#heroine x villain
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I get really annoyed by people who think that a problematic / toxic relationship necessarily involves physical abuse. Like it was a pure evidence. And here I am talking about a fictitious relationship.
Sorry, but no.
There are toxic relationships that can completely be written without there being gratuitous physical violence.
Daemyra, in the HOTD version for example (and not for the Fire and Blood version, who Daemyra is not toxic for me) is undeniably toxic, or at least problematic with episode 4 which demonstrates a certain attempt at Daemon's manipulation of Rhaenyra, although it ultimately does not go as far as at the end. But was there a need for him to strangle her in episode 10 ? No. Absolutely not. Besides, it's even rather incoherent.
Or the Darkling who also strangles Alina in season 2, even though he never hits /physically attacks her in the books. And no, the case of the amplifier does not count, because even if it is imposed by force on Alina, the Darkling remains disconcertingly gentle when he puts it on her. He clearly wasn't the type of character to do that.
Same for Lestat with Louis in the Interview With the Vampire show, it doesn't seem to me from my recollection of the book's version for the Loustat relationship, that Lestat ever did such a horrible and violent thing to Louis.
And I'm tired of this kind of bullshit.
Already because it only boils down toxic relationships to being physically violent, which is not the case in real life, and it's definitely not good to have this tendency to always add that when depicting toxic relationships, which can give a biased image of the latter.
The proof why I'm making this post is that I literally came across someone saying "it's stupid for someone to say they like fictional toxic relationships and not like when there is violence so that, well, what exactly did you expect ?".
Except that sorry, but toxic relationship is not always = physical violence. A toxic relationship can be devoid of it.
Then, no, it is not because a toxic fictional character will be physically violent with people that he will also be violent with the woman he loves. Sorry, but can you seriously imagine Cezare Borgia hitting Lucrecia ?
I do not think so, no ! Yet the relationship is clearly toxic !
So yes, we can like toxic things, but depending on certain cases, not appreciate physical violence at all.
And it's tiring to hear the opposite.
Please note, I have nothing against fictitious toxic relationships / toxic ships with physical violence. I have some myself, exemple :
But it must make sense with the characters represented, and not be gratuitous.
Just like we need to stop adding gratuitous physical violence to the adaptation of a relationship that didn't have it in the original material.
All of this frustrates and annoys me immensely.
#toxic ships#villain x heroine#heroine x villain#villain and heroine#heroine and villain#villains x heroines#heroines x villains#villains and heroines#heroines and villains#toxic relationships#daemyra#pro daemyra#alarkling#darklina#pro alarkling#pro darklina#loustat#pro loustat
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Kidnapped by the Boss Part 4
Sorry for the wait but surgery went well and I'm back!
Part one here
Synopsis: Civilian is a secretary to the Prime Minster. But when the political summit between the city states goes awry, she finds herself kidnapped by the very boss she tried to protect and nothing is what it seems.
I’ll take it under consideration he said. That was not a guarantee or even a promise. It was nothing. A deep paranoia settled in her bones. It chased her throughout the day and haunted her at night. No matter how still and quiet the room was, she felt watched. It made using the bathroom or taking a shower the most terrifying and nerve wracking experience of her life. She chased shadows in the room like a lunatic before she deemed it safe enough, but even then she never felt entirely alone.
And she was, on the surface. Servants delivered food, books, even a basket of yarn and crochet needles (strange that the Prime Min — the King remembered that silly detail of her life) and then disappeared. Neither the driver or the King made an appearance. It was if she was a toy stowed away in an attic and forgotten all about. It was infuriating, as was her restricted access to news, television, newspapers, anything to do with the world outside this room.
But the paranoia was worse. She didn’t sleep. She barely ate. She couldn’t read or crochet without having to get up and pace, like a lion in a zoo cage, strategizing for escape plans she didn’t dare enact for fear of her invisible guard.
By the time the driver did show up, in lieu of the servants who normally served her breakfast, Civilian’s sanity was in tatters. She must have looked insane because he set down the tray immediately and took hurried steps towards her. Panic jerked her backwards, stumbling over the coffee table leg until her back hit the wall. He followed after her, brow furrowed in a mockery of concern.
“Don’t touch me,” she snarled as he lifted his hand up.
He ignored her, pressing the back of his palm to her forehead. She slapped it away, glaring fiercely.
“What has gotten into you?” he demanded.
“As if you don’t know! As if you haven’t been skulking around here just so I can go insane from feeling watched all the time!”
“Skulking?” he barked out a laugh. “Is that what you think I’m doing? Just following you around invisible all day? Like I have nothing better to do?”
Anger ignited, burning up her panic like kerosene. She shoved him with all the force she could muster, sending him stumbling back.
“And how would I know that you’re not? How am I ever supposed to know I’m actually alone when I shower or sleep? You could attack me at any moment and I would never see it! I’ve lived with that fear for days and it's not funny!”
She was yelling by the end of it, her voice ringing in the empty room. The driver looked bewildered in the face of it and she was too angry to be satisfied with it. Her throat tightened with tears of fury and she desperately bit the back. She refused to cry in front of him.
For a long moment the driver studied her, his face carefully neutral and impassive, as she struggled to get her breathing back in check. Then he rose his hands up, palms out, in surrender.
“I have not been here since you last saw me,” he said slowly. “You have been alone this entire time.”
“You expect me to take you at your word that that’s true?” she asked. Even still, the tension in her shoulders relaxed.
“No. It would be stupid to trust me. But my king — for whatever reason — is very fond of you. He entrusts your protection to me and he didn’t do it so I could psychologically torment you. If you can’t trust my word, then trust his.”
She snorted. “He’s so fond of me that he locks me away in this room like a doll and never speaks to me.”
“We’ve been a little busy,” the driver snapped. “Plans that have been in place for years are finally moving forward. You were not supposed to be here.”
A pit started forming in her stomach. “What plans?”
“An excellent question. One you can ask the king. Today.”
She stared at him. “Today? Today? When?”
