"I'm sorry!" they said in their absolutely ruined, drowned voice. "I'll—I'll tell! I swear I'll fucking rat those guys out like it's no tomorrow."
"There it is," said Red in his detached voice.
"There it is," repeated a pleased Pink. She turned the knife up and pressed it to a vein that the villain knew was important because the leader's right hand had mentioned it once. The jugular, or something? They choked on a breath. "Let it all come out, honey."
Oh, god, were they really going to do this? The villain looked at the ceiling, praying for something to come and help them. Their legs and arms shook. Their knee ached. They looked at a shadowy, void-like patch tucked away in the upper corner of the ceiling as though it would save them.
The void stared back.
The villain choked again.
One eye, glowing gold like a ring stared at them. Then another. A pair of eyes staring back at them, familiar ones, gold, like...
Their leader’s face emerged from the shadows, a finger pressed to her lips. Burning relief flooded the villain's veins.
Pink stared at them intently, patiently still. Waiting for a response. Their leader slinked back into the shadows, snake-like in her smoothness, and the villain scrambled to put on a mask.
Like an actor on stage, they twisted their face up in pain, anger, hurt, grief. "They're such cruel people," the villain said, staring deeply into Pink's eyes. "Such terrible, cruel people."
Their leader approached.
Pink leaned in, handed the knife over to Red to pocket. "Poor thing," she remarked.
The villain nodded, leaning in with her. "Yes," they breathed. "Poor you."
They kicked her knees and heard a crunch. Pink screamed, stumbling back, and their leader shot out of the darkness, fist curled and glinting—brass knuckles?—and punched the back of her head. She went down like a rag doll.
"Holy shit—" Someone snapped their cords off, and the villain was quickly hauled up to their legs, that same blade pressing into their neck. They seized.
Red's fist shook as he clutched the villain's hair. The knife quivered.
Their leader froze.
"Get down." Red's voice was calm, but his chest rose in unsteady breaths behind the villain's back.
The other raised her hands up placatingly, slipping the bloody brass knuckles off. At her feet, Pink's body twitched, her hair stained, blood pooling around her head and spreading at an alarming rate. Her twitching seemed to make Red tick worse.
The villain's heart felt close to bursting. Their chest was still wet from that water bowl, and their knee threatened to give out on them. The room was growing darker. "Stop that," gritted out Red. "I'll give you your mascot if you leave us alone. I need—I need to fix her."
"You'll remember us. You'll remember them." Their leader carefully gestured to the villain. "I can't let that happen."
Red didn't want to hear that—the blade twitched against the villain's neck. They whimpered in fright. The shadows twitched closer. "You hit the back of her head."
"Yes, I know how to give someone amnesia."
"I can heal the wound, but the brain damage will remain. She won't remember anything, and, and—" Pink twitched again, some horrible noise escaping her throat. Red's glove squeaked with the effort it took to not simply drive the blade into the villain's neck. "I'll give you your goddamn mascot if you take back the shadows, just let me save her."
The leader looked at the villain, no doubt taking in their dripping wet hair, the slowly forming bruises on their cheeks, the steady way the tiny cut on their neck bled.
The shadows retreated. Red shoved them forward and dove to Pink, quickly removing his gloves and hovering a shaking hand over her wound. He whispered soft, soothing things to her and caressed her bloodstained hair as his hand took on a healing, golden glow.
The villain stumbled into their leader's arms, completely wetting the front of their shirt, but the leader didn't seem to mind. Her arms wrapped firmly around them, protective, and pressed them closer. The villain gladly melted into their embrace, taking in trembling gasps.
Their leader bowed her head to whisper into their ear, "You betrayed us."
The villain bodily flinched. They looked up at their leader, but her expression was blank, unreadable. "What?"
One hand left to fish something out of their pockets, the other arm remained to keep the villain pressed close like a cord. Their leader pulled out a gun and the villain froze, paling, but she merely struck the butt of it against Red's head. It was too harsh; his whole body moved with the hit, and he was thrown to the side. His fingers were still stained with Pink's blood. "You broke, didn't you? You must've told them bits and pieces of information, to keep the pain at bay."
"I—I didn't..." The villain didn't what? They knew they should be defending themselves. But their throat was merely closing up. "Ma’am," they restarted. "She put a knife to my neck."
Their leader cocked their head to the side, as though they were trying to spot a lie. The villain stepped back and looked down at their feet, pressing a finger to their bleeding neck.
Stationed outside of what turned out to be an old, run-down building was their leader's right-hand. They took one look at the villain's limp and clucked, giving them their arm to hold on to.
It was still a couple hours from sunrise. The villain glared at the ink-blue sky stretching out into the horizon and let the right-hand inspect all the bruises and cuts they could see.
Their leader left to pull out the sleek black car they'd be travelling in.
So their henchmen hadn't come because they cared. They'd just come to protect themselves. Technically, the villain couldn't blame them—they'd been desperate enough to consider spilling all the information they knew to save their own skin.
But still. But still. They'd been drowned.
The villain stared out at all the buildings and streets they passed and tried to get any depressing thoughts out. They'd get out of this. They'd clear their name. And their leader would trust them less, but at least they'd still have a home.
The ache in their knee grew worse with time. To their chagrin, the right-hand carried them into the lair like a bride, and the mascot (they didn't need to pretend anymore) stubbornly stared at their hurt knee, chest still squeezing, heart still pounding. 
The right-hand wanted to take them to the med bay; their leader told him to look after the mascot in her quarters. As the right-hand moved aside paperwork, bottles of ink, and stacks of files and folders from their leader's desk, she went fishing for a medkit in her ensuite.
Right-hand caught their chin, tilting their face up to the light. They brushed a thumb against the corner of the mascot's frowning lip, ignoring their worry. "They punched you?"
"My tooth's gone."
The right-hand perched them over the expensive wood, their hands steady and oddly comforting. Gone as soon as they were done. "And what happened to your knee?"
"I don't know. One of them squeezed it or something."
"I see." The right-hand brushed their fingers over the front of their damp shirt, frowned, and went to look for drier clothing.
Their leader came back and placed the medkit down on their desk with too much force. The mascot flinched. Their right-hand glanced at them from where they fished for new clothes.
Her expression said: explain. The mascot swallowed.
"I didn't tell them anything," they said.
Their leader tilted their head to the side, and it made the mascot's chest squeeze. She leaned into their space and the mascot clenched their fists. "I'm being very gentle because I know you don't like pain, and I know that that would've made you betray us back in that old warehouse. That red hero knew you were a mascot. What else did you tell them?"
"I didn't—I wouldn't—"
"You would."
The mascot shoved them. The right-hand glanced at the two, alarmed. "If you were as helpless as me, you would crack too!"
Their leader, to the mascot's frustration, showed no reaction to that shove. They went down on their feet despite their hurt knee, putting more distance between the pair. Their hands shook. Some papers flew off of the desk, and the mascot didn't care that they stepped on them.
"I know I would have." Their leader took on a faux-soothing voice. "That's why I'm asking you—what did you tell them?"
"Nothing!"
"You were ready to rat us out like no tomorrow. That's not nothing."
"What?" the right-hand asked from near the wardrobe. 
"Shut up!” yelled the mascot, feeling slightly hysterical. This wasn’t going well. This wasn’t going well at all. “I had a knife to my neck!" They pointed to their cut. They could feel their throat closing, their voice growing croaky. "I was drowning, and they were hitting me, and—" To their embarrassment, wetness was coming to their eyes. They felt terrible. Of course their leader wouldn't trust them; the mascot didn't trust her either. But they felt hurt regardless.
They thought they were worth saving. Weren't they?
"Oh." The leader sounded disappointed. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Don't cry like that."
