Not My Writing - Blog Posts

How to Stay Motivated as a Writer.

I ran a poll to celebrate reaching 50 reblogs because you guys are amazing, and this topic won the poll.

(This is a bit lengthy, but I advise you to read to the very end. These are the kind of tips you rarely find without a fee, but for your amazing support so far, you get this from me for free.)

Let's dive in!

Before I became a writing coach, lack of motivation was something I battled with. Writing started to feel like a waste of my time, but whenever I stopped, I still found my way back somehow.

After a few more months of struggling and finding a clear routine that worked for me, I became a writing coach. Believe me when I say that it was such a commitment, and you'd never know until you get your first student.

I only knew how to stay motivated as an individual. After two students, I realized that motivation was also something they struggled with, and as their coach, it became my duty to offer solutions. In fact, nine out of ten writers struggle with this same problem, so I came up with the 'why and what' technique.

What is the 'why and what' technique?

This technique is a template to figure out the main reason a writer isn't motivated at the current time, which allows for the provision of tailored and personalized solutions to solve the specific problem. In other words: Understanding the why (the main reason for the lack of motivation at the time) to figure out the what (effective solution to solve the main reason).

Lack of motivation is pretty subjective and varies widely. Giving a particular piece of advice may work for some and not for others, which is why I ensured my technique benefits all.

I'll give examples of common reasons writers lack motivation for writing using the template. If you don't find any that relate to you, write it in the comments and get a personalized solution from me.

1. Lack of Inspiration

Why:

- Feeling uninspired by current projects.

- Overwhelmed by the vastness of ideas.

- Stuck in a creative rut.

What:

- Change your environment: Sometimes a new setting can spark creativity. Try writing in a different location, like a park or a café.

- Consume creative content: Read books, watch movies, or listen to music that inspires you.

- Engage in Free Writing: Set a timer for 10 minutes and write whatever comes to mind without worrying about structure or grammar.

- Take a step back: You are no less of a writer if you decide to take a break and watch other writers from afar. Personally, it's difficult to write when I'm not inspired. I find myself editing more than usual and, at times, discarding the piece I spent hours on. So for a little while, I only engaged online and learned other ways to improve my skills with the time on my hands.

2. Fear of Failure

Why:

- Worrying that your writing isn't good enough.

- Comparing yourself to other writers.

- Fear of negative feedback.

What:

- Set small goals: Break down your writing project into manageable tasks to avoid feeling overwhelmed.

- Seek constructive feedback: Share your work with trusted friends or writing groups who can provide supportive and constructive criticism.

- Celebrate small wins: Acknowledge and celebrate your progress, no matter how small. Always remember that our writing styles differ from one another, and that is what makes us unique as writers. 

3. Lack of Time

Why:

- Busy schedules and other commitments.

- Difficulty prioritizing writing.

What:

- Create a writing schedule: Dedicate specific times in your day or week for writing and stick to it.

- Use writing prompts: Short prompts can help you get started quickly and make the most of limited time.

- Eliminate distractions: Find a quiet space and turn off notifications to focus solely on writing.

- Create or join writing challenges: Activities like the 3-day writing challenge, writing a novel in 6 months, the 7-day character creation challenge, the fantasy writers challenge, etc., have specific guidelines tailored to helping writers stay motivated and at the same time productive in limited times.

4. Perfectionism

Why:

- Striving for perfection in every sentence.

- Reluctance to move forward until everything is perfect.

What:

- Embrace the draft: Accept that your first draft doesn't have to be perfect. Focus on getting your ideas down first.

- Set time limits: Give yourself a set amount of time to write and then move on, even if it's not perfect.

- Practice self-compassion: Remind yourself that it's okay to make mistakes and that writing is a process.

-Listen to writing podcasts or join a valuable writing newsletter: You will learn more about the writing industry and writing processes of other established writers, their wins, struggles, difficulties, appreciations, etc., which can serve as an assurance that you are facing the processes of a typical writer. 

Here's a podcast and newsletter for writers I totally recommend—The Shit No One Tells You About Writing. You can listen to The Shit No One Tells You About Writing on platforms like Apple Podcasts and Spotify or sign up for their newsletter.

5. Burnout

Why:

- Writing too much without breaks.

- Feeling exhausted and mentally drained.

- Stressed out from other engagements 

What:

- Take regular breaks: Schedule breaks during your writing sessions to rest and recharge.

- Engage in other hobbies: Spend time on activities you enjoy outside of writing to refresh your mind.

- Practice mindfulness: Techniques like meditation or deep breathing can help reduce stress and improve focus.

- Listen to music: It's an amazing mind therapy. 

6. Lack of Support

Why:

- Feeling isolated in your writing journey.

- Lack of encouragement from others.

What:

- Join writing communities: Connect with other writers through online forums, local writing groups, or social media.

- Find a writing buddy: Partner with another writer to share progress, provide feedback, and offer mutual support.

- Attend workshops and events: Participate in writing workshops, conferences, or webinars to learn and network with others.

- Get a writing coach: Find a coach that will dedicate their time assisting you through your writing processes. 

7. Working on Too Many Drafts Simultaneously

Why:

- Overwhelmed by multiple projects.

- Difficulty prioritizing which story to focus on.

- Constantly switching between drafts, leading to a lack of progress.

What:

- Prioritize projects: Choose one or two main projects to focus on and set the others aside temporarily. This helps you concentrate your efforts and make significant progress.

- Create a project schedule: Allocate specific times or days for each project. For example, work on one story in the mornings and another in the afternoons.

- Set clear milestones: Break each project into bit-sized, manageable tasks with deadlines. Celebrate when you reach these milestones to stay motivated.