“Now. That’s why I’m here — to escort you.” He said this last part with a twist of bitterness, as if such a task lay beneath his skill set. Which it probably did.
“I can’t go now.” New panic flared up. “I’m not ready!”
He laughed again. “Why not — are you busy? Come on.”
She looked down at her rumpled shirt and leggings. The servants had brought her soft, stretchy clothes that didn’t need exact sizing. “But I look —“
“—Like shit?” he finished. “Yeah. That’s what you get when you don’t sleep or eat. He has breakfast waiting and you can take a nap after.”
“If he’s the king, don’t I need to look presentable?”
“If you were anybody else. With you he doesn’t care. What he does care about is punctuality. So let’s go.”
With a firm hand on the small of her back, the driver guided her out firmly from the bedroom. Civilian smoothed her shirt out as best she could and pulled her hair up into a ponytail. While she had seen the King in robe and pajamas many times, he had never seen her in anything less than perfect professionalism.
The halls of the palace were old and ornate, with lush carpet and intricate crown molding and silk wallpaper. It shared few similarities with the sleek modern buildings of her parliament. Save for her clothes, Civilian felt like she’d stepped inside a fairy tale.
The driver led her through a confusing route of sharp turns and side doors and little staircases, keeping the layout of the castle a complete maze despite her trying desperately to remember her bearings. Finally they passed through a door that led her out into a walled garden.
Flowers in red, gold, and purple bloomed everywhere in immaculately manicured beds. Underneath a huge tree, a table was set up with three chairs and a generous breakfast spread. The King sat, spreading jam on a scone. To her relief he was dressed in soft pants and a sleep shirt. His hair looked slightly rumpled on one side and her heart squeezed at the painful familiarity of it all.
“Good morning,” he said cheerfully, as if she had just stepped into his hotel room to badger him into getting dressed. Like she had done so many times.
Her feet dug into the ground, out of instinct, afraid of this mockery of their past relationship. The driver spread his hand over the middle of her back, thumb digging in the muscle as a warning. She walked to an empty chair and sat down, inwardly fuming.
The King’s happy grin faded as he took a closer look at her. Lines furrowed on his forehead and his eyes flickered over to the driver, his gaze suddenly cold and terrifying.
“It’s been handled,” the driver murmured, looking impressively stoic underneath that gaze.
When the King turned back towards her, his expression smoothed out into the warmth she was accustomed to. It hurt to know that it wasn’t real, that he thought he could fool her by wearing the same mask he did as prime minister. She channeled the driver’s apathy in her own gaze.
“Are you hungry? I have all your favorites,” the King said, gesturing to the table.
Her stomach growled, her hunger suddenly ravenous. But she clenched her fists in her lap and resisted.
“What do you want?” she asked instead.
“For you to eat. There’s peach marmalade, soft boiled eggs, avocado, sourdough. Scones.”
He took a bite out of his rather pointedly. She crossed her arms and glared just as pointedly. Hiding under her panic and fear and exhaustion was the steel backbone that made her hustle the Prime Minister to his meetings and events when he got distracted by every phone and television in his vicinity.
“I’m not going to be fooled with this fake version of yourself just because it's familiar. I’m not playing games, sir.”
He said nothing, turning his attention to spreading avocado on a slice of sourdough toast. Then he put it on a plate and held it up to her across the table. The gentle kindness from his eyes slid away, replaced with a stubborn, firm gaze.
“I’m not playing games either, Civilian. You’re not well and you’re going to fall ill so you are going to eat this before we discuss your future. Is that clear?”
Never had Civilian seen him so assertive. The Prime Minister phrased commands as requests and backed them up with a smile and doe eyes that few found easy to deny. Now those dark eyes looked at her with the command of a predator.
She dared a glance to the driver, who flickered his eyes to the plate as if to say, I’d eat if I were you.
Civilian snatched the plate from the King and took one muleish bite. It was delicious. Of course it was. As basic as it made her sound, she loved simple salted avocado on toast. She didn’t want to eat because she thought it would be horrible. But the list of things she had control over grew shorter and shorter each day.
Like the clouds breaking on a dark day, the warmth came back to the King’s eyes. “Good girl. You’ll need your strength so keep eating. Meanwhile, I feel like I should start this with an apology.”
Civilian almost choked on her toast.
“I had no intention of leaving you in that room for four days. I can see the toll it has taken on you.” Once again, his gaze flickered to the driver, as if laying the blame at his feet. “You were a . . .surprise in our plans. And once we had put them into motion we couldn’t stop until certain things were done. I put you someplace safe and out of the way. I should have checked up on you sooner.”
“I’m fine,” she bit out. “I don’t need you to check up on me. I need you to take me home.”
He raised an eyebrow at that. “As usual, your definition and my definition of fine vastly differs. But getting you home . . . that can certainly be arranged. However, I need you to make an informed decision and you have missed some crucial developments during your detainment.”
Her heart rose and crashed. Hope hung on a terrifyingly delicate thread.
"What crucial developments," she asked, a pit forming in her stomach.
The King leaned back in his chair, his gaze narrowed and business-like.
"First, we must establish that, due to your stubborn recklessness, your absence is tied to mine. In the eyes of your country, our ambitions, decisions, and loyalties are tied together."
Your country. As if he hadn't helped to run it for the last five years. As if he had no connection or loyalty to a place he had defended and cared for. It chilled her.
"What does that matter?" she asked. "We were always viewed like that. I worked for you."
Worked. Past tense. She realizes that technically she's out of a job now. Does this situation even qualify for unemployment?
"Yes, that's true. And that relationship will be to your detriment when I invade your country."
The words didn't make sense at first, almost as if her brain refused to process it. And then when the meaning became undeniable, it felt like he had sucked the air from the courtyard. The King continued on, either oblivious to her shock or ignoring it.
"I imagine they will pull you in for questioning when you first return and then arrest you when I invade. You can protest your innocence as much as you like, but I doubt they'd believe you. You ran straight to me during the attack at the summit, after all. They will think you a treasonous spy and they will imprison you indefinitely if you're lucky and execute you if you're not. After all, your absence thus far looks terribly guilty."