The mascot threw a bottle of ink at them. It shattered against their chest, staining it black.
Their right-hand was frozen. The mascot swayed on unstable feet, head pounding. Their leader looked at the mess on their chest in mild shock, eyes imperceptibly wider than before. That didn’t make the mascot feel better.
A tear, traitorously, escaped and ran down their cheek. The mascot covered their red face. They could hear their heartbeat. It drowned out every other noise there could be.
"I was afraid you wouldn't come," they confessed. A soft hiccup escaped their throat, and their body felt tight in their discomfort. "It's not like I shattered. I was afraid the moment they caught me. I was afraid I was going to be replaced up until the moment I saw you. But I didn't say a single thing, not until they cut me, because they were cruel—I didn't want to lose my fingers and teeth to people who would never come to save me."
For a very, very long moment, nobody said a goddamn thing. The mascot wished to disappear. Someone touched their shoulder and they swatted that hand off. "Don't touch me."
The moments ticked on. The mascot stared at the floor in a quiet, tired sort of anger. The kind that a toddler experiences after throwing a tantrum that gets them nothing but a tired body and a tear-soaked face.
They should’ve never been saved.
“I’m sorry,” came the leader’s quiet voice. The mascot glanced up and saw that she was not looking at them. “I have misjudged you. I shouldn’t have.”
It would be the mature decision to accept that apology, but the mascot didn’t want to do that. So they stared at their feet and said, bitterly, “When have you not?”
Their leader’s hand was stained with ink, as dark as their shadows, and they rubbed the pads of their fingers together. “You can retire to your quarters now. I’ll send my right hand to check on you soon.”
The mascot was thankful for that; they stepped out of the room and burst into tears immediately.
— 
The right-hand’s fingers rested on the mascot’s hip as they applied a salve to their hurt knee.
“I’m sorry,” came their quiet apology.
“What are you apologising for?”
They didn’t meet the mascot’s eye. The right-hand gazed at their thumb, which traced circles on the villain’s slowly numbing knee. “It wasn’t a unanimous decision to save you, I admit. There was a fight. But the leader and I wanted you back. We were all divided. But she insisted.”
The mascot laughed wryly. “‘Cause I’d leak information?”
“That’s not what was on the forefront of her mind.”
“Then what was?”
The right hand looked up at them, and they really did seem regretful. They cupped the mascot’s jaw. “I knew you were missing a tooth the moment I saw you. We found it, you know, in a back alley near your apartment. She flipped before we could even confirm it was yours.”
“You…confirmed it was mine?”
The right-hand turned a bizarre shade of pink. “When you first joined us, you gave up your medical records. And that includes your dental records, so…”
“...Oh.”
— 
Crickets chirped past their bedroom window. The mascot stared into the darkness of their room, sleep slow to catch up to them. The salve’s effects were wearing off, the pain coming back in growing aches. Faint rays of five a.m. sunlight trickled into their room through gaps in their curtains, glowing prussian blue.
When their eyelids began to grow heavy, the shadows in their room curled towards them, hesitant to touch, keen on encompassing.
“You came,” the mascot mumbled tiredly. The shadows came nearer. “Because you thought I was hurt?”
I was afraid for your safety, said the shadows. But I didn’t make that clear, and I let my paranoia get ahead of my better judgment. For that, I am sorry.
“But you still came,” they repeated, “To save me.”
As soft as morning mist, the shadows slithered around before their lips. I did, it agreed. Of course I did.
The mascot drifted off to sleep, safe and snug.
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kaiwewi · 3 months
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Once Upon a Christmas Mission
Secret Santa gift for @chaoticgoodthief Prompt: "Two people with opposite personalities falling in love and balancing each other out." Merry Christmas!! 🎅🎁
Synopsis: Supervillain gives her second in command a new mission. The job, (un)fortunately, comes with a new teammate.
“What do you make of this one?”
“The newbie?”
Frowning, they scanned the newspaper clippings Supervillain had spread out on the desk between them. The lack of enthusiasm on the journalists’ part was plain to see in the five unremarkable blocks of text with unimaginative titles. A small, slightly blurred image next to a short article on a mall robbery a month ago showed the grinning rookie villain dodging out of the way of some local hero’s attack. He held a fistful of jewellery in one hand and a hot dog in the other.
With an attitude like his, one could only wonder how the guy hadn’t been caught or killed yet.
They shrugged. “Amateur. Opportunist. Reckless. Flippant. More luck than brains.”
Supervillain hummed. She wore her impervious poker face. Everything about her posture and tone indicated disinterest. To so unnatural a degree, in fact, that it was fairly obvious she did have an agenda.
They internally groaned. This wasn’t going to end well, was it.
“Why are you asking?”
The corner of her lips twitched with something that might have been amusement at the audible unease in their question.
“No more than simple curiosity,” she said, clearly deflecting. “The other day, he approached me. Asked if we were hiring. Said he’d be eager to join us.”
Of course he would be. Any new villain in the area would grovel for a chance to work even a single job for Supervillain. Instant infamy by mere association. But the newbie’s audacity, bypassing the official procedures and approaching Supervillain directly…
“Ah, great. Reckless, flippant, and presumptuous.”
“So, you do not believe him promising?”
“Promising?” They made no effort to hide their scoff. “All I see is a liability.”
“Or a great asset, under the right person’s supervision.”
“You must be joking.”
That phantom of a smile on her face grew teeth. She was most definitely not joking.
“Surely you could utilise a versatile new piece on the board to its full potential, brilliant strategist that you are.”
“You know I don’t work well with unpredictable people.”
“You work fine with me, don’t you?”
She made that sound like casual banter; it smelled an awful lot like a trap.
“I don’t know why this newbie intrigues you so,” they said, weighing their words carefully, “but, and please pardon my bluntness, I do not want rogue pieces fucking with my game.”
“I’m afraid I need you to give him a chance,” she said as she produced a thin folder from the upper-most drawer of her office cabinet and slid it across the desk, “because I already hired him for this job I’m putting you in charge of.”
“Unbelievable! You could have asked me first.”
She should have asked them first.
“You would have said no.”
Damn right, they would have.
She gestured at the folder. “Christmas Eve. Your target is the Downtown Museum’s special End of the Year Exhibition. Can I count on you?”
Always. And she bloody well knew it too.
They heaved a heavy sigh.
“Fine. One chance. But I swear, if he fucks up…”
***
In the end, as irony would have it, when their meticulously crafted plan did fall to pieces, it wasn’t the newbie who’d fucked up.
He, against their admittedly low expectations, had listened most attentively, had carried out his orders diligently, hadn’t so much as offered a single sign of a contrary disposition. He’d checked in every other minute to report his position, had followed the exact route he’d been assigned at the exact pace they’d agreed upon.
So, as they guided him and the rest of the team through the first stage of their plan – getting everyone inside the museum undetected – they’d had to begrudgingly admit to themself that the only thing that stood out about the newbie was his annoying enthusiasm for doing a fantastic job.
And then, just when they’d started to think that maybe this would be another flawless operation after all, one of their field operatives, Tempest, reported in.
“—s….hing’s wrong. Sec..ity guard in Sector E. Hav. ..en spotted. Abort—”
Her voice cut off. Replaced by nothing but eerily crackling white noise.
It didn’t make any sense. How was there a guard in Sector E? They’d done the maths. They’d checked everything, countless times. Security wasn’t supposed to be in Sector E for at least another 10 minutes.
Not that it made much of a difference now that their cover had been blown.
Abort operation…?
Really the only viable option at this point. But that was unprecedented. There’d been hiccups on other missions, sure, but they’d never had to call for a full hasty retreat before.
Supervillain would be so disappointed.