- Limit new ideas: Keep a notebook or digital file for new ideas, but resist the urge to start new projects until you complete your current ones.

- Use a timer: Work on one project for a set amount of time (e.g., 25 minutes using the Pomodoro Technique) before taking a break or switching to another task.

8. Frustration of Not Completing Any Stories

Why:

- Feeling stuck or losing interest in projects.

- Perfectionism preventing you from finishing.

- Lack of a clear plan or direction.

What:

- Set realistic goals: Define what "completion" means for each project (e.g., finishing a first draft, reaching a certain word count) and work towards that.

- Embrace imperfection: Accept that your first draft doesn't have to be perfect. Focus on getting the story down, and you can revise it later.

- Find accountability: Share your goals with a writing buddy or group who can help keep you on track and provide encouragement.

- Reward yourself: Plan small rewards for completing sections of your work. This can be anything from a favorite snack to a relaxing activity.

- Reflect on your progress: Regularly review what you've accomplished to remind yourself of your progress and stay motivated.

- Set a clear outline for your story: Having a clear and detailed outline for a story makes it difficult to run out of ideas. 

- Share your achievements with others: Achievement posts are one of the posts that receive more engagement from people. I'm quite aware of Substack. The notes with the highest engagement have to do with achievements. People find those notes empowering and inspiring. Share your wins with others and let them celebrate with you. 

9. Working on Too Many Drafts

Why:

- Perfectionism leading to endless revisions.

- Difficulty deciding when a draft is "good enough."

- Fear of publishing an imperfect work.

What:

- Set a draft limit: Decide on a maximum number of drafts (e.g., three to five) before moving on to the next stage.

- Establish clear goals for each draft: Define what you want to achieve with each draft (e.g., plot consistency, character development, grammar).

- Seek external feedback: Get input from beta readers or a professional editor after a set number of drafts to gain fresh perspectives.

- Create a timeline: Set deadlines for each draft to avoid getting stuck in a cycle of endless revisions.

10. Trying to Earn with Your Writing

Why:

- Financial pressure to monetize your writing.

- Balancing creative passion with commercial viability.

- Navigating the competitive market.

What:

- Diversify income streams: Explore various ways to earn from your writing, such as freelancing, self-publishing, blogging, or offering writing services.

- Build an online presence: Use social media, a personal blog, or platforms like Tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram to showcase your work and connect with potential readers and clients.

Remember, If you don't find any that relate to you, write it in the comments and get a personalized solution from me.

- Offer exclusive content: Create special content or giveaways for your audience to increase engagement and loyalty.

- Learn marketing skills: Invest time in learning about book marketing, SEO, and social media strategies to effectively promote your work.

- Network with other writers: Join writing communities and attend workshops or conferences to learn from others and find opportunities for collaboration.

Remember, If you don't find any that relate to you, write it in the comments and get a personalized solution from me.

Reblog to save for later 😉. Once again thank you for supporting my blog!

Would you ever write a fluff piece about hero and villain getting distracted from their (already quite flirty in that hero/villain way) battle because they see an injured dog and want to help

Neither one trusts the other to save the dog and so they both watch over it/take care of it

They end up bonding over this and as it turns out, the dog doesn’t belong to anyone. Where would it live now?

(Love your work btw <3) - 🐞

Hi there, Ladybug Anon! Can I call you Ladybug Anon? Anyway, thank you for requesting this, here you go! This one is kinda long, so I put it under the cut!

A well-timed fireball to Hero’s chest had them careening off the rooftop, down a fire escape, and to the hard pavement below.

“Ugh, that’s gonna bruise,” Hero mumbled.

They clambered to get to their feet and looked up at Villain watching them from above.

“Sorry, darling, I thought you were going to dodge!” they called.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Hero huffed, dusting themselves off.

Villain climbed down the fire escape and approached Hero, who threw a snowball at their face.

“Oof!”

“There, now we’re even… sort of.”

“Oh, how mature,” Villain scoffed, wiping the snow from their face.

A whimper echoed in the alleyway.

“Well, it was immature of you!” Villain argued.

“That wasn’t me!” Hero said indignantly.

Another whimper. Quiet, high-pitched, and absolutely pitiful.

Villain and Hero turned to the end of the alleyway, where a sable and white lump shivered inside a dilapidated cardboard box. They both approached it, Hero crouching down first.

Two sad brown eyes looked back at them, ears flat against their head. Fur matted with dirt.

“Oh my goodness!” Hero cooed, “you poor baby, who did this to you?”

“Hmph,” Villain folded their arms across their chest, “you never call me baby.”

“Hush.” Hero snapped.

They held a hand out to the little dog, who sniffed it cautiously. It shuffled out of the box and limped over to Hero.

“Are you hurt?” Hero asked, brows furrowed.

The dog whimpered again, then licked Hero’s hand. Villain crouched down next to Hero.

“It’s a corgi,” Villain said, “very strange to find a stray one…”

“Maybe it’s lost?” Hero suggested.

“It’s possible,” Villain agreed, “it could have a microchip. We could take it to a shelter and-”

The corgi growled, baring its teeth. Villain had been petting it, but when they started scratching near its hind leg, it didn’t appreciate it.

“Scratch that,” Hero said, “let’s take it to the vet.”

…

Vet Tech scanned the microchip and pulled up the corgi’s information.

“Says here his name is Chester, aaaand… his human is [Civilian’s full name].”

Vet Tech dialed Civilian’s number. It rang… and rang… and no response. Not even an answering machine.

“If you could give us their address we could take Chester home.” Hero said.

“Well… since it’s you asking, Hero…”

Vet Tech wrote down the address on a slip of paper. Hero thanked them and took it. Chester however, didn’t want to go. They kept clinging to Vet Tech, licking her face and covering it in puppy kisses.