The sounds of the garden faded as a dull roar thundered in her ears. All the pieces started convalescing together and it made her feel faint.
"You did this on purpose," she said, head swimming. "You kept me here long enough to make me look like a traitor so I can't go back."
"Of course you can go back, Civilian. I'm not going to force you to stay here."
"Would you let me leave and tell everyone your plans?"
He smirked. "And what are my plans? What details could you give away? You know nothing and you have no proof."
The truth of that hit her like a kick to the chest. He made sure to imprison her in every way that counts. Suddenly her throat felt tight and breath came in light and restricted. The King cocked his head to the side, brow furrowed. His gaze flickered to the driver.
"Civilian looks ill. Perhaps you should take her back to her quarters."
He sounded muffled and far away. The driver guided her out of the chair and she let him, feeling dazed and dizzy. The walk back to her quarters passed in a hazy blur. She was grateful for the firm and guiding hand on her back through the maze of corridors. Just as she was grateful for the shut of the door behind her when she finally made it.
Civilian collapsed to her knees on the lush carpet and sobbed, uncaring of any invisible watchers.
Part five here
Taglist: @rivalriotrenegade @sunyside-world @fishtale88 @those-damn-snippets @suspiciousmuffin @thats-alittle-gay @girl-of-the-sea-and-stars
#hero x villain#heroine x villain#my writing#enemies to lovers#kidnapped by the boss#villain x civilian#fantasci tumblr#writeblr
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Sometimes I want to seek out some heroine x villain content, but many of the usual ships just don't appeal to me. Or I'm not that bothered. Or I actually prefer her with the good guy anyway (Mina x Jonathan of Dracula, for example). I'm normally happy with canon, honestly. Maybe hero x heroine and villain x villainess is more of my thing. Somewhere where they all end up happy. (Like the villains get redeemed or they go elsewhere where they can be their happy villainous selves.) I sound so cheesy lol.
#heroine x villain#hero x villain#villains#ficiton#storytelling#shipping#i've written a couple of pieces that could apply#sometimes it also depends on the villain#like how bad is actually is#mypost
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youtube
#reylo#jynnic#heroine x villain#villain x heroine#music#video#valek x yelena#prof x raquel#warnette#Youtube
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I’ll Never Die:
[Sapphic Heroine x Villain] [CW: mentions of drugs.]
[To @mirohtron and @cybelpunk: Here’s your food, ducklings. Make me proud.]
The villain, Heroine thinks grudgingly, is toying with her. Teasing her. Flaunting a distinctive Hermès bracelet that goes all too perfectly with her black turtleneck and leather trench coat, but is completely out of place because after all, Villain supposed to be hiding her identity.
It’s infuriating, really, that she’s wearing something so expensive and walking on the railings of an office building like gravity wouldn’t dare to touch her. Meanwhile, Heroine is hiding behind the electrical box, swallowing down a sick exhaustion as she grips her wounded arm.
She’s certain her injury is more than it seems. The nausea and her sudden cold sweat is proof of an assisting drug.
“I hope you aren’t making this easy for me, Heroine,” Villain calls, stepping off the railing with a clack of her Christian Louboutin boots. She laughs, loud and clear, raising her arms above her head and sighing loudly. “But then again, it’d be much better for you to just fall into my arms. Don’t you think?”
Heroine would be convinced of Villain’s insanity, only it can’t be. Villain may be teasing and sarcastic with her words, carelessly wearing designer shoes on a wet rooftop, but she’s not a fool. She’s backed Heroine into a corner more than once, has won battles Heroine didn’t even know they were fighting, and kept her identity secret, under the leather hood and behind the loud laughter. She can wear all the Hermès and Christian Louboutin she likes, because she knows Heroine can’t ever be sure of her identity despite the clues.
Villain is like the Cheshire Cat—always laughing, playing with words. She’s like smoke, vanishing and reappearing, a mirage of sparkling darkness. She’s sly and tricky, but charismatically so.
Heroine stifles a pained moan when she tries to move her arm, gritting her teeth and pushing herself off of the electrical box. Immediately, gravity sinks its hooks into her, and she staggers, throwing one hand out and slumping, crashing against the cold metal. Pain and exhaustion close her eyes as she shivers from the impact, tensing up with her arm clutched to her chest.
God. Damn. There is no way Villain didn’t hear that.
An almost disappointed sigh reaches Heroine’s ears, accompanied by the slow clicking of Villain’s boots, and followed by a mocking lament. “You weren’t supposed to surrender.”
Heroine chokes out a dry laugh. “I’m not your mouse to toy around, anak kucing.”
Kitten. Why is she calling Villain a kitten? The drug must be potent, pulling her eyelids closed and shutting down her brain enough for the word to slip.
The boots stop, followed by a rustling noise. Feather-light fingers touch the bottom of Heroine’s chin, lifting it up.
Heroine’s eyes refuse to clear, her vision cloudy with black dots.
Villain’s soft breath against her skin makes Heroine inhale sharply, but it’s futile. The velvet voice hums, “Good night, Maliha.”
━──┉┉┅┄┄┈ 🍓🥀💋🥀🍓 ┈┄┄┅┉┉────━
Heroine wakes up unable to see.
After the briefest second of panic, she realises the cause of her blindness: a silk cover over her eyes. When she reaches to pull it down, slender fingers cover hers and pull her hand away, gently but firmly setting her wrist down against cool, soft sheets.
“I’d advise against that,” a lighthearted voice warns.
Heroine picks up on the unspoken or else. It doesn’t faze her, though, and she slowly pulls her wrist out of Villain’s grip, brushing her fingertips against a ring on Villain’s left ring finger.
“What if I don’t listen to your advice?” Heroine asks softly, bringing her hand to the edge of the blindfold and rubbing it thoughtfully.
The next moment, her hands are pinned on either side of her head, her back pressed against the cool sheets as Villain’s knees press against her sides. Heroine freezes, completely thrown.