But they had to. By the looks of it, they’d lost one operative already. They had to get the rest of the team out. This was their responsibility. Their fault. They had to do something before—
“Reporting in,” the newbie’s voice rasped from the radio. “This is Ghost. Current position: Sector E, entrance to Stairwell 4. Assisted Tempest. She is unharmed. But the security guard escaped. And he is not one of the regular crew. I repeat, the security guard is not one of the regular crew.”
Different security. Why was there different security?
They sucked in a breath that hardly made it past their throat and did nothing to relieve them of the tightness in their chest. Then they picked up the radio, and faltered.
Which of the escape routes was least likely to be compromised? It had to be an exit point everyone was able to reach. And quick. That security guard must have raised the alarm by now.
Precious seconds ticked away.
“Exit Strategy B,” they croaked. “I repeat, Exit Strategy B. Abort operation.”
***
A mere 40 minutes after their first failed mission – hardly enough time to begin to come to terms with how badly they’d fucked up, let alone recompose themself – the newbie found them sulking at the little table in the corner of the HQ’s staff kitchen.
If he’d seen them hastily brush some wetness from the corners of their eyes as he entered the room, he didn’t let it show on his face. Instead, he wordlessly walked over and set a tray of cookies down next to their still untouched cup of black coffee.
They couldn’t bring themself to contemplate where he’d found those and they didn’t particularly feel like eating anything either. They took a cookie regardless.
“Great hiding spot,” the newbie said after a moment of tense silence. “Took me forever to find you.”
That’s because they hadn’t wanted to be found.
“What do you need?” they said, speaking more to their coffee than him.
“Nothing. But I’ve got something for you; thought it might be able to lift your spirits.”
Yeah, not bloody likely.
“No thank you.”
“Why not?”
Because they didn’t deserve cheering up.
“I messed it all up,” they said, and it felt like too much of an answer. Too raw. Too honest.
Their voice shook horribly. Pathetic.
“Nah, that was bad luck. Your plan was genius.”
“My plan failed.”
“You got everyone in and out.” He offered a loathsomely genuine reassuring smile. “That the museum spontaneously hired a different security team sucks. Not your fault though. No one could have seen that coming.”
They listlessly stirred their coffee with their cookie and laughed bitterly as it broke apart and disintegrated. Just like their plan. Nothing but lukewarm wet mush.
“I should have considered the possibility. I should have had another contingency plan. You don’t understand, do you? Knowing things, anticipating events, is my job. What good am I to my team when I can’t ever acquire crucial information? I almost got Tempest arrested.”
“But she wasn’t arrested.”
“No thanks to me.”
“You weren’t there,” he said, and somehow made it sound soothing rather than accusatory.
A beat of silence in which they forced another shallow breath into their lungs.
They wanted to scream. But they had to keep their frustration in check, be professional. The newbie didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. None of this was his fault. He’d done great. Without him there…
“Thank you,” they said on the exhale.
“We are a team, you know. You do the research, prepare the operation, brief us. You find us a safe way in and out.” As he spoke, the newbie scooped up a ridiculous number of cookies from the tray. “You’re not a field operative like Tempest and me. Reacting to unexpected events and new information in the field is our job,” he said kindly, then unceremoniously dumped the entire handful of cookies into his mouth.
Like this was coffee and cake at grandma’s and not him obligingly turning a blind eye to the fact his team leader was about to have a most unprofessional breakdown in front of him.
Gosh, it was so very hard not to judge him for his table manners. It was so ridiculous it almost startled a laugh out of them despite everything.
“For what it’s worth—” they tried for a small apologetic smile “—you did do a splendid job out there. I’ll make sure to inform Supervillain about that. I know how eager you were to work with her. I cannot imagine she’ll be best pleased when we turn up empty-handed … but I’ll do what I can to ensure this mess doesn’t reflect badly on you.”
Hazel eyes watched them closely while the newbie chewed and swallowed audibly. He licked the residue powdered sugar off his lips, off the tips of his fingers. The slight creases lining the outer edges of his lower eyelids bestowed a slightly impish quality to his gaze.
The only prominent lines on their own face were those born of frowns and brooding.
His was the face of someone accustomed to grins, smirks, and laughter.
He wasn’t grinning now, of course, but …
They’d expected him to be upset. Disappointed. Anxious, perhaps, that he might have lost his one chance to impress Supervillain. But, if anything, he appeared clad in an air of nervous excitement.
“Soooo,” he drawled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Speaking of Supervillain … I was wondering. Why didn’t you tell us what we were to steal for her? Why weren’t we supposed to know until we reached Gallery 5?”
“No particular reason,” they said, careful to temper the displeasure creeping into their tone. “It was information you didn’t require prior to reaching the target location.”
The newbie pulled a face and visibly bit back what would have undoubtedly been a snide comment. Instead, he asked, “yeah okay, but what was it?”
“Hardly matters now, does it.”
“Actually, I really think it does.”
They scrubbed a hand down their face, sighed. “How so?”
“Say, what if—” he stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and lifted his shoulders in a shrug “—I had, hypothetically speaking, ignored your final order, made a breezy lil detour, and used Exit Strategy A instead of B?
“And what if,” he continued, “I had, hypothetically speaking, grabbed a couple souvenirs along the way?” He gave them a sheepish look as he pulled his hands back out of his pocket, producing two messy piles of tangled jewellery and trinkets that he placed on the table between them. “Because, confession time: I did.”
And there it was, amidst all the precious metals and all the valuable stones, their target – the ancient, allegedly cursed, Amulet of the Mothers’ Sorrow.
All they managed was a choked, breathless laugh. Their head swam with so many questions and yet they couldn’t seem to locate enough words to form a single sentence.
The newbie began answering the most pressing of them – HOW!? – without prompting.
“Well. When I pulled that guard off of Tempest, I noticed that shiny keycard hanging right there on his belt, and … I nicked it. Just couldn’t help myself. Grabbed his communicator too. Also wanted to knock the guy out, but he got away.” He made a small disgruntled noise, followed by a snort. “But then the idiot ran down Corridor 14. Like, I don’t think he was even familiar with the museum’s layout.
“Anyway, I figured I’d have at least 4 minutes before he’d find the next phone or reach another guard. And even if he found a panic button, security would still have to regroup first. And with access to the staff elevator … reaching Gallery 5 would take me, maybe, 2 minutes at best. And there I’d already be in the perfect position to use Exit Strategy A.
“Long story short: I know a worthwhile opportunity when I see it. Of course—” and here his voice gained an unmistakable edge “—I hadn’t been told what exactly I was supposed to steal. So I had no choice but to stuff whatever I thought were the most likely candidates into my pockets, hit or miss, and make a run for it.”
He made a vague gesture encompassing his loot.
“Did I get the right one?”
“I—” They cleared their throat and reached for the dark amulet – a filigreed pattern, seemingly liquid, a mercury river delta, against a background of polished onyx – on a necklace with a rich green cord woven through a silver chain, and untangled it from the other treasures. It was so pleasantly warm still from when he’d carried it in his pocket, on his person. His body heat seeping into the palm of their hands as they cradled the amulet to their chest.
They could have cried. Or kissed him.
“Yeah,” they said, barely above a whisper.
“Well then,” he offered, amiably, “lucky you. And maybe next time just tell the rest of us what it is we’re going after.” A grin tugged on their new favourite teammate’s lips. “Merry Christmas.”
The newbie took a bow, turned with an exaggerated flourish, and, humming a festive tune, strolled off towards the exit.
They stared after him, transfixed.
On the doorstep, with the door already opened, he stopped and looked back over his shoulder.
“By the way,” he said, “you got it wrong. Supervillain’s cool all right. But it isn’t her I’m eager to work with.”