“I know, I know!” they giggled, “but you’ve gotta go home! Bye-bye!”

…

Hero knocked on Civilian’s door, Villain right next to them, and Chester in their arms.

“Hello?” Civilian asked.

“We’ve found your friend!” Hero said, beaming.

Hero had expected at least a smile and a thank-you. What they weren’t expecting was the reaction they got instead.

“Dang it, why did you bring the thing back!?” they snapped.

Hero clutched Chester tightly. Villain looked dangerously calm.

“Pardon?” Villain asked.

“I turned the thing loose! I drove it into the heart of the city so it wouldn’t come back! And now you come here and bring the stupid-”

Hero conveniently turned away as Villain slammed a fist into Civilian’s face. Civilian stumbled back, crashing to the floor. Villain closed the door.

“Hero,” Villain said, “I don’t think this is Chester’s home.”

“You don’t say,” Hero remarked.

…

Chester barked happily, chasing a butterfly through the park. Hero and Villain sat on a bench, keeping a close eye on them. He was still limping, but Vet Tech had bandaged their hind leg and given them a good wash. Their fluffy fur swished in the breeze and their little nubby tail wagged swiftly back and forth.

“What do we do, Villain?” Hero asked, “neither of us have time for a puppy.”

“Speak for yourself, I would quit villainy right now if… ah, who am I kidding, then I wouldn’t get to see you~”

…

Vet Tech arrived at the park bench.

“You guys wanted to see me?”

Chester turned, hearing their voice. He barked loudly, running up to them and jumping, his tongue sticking out of his open mouth.

“Hello again!” Vet Tech smiled, crouching down to pet him.

Hero and Villain explained the situation.

“You… oh gosh, I mean, I’ve always wanted to… but I don’t know if I-”

They were interrupted by Chester’s happy bark.

Vet Tech’s gaze softened. They nodded.

“Oh all right,” they said, “I guess Chester can come home with me. But only for the time being!”

Six months later

“Chester!” Hero called, “here boy!”

Chester bolted across the park, Vet Tech watching him happily. He ran right past Hero and into Villain’s arms. Hero frowned and looked at Villain.

“Jealous, are we? That I’m the favorite this week?” Villain asked knowingly.

“Haha.”

Chester came back to Hero, barking and running in circles around them. Hero chuckled, crouching down to pet him.

“Guys, we can only play for a bit, you know Chester eats dinner at six thirty,” Vet Tech said.

“Aww,” Villain pouted.

Hero produced a dog toy from a shopping bag and squeaked it. Chester tilted his head.

“You want this, boy?” Hero asked, “go get it!”

Hero threw the toy and Chester chased after it, ecstatic. His hind leg had completely healed, and so had his heart. He finally had humans he could trust.

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Oh my god I am so obsessed with ‘A Man of His Word’ could you please continue it if you have time? Thank you sooo much i love your writing so much.

Happy to! Thanks for the kind words, hope you enjoy :)

Pt. 1

-

A Face with Two Hands (A Man of His Word pt. 2)

Cw: childhood parental loss, interrogation + previous warnings

“11:59,” the clock read.

It was digital, so no ticking could be heard from where it was reinforced into the wall. Civilian was just as silent where they stood in the center of the utterly empty room.

Around them, cold gray walls closed in, broken only by a thick metal door. It was painfully cliche as far as cells go, appropriate for a cold-hearted villain to stash away all their problems and inconveniences.

Like Civilian.

The quiet was peaceful, for a moment.

Silence, however, tends to beg to be broken, and Civilian’s mind was more than happy to oblige the whims of the stale air around them.

As easy as breath filled their lungs, the voices of their Mom and Dad flooded their head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Midnight,” they had promised, with eyes full of love. “You should be asleep by then.”

But Civilian wasn’t.

Instead, they were camped out in the kitchen, nest of blankets keeping them separate from the hard laminate floor. They refused to give in to the sleep that pulled relentlessly at their eyelids, gaze stubbornly locked on the little green numbers that glowed above the oven and spelled out broken promises.

They clutched a small stuffed panda in their arms, waiting for the familiar sound of the garage door opening. Their eyes watered as they rested their head against the wooden table leg.

With each minute that ticked by, Civilian’s heart dropped a little lower.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Looking at the clock now, Civilian couldn’t help but feel the same sense of dread.

They shook off the memory, coming back into the present with a disorienting blink.

It was three hours till the next switch check in. As far as Civilian could tell, Villain wouldn’t be back until then.

Plenty of time to take inventory.

Physically, Civilian had little more than the clothes on their back.

The cuts Villain had inflected still laid open and untreated. Clearly, he didn’t plan on them living long enough for infection to become a problem.

They tried to tear strips out of their jacket in hopes of maybe tying some fabric around their wound but quickly deemed the weave too thick. Out of necessity, they moved onto the thinner cotton of their T-shirt, tearing off the hem with a degree of difficulty and gripping it with their teeth to tie as tightly as they could manage.

They really did miss having Friend’s extra hands and muscles around.

Mentally, they were about at the same level, except there was no shirt bandage that would stop the echoing in their mind.

Prisoner.

The word sat like cold iron wrapped around their heart, the weight like a death and betrayal all in one.

Civilian didn’t know how they could ever forget a feeling like that.

They were painfully aware that there was nothing but an awkwardly blurted secret and three days of planning keeping an old friend from spilling their blood across the unforgiving concrete of what they could only assume to be some kind of basement.

They took a deep breath and glanced at the clock again.

Well, two days now.

Unexpectedly, a sharp wave of anger crashed over them. Did their friendship truly mean nothing? They were so, incredibly, irrevocably stupid! Now they were probably going to die, stuck in this stupid place he brought them to (because of course he had a place-!)