Villain’s voice is unruffled, perfectly collected. “Then you pay the price.”
Her breath tickles Heroine’s skin, their closeness making her sense of touch send firecrackers up her spine and into her brain. Despite the heated thrum, Heroine refuses to move, to breathe, as Villain slowly moves off of her body, her fingers releasing Heroine’s wrist.
Heroine’s heart is most definitely not racing, thank you very much. Her voice is not breathless when she speaks—certainly not!—simply cautious. “Why…” she inhales sharply when Villain takes her arm and rolls up her sleeve. “Why are you…helping me?”
“Guess.” Villain’s voice makes it hard to tell whether or not she’s being sarcastic, even though she’s currently cleaning Heroine’s wound.
Heroine huffs out a laugh. “So I don’t ruin your Alexander McQueen coat?” She even raises an eyebrow, though she doesn’t know if Villain is looking at her face.
Villain chuckles once, and takes Heroine’s hand, placing it on her shoulder, sliding it down to feel the buttons and belt.
“Ah,” Heroine murmurs, and a smile slips onto her face unintentionally. “My mistake. Not McQueen, but Bottega Veneta.”
“Quite right.” Villain affirms, and lets go of Heroine’s hand, which lingers in the air for a beat longer before Heroine lowers it.
There’s only another two seconds of silence.
“Is this an apology?” Heroine asks quietly.
Villain’s movements don’t slow, but her response is not immediate. She finishes wrapping Heroine’s wound and rolls down her sleeve. “It’s not,” she says, and there’s no guilt in her tone. “I have no apology to offer. I don’t think you expect one, anyway.”
Silence. Villain is right; Heroine didn’t really think this strange act of kindness was anything more than that. It makes no sense for them to apologise for each other when they will inevitably clash again. When Villain will topple another company, destroying a building or a person, will toy with Heroine again. When Heroine will fight her again, maybe salvage something, and then they will separate. That’s how their relationship works.
“What did you give me?” It was an effective knockout drug, and Heroine has no clue how much time has passed. She can barely feel the pain, now, but that could be from treatment and not a lingering side effect of the first injection.
Villain’s breath sounds faintly amused. “Do you want to hear my voice that much?” Her laugh now is different from earlier, more innocent, like they’re trading jokes. “I’m not giving up my secrets to you just because I’m healing you, Maliha.”
Heroine frowns, having expected a rejection. She raises her hand as if to wave away the question altogether.
Villain catches her hand and laces their fingers together, bringing the back of Heroine’s hand to her lips, and Heroine’s lungs contract, her heart hammering all of a sudden because god, Villain’s soft laughter even feels like velvet. She’s like a rich drink, warm and elegant at the same time, completely intoxicating.
“Pretty girl,” Villain purrs. Her lips dance over Heroine’s knuckles, and a strained whimper makes it half out of Heroine’s mouth.
God, this is worse than a drug, because of it was a drug, Heroine could easily find a stronger substance to distract herself. But this? There is nothing more overwhelming than the feel of Villain’s breath on her skin, nothing stronger than her velvet voice washing away every thought in Heroine’s mind, nothing crueler than the mad feelings churning in Heroine’s chest right. There is nothing she wants more than to pull off the blindfold and see the face that belongs to a voice capable of bewitching sirens.
“You…” Heroine can’t hear herself so much as she feels the rawness of her voice. Breathless, wanting, after the ghost of a touch from this human belladonna. “What did you give me?”
The question has no answer. Heroine has been given nothing, and she knows this. But it is impossible for nothing to have happened, and indeed something did happen.
Another battle she didn’t realise she was fighting until she lost. How easily she had let Villain strike her heart, not by a weapon, but with a few gentle words and a touch. To be shaken by her without even seeing her.
The most dangerous monster is always the one that remains unseen. No matter how pretty it speaks or how soft it acts, it is the deadliest enemy, because it is so easy to be deceived by the idea of beauty and kindness.
The Villain is like the Cheshire Cat, always speaking with two meanings. The most Heroine has seen of her is her smile, and she fears that if she sees any more, she will lose her heart.
#It’s M writing!#heroine x villain#hero x villain#sapphic#lesbian#writeblr#Indonesian Heroine x Pakistani Villain#knowing which brands your SO is wearing because that’s my trademark apparently#healing#enemies (?) to lovers#2AM (Amina x Ami)#yes screw you I am tagging this as Magic~L because it is Magic~L#Magic~L#I have never written something like this before#But I’m a good writer so it’s fine#To Ky and Cy: here’s your food
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Hello! I hope inspiration has been good to you lately. Mind if I request a villain x heroine tango scene with all the enemies to lovers tension you write so well? Thank you!
"May I have this dance?"
She looked at his hand, outstretched towards her, and knew that she shouldn't take it. There was nothing to truly be won by dancing with him, though she could find the usual justifications, certainly:
his eyes on her and not her team
his distraction
his attention
All ways of saying the same thing.
All a slippery trap of need and want, where valid reason and her entire purpose was mixed with the messier undercurrents of simply liking his eyes on her and not anyone else. Excuses. Truths. A tangle of thorns.
She needed his attention.
But she shouldn't have enjoyed his attention. His distraction. His eyes on her, and not her team. The electricity already tingling down her spine should have been a warning sight, a revulsion, and not a siren call sparking in her bones like she was some creature he had brought back to life with a flick of his fingers. And, well.
She was not his. She was not his. She would never, could never, be his.
(But maybe...)
He smiled at her like he knew what she was thinking and took her hand. He drew her towards him, stupid moth to brilliant blinding burning candle, and onto the dance floor.
Her heart hammered as they took up the familiar, simmering, frame of the tango. She placed no weight on his arm. His fingers curled strong against her own, elegant, but not forceful.
The tango was a seduction after all. A game. With a last glance, a last chance to protest through her dry mouth that he'd been far too presumptuous, their eyes met. Then, they finished the frame and turned their heads away.
The dance began. Slow, slow, quick quick, slow. The scent of his cologne, warm and sensual, dashed through with amber and cedarwood.