~~~
Epilogue: New Christmas Traditions
“How’s the plan for this year’s Christmas operation coming along, darling?”
Their partner came up behind them, slung his arms over the back of their office chair and around their shoulders, and let his upper body go slack. As he nuzzled against the crook of their neck, he leaned on them like a particularly heavy but not at all uncomfortable scarf.
“Almost done.” They scanned the markings they’d made on the map covering half their desk. “I know how to get us inside. Currently working on how to get us out afterwards.”
“My criminal mastermind. Always gotta have at least 3 escape routes.” Their partner chuckled, somewhere between fond and mischievous, and started walking his fingers slowly down their chest.
“I prefer ‘exit strategies,’” they said, and caught him by the wrists before he got the chance to fully launch his tickle attack. “The word ‘escape’ implies opposition or pursuit. Ideally – assuming a certain someone’s antics don’t negatively affect the quality of my work – we’ll encounter neither.” Nevertheless, they turned their full attention to him now. “But should something ever not go according to plan,” they murmured into his hair, “I know I can always rely on my partner’s quick wit and nerves of steel.”
He pressed a kiss below their ear. “Damn right. Those heroes will never catch us.”
“Partners in crime.”
“Partners in crime.”
They shared a hearty laugh and a few seconds of tranquillity.
Then they gestured towards a booklet half-hidden beneath a stack of documents. The catalogue of the current target’s exhibits. “Have you had a chance to compile your wish list yet?”
“Nah,” their partner said, “I think I’d like it to be a surprise. I’ll know which ones I want when I see them. You?”
“I have picked a few favourites.”
“Perfect,” he purred. “You can tell me all about them over dinner. I made lasagna.”
“Perfect,” they echoed.
And that he was indeed: absolutely perfect.
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kaiwewi · 1 year
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Sharing is Caring #5
[Masterlist: Sharing is Caring] [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]
Synopsis: the villain seems to be seeking a diplomatic solution, but Hero already has other plans.
Two weeks.
Two entire weeks! Lost. Stolen.
But hey, fantastic news! Their pretentious health-freak demon had turned out to be just some apparently telepathic scientist villain. Hm, yes, great. Completely reassuring. No problem in sight anymore. Perfectly peachy. Didn’t they just feel so much better already?
Yeah … nope.
If anything, Hero was even more angry. Livid. Fuming.
The stupidly neat pile of notes on the desk did not pacify them in the least. Neither did the seminar certificate. That the villain had gotten the highest possible grade somehow seemed yet another insult, further mockery. Like the villain was trying to prove themself a superior version of Hero. Like they thought they were so perfect and benevolent, doing Hero such a grand favour, and now Hero owed them compliance or something.
No way.
Negotiations? Cooperation? Yeah right. Absolutely not.
As if they would ever surrender to some lowly, lying body thief. How dare the villain use that patronising tone with them, as if Hero was just an unruly child throwing a silly tantrum? How dare the villain pretend this messed up situation was normal and everything was fine and the two of them could just coexist?
The bastard had made it sound like they were planning on making a permanent home of Hero’s body. As if Hero would ever tolerate the villain’s presence. As if they would stand by and do nothing while the villain robbed them of half of their time – half of their life.
Or rather, their whole life, considering they couldn’t hope to have any normalcy at all when they could never trust in tomorrow. They wouldn’t be able to make plans, or sustain friendships, or hold a job. If they didn’t get rid of the villain, Hero would only ever be able to live spontaneously, one day at a time.
And that wouldn’t do. Besides, this was their body and theirs alone!
The villain might have won a battle, stealing a staggering two weeks at once, but Hero was not going to lose the war. Their righteous revenge would not be long in coming.
But they had to be smart about it. Their first theory, about switches occurring once the one in control had slept thrice, was officially obsolete. The pattern they’d thought they’d found in the data must have been a coincidence; even if it had worked out for them last time. However, it was ludicrous to assume that someone like the villain might have only slept three times during the last two weeks.
Back to square one. Unfortunately, they’d have to consider the inconvenient idea that the switches could be entirely erratic.
So, poisoning themself was also off the table now – the villain was right, it wasn’t feasible in the long run, and the unpredictability of the right timing made physical discomfort too much of a gamble to be an effective weapon – but they still had a plethora of alternatives up their sleeve.
“Demon or not,” they said, though they were pretty sure the villain couldn’t actually hear them, “compared to what I’m about to put you through, hell will look like a sweet vacation spot.”
An hour later, they finished installing the last mini speaker below their desk drawer’s newly constructed false bottom and hooked it up to the rest of the secret audio system they’d hidden all over the room. – Five mini speakers, each with their own specially programmed time switch controls, connected to tiny audio players full of short, creepy sound clips. A power bank on each of them would ensure they weren’t going to run out of energy even if Hero should be unconscious for longer than a few days again. The entire setup could run uninterrupted for at least ten days. As long as it stayed undetected, that is.
Of course it would have been funnier to simply blast wretched music or unbearable noise, but then the speakers could easily be located. Therein lay the real genius of short clips played at a low, almost subtle, volume and at random intervals: it would be near impossible to determine where exactly the noise had come from before the speaker fell silent again.
The villain would never find anything without tearing the entire place apart; and, the first few times, the sounds might even seem mere figments of the imagination.
What a recipe for paranoia and anxiety.
They were already rather proud of this one, but they weren’t quite done yet …
With a sadistic smirk, they fetched their bottle of bitterant. Colourless and odourless and, as the name implied, disgustingly bitter. The stuff was meant to be used as nail polish to discourage nail biting, but Hero had decided to put it to even better use. They whistled an upbeat tune as they went over the contents of the fridge and applied the bitter liquid to all the villain’s vegetables and healthy snacks. Served that bitch right for throwing all the fast food away, again.
The lighting was next up on the agenda. Nothing flashy here. Just some occasional, quick flickering to add to the overall uncomfortable atmosphere. A few seconds at best at a time – never long enough to immediately warrant closer inspection.
Then came the TV. With just the right gadgets and a few tweaks it would develop a mind of its own and turn on by itself in the middle of the night with the volume turned all the way up. Given the villain’s proper sleeping routine, they were in for a bunch of rather unpleasant awakenings.
Snickering, Hero connected one last master time switch control to the system as a whole and set it to activate at a few minutes past noon tomorrow. If they were still around by then, they’d simply postpone the activation by 24 hours. And should the villain be the one to wake up tomorrow … well.
Time for some good, old-fashioned psychological terror.
———
To be continued...
For my other stories, visit my [MASTERLIST] ♥
taglist: @annablogsposts
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kaiwewi · 1 year
Text
Sharing is Caring #4
[Masterlist: Sharing is Caring] [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]
Synopsis: the alleged demon's real identity is finally revealed.
Monday, January 23rd 
Dear Hero
Let me begin by informing you that I do not appreciate your juvenile, self-destructive behaviour. As much as you may hate my presence (and perhaps understandably so) we are both inhabiting this body. Thus, I'd suggest you refrain from poisoning us and try not to deliberately cause further harm to our shared well-being.
I’d hate for our conflict to escalate, so I choose to put my anger aside and to not retaliate, for now.
However, should you continue to vent your frustration on me, I will see myself forced to return the favour. Make no mistake, you are not the only one capable of petty cruelties and infantile jibes.
Still, I’d like us to cooperate instead of sabotaging one another. So please, let us both behave like responsible adults. Let there be peace and constructive communication. Let us not waste our resources on waging a senseless war. A battlefield bears no fruit. Whether we like each other or not, I’d rather we both thrive than perish. Thank you.
Now, before you make any additional odd assumptions about me, I’d like to set a few things straight: 1. I am not a demon! (Though I can’t fault your logic; I would probably have arrived at a similar conclusion were the roles reversed.) 2. You seem to be under the misconception that I chose to ‘possess’ you. This is not the case. My being here is neither a personal attack nor an attempt to take over your life. I promise, I’m not your enemy!