The door opened with no warning, the loud clicking and snapping of the lock sending a sudden jolt through their heart and taking several more years off their life.

The man that entered seemed nothing but cold and distant.

He wasted no time stepping towards them, and in turn Civilian wasted no time falling flat on their ass trying to back away from him.

“What was your plan?” He questioned without preamble, freezing his movements and allowing Civilian a precious second to think.

Unfortunately, even with the immediate threat paused, they still lacked the clear-headedness to answer.

What was Villain talking about? He was the one with a plan to take down Hero. Civilian just needed to help work out one little kink-

“What?” They asked the stone-faced villain.

“After ten seconds.”

Oh, that plan.

“Hope for the best?” They squeaked.

Civilian’s attempt at a self-loathing chuckle ended in nothing but a weak cough.

Once upon a time, Friend would have laughed heartily with them, bent over, one hand holding his stomach. Villain did no such thing. Eyes that could never have belonged to Friend cut them a dangerous glare.

“Okay, then. We’ll start with the harder questions,” he spoke level, but Civilian knew a dangerous tone when they heard one. Slowly, they started crawling back, but it didn’t matter.

Villain descended and Civilian shrunk with the knowledge that his hands were not empty.

“How the fuck did you figure out who I am?”

As much as Civilian tried to ignore it, the way he spit the pronoun stung.

Civilian was not unfamiliar with pain, nor were they unfamiliar with those close to them inflicting it upon them. What they felt now, however, was a level far beyond anything they had felt before.

They supposed he, of all people, would be an expert in inflicting pain.

In a matter of seconds, Civilian was sure they didn’t have nearly enough shirt left to bandage everything. Their tongue loosened with the stinging. They had no question this was intended by the man holding the sharpened knife.

“Die,” they blurted as a result, in that oh-so elegant manner that Villain had a habit of bringing out in them.

“Excuse me?” Villain challenged, eyebrows raised and hand poised to continue cutting.

“My plan,” Civilian grit hard through their teeth, “was to die.” They clarified, rolling over to groan. “I made peace with it.”

Villain considered them for a moment, rising to his full height and staring down at them with a confusing mix of condescension and possibly pity. Or perhaps he was just smug. Civilian certainly didn’t trust their ability to read him anymore.

He tilted his head slowly, only adding to Civilian’s confusion as he smirked.

“Did you make peace with this?”

To that, Civilian said nothing.

His face evened out again, and Civilian recognized the masked anger, familiar as the taste of blood, as he reached down. Villain pulled them up by the collar, wrestling their arms roughly behind their back as he leaned over their shoulder.

“That was not your best plan,” he whispered, before pulling them out the door.

🌟👽💫

Christmas with the snarky, morally gray anti-hero notoriously known as Shadow!

Warnings: none

I know a LOT of people take the days near Christmas off from writing or doing anything, but I literally have zero friends in real life to hang out with for the holiday or do fun stuff with so I just decided to write instead 😭 (wallowing in self-pity because I'm such a dislikable weirdo I guess LOL-- on the sorta bright side at least I'm making new friends on Tumblr?? Even though most of them are anons at least I kind of feel appreciated I suppose--)

This is a short story about Shadow learning about the human holiday called "Christmas" -- and getting an unexpected surprise in the process.

Shadow glided down and elegantly landed in front of the lab's front doors, shaking snow from her wings. She’d originally wanted to go on a short flight around the city to stretch her wings, but it was snowing so hard it was hard to see anything, and she didn’t want to accidentally crash. There had to be at least four inches deep already piled up on the ground.

Shadow walked into the main room of the lab and was hit with a blast of bright colors. She halted and stared dumbly, trying to process all the colorful lights draped around and a... literal tree in the corner? Who cuts down a whole tree just to stuff it indoors?!?

And in front of the tree was Thomas, hanging little round balls on the evergreen branches.

Shadow quietly approached from behind, head tilted to the side in confusion as she watched the human work, tying strings to decorations to the branches. She curiously reached out and flicked an ornament experimentally with a finger, making a quiet clink sound.

"What in the entire universe are you up to, Thomas?" She asked warily. It looked like a unicorn had puked random decorations all over the place in a general theme of red and greens.

"ACK!" Thomas jumped in surprise, instantly dropping the ornament he'd been fiddling with as he startled.

Shadow snatched it in a hand before it could hit the floor, raising a questioning eyebrow at it. "Why are you putting these things everywhere?"

Thomas's face turned red with embarrassment. "Can you NOT sneak up on me like that?!?" He squeaked. "You're like a literal ghost -- you're everywhere!"

"I'm not sure whether to be offended or complimented by that statement." Shadow wrinkled her nose, carelessly tossing the ornament in the box with the other Thomas had been taking out. "Mind explaining why it looks like a hurricane of colors tore through this place?"

"It's uh, a human holiday." Thomas rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "You decorate trees and houses and cookies and eat a ton of sugar and stuff. And some people host large gatherings and prepare giant feasts. There's also making gingerbread houses."

"And why must you bring a tree indoors to decorate it?"

"Not everyone does it, in fact a lot more people go and put lights on the trees in their yard -- but it's a human tradition to cut down an evergreen to light up a room. And then we put these cool things on it--" Thomas bent down and grabbed an ornament from his box, shoving it eagerly into Shadow's hands. "Go ahead and try it! It's fun."

"I think your definition of 'fun' is vastly different from my own," Shadow grumbled. But she humored him and hesitantly hung the ornament's string on the tree, adding to the dazzling sparkle. It was kind of pretty, she had to admit. But she'd never say it out loud.