"You know, I'm starting to think," she managed finally, "that you throw all of these ridiculous events simply so you can have an excuse to do this again."
"Oh?" His voice was a low rumble near her ear.
Her head turned sharply, in time with the music, and their eyes met for another sizzling instant, inches away.
"And what if I am?" he asked.
She wasn't sure if it was a confession or a dare. Both. Her stomach squeezed. Both of their gazes flicked aside, as the dance demanded. Already, it pulled them along as inexorable as their fate.
"I'd say you're a pretentious twat."
He huffed a laugh, his voice a wicked delighted purr. "And I'd say you were a stunning dancer, all the better with me to lead you."
Heat flared indignant to her face but - the music had started proper, and there was no time for further words. Only the cut and glide of feet, of rising breath and heart, the skim of touch that danced the borders of intimacy.
Slow, slow, quick quick, slow.
Trust. That he would match her moves and she would mirror his. It betrayed them utterly, that trust. Exposed them surely to anyone looking at them, and everyone was looking at them, but even when her head was turned away all of her focus was on him.
Every thing they were was in the tango. Twisting and coming back, even every seeming effort to flee or be coy only another step to bring them, inevitably, together by the end of the song.
They ended breathless, facing each other, the careful frame of arms still the only things that were touching. Somehow. It was strange to think that it was only ever during this dance that they came this close.
His eyes were dark. Fixed on her. Always for her.
She swallowed and tried again, desperately, to summon up the hatred of that which used to come so easily. It wouldn't come.
His mouth curled into another smirk beneath the dip of her stare, but his eyes...
Well, the tango betrayed him as much as her. He might be leading but he couldn't help but react, responsive, sensitive, to every little thing that she did. He couldn't help but ask her every time, despite all his hosting duties and demands. He couldn't help but look at her like that.
If she was his, than he was hers.
And...
An explosion sounded. An alarm began to wail.
She froze.
His fingers slid into her hair, holding her close, preventing her half step away because they knew each other's moves so damn well, didn't they?
"I guess," he said. "That it was my turn to play the distraction for once. How did I do?"
her eyes on him and not his team
her distraction
her attention
"Oh," it came out with feeling, "you bastard."
"Given your intentions tonight? Please." The music started up again. His lips brushed against hers, intoxicating, giddy as an adrenaline high as they moved into another dance. "It takes two to tango, darling."
#hero x villain#heroine x villain#villain x hero#hero/villain#enemies to lovers#writing#story#fic#ficlet#original story#dancing#tango#creative wriitng
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Interrogation?
Part two -- part one here
He raised his brow, a flicker of amusement crossing his features.
"That's your question, you've been given to the entire library of questions and you ask what my favorite color is"
I took a sip of my coffee, hiding the smile that was rapidly growing on my face.
"Yes, it's my question, you said it could be anything"
"How do you come to that kind of question!?"
Now I couldn't help but laugh, "if you don't want to answer that's fine, I'll come up with another outrageous question" I shifted my arms, my hands almost showing, I shoved them back into my sleeve, looking up just in time to see his eyes meeting mine. I bit my lip. so much for being inconspicuous.
I waited for him to ask, but he simply watched me, the same amused smile on his face.
"I'll tell you my favorite color, " I said after a moment.
" I'd love to here it" he grinned
"its green, and if I had to guess, I'd say that yours is purple."
"oh?" he chuckled "it is a prestine color choice if i do say so myself, " he tugged on the corners of his vest.
for a moment, we sat there, each contemplating our own, but then he looked down at his watch, only barely hiding his suprise.
"well dearest, I must go, shall we continue this tomorrow?"
I blinked, the shock evident from his quick turn of pace.
"Well, uhh" I stammered, I shouldnt be this taken aback by such a silly name.
"Well?" he asked, a pacient smile crossing over his face.
"Ok" I said slowly, gaurd still up.
his eyes lit up, "Wonderful, then I'll see you later miss...?"
"Fox, and you are?"
"James" and with a tip of his hat, he dissappeared.
--------------------------------
The next day I headed to the bookstore, I had finished a previous book and planned to grab the next in the series.
After bying the book and tucking it safly into my bag, I headed back towards home. it was a normal day, and most of the streets were quite busy. But that never bothered me, I quite enjoyed the murmur that came with the people.
When it started to get late I grabbed my bag and headed to the cafe. I peeked inside, after a quick look around it was clear I was early. I grabbed a table and pulled out my book. It was a chilly day and I was wearing gloves instead of hiding my hands under my sleaves.
"Good evening"
I peaked over my book to see James sit down across from me, waving over a barista with a wave. I smirked, still half hidden under my book, he was in blue attrie today. a nice two piece with a midnight blue tie with a black coat and hat.
"You're staring" he hummed with a smirk.
"Ah, well," I swallowed, "its kinda hard not to when you are wearing something like that, were you going for undercover?"
I chuckled and he followed suit.
"I think the term I'm going for is classy"
"In a local cafe?"
"In the precence of a fine women."
"Ah, alright" I choked, ignoring the pace of my heartbeat. "s-so whats your first question of the evening?"
"Well, I should ask whats that your reading,"
I pulled my attension to my book, flipping it over for him to proporly see the cover. "Its a mystery series," I explained, "It follows this college girl as she unravels the mystery of her friends lost inheritence, she meets a mysterious man yet the shy librarian that helps her on her way, then-"
I paused, catching his eye, he almost looked to be in a daze, a small smile frozen on his lips.
"Sorry, I started rammbling, am I boring you?" I questioned, watching him seep back into reality.
"No need to apologize, I was simply basking in the delight that you take from your books."
I felt my face redden, "th-thanks," I mumbled. shoving my book away.
"Wait, don't I get to hear how it ends?"
"Of course not! that would be considered spoiling."
"Ahh, " He responded in mock understanding.
We chatted back in forth, sometimes giving questions othertimes going on tangents about silly things. eventually I redirected the subject.
"So, may I ask why a supervillain such as yourself hasnt thought that I might stage an ambush and catch you?"
" For that I have a counter question, why is it that a superhero, known or unknown would be so ready to trust a known supervillain?"
"Bordome" I muttered quietly to myself.
"Maybe, its because you know that I have no intent of hurting you? and for the whole hero agency topic," He chuckled, "We both know there isnt enough evidence to pinpooint me on anything."
I simply shrugged, smirking into my coffee that the barista had presented us with what felt like forever ago. He wasnt wrong, to the rest of the world he was a powerful, and gifted, buisnessman that owned a wealthy shipping and trade organization.
I sucked in a breath, keenly aware of how late it was, and how tired I felt.
"How about we end tonight here," he offered. I nodded in response "Oh, and how about tomorrow I take you for a propor meal?"
"oh?"
"Say around 6ish?, I'll pay" He added
"That suonds wonderful" I said with red cheeks and a smile.
"Perfect, untill then dearest," and with that, once again he was gone, leaving me alone in the cafe.
Part three
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Leon Rom and Jane Porter Aesthetic
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#not mine#I need to find the artist for this#enemies to lovers#villain x heroine#heroine x villain#Aesthetic#villain shipping
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When I see people making entire posts and articles to defend the nice romantic interest in the love triangle where the heroine finds herself, with a villain / anti-hero, who also loves her, to explain that in fact morally the guy nice is more fair and normal and that the mean guy who is creepy and we shouldn't prefer him to the nice guy...
I always wonder what is in these people's heads.
Like... they think we're stupid ? That we are not able to see that the guy coding as a villain / anti heroes is problematic and sometimes downright creepy ? They really think they're teaching us the truth about the world with this kind of moralistic explanation / defense about a character who in the real world would actually be considered romantically good ? These people really have a problem with the difference in interpretation between reality and fiction ?
There's a very simple reason why in fiction, we sometimes prefers men with problematic traits. Because they are simply interesting. Especially compared to the normal guy the heroine will end up with.
Fact : Being a boring character in fiction is worse than being a character capable of murder.
And don't make me say what I didn't say. There are some very nice and very interesting characters in fiction too. Like Stiles from Teen Wolf or Peeta from The Hunger Games. They are simply written as real characters. And not just nice guys supposed to be a fairer path for the heroine to follow. They are interesting and convincing. Which sometimes “nice men” in love triangles just aren’t.
And sometimes there are villains who are not interesting because they have no characteristics other than wickedness or other negative aspects that can disgust us. A villain will often be appreciated for his intelligence and or certain human qualities that make him more complex than simply being evil.
So obviously, we're going to prefer this type of character for a ship, instead of the normal type who narratively barely contributes anything, and is barely a character at all.
And we're not even going to talk about the cases where the character supposed to be the bland nice man actually turns out to be a bigger asshole, objectively speaking and in reality, than the villain / anti-hero of the love triangle. Right, Malyen Oretsev ?
Anyway this is a post made out of the blue where I simply wrote down my thoughts as they came to me. I hope this is understandable. Anyway, these were my personal spontaneous thoughts. Don't hesitate to share your opinion on it.
#villain x heroine#heroine x villain#villains x heroines#heroines x villains#darklina#alarkling#anti malina#anti mal oretsev#reylo#kishigo#erikstine#daemyra#saurondriel#haladriel
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A Favor for a Favor Part 7 -- The End!
Part one here
CW for the fic overall: kissing/fade to black off screen sex, mentions of non-consensual drugging, non-graphic wound care, off screen murder mention
Synopsis:
When Roxanne -- Agent name Rocket -- is back-stabbed by a friend and given a serum that drains her of her powers and leaves her helpless, she has no choice but to turn to the one person she can't trust: Her nemesis -- a politician and king of the underworld. With her powerless and in the palm of his hand, what he decides to do with her is greatly influenced by their chance meeting as teenagers that neither of them have been able to forget.
The Present
The next morning she woke up alone. The Ibuprofen and a glass of water were on the nightstand next to her. But his side of the bed was tidy, the covers made up. There was no sign of him in the apartment.
Unease stirred in her gut as she wandered the rooms. Last night was an impulsive, reckless, stupid decision that would cause unnecessary complications, but she didn’t regret it. He wanted it as much as she did, a fact that continued to surprise her.
Unless, of course, he didn’t.
Unless, of course, he distracted her with it and then snuck off to do something . . .nefarious. She didn’t know what. But trusting him these last few days felt like walking on cracked ice. She hoped with every fiber in her body that it would hold up, but if she sunk through, it would be no one’s fault but her own.
Everything depended on him right now and it scared the shit out of her. Now she realized why he had acted so feral and wary of her when she rescued him. It was hard to be in someone’s debt when they could ruin you in an instant.
He kept her suspended in gut twisting suspense for the better part of that day. When he finally stepped through the front door, she was moments away from climbing the walls.
“Where the hell did you go?” she demanded. “You didn’t leave a note, you’ve been gone for hours!”
He said nothing as he hung his coat up. She felt like a hysterical house-wife, sizing him up for an affair. Ridiculous.
He continued to say nothing as he walked towards the living room, small briefcase in hand, and set it on the coffee table. It clicked open to reveal a padded inside, with space for a needle and a vial of dark liquid.
Roxanne felt like all the air had been punched from her chest.
“Is that . . .it?” she dared to ask.
“Yes. I didn’t trust it to be delivered, so I secured it myself.”
She stepped forward, taking the vial out with great care. Hope crested like a sunrise in her chest --
They pay for it of course. A favor for a favor.
And reality bloomed like a dark cloud.
“What do I owe you for this?” she asked, turning to him.
He looked at her with that same inscrutable expression from last night. “Nothing.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Bullshit. You never do something out of the kindness of your heart. A favor for a favor, right?”
“I’m not doing it out of kindness.”
The realization hit her like a flash of lightning. “You still think you owe me.”
It was a relief as much as a disappointment. Because of course this strange connection between them was nothing more than transactional for him. And what did that make last night -- an indulgence? A debt?
“Of course I owe you,” he said. “You saved my life. I wouldn’t be where I am without you. But I’ve repaid that debt many, many times without you ever knowing it.”
“What do you mean?” A pit grew in her stomach.
“I know your birth name. I know you were illegally unregistered as a teenager. I know where your parents live and what they do. I have more connections and contacts than you could ever uncover. Do you have any idea how easy it would have been to stop you from your investigations, your attempts to dethrone me? And this is before I had the neutralizing serum created.”
She swallowed thickly, feeling sick. “So all my victories against you only happened because you let me win?”
God, she couldn’t even look at him. All these years thinking she had made some kind of difference, some kind of impact, and he was just toying with her. A cat with a mouse.
“No, you earned those.”
He stepped closer to her, tilting her chin up. She reluctantly met his gaze, too afraid to believe the sincerity in it.
“I’ve put in considerable resources to get you to stop. But I didn’t put them all in. If I had focused all of my efforts into stopping you, you would not have been able to withstand it. But I never did so and that is because I owed you.”
“So what is this?” She shoved the vial against his chest. “No more mind games, John. I need to know where we stand.”
“This . . .” He placed the vial back in her palm and closed her fingers around it. “This is because the world needs people like you because it makes people like me. This is because you are the only person who ever wanted anything better for me. This is because I want to.”
Again, the fear of trusting him beat in her chest. It sounded too good for truth. John did not make himself vulnerable to anyone. He learned that lesson the hard way a long time ago and she didn’t really blame him for it. But if she added all these pieces together, it only presented one solution.
“ . . . Do you love me?”
His gaze did not shy away from hers. “Do you think I would ever admit it if I did?”
“I think . . .” She squeezed the vial. “I think you already have.”
“Then you have your answer.”
The Past
When she came home from school, the burden of her project finally lifted, the place was empty. She called for Cornelius but he wasn’t in the library or the living room or the kitchen. None of the bathroom doors were shut. Panic growing, she looked around the apartment for signs of struggle -- what if he had been kidnapped? But the place was clean -- cleaner than when she left that morning. Dishes had been washed, trash taken out, the towels and blankets from the couch in the laundry room.
The only sign of him she ever found was a note, scribbled on a ripped piece of printer paper, under her pillow.
Thank you
I owe you.
#hero x villain#heroine x villain#enemies to lovers#writeblr#a favor for a favor#my writing#dark villain
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[ AmaLee & Divide Music - One Hell of a Team ]
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Little story I wrote. I’ve been browsing the heroine x villain tag for some time, I’m getting intrigued by this trope, and I hoped one day I could write something for it. Actually got inspired by a prompt posted by a Wordpress mutual. No idea if anyone here will actually see this, or like it all if they do, but anyway, it’s there, enjoy, or not. (Dark eyes very obviously inspired by Ben Barnes.)
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Unlikely as hell, but imagine...if Reylo becomes explicit canon in TROS and spurs a whole villain romance fad, and because Ben was redeemed these romances won’t be about cautionary tales, and in that pop culture environment the showrunners or execs of Shadow & Bone decide to change the story so the Darkling is redeemable and Alina chooses being with him + keeping her power instead 🤔
unlikely because, remember, Netflix contains multitudes and they can capitalize the shit out of a heroine/villain ship AND worry about the *problematic nature of it* in the same breath
#but yeah let's hope reylo winning everything makes them see the light#zutara should also be endgame in the tv adaptation#otherwise what's the damn point#heroine x villain#anon#asks
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“You’re right, I’m very pretty.” The villain said. The hero blinked uncertainly, not quite expecting that answer. “Keep complimenting me and I might let you live.”
Okay... they could work with this?
#writing prompt#villain inspiration#villain x hero#heroine x villain#writing inspiration#dialogue inspiration#prompt#romance prompt#humor#humour#funny prompts#humor prompt
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Interrogation?
Part 1
I leaned my head against the cool of the cement. It was an unusually chilly day, but that never bothered me. I was tucked under the shade of a skyscraper watching my roommate fight swichblade, a local villain. Although I wouldn't call it fighting, more like back and forth banter. They were idiots, I grinned, watching him avoid a rather soft punch in the gut, then saying something that made her turn red.
I turned my attention to some piece of rubble, they decided to fight at a construction sight, which makes for a pretty dusty fight. But it's good cover with lots of obstacles to hide behind, not like either was a threat to the other.
I pulled my hands out of my sweater pockets, watching the inky black at my fingertips move slightly. Bored.
Why would they even put me as a chaperone for these two, he's hardly class A on the scale, just a simple class C, with flight and water abilities. But He was harmless, everyone at the committee knew that.
"Just think of it as training" that's what they had told me... A year ago. "Simply watch the battles and if it gets a little heated you have full permission to step in"
Yah right. Just another excuse, not like I've truly minded. Some journalist started noticing me, calls me "The Watcher". The thought made me smirk. At least someone noticed.
I pulled myself out of my thoughts and looked up- oh,
They were kissing. My grin grew, I knew it. They had been avoiding each other only to banter for the last month, and I knew Maya, she couldnt fool anyone even with her poker face. I turned, backing into the shadows, watching their interaction become an echo. Floating away as the darkness grew. I located an outlet shadow in a small alley by our apartment and quickly jumped through. So useful, shadows were.
The day ended rather quickly, and I watched through the window as small flecks of snow shyly started falling. I watched, it probably wasn't enough to cover any patch of earth, but it brought the hope of fall through the city, and that's what mattered.
The sound of the door opening woke me from my thoughts.
" I'm back!"
She was breathles, I wonder if she ran.
"Welcome back" I tried to shove the amusement away, but the smile that crept on my face betrayed me. "It's late-"
"Oh you shush," she teased, her face reddening. My smile widened.
"I'm off tomorrow so your on your own." I got up and walked over to the door, after a l9lng days work I love to take a nice walk, and the snow is an added bonus.
"Oh, ok, I'll see you tomorrow then!" She smiled and waved me out. Maya was the one that convinced the committee to let me observe the fights.