Regards,
Villain
(Perhaps you remember me. The scientist from that warehouse by the docks. December 18th. You broke into, and ultimately blew up, my laboratory. But it hardly matters; I’d rather we’d discuss the future and let bygones be bygones.)
PS: I’d like to negotiate our diet again. I’m willing to prepare food in advance for both of us. If you advise me on your likes and dislikes, I can take those into account. Please at least consider this proposal!
PPS: Yes. I paid for those groceries and I will continue to do so. (You won’t have to concern yourself with housekeeping money. I still have access to my private bank accounts.)
PPPS: Does our body have allergies, illnesses, or any special needs that I should know about?
...
Addendum. Saturday, January 28th:
I am surprised to find that I am still here. It has been a week now, which is by far the longest I’ve ever been in control of our body. It makes me wonder why and how the switching occurs.
Last time, you seemed to have had a hunch, otherwise you wouldn’t have been drinking to that extent. (At least I assume, and hope, that to be the case.) Have you perhaps found a pattern to our predicament already? Or were you merely gambling?
...
Addendum. Monday, January 30th:
Do not worry: I am keeping track of the lecture plan. I’m aware we have a seminar this week and will, of course, provide you with transcripts and notes. I’ll leave them on the desk for you. (Please make sure to review and memorise the material as soon as possible; the oral examination is scheduled for Friday afternoon.)
...
Addendum. Saturday, February 4th:
Yesterday, I completed the seminar, including the corresponding examination. I have just received the certificate. I will add it to the transcripts. You’re welcome.
(By the way, last week, I consulted a doctor about our lactose intolerance. Turns out I was correct. So should you find yourself craving dairy produce regardless, I’d suggest you make use of the lactase pills I bought. You’ll find them in the kitchen cupboard.)
[Part 5]
———
For my other stories, visit my [MASTERLIST] ♥
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kaiwewi · 1 year
Text
Sharing is Caring #3
[Masterlist: Sharing is Caring] [Part 1] [Part 2]
Synopsis: Hero may be possessed, but they won't go down without a fight. It's time to teach that demon a lesson.
tw: alcohol
Hero had not called an exorcist.
They hadn’t made it past Google. The sheer amount of people willing to perform the service had seemed so much more suspicious than reassuring, and the descriptions on the websites they’d checked didn’t appear all that credible either. Besides, Hero didn’t even really believe in all this religious stuff – demon or no – and exorcisms never ended well in movies.
They had to at least try to handle this themself before they did something regrettable.
The thought of another walking around in their body, messing with their civilian life, was horrifying. But at least a search through the local news had revealed nothing indicating the demon had made any appearances as their hero persona.
So the situation wasn’t completely out of control, yet.
They forced themself to take a few deep breaths, sat down at their desk, and grabbed their calendar to look for patterns in the confusing mess that was their unhealthy lifestyle:
When had they gone to bed on which day? When had they woken up? Which days had the demon stolen?
The first time it happened, they’d just spent a sleepless night reading, before they’d crawled into bed sometime around noon. That had been Wednesday, December 28th. They’d woken up again on Saturday – that being New Year’s Eve – and had somehow convinced themself they hadn’t just skipped Thursday and Friday, that they must have mixed up the dates, and that their inconsistent sleep cycle and poor time management skills were to blame for the confusion.
It seemed ludicrous now. They’d clearly been in denial.
The first week of January had been chaotic. They’d pulled several all-nighters. They’d felt amazing, more awake and energetic than they had in months, and had refused to waste those days and nights on sleeping. – Fuelled by sugar, caffeine, and a bunch of Ritalin pills, they’d made it through Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday (partying with their friends, gaming, reading two novels, and binge-watching shows on Netflix) before they’d finally crashed and slept the whole Wednesday away. They’d woken up in the early morning hours on Thursday, pulled another all-nighter (this one involuntary), then powered through Friday and only went to bed again in the evening in an attempt to readjust their biorhythm to normal hours. Same on Saturday.
Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday had been lost to the demon. Three days.
They’d woken up on Wednesday, feeling fantastic once more and had actually managed to stick to a healthy routine during the subsequent days.
The demon had stolen Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. Another three days.
It may be hasty to construe a hypothesis from that little data, but they had to start somewhere.
On Wednesday evening, they came up with a theory worth testing. They ignored the food in the fridge and ordered a pizza.
On Thursday, they had an idea on how to get back at the demon.
On Friday, they got up early, motivated to put their plan into motion, and ventured into town to buy everything they’d need to ruin the demon’s days.
Back at home, they set the alarm for Sunday to 6 am and turned the volume up as far as it would go, then placed their phone on the bedside table. Right next to the reply letter they’d prepared.
Then they spent the night and half of Saturday gaming and stuffing their face with candy and fast food.
In the early evening, they began drinking. Cocktails. Long drinks. A few bottles of beer, though they disliked the taste. Shots. Then another cocktail, this one with a large serving of cream (just to spite the demon who might actually have a point when it came to dairy produce).
By midnight, they were dead tired and properly wasted, with the onset of what would surely become a nasty stomach ache later. But if their theory was correct, they weren’t the one who’d have to deal with the aftermath.
They forced the last remnants of a can of vodka lemon down their throat, then collapsed into bed without bothering to change into their pyjamas or brush their teeth.
Hah, would serve that damn demon right!
Hero giggled into their pillow. Within seconds, they were fast asleep.
And in a few hours, the demon would wake up to the world’s most obnoxious alarm tone, with the worst hangover it had ever experienced, to find a declaration of war on the bedside table.
~~~
Hey demon thing or whatever you are…
I don’t know what the fuck this is and what’s going on, but if you really exist and I’m not just fucking crazy with a serious case of split personality: how dare you possess me!! Get out of my body immediately and leave me the fuck alone!! I don’t want you here. This is not okay!
What do you even want from me? What’s your goal?
I can promise you that much: you won’t get away with this! I swear, if you do anything evil or messed-up with MY body I’ll find out about it!!
Also, keep your filthy paws off my property! I don’t give a shit about your health guru bs. This is my body and my food and I can eat what I want. I’m not touching the stuff you got for “us”. (Stop saying that! There is no us!!!) And how exactly did you pay for all of that? Did you even pay for it? Because you didn’t take the money from my wallet. And that’s some expensive shit you’ve bought (??) there…
PS: Hands off my diary!!!!!!! CREEP!
PPS: Did you have a pleasant awakening? No? You’re most welcome! Consider that a foretaste of what’s to come. If you don’t leave my body asap, I’ll make your life hell!!
PPPS: Fuck you. I hope you puked.
[Part 4]
———
For my other stories, visit my [MASTERLIST] ♥
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kaiwewi · 1 year
Text
👥 Sharing is Caring📒
Series synopsis: Hero is missing a few days here, a few days there. Memory gaps would be upsetting enough, but then they learn that during their blackouts someone else is taking control of their body.
***
[Part 1] Synopsis: Hero is missing time. But today’s date isn’t the only thing that seems a little off.
[Part 2] Synopsis: a few days after the last incident, Hero is missing time again. And someone has left them a message.
[Part 3] tw: alcohol Synopsis: Hero may be possessed, but they won't go down without a fight. It's time to teach that demon a lesson.
[Part 4] Synopsis: the alleged demon’s real identity is finally revealed.
[Part 5] Synopsis: the villain seems to be seeking a diplomatic solution, but Hero already has other plans.
***
For my other stories, visit my [MASTERLIST] ♥
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kaiwewi · 1 year
Text
Sharing is Caring #2
[Masterlist: Sharing is Caring] [Part 1]
Synopsis: a few days after the last incident, Hero is missing time again. And someone has left them a message.