"Oh! And there's one more part of the tradition, it's the most important one--" Thomas darted off and returned holding a small yet colorful box with a fancy bow on top. "Humans buy awesome gifts to give to each other! So here's to your first human Christmas!" He held it out, and Shadow cautiously took it with a puzzled frown.

"I don't know whether to be relieved or disappointed that it's so small," she said gruffly.

Thomas rolled his eyes with a chipper laugh. "Lighten up, Shadow. Just open it!"

Shadow raised a skeptical eyebrow at the gift. "If this is one of those pop-up-scare things I've heard so much about, I'm going to seriously kill someone," she growled.

Thomas paled, reaching to take it back. "Sheesh, I didn’t realize you were so sensitive! Fine, I'll keep it!"

"Ah-ah!" Shadow raised the box above Thomas's head where he couldn't grab it, holding it just out of reach. "No taking it back. You gave me something, and you'll live with the consequences of your choices like a responsible kid."

"I'm 19 years old," Thomas scowled pointedly.

"And I'm 312 years old. Your point?" Shadow rolled her eyes dramatically, bringing the box back down so she could open it.

Thomas made another determined grab for it, but Shadow spun and swatted him like a fly with one of her white feathered wings, using it as a shield to block and keep him from snatching it.

"Shadow, come on, cut it out!" Thomas snapped, trying to reach over her wing instead -- with no luck.

"You first," Shadow growled back. She found it amusing how fast the human was trying to backpedal his gift after her threat -- which meant it was definitely one of those pop-up-scare things. Her threat had been a bluff, of course -- she wasn't actually going to kill anyone over a Christmas gift -- but Thomas wouldn't assume that, considering how morally-gray she was in general. He fully believed it to be a real possibility, which was perfectly in line with her past actions.

And Shadow couldn't help having some harmless fun with him, watching him sputter and panic uselessly in terror, believing her every word like the idiot he was. Well, mostly harmless fun -- the human might suffer an actual heart attack with how much adrenaline was rushing through him right now.

"Hmm, interesting," Shadow chuckled as she shook the box lightly, listening to the contents rattling around. She barely bit back a cruelly delighted laugh as she watched Thomas turn a few shades paler. The human was right, Christmas was fun.

"Whatever did you get me, human?" She purred teasingly. It was all a game to her -- but not for poor Thomas, whose heart was practically jack-knifing out of his chest. After all, Shadow was known to be violent and aggressive at times -- he had no way of telling she was in a relatively good mood today.

Shadow slowly untied the bow, taking her sweet time and using her wing to keep Thomas at bay. She held the lid on tight to keep it from springing open on her as she let the ribbon fall to the floor.

A mischievous smirk twisted her lips, and in a swift movement she aimed the top of the box at Thomas and let go of the lid.

Her intuition was right: it was one of those pop-up-scare-things. A coiled up plastic snake came shooting out of the box and smacked the human straight in the face, startling him.

Thomas yelped in surprise and flinched backward hard enough to trip and end up sprawled on the floor, a cartoonishly shocked expression on his face.

Shadow burst out laughing. She rarely ever laughed, unless it was sarcastic. But this was a genuine laugh for once, at his expense. Her wings shook with the force of it as she cackled evilly, clutching her ribs. "Oh, I think I DO like your gift!" She laughed between breaths. "That was priceless.”

"That was mean," Thomas sputtered indignantly, face flushing red with embarrassment.

"No meaner than trying to jump-scare the most lethal person in existence!" Shadow retorted, still laughing her head off. "You humans have the weirdest holidays!”

Thomas smiled sheepishly as he got back to his feet. “It’s a time of happiness and family gatherings. There’s nothing weird about that.”

“It's probably not weird to you because you live in the ‘world of weird’ on a daily basis – this stuff is normal for you,” Shadow chuckled. “I’ll admit though, you’ve piqued my curiosity. What else do you humans do to celebrate Christmas?”

“Oooooh you’re really going to like this one!” Thomas chirped. “Let's go outside!”

Shadow raised an eyebrow, but followed him to the front of the lab, watching as he bundled up in warm jackets and donned a hat and gloves. She didn’t bother copying him; she was naturally extra hot-blooded due to being a Falkry. The cold didn’t get to her as bad.

Soon the two of them were walking down the street to the local park, snow crunching underfoot. It was cold enough that their breath came out in foggy puffs.

“Okay, so have you ever heard of making snow angels?” Thomas turned to his white-winged Falkry friend excitedly.

“Ah, the age-old tradition of getting frostbite. I’m familiar,” Shadow answered sarcastically. “But I think I’ll sit this one out. Don’t want to damage my feathers.”

“Pfft, buzzkill,” Thomas snickered. “Then try this instead–” He bent down and suddenl;y scoffed up a handful of snow, flinging it at Shadow.

“Hey!” Shadow nimbly sprung out of range. “Oh, you will pay for that!”

Thomas blinked, and she was gone. “What the–Oomph!" His voice choked off when he was suddenly flattened beneath a massive wave of freezing snow that crashed down on him from above. He quickly scrambled out of the aftermath and shook the frozen flakes from his hair, dancing a little as he tried to reach the stuff that had fallen down the back of his shirt. "Ack! Cold! Very cold!"

Once he had finally rid himself from the last of it, he looked up in confusion to see where it had come from, and spotted Shadow perched on a bobbing tree limb directly above him, laughing hysterically. The limb was devoid of any snow, and it was clear that she had intentionally jumped on the branch to knock the snow down on him.

"Seriously?" Thomas huffed, scowling up at her. "Was that really necessary?"

Shadow raised her hands innocently, still laughing. "Sorry, sorry, I just had to. You make yourself such an easy target. I couldn't resist. You should've seen your face!"

Thomas wordlessly bent down and scooped up a large handful of snow, packing it tightly together.

"Wait, what are you—?!" Shadow’s voice cut off sharply as he chucked the newly made snowball up at her with all his strength, and she yelped in surprise as it clocked her in the face with a pfft sound, knocking her out of the tree. Her wings flailed wildly for a moment until they caught the air, halting her descent.

"What was that?!" She shouted from above with a shocked expression on her face, hovering in the air and sputtering from the snow that had gotten in her mouth.

"It's called a snowball. We humans use it to start snowball fights," Thomas called back.

"Snowball fights? So it's like... a non-lethal war with packed snow?" Shadow asked.

"Basically. But emphasis on non-lethal!!" Thomas leaned down and scooped up two more handfuls of snow and launched another round at her, which narrowly missed her face again as she smartly dodged to the side.

"Oh, it is so on human! Prepare to be destroyed!" Shadow let out a war cry and swooped down towards him, sharply pulling up at the last second so that her wings flung up a powerful gust of snow that covered Thomas head to toe. But he was not so easily beaten, and he revealed a hidden snowball he was hiding behind his back. Shadow was close enough that there was no way he could miss.

Her eyes widened for a moment in realization before the snowball hit her square in the chest, making her stumble back. It was all the opening Thomas needed to launch a barrage of snowballs at her, his arms becoming a blur as he threw one after the other, madly scooping handfuls from the ground, not allowing a moment's reprieve. Shadow used one of her wings as a shield against the attack, ducking her head behind it as she scooped up a snowball of her own.

Then, she moved her wing aside and threw her handful at Thomas as hard as she could with Falkry strength. It hit him in the stomach hard enough to knock him back into another pile of fluffy snow. She wound up for a second throw as he scrambled to his feet, and let it fly, this time smacking him square in the face in an explosion of white fluff.

Yeah, maybe Shadow was enjoying this whole ‘Christmas’ thing after all.

Main Masterlist

Masterlist featuring Shadow and Thomas-related stories

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222

Their First Villain

Secret Santa gift for @the-modern-typewriter Prompt: "Scary villain x hero in a Christmas setting of your [the writer's] choice. Could go spicy, could go whumpy, could go unexpectedly sweet!" Hope you like this! Merry Christmas!! 🎅🎁

“You recognised me,” the villain observes, his tone unnaturally flat. His face betrays no emotion.

“Kinda hard not to, with your…” – the hero tilts their head at where the villain’s magic continues to spread, coiling around their limbs and securely fixing them in place – “…snake thingies?”

The individual tendrils really do vaguely resemble snakes, although the magic in its entirety reminds them more of some writhing alien monster plant from an old Sci-fi B-movie whose title they cannot remember. It’s not a good comparison anyway. The movie hadn’t been scary at all.

They experimentally try to wrestle one of their arms free, but despite the magic’s apparent fluidity, the moment they push or pull in any direction, whatever give appeared to be there all but disappears and they can’t move a millimetre.

“Oh.” The villain’s eyes widen. “You can see it.”

“See it. Feel it. Didn’t expect it to be this hot.”

An awkward pause follows.

They are decidedly not blushing. It’s just warm. All of them is so warm now that the villain’s powers have moulded themselves around the hero like something liquid but alive. Wherever the tendrils touch bare skin – their ungloved hands and that area just above their ankles where their pants don’t quite meet the rims of their boots – the raw energy buzzes, prickles just short of stinging.

They’d been shivering just minutes ago in their much too thin poncho and the not seasonally appropriate Agency office uniform. Well, they still are shivering, just no longer from the cold.

Where the villain’s magic is fever-hot, his scrutiny runs icy.

“You can see it, but not fight it,” he muses. “How curious. The Agency must be understaffed to send their defenceless little office drones out into the field.”

The hero would be glaring if the villain weren’t underscoring the point by pulling his magic tighter with the mere flick of a finger. That small, anxious sound that escapes them in response brings a self-satisfied grin to the villain’s lips.

“It’s Christmas,” the hero says, once the magic has settled again.

The villain raises a brow.

“Most of the regulars are on holiday, Christmas being a time best spent with family … or so I’m told.”

“Yet you are working.”

“Don’t have anyone.” They aren’t technically without family just … Sometimes, family isn’t a place of refuge and welcome. Not a home to turn to for holiday celebrations or company. Some families fashion themselves exclusive clubs with strict rules that refuse or revoke memberships as they please. The hero forces some levity into their tone. “I have nowhere else to be today, so, I’m helping out here.”

The villain chuckles. “Helping is perhaps not what I would call that.”

“Hey, I did recognise you,” they say, defensively.

“And look where that got you.” His smile is sharper than before, meaner. “Am I your first villain? My heartfelt condolences.”

They don’t dignify that with an answer. But the answer is yes. The villains they watched being interrogated through one-way mirrors at HQ don't count.

“Pity,” the villain says with zero warmth, “that you couldn’t just look the other way. What is it with you people that you're always so eager to cause unnecessary conflict.”

“Reporting suspicious behaviour is kind of my job.” It comes out barely above a whisper and carries the distinct cadence of an apology.

“Ah yes, and my mere existence struck you as suspicious behaviour because …”

Admittedly, once they’d recognised the villain, they hadn’t taken the time to consider his appearance beyond the magic he’d been wearing around his shoulders like a particularly weaponizable scarf. The lack of a combat suit in favour of a sleek, dark coat over a woollen jumper and cargo joggers – either an outfit designed to blend in or just what the villain happens to like to wear when he isn’t working – hadn’t registered any more than the total absence of weaponry other than his powers. And while he could have hidden those better, it’s not like he could have simply left them at home.

There hadn’t been time to ponder. It had all happened so fast. Their eyes had met, and a moment later the hero had already been scrambling away from the crowd, past a stall selling mulled wine and into the nearest alley, where they’d scrolled through their contacts with stiff, unfeeling fingers. The villain had caught up with them before they’d managed to call for backup.

Their gaze darts to the remnants of their smashed phone, sprinkled across the muddy snow, mere metres away but entirely useless even if they could reach it.

What if the villain hadn’t had anything nefarious planned? What if the hero’s brain had naturally jumped to the most prejudiced conclusion all on its own?

Of course, it is unfair to treat his mere presence as if it is a crime. But the things he could do ...

They think about the parents with their cameras, filming their ice-skating children, the squealing toddlers on the merry-go-round, the nice old ladies selling tea out of the back of a car.

“You could be a danger to all those innocent people,” they defend their judgement.

“And you could be a danger to me,” the villain replies coolly. “Would be unwise, letting someone roam free who can pick me out of a crowd with a glance. Perhaps I should thank you for revealing yourself. Very ill-advised. But quite convenient. You were so obvious about it, too.”

He has crossed the distance between them while speaking. Close enough now to reach out and tuck an unruly strand of hair behind their ear with his cold, slender fingers. His other hand settles almost gently on their throat, atop the magic that has slivered around their neck at some point during the conversation.

The tip of a new tendril is in the process of worming its way lower, nestling into the collar of their shirt. It laps against the crook of their neck and they cringe away from the touch as much as the magic allows. It doesn’t hurt. It would be so much easier if it did. The touch is light; it kind of tickles and, given the overall direness of the situation, the hero really isn’t in the mood for that. Or, they shouldn’t be.

Unhelpfully, their traitorous mind supplies them with a thoroughly inappropriate image of what else someone who isn’t the enemy could be doing to them with magic such as this.

“Tell me,” the villain says as the power shifts upwards, tilting their chin back with the movement, so his nails can bite into the newly exposed skin below their jaw, “is there anything else troublesome about you, or is it just the eyes?”

He looks most pleased when their breath hitches despite their best efforts to remain stoic. His grip tightens. He’s studying them intently, staring at their eyes like those are priced gems he considers adding to his collection.

Maybe, underneath the mockery, he actually does consider them somewhat of a threat. If he didn’t, why would he be looking at them like that.

It’s stupid, truly and utterly stupid, to feel flattered. This is not respect, they know, just sharp, calculating consideration. His attention promises imminent danger, might turn lethal at any second. It’s not something they should revel in. Still, it feels good, too – being seen.

Has anyone ever really seen them before?

Or perhaps that is the lack of oxygen speaking.

They struggle to focus their vision but all the twinkling Christmas lights in the trees are starting to smudge into dull, red and golden blurs. Vertigo is clawing at them.

There is absolutely nothing they can do against the villain's grip. They're so pitifully out of their depth.

They think about their bland, only half-furnished two-room apartment; their first day at the Agency HQ; their nth day – no more eventful than the first – sitting at the exact same desk in the exact same office and working on the exact same old computer; their colleagues’ looks of pity when their 14th application for a transfer to field work is being denied and their boss tells them, in stern admonishment, that their skill sets just aren’t suited to solo missions. They think about her condescending smile when she finally does assign them the Christmas market job, clearly convinced the worst thing that could possibly happen here is people getting drunk enough on punch to start throwing punches.

They think of their first split-second impression of the villain as just another guy standing by the ice rink with a cup of something steaming in his hands and a mellow, unguarded smile curving his lips.

They hope this montage doesn’t count as their life flashing before their eyes. It’s way too sad a summary of their depressing lack of accomplishments.

They think, with equal parts age-old bitterness and new-found sarcastic vindication, about their colleagues’ infantile, unofficial, end-of-the-year office rankings where flashier heroes with more impressive abilities always receive titles such as most likely to hook up with a hot reporter or most epic battle or best one-liners.

Meanwhile, all the hero has to show for are three consecutive wins of least likely to die on the job.

Which might have been a reassuring sentiment if it weren’t so clearly code for “you’ll never be a real hero”. Real heroes risk their lives on the job all the time.

Well, look at them now!

Will their colleagues manage to come up with a new title for them in time, they wonder, if the villain kills them now, just a week before this year’s poll results will be released?

Most unexpected death has a nice ring to it.

They should be trembling in terror. Might have, if the villain’s magic weren’t encasing them so – tight but soft and deceptively warm, lulling them in. The sticky heat of it leaves them squirming, stuck in a confusing limbo between gooey not-quite-discomfort and hot-bath sluggishness.

They’re drifting. Until they’re not.

It’s impossible to discern how much time has passed or when exactly the villain has released them; but their thoughts are beginning to clear and their brain catches up to the fact that there is air in their lungs again, and that the breathless, hiccuping gasps uncontrollably tumbling out of their mouth aren’t sobs. It’s laughter.

“Are you enjoying this?” The villain sounds incredulous.

They shake their head. “I don’t know,” they manage, between hysterical giggles. “Maybe. Yes?”

“How did you know I wouldn’t kill you?”

“I didn’t.”

That startles a short laugh out of him.

“I’ve never” – they pant, still struggling for air – “felt this alive before.”

“That sounds ... unhealthy.”

There is a long pause in which the villain silently stares at them while they are more or less regaining control over their breathing.

“You wouldn’t get it,” they say then, perfectly aware they must seem most unhinged. “Bet you don't even know what boredom is. Because your life is fun. Mine is not. I practically live at my stupid job, and my stupid job doesn't even pay well. No one there gives a fuck about me. And nothing exciting ever happens. So can I please just have this one damn moment without being judged?”

The villain hums, low. “And here I thought we were ruining each other’s days.” He presses a hand to their forehead. “Did the heat fry your synapses?” he asks, sounding more amused than concerned. His other hand comes up to cup the nape of their neck, as if he can’t help but reach out. Just as they can’t help but lean into the cooling touch. His gaze drops, as if drawn, to their lips. “Or, are you just naturally this unusual?”

They can smell gingerbread and mulled wine on his breath.

“Are you going to kiss me?” they ask, because yes their synapses are definitely fried and they do not care about consequences, awkwardness, or sanity anymore.

“Would you like me to kiss you?”

“I’d certainly much rather be kissed than killed. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he repeats, smirking. “But we've established I’m not about to kill you. And that wasn’t a yes.”

“It’s not a no either.”

“Not how consent works, darling.”

They scoff. “You didn’t ask for consent first when you strangled me five minutes ago.”

The villain laughs again, in genuine delight judging by how his magic ripples and purrs.

“Okay, fair enough,” he whispers, shifting so his lips almost brush theirs.

The kiss that follows is sweet, surprisingly chaste, and initiated by the hero.

“So, since you mentioned earlier you have nowhere else to be today,” the villain says, afterwards, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “Have you ever had the pleasure of being kidnapped?”

Pleasure, as it turns out over the course of the next few hours, is an understatement.

If anyone at the office were to find out what the hero has been up to during their first (and best) and possibly only solo field mission, not only are they guaranteed to get fired, their colleagues will also surely create an entirely new office ranking category in their honour:

First to be seduced by a supervillain.

A Very Special Lighting

The hero awoke with a groan. Their head was pounding, their body was freezing, and something was very, very wrong.

The first thing they noticed was an offensively loud countdown from what sounded like a cacophony of voices.

They(?) yelled excitedly, “THREE!…TWO!…”

The second thing that they noticed was that they were not horizontal—how one would typically wake up in the morning. Instead, they were vertical, and something was now insultingly bright for what they presumed to be dawn.

“ONE!!!”

Roaring cheers followed closely with the end of the suspicious countdown. Hero had barely had time to consider covering their ears before another one of their senses was assaulted, this time by the onslaught of light. They automatically blinked the blurs out of their eyes and were met with starbursts of twinkling yellow.

Were those…Christmas lights?

All their limbs were lost in the glow. They tried to move but found that they couldn’t. With what little sensation they held, they surmised there were some kind of restraints keeping their legs and arms spread like a starfish.

No, not a starfish.

A star.

Below them laid hundreds of green branches that stretched out to the edges of the square in the city’s center. Hundreds more dots (people?) lined around the ginormous skirt.

They were stuck on top of a giant Christmas tree.

And, if they weren’t mistaken,…they were the topper.

As if their day(…night?) couldn’t get any better, one aforementioned dot started to enlarge, making the flight up several stories to their level. They groaned in realization as the figure approached.

Hero only knew one dastardly mastermind who could fly.

Villain stopped to float only a few feet in front of them, greeting gleefully, “Hero! I’m so glad you could make it to the lighting ceremony! This is a very special day for lots of children, you know.”

Hero gaped, though they doubted their face could be seen with the intensity of the light source behind and around them.

Since when did Villain care about children?

And more importantly, since when did Villain have a beard?!

Fluffy white hair flowed down from their chin, and it took Hero a moment to connect the cherry red suit and matching floppy hat, not to mention the extra padding surrounding their midsection that looked far too impractical to be used as protection in a fight.

Villain was dressed as Santa.

Villain was dressed as Santa.

Their head pulsed again with pain. Feelings of confliction flooded their thoughts as they watched the joy swim below them.

They knew they should be focusing on taking down Villain but…would that…(and they couldn’t believe they were thinking this) ruin it?

They asked the only question they could think of, muttering the words through ridiculously chapped lips and chattering teeth, “What- what time is it?”

“Midnight, silly!”

Right. They were supposed to be watching this on TV right now, from the warmth of their heated blanket with a homemade mug of hot chocolate. As much as they would have loved to participate in the ceremony, this was…definitely not what they would have had in mind. A plan of their own would have involved a lot more marshmallows, and a lot less Villain.

“Are you…gonna let me down?”

“I’m afraid I don’t remember seeing that particular request on your Christmas list. Send me another letter, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Villain bellowed a rolling laugh that sounded suspiciously close to a classic ‘ho-ho-ho’. Before Hero could even begin to think of a retort to what they had suggested, Villain was already moving far enough away for them to deem the effort futile.

A bewildered Hero could only watch as they took off, having mounted a sled-looking contraption that they carried with them into the sky, led by several floating deer-looking animals, the nose of one of which was adorned with a small glowing red dot. The unmistakable sound of jingling bells followed.

Villain exclaimed merrily as they flew away into the night, “Merry Christmas, City!”

Apparently, even villains could enjoy the holidays.

Though, if you asked Hero, Villain was enjoying this one a little too much.

#136

Not many villains are brave enough—or stupid enough—to come straight through the front doors of the agency, so the agency never thought to put up anything more secure than a barrier for heroes to scan through on their way in.

The villain saunters in, hops straight over the barrier, and loudly demands, “Which of you assholes is meant to be [Hero]’s boss?”

The heroes leap on them, of course, and twenty against one is barely a fight. The hero’s boss, it turns out, is just the guy they wanted to see anyway.

“Why are you just strolling through my agency?” the superhero asks incredulously.

“Someone's clearly dramatised my entrance. I didn’t get past reception,” the villain corrects with a scowl. “And it’s not my fault you lot have the same amount of security as a train station. Anyway, that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to tear you a new one.”

The hero standing behind them makes a noise dangerously resembling laugh. Even the superhero quirks an eyebrow disