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silver-ink-iron-words · 1 year

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Hey there, my hiatus is over

I realize I promised to have this up a couple weeks ago, but hey at least I'm here now

Hope you all like it. And thank you so much for these messages, they really helped motivate me in the periods where I was struggling to write

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Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

A Bird in the Hand, Part 8

The civilian hobbled about the kitchen in full view of the windows, collecting cardamoms, cloves, tea leaves, ginger – before dumping them into the pot to brew. The sight was peaceful, soothing, domestic.

The assassin raised his gun and took aim.

“[Civilian]!” The villain burst into the room grinning from ear to ear. The assassin’s aim swerved, and he halted his momentum just before firing the gun.

“Welcome home, darling,” the civilian said, holding out a cup of tea for the villain.

The villain took the cup and placed it on the counter, instead taking the civilian into their arms. “God it’s been a day. The only thing that kept me going was the thought of seeing you.”

The assassin paused. The villain wasn’t supposed to be home yet. He’d lost his clean line of sight on the civilian.

The villain was too strong to kill – their shadows healed them at lightning speed. But targeting the civilian? What a perfect way to strike the Achilles Heel of the villain’s entire operation.

The assassin tilted his head, and watched the pair. The villain held the civilian securely, the two of them practically melting into each other. The civilian sang softly, and they both floated as a single unit in the gentle river of a melody.

The assassin once again had a clear shot on the civilian. He considered taking it despite the risk, just on the mere principle of seeing two people so happily in love while his home city burned.

But he paused. He thought he’d caught a detail, a little movement. And while it was possible he was projecting, years of bitter work in this business had taught him to trust his instincts.

When the villain first walked through the door, the assassin could’ve sworn he saw the civilian flinch.

---

“What are you getting out of this?” the assassin asked.

To the civilian’s credit, they didn’t scream. The assassin could see them tense, coiled and ready for a mad dash back to the house. But at least they didn’t scream.

The assassin jumped down from the tree, close enough to be a threat to the civilian but far enough still to remain out of the sight of any henchmen. He noted the civilian’s muddy gloves, their kneeling posture, the tall yellow flowers they’d been carefully pruning piled next to them in the grass.

“Like to garden?” the assassin said.

“Who are you?”

The assassin was disappointed, a little bit. His targets – the ones he actually spoke to – always asked the mundane questions. They were never perceptive enough to understand that all the “why”s and “how”s and “where did you come from”s would go unanswered. He’d sort of hoped that someone like the civilian would be different.

“I’m someone with an interest in saving lives,” he said “Now, since I like you, I'll ask again. What are you getting out of this?”

Evidently, the civilian was the expressive type. Their eyes flicked to their trowel, then the surrounding gardens, and lastly to the house some hundred meters away, never realizing how each movement of their retinas projected their thoughts to the assassin.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” they said finally.

The assassin leaned against the tree. It was a deceptive stance in which he looked relaxed and unthreatening, but could spring into action at a hair-breadth’s notice.

“One day, [Hero] is at the top of their game," he began. "The next day, main street is nothing but craters. And then some two-bit villain that no one remembers suddenly becomes god of the city." He crouched down to meet the civilian’s gaze. "Makes you wonder if there isn't a puppeteer somewhere, holding strings."

The civilian blinked. “Did you come up with that on your own, or is that the commonly held belief about me?"

“Are you saying you didn’t shack up with [Villain] willfully?”

The look of revulsion that crossed the civilian’s face said it all. The assassin’s grin widened. He loved being proven right.

“Okay.” He stood up, dusting off his pants, and held his hand out to the civilian. “Let’s go.”

The civilian glanced between the assassin’s hand and his face. “You can’t be serious.”

“Didn’t you hear my bit about saving lives?” He reached for the civilian, but they lurched away.

“Listen,” the civilian said. They slowly rose, their bad leg making it awkward. “You do not understand what is going on here. If I disappear, [Villain] will look for me.”

“Most villains do,” the assassin agreed. “Feels nice to be wanted, don’t it?” He took a careful step towards the civilian, but again they moved back.

“You’re not listening. [Villain] will kill you.”

The assassin shrugged. He leaned forward a tiny bit more.

“Help!” the civilian yelled. The two of them stared at each other for a moment, both equally surprised by the civilian's outburst. The civilian took in a breath. Then, louder, “Help please!”

The assassin was gone long before the guards even entered the gardens.

---

The civilian was a decent actor. The assassin had to give them that.

The couple went about their evening routine like usual – a warm welcome home, dinner, an after-meal tea, and then finally cuddling. The villain’s head rested on the civilian’s chest and the civilian read a paperback, all while Sinatra played on an old record in the other room. The assassin might have even bought it, if the civilian had turned the page of their book once within the last forty-five minutes.

“I would like to discuss something,” the villain said, their eyes still closed.

The civilian’s expression twinged. “Hm?”

The villain opened their eyes, and adjusted so that they were looking the civilian in the face. “I love you. You know that, right?”

“Of course.”

“And do you love me too?”

“Of course.”

The villain smiled, and that almost seemed like it would be the end of it. But then their hand went to the civilian’s jaw, shadows emanating from their fingertips. “So then why did my henchmen see you talking with a stranger in the gardens this afternoon?”

The civilian’s eyes widened. “It’s not what you think.”

“Oh, I know what it is.” The villain’s shadows warped out like talons, and the civilian jerked back in pain.

“I don’t know who that person was. I wasn’t trying to leave.” The civilian’s voice was strained. “I love you too much to ever do that.”

“My dear, if only I could believe you.” The villain held the civilian down in their writhing. They leaned in until their faces were nearly touching. “What will you do to prove you are willing to stay?”

“Whatever you want. I – ” The shadows entered the civilian’s throat, choking them and cutting off their words. Tears sprang to the civilian’s eyes.

“Come now, love.” The villain lifted the civilian in their arms. “I need to show you what happens when you let your affections stray.”

And then, just before the villain reached the door, they stumbled. The movement was awkward and wobbly – one moment they were striding confidently across the room and the next their knees were on the ground. The civilian dropped to the floor with a yelp.

The villain grasped their head as though in pain. All their shadows had evaporated. "What? . . ."

“Holy fuck,” the civilian said, scrambling backwards. “Holy fuck it worked.”

The villain jerked their gaze up. “What did you do?”

The civilian burst out laughing.

"[Civilian]!" The villain tried to move forward but swooned, only just catching themself with their arms outstretched.

“Angel’s trumpet,” the civilian said, struggling to get their laughter under control. Their wild eyes went to the empty mugs on the table. “Brugmansia candida. Symptoms include difficulty with speech, delirium –” their gaze slid back to the villain, “– and paralysis. I’ve been told it also makes for a rather delicious tea.”

The assassin’s memory flashed to the tall yellow flowers the civilian had been pruning.

“You – ” The villain tried to stand up, but collapsed down again on their knees. “I’m going to kill you.”

“I doubt it.” The civilian rose from the floor wearing a triumphant grin, and limped to the opposite wall. “You never seemed quite unhinged enough to destroy your own power source.” They opened a closet door and pulled out a backpack.

"What are you doing?" the villain asked, their voice hitched in fear.

"Leaving, of course." The civilian went to the kitchen cabinets and threw in supplies. They returned and slung the bag over their shoulders. "As much as I want to stick around and see if I brewed enough to kill you, I best get going. I'll say one thing though." They leaned down and grabbed the villain's chin. "You repulse me, [Villain]. And I never once loved you."

"I will find you." The villain's limbs began shaking as they watched the civilian move away. "It will take mere weeks. Days, even! I don't care how much of this city I have to destroy."

The civilian's footsteps paused.

The villain's words quickened, growing eager. "That's right, [Civilian]. I will ruin this city. Stay here and you save countless lives. Mothers, children, innocent people who –"

The civilian strode back and kicked the villain in the chest. "You try anything like that, and I'm killing myself."

The assassin watched with growing respect as the civilian limped out the front door, the villain screaming their name all along the way.

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Taglist:

@d-cs , @asrasmysoulmate

#civilian x villain #villain x civilian #villain #hero #villains and heroes #heroes and villains #whump snippet #whumpblr #whump drabble #whump writing #writeblr #writing snippet #captivity #before any botany peeps come for me #I know this is a mischaracterization of the symptoms of angel's trumpet #but creative liberties and whatnot #seriously though don't fuck with angel's trumpet unless you want to visit the hospital #not a prompt

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