Hero was ripped from their slumber by the obnoxious beeping of their smartphone’s alarm clock.
Disoriented, they snatched the phone from the bedside table and fumbled for the mute button.
Why the hell was the alarm going off in the first place? They didn’t have any lectures for another two weeks. No appointments. No reasons whatsoever to cut their resting time short. There was no way they’d set this alarm. The damn thing had to be broken.
A terrible sense of déjà vu settled like something heavy on their chest.
No. No, no, no. Please, not again.
They squinted at the screen: 8 am. Tuesday, January 17th.
Fuck.
Another three days lost. An entire weekend plus Monday, gone.
They couldn’t breathe. They scrambled out of bed, started pacing, wrenched open the window. It didn’t help. Nothing would help. The world was spinning, blurring. Faster. Nauseating.
Oh god. What was going on? What was happening to them?
They really had to call someone. They had to make sure—
A soft breeze blew in through the open window and stirred a few stray sheets of paper sitting in the middle of their desk. Hero just so managed to slam their hand down on top of them before the wind could fully lift the sheets off the wooden surface.
The looked down to inspect the writing on the uppermost paper. The words peeking out from between their fingers were written in an elegant yet unfamiliar hand.
It appeared to be a letter. A letter addressed to them.
~~~
Saturday, January 14th
Dear Hero
How very astute of you to finally notice you’re missing time. And it took you only five skipped days to figure it out; I am truly impressed. (Yes, that is sarcasm, in case you cannot tell. Imagine me rolling my eyes. Well, our eyes.)
Said missing time? – Do not fret: I spent it for us. Productively, I might add.
The first time I took possession of this body, I got to spent two quiet days familiarising myself with our physical condition and our immediate environment. (I strongly suggest a change in diet. I suspect we might be lactose-intolerant.)
The second time my consciousness surfaced, I had another three days that I invested primarily into studying you and your life.
In other words: I read your diary. I’m sure you’ll recognise the necessity of such a transgression, given our current circumstances. (Though, I do confess to a certain delight in skimming through the journal, reading about your insignificant worries and secrets. Quite delightful, the idea that the great hero at the core is no higher or lesser a person than the next university student…)
As for your most recent entries… although it might have brought me great satisfaction to further observe your bewilderment over those ‘blackouts’ and ‘memory gaps’, I think it prudent to introduce myself before you ‘freak out’ and get the two of us locked up in a mental institution. (I’d rather we wouldn’t be put into a straitjacket, thank you very much!)
Don’t worry, you are not ‘bonkers’ or ‘totally going nuts’.
I can assure you: I am quite real.
Best regards, Your Brain-Cell-Mate <3
PS: Your penmanship leaves room for improvement.
PPS: I threw out your fast food and went grocery shopping. Once you take over our body again, please do make use of the healthier alternatives I’ve stocked up on.
~~~
Hero read the letter four times in total silence.
Then they went into the kitchen and opened the fridge to assess the damage. – The rest of last week's cake was gone. So were the leftover pizza and the convenience store lasagna. In their place, Hero found a bowl of potato salad, a bunch of carrots, smoked salmon, a glass of pickles, a few smoothies, whole-grain bread, and two packs of feta cheese. Even their favourite yogurt had been replaced with quark.
Well, screw therapists; they should call an exorcist.
They were possessed. By a pretentious health-freak demon.
Hysterical laughter bubbled up in their throat.
This was the worst moment ever to not have chocolate around.
[Part 3]
———
For my other stories, visit my [MASTERLIST] ♥
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kaiwewi · 1 year
Text
Sharing is Caring
[Masterlist: Sharing is Caring]
Synopsis: Hero is missing time. But today's date isn't the only thing that seems a little off.
Hero stared at the date on their calendar app and ...
January 11th.
No. That couldn’t be right.
Frowning, they closed the app and checked the Internet instead, for surely their phone must be broken. There was absolutely no way this could be correct. Last week, when they’d completely lost track of time and thought they were ‘missing’ 2 days, had been one thing … but getting the dates mixed up a second time so soon after?
Sure, uni could be exhausting and during project weeks and over the holidays when there were no regular schedules one might even become engrossed enough as to forget which weekday it was. Their all-nighters and messed up sleeping schedule could easily blur the lines between days. And in their final year, they were no stranger to working unhealthy hours. But even they weren’t this bad at time management.
They went on Google and typed ‘today’s date’ into the search bar.
Wednesday, January 11th glared up at them from the phone screen.
It just didn’t add up. How could it be January 11th when yesterday had been the 7th? How could it be Wednesday when yesterday had been Saturday?
Yesterday had definitely been a Saturday.
What the hell had happened to Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday?
There was no way they could have slept through 3 entire days and not felt like crap upon waking.
Somehow, they’d lost 3 days.
Or rather, 5 days, if they counted the other 2 days from last week which they could have sworn they’d somehow skipped until they’d dismissed the incident – because, well, they’d just been so overworked and tired out. Confused mix-ups and silly little miscalculations in their schedule had seemed so much more straightforward an explanation than time skips or memory gaps.
Now, nothing made any sense anymore.
They reached for their diary among the many books on their shelf, and it shouldn't be sitting between Good Omens and Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl, because that was not where they’d put it!
Actually… nothing was quite where and how it should be. Yes, the differences were subtle and on any other day they might not have noticed them at all – but they were there.
In fact, now that they were searching, they found tiny incongruities scattered about their entire one-room apartment: an absence of dust on the spines of their books; a neater alignment of the folds of their curtain; the placement of their pencil case now more towards the middle of their desk rather than the right corner; the emptied waste bin; the milk in their fridge being a different brand; the sink being devoid of the unwashed dishes they’d lazily left there yesterday ….
Or, not yesterday, apparently.
Not even their own body had been spared the tiny inconspicuous changes: a look in the bathroom mirror revealed that their hair, though tousled from sleep, seemed to have been washed very recently – it certainly hadn’t gone unwashed since Thursday. The face staring back at them was missing the dark circles beneath its eyes which they’d grown so accustomed to lately. It almost seemed like, for the first time in weeks, they’d awoken well-rested, full of energy, and with no bodily discomfort whatsoever.
Under other circumstances, it would have been bliss. And yet … this was no reason to rejoice.
This was a nightmare.
Back at their desk, they picked up the journal again.
“Dear Diary,” they wrote in a shaking hand.
“I think I’m totally going nuts ….”
[Part 2]
———
For my other stories, visit my [MASTERLIST] ♥
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kaiwewi · 1 year
Text
How Not to Interrogate Your Enemy
tw: kidnapping, drugs Synopsis: kidnapping Hero was a huge mistake. All Villain has to show for it is regret and a bad headache.
“I should not have forced those drugs down your throat.”
Villain threw the box with the rest of the Ritalin pills carelessly aside once again. There wasn’t any information on it that might be of assistance to them anyway. They’d checked. Five times, as of yet.
Of course rereading it over and over hadn’t magically changed the words printed on the stupid patient information leaflet either, and yet it had at the very least provided Villain with an immediate distraction.
Mercifully, Hero had finally managed to shut up for longer than their lungs needed to fill with a single breath of air. And not a moment too soon, as Villain almost hadn’t been able to remember what silence sounded like anymore.
Frowning, they rubbed the bridge of their nose. “I’d really hoped it might loosen your tongue and you’d let something useful slip sooner or later.” They sighed deeply. “But instead, you’ve just been babbling about some kind of … philosophical bullshit for hours. Hours! And honestly, half of it makes no sense whatsoever, and the rest …”
Why didn’t Villain have henchmen who could take care of situations like this? All the other villains they knew had henchmen! And lairs with functioning prison cells. And proper truth serums.
Why had Villain been sitting here for more than 20 hours now, in a cramped motel room, all alone with their captured hero?
“Ugh, I don’t know,” they complained aloud.
Hero looked up then, no longer so intently focussed on the ropes tying their wrists and ankles to the chair they sat in. The knots seemed to be the only thing about Villain's stupid plan that actually worked as intended. The rest was a complete disaster.
When Hero opened their mouth, Villain lunged to their feet and grabbed their bottle of water from the table.
“You must be thirsty, right?” They hastily unscrewed the cap and pressed it to Hero’s lips. “Here, you should drink something!”
Just, please, keep your mouth shut!
Their captive gulped down the bottle's contents without hesitation.
In Villain's honest opinion – and given the circumstances – some reluctance to accept a drink offered by an enemy would definitely have been in order. Not that it mattered; this was only water after all. As if Villain would ever consider giving Hero any additional drugs with possibly even more annoying side effects.
They took a deep breath. Then another.
Thankfully, Hero couldn’t drink and talk at the same time, which granted Villain another moment of peace and quiet. When their captive had emptied the entire thing, Villain begrudgingly set the bottle aside.
Pacing the room, they racked their brain for something to say that might convince Hero to let them rest for just a tiny little bit. Having had no more than two or three hours of sleep during the last two days, Villain was so exhausted their mind seemed engulfed in fog so thick they could hardly locate the words to form coherent thoughts.
They needed a break.
“Listen, Hero.” Villain’s voice took on a pleading tone, but at this point they hardly cared about dignity anymore either. “I just want to lie down for a few hours, okay? Please? I know you’ve got all these fascinating thoughts floating around in your head, but—”
“Oh!” Hero gasped. Their face lit up with vigour. “Let me tell you something really fascinating!” they said, way too enthusiastically and much too loud.
Villain flinched.
If Hero had noticed, they didn’t care. Instead, they started a new, insanely fast-paced monologue that, as all the previous ones had, lacked any kind of a core topic or apparent objective.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake …” Villain’s groan was almost a sob.
How much longer was it going to take for the drugs to wear off?
This was torture.
———
For my other stories, visit my [MASTERLIST] ♥
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kaiwewi · 1 year
Text
Prompt #21
The villain stopped their frustrated pacing to round on the hero.
"Can't you say something already?"
The hero raised a lazy brow and remained silent.
"Aren't you worried at all? We won't both get out of this unscathed. The decision I'm about to make here will ruin either your life or mine. And how come this is such a difficult choice?" With a low groan, they rubbed both hands down their face. "I mean, no offence, but this should be a no-brainer. I should just ditch you. Why can't I just ditch you? What the hell is wrong with me!? This shouldn't be so hard."
"Why not both then?"
They blinked. "Huh?"
"Ruin both our lives," the hero offered, still so annoyingly calm and collected, encouraging smile at the ready. "That way you’ll neither have to face the guilt nor shoulder the consequences alone. We'll be in this together."
As if together wasn't what had gotten them into this mess in the first place. As if together wasn't the very reason for their new-found lack of self-preservation.
They took a deep breath and sighed. There was no right answer; they'd lose something no matter what they chose. Well then...
Time to make a choice worth regretting.
———
For my other prompts and stories, visit my [MASTERLIST] ♥
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kaiwewi · 1 year
Text
Satan's Spawn || Secret Santa Snippet
Being the absolutely amazing and GOD SENT of a person @creweemmaeec11 is, she hosted a secret santa in her writers discord. Please thank her for hosting this entire thing <3 This was written for @kaiwewi with the snippet "Villain is convinced Hero's endearing new teenage sidekick is actually a literal demon". I wasn't sure if this should be comedy or serious, but after a little bit of consultation, I thought why not make it something lighthearted? I'll definitely write an angstier version if asked by Kai :)
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Villain scowled at their phone, scrolling through the dozens of photos Hero had sent them. Despite any grueling attempts at analyzing the photos, Villain couldn't focus; not with the groups of Heroes and Villains conversing amongst themselves after a Holiday Dinner. The host himself- Hero- was nowhere to be found, though most likely he was in the next room over, talking with his superiors and their odd sidekick.
Speaking of, as Villain scrolled through their phone, they couldn't help but scowl. In almost each and every one of them, Sidekick was somehow involved. Which was fine- it was not like Villain absolutely loathed the sidekick. It was not like Villain often found something off about Sidekick, in the way they moved inhumanely during their fights, or how off-putting it felt to be in the same room as them. It would be as if the general area would have dropped down a couple of degrees.
Villain shivered at the thought. They always knew something was off with Sidekick. However, every time they tried to bring it up to Hero, they'd be dismissed. Instead, Hero would hug his taller partner, ruffle their hair affectionately and call them "his man" because who would be a better sidekick than a fucking demon?
Villain shivered once again, scrolling through another photo Hero sent. They licked their lips, looking over their screen and going as far as zooming in. Even in the terrible lighting, the criminal swore that they could see an odd pair of hands hovering over Hero's shoulder in a selfie with the hero and Sidekick. They zoomed back out again, staring at the photo itself. Although Hero was dressed in a more presentable fashion, being the host and all, Sidekick wore an ugly Christmas sweater with words that Villain couldn't really make out through the screen (it was sure to be some overused holiday quote). They were decorated with some colorful tinsels wrapped around like a scarf and a crown.
"If you like what you see, you can always ask for a selfie with me."
After being stuck in their own world for a while, the new voice scared the shit out of them. Villain jumped up from their seat, their phone flying up and behind them. They turned around to meet whoever had decided to chase their soul to the next realm.
Sidekick looked at Villain with the most shit-eating grin in existence, snickering at the other's reaction. "Jeez, I didn't think I'd scare you that bad," Sidekick finally spoke, as their laughter died down. Their expression seemed to be ready for ruining someone's Christmas Eve night.
"You don't just sneak up on people out of nowhere," Villain grumbled, crossing their arms over their chest once their heart had calmed down. Sidekick looked more decked out in front of them than in the selfie. The tinsels were replaced with a sparkly Santa hat, and they wore a stupidly cheap necklace with one too many sleigh bells jingling every five minutes. It hurt Villain's head.
"Eh, you don't need to be a Scrooge over it. It was all in good fun." The other simply shrugged nonchalantly, instead looking at the phone at hand. "Hero does not know how to take a selfie," they said, leaning over the back of the armchair. Villain flushed, seeing their own phone in Sidekick's hands.
"Hey, that's mine!" they hissed, leaning over to grab the phone. Much to their surprise, Sidekick leaned back out of their reach with a terrifying speed. Villain gasped, nearly tripping on the armchair and falling forwards as the other took a few steps backward. Sidekick snickered, keeping the phone out of Villain's reach as the criminal made their way around the chair. Despite Sidekick being younger by some 3 or so years, they were still taller than Villain.
"For a hero, you act like a fucking devil," Villain spoke with gritted teeth, gloweringup at them. Villain's finger flexed in the cold room, forming a fist.
Sidekick hummed in amusement, taking a few steps and looming over the criminal. Villain swallowed, leaning against the back of the couch as the sidekick basically hung over the villain. With Sidekick this close to their face, a wave of cold washed over them, as a menacing aura radiated from the sidekick. "Are you sure that I'm not one?" their voice dropped down an octave, and Villain swore they saw the other's sclera flicker into a darker red.
There was a beat of silence as Sidekick watched the villain marinate in the small moment of fear before finally pulling away. "It's almost midnight," Sidekick spoke as if they hadn't just physically intimidated, and dare Villain said, threatened them. "Merry Christmas, Villain. Happy New Year too, if I don't see you till then." They grinned again, giving a small playful salute before turning smoothly on their heels, and walking away.
Villain stared after the sidekick for a while, before snapping out of their trance. "Shit- Sidekick! My phone!" They hissed, preparing to stomp after the other. They stuffed their hands into their pockets, still cold from Sidekick's brief presence here, but paused midstep. 'What the fuck'. They took out their phone, checking twice only to glance back at the way Sidekick had disappeared from. Sidekick had to have been a demon, Villain was sure of that.
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Aaaa I absolutely love alliteration so coming up with the title was so easy and fun. I hope this was to your liking, Kai! Best wishes for the holidays and new years <3 I hope you all enjoyed this. Fingers crossed this means I'll be up and writing soon again! I hope all the writers involved enjoyed what they've written and have recieved. You guys all did amazing, no matter the part played. Im glad to have known such amazing writers.
XOXO(/p)
Snow
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kaiwewi · 1 year
Text
A Room for Two
Secret Santa gift for @save-the-villainous-cat 🎅💝 I hope this will do your prompt justice!! Bit longer than originally planned, because I got carried away xD
“Get some sleep,” the villain had said.
Like slumber wasn’t some near unattainable, elusive enigma on the best of nights. Like the hero wouldn’t find themself tossing and turning for hours, haunted, even when their sorrows and worries were unfounded.
If they already couldn’t sleep under normal circumstances, how were they supposed to find any rest when they, for once, actually had good reasons to be upset and anxious?
Reasons. Plural.
As if being abducted by Supervillain wasn’t nerve-wracking enough by itself. To add insult to injury, she’d dragged them right off their living room couch, hauled them halfway across the city while offering only the most cryptic of half-explanations for her actions, and then presented them to the villain as a ‘Christmas gift’.
This had to be the most humiliating and terrifying thing that had ever happened to the hero, and all their nemesis had to say to them was to 'get some sleep'.
What were they supposed to do? Let go of their fury and frustration and climb into bed with the villain, pretending the two of them were good friends having a fun sleepover and not enemies sharing a damn prison cell?
Yeah, fat chance.
Besides, the hero hated sleepovers. Sleepovers always ended in darkness and isolation, with the hero lying awake in the early morning hours, forced to listen to their friends’ even breathing ringing through their own sleepless silence like taunts.
But it hardly mattered. They didn’t plan on sticking around anyway.
They stomped through the half-lit room again and tried the door one more time for good measure. Still locked. Of course it was. They muttered a few curses. All right, the window then. Maybe they had missed something. Maybe they could—
“Hero, please.” The villain groaned, face half-buried in a heap of cushions. “Stop pacing round the room like a caged tiger. I’m trying to sleep.”
They were not pacing. Pacing implied aimlessness. They had a purpose. While the villain had plopped down on the stupidly soft-looking, king-sized bed, fluffed their pillows, and turned off their bedside lamp, the hero had been scanning the room, attempting to form an escape plan.
“I’m trying to find a way out,” they hissed. “Because, in case you haven’t noticed, we are trapped. This is a cage.”
“Actually, it’s a suite. Supervillain’s nicest guest-room even.”
“Right. A guest-room with a locked door and barred windows.” The hero scoffed. “What does that make you? Supervillain’s most esteemed guest?”
“It’s a temporary arrangement,” the villain said crossly. “If you must know, Supervillain and I had a disagreement about … work-related issues. I'm only here so I won't get in the way of her plans. Once she’s finalized her current project, she’ll let me go.”
The hero glared into the night beyond the open window and trailed their fingers along the gold-plated ornaments of the, sadly, perfectly solid metal bars. “You’re an idiot,” they said, “if you think a cosy bed, expensive wallpaper, and a fluffy carpet make this any less of a cage.”
“You forgot to mention the flat-screen TV and the gaming console.”
The hero turned their glower on the villain, who sighed.
“Fine,” their nemesis said. “Let it be a cage then. A gilded cage with excellent room service. Which is a million times better than the alternative. So, I’d very much appreciate it if you would kindly behave yourself, be patient, and not get us relocated to the dungeon. Thank you.” The villain rolled their eyes. “Come on. It’s late and I’m tired. If you aren’t going to sleep, can you at least lie down? Please.”
The villain really did sound tired. Despondent almost. It didn’t suit them. Not that the villain’s pitiful state changed anything.
“Don’t do that. Don’t pretend I’m the one being unreasonable. You don’t get to act like my presence here is such an inconvenience to you after you asked Supervillain to kidnap me.”
“You think I wanted her to—” To their credit, the villain seemed genuinely appalled at the notion. “I’d never—”
“Funny.” They spit the word like a threat and felt somewhat gratified when the villain subtly shuffled a bit closer to the headboard with every step the hero took towards the bed. “Because when I asked Supervillain why she’d taken me, she told me, and I quote, ‘Villain wants company’.”
Their nemesis cringed. They averted their gaze and wrapped the covers protectively around themself in a rare display of … remorse? Fear? Vulnerability?
Yep. Something was definitely off about the villain today.
Curious, the hero sat down on the empty side of the bed after all and leaned back against the pillows. Dammit, the stupid things were even cosier than they looked.
“I’m sorry,” the villain said softly. “When I said I didn’t want to be alone on Christmas, I thought Supervillain would send a henchman to play boardgames with me or – I don’t know – get me a cat? I never thought she’d go and kidnap my favourite frenemy.”
Why did the villain have to sound like they were about to cry?
Great. Now the hero was beginning to feel guilty too.
A bit reluctant, they reached across the empty space between the two of them and awkwardly put their hand on the villain’s shoulder.
Their nemesis sucked in a sharp breath, but otherwise made no protest.
“Villain,” the hero said after a moment of tense silence. “How long have you been here?”
“Five weeks,” the villain replied in too matter-of-fact a tone, “two days, and roughly” – there was a bit of shuffling as they turned to throw a glance at the alarm clock on their bedside table – “seven hours now.”
The hero didn’t know what to say to that. They pulled their hand back.
Neither of them spoke for a minute or two.
“So…” the hero said eventually. “I’m your favourite?”
The villain tsked, though not without humour. “Honestly? I would have preferred the cat.”
More silence.
The hero stared at the ceiling. They were beginning to think the villain might have fallen asleep already, when they felt a soft tug on the sleeve of their t-shirt.
“Hey, Hero?” the villain whispered. “Could you touch me again?”
“Excuse me?”
“Not- Not in a weird way! Just, maybe, a hug? … I really miss my friends and family,” the villain added, as if that was explanation enough. Perhaps it was.
The hero sighed, grumbled incoherently, then sighed again. It wasn’t like they’d get any sleep either way. “Okay,” they said. “But if you do anything funny, I’ll smack you.”
The villain chuckled. The mattress dipped as they scooted over and wrapped their arms around the hero with a tentativeness that, given the two of them were technically enemies, bordered on sacrilege.
“Thank you,” the villain murmured, dozing off right then and there. “I was so lonely.”
The hero couldn’t bring themself to push the villain away after that, even if it meant they’d likely remain in this position until the villain woke up again. They closed their eyes, resigned themself to another long night, and let their thoughts drift into reverie.
When the hero blinked their eyes open again, they were met with the disorienting sight of daylight, ruffled sheets, and their bed-headed nemesis still curled up in their arms.
Wow. They’d slept. – Kidnapped, locked up, and cuddling with their enemy, the hero had finally managed to have a good night's sleep. After weeks of restlessness and insomnia in the safety of their own bedroom. What irony…
They lifted their head to get a better look at the small smile on the villain’s sleeping face.
Maybe the hero would delay their escape attempts, stick around for a few nights. They could really use a vacation. And hadn’t the villain said something about excellent room service?
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