"It'll be good for her to get out there, normal people don't survive explosions, she should be out there helping people! Not some science experiment."
A class A super hero, a daunting title. The top of the list, sitting in shadows and watching action as if it were a movie.
I headed down the steps and down the road, a normal, peaceful, evening.
There was only a couple class A supervillains, and most of then were in different states. They were who I was supposed to step up against, but the only one in this town wasn't technically a villain, not enough evidence against him. But everyone knew he was powerful.
I blinked, realizeing that someone was walking besides me. Speak of the devil.
"Good evening"
I stared, still keeping my slow pace, if He wasn't a known super I would of laughed, he looked like he was off to a dinner party, with a plum dress coat and a black undershirt and tie to match.
"Hi" I managed, not wanting to be the rude one.
"Lovely evening tonight,"
"Yes" I answered awkwardly, he had 2 feet on me easily. Only making me more aware of how small I was.
"You know, I know a wonderful little Cafe on cherry Street, I'm heading there now, you should join me."
If there was a threat laced in his words or posture I missed it. I raised a brow, turning to see if there was another confused person tagging behind that he was refuring to.
I couldn't help but smile, "sure!" I was bored before, this has to at least be interesting.
His face flashed small shock before giving a curt nod, amusement flikering in his own eyes.
Once we turned the corner the streets became more lively, since an outlet mall was just a block away there were a lot of late night shoppers roaming the cool streets for cute clothes. A couple people stared, but I wasn't surprised. I was wearing an old word out hoodie that was three sizes to big, and he was in dress clothes. Not to mention the hoodie only showed how small I actually looked.
After a few more amused stares and winks from passing couples we entered the safety of the cafe.
I breathed in the familiar scent that traveled with cafes. But I haven't been in this one before. The walls were a dark leafy green and the floor was a burnt wood. Homey.
"What would you like to drink? Or eat for that matter"
I wasn't expecting to be in the same room with a villain let alone eat, so naturally I have no money with me.
"I'm alright thanks"
"Please, it's on me"
Was I missing something? I let my gaze flick across the room, was this a trick? Staged to seem homey? Ive never been here before, never heard of this place before, maybe that's because it doesn't exist. But, the food was real, and he hadn't hurt me yet...
"I guess I'll take a coffee please" I said slowly. He smiled, turning and repeating the order plus his own to the barista before we sat at a small table.
"So," he started, "you seem to be pretty famous"
I frowned, searching my memory for any clue of what he could mean. "No" I deadpanned.
"Oh come on," his smile was growing, it fitted his face perfectly. Enhancing his green eyes. He looked as if I told a joke. But I felt like I was the only one not in on a joke. "Surely you can give yourself more credit, especially since people are calling you 'The Watcher'."
Oh. I opened my mouth to speak, but was cut off when the barista came with two hot coffees. Tucking my hands protectivly under my long hoodie sleeves I picked up the cup and took a swig, not minding the burning hot liquid scorch and sizzle in my throat. The barista looked concerned, I gave her a reassuring smile.
"Now the pictures weren't very clear, since you like to wear your hoodie up, so I looked for patterns. And guess what, I found that most of the pictures were taken at fights that were little to no casualties. So after a little digging, I found you!" The excitement in his voice would lead someone to believe he was telling someone about what he got for Christmas.
"Once I saw your face I decided to do a little more digging, and by shear coincidence I found that you aren't just any local hero" he leaned in, excitement buzzing around him, I wonder if I was also bored. "You are a class A superhero."
He leaned back into his chair, taking a small sip of his coffee.
"That's a lot of work" I tried, my voice failing to sound brave. My mind scrambling for sentences.
He smiled back, still enjoying his coffee as if it was as casual as a conversation about the weather.
I wasn't afraid of him, I really wasnt. I was nervous, but I knew how to keep at straight face. I knew that if I acted as calm as he appeared I wouldn't seem like an easy target. I didn't know his to answer, he hadn't asked an actual question, just simply told me what he knew.
"Is-is there a question hidden in there?" He took another small sip of his coffee before answering.
"My only question is why you tolerate them" Oh, is that what this was? "I don't just tolerate them"
"Ok, but you have powers, or at least, your powerful enough that they would put you on top of the list, which the government watches by the way. But more importantly, they keep you in a little box, you watch fights that arnt even close to what you can do, you sit bored all day and do nothing except feed into conspiracy theories, my question, the one I'm sure you've asked yourself is, why?"
I just stared at him. He wasn't wrong, but that didn't make him right either. "So what is this?" I forced a small smile, "you order me coffee as you talk about the cons of working for them while also sneaking in the benefits of working for you?"
The whole thing felt cliche, and a small part of me was hurt. The people at the committee were annoying, but I wouldn't be turned that easily. --
"While that might benefit me, no, I'm not asking you to join me, I could care less whether you work for them or not, no, what I'm curious about is why you put up with them, I find it interesting."
For a moment I just watched him, the way his facial expressions changed and the way he figited with his coffee cup. Trying to find a tell, or a hint, like I was trained. But the more I looked, the less I found. Other than his classy outfit that made his eyes pop and well kept hair...
"How about this, every question I ask and you answer, you get to ask a question of your own?"
His words tore me from my thoughts and back into the cafe.
I smiled a little wider, a bit of ease settling through my bones, "was that your first question?"
His mirrored my smile, "was that yours?"
I thought for a moment, Why did I join? Why did I waste hours of my day only to do nothing and get paid nothing? I didn't owe them... Did I? They picked me back up after the explosion, helping me understand my power and how to push past my own limits if I needed too. But... Was that actual help? Was it worth having to be a secret, a government play toy. I rubbed my fingers against the cover of the sleeves.
Yes. It was. "Because I'm helping people"
He contemplated my answer, his face showing a thousand emotions and none at the same time. After a moment he gave a small nod.
"Your turn"
I thought for a moment, turning over all the questions I could ask, all the interrogational tacktics I was taught. Screw them, I'm off tomorrow.
"What's your favorite color?"
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Part two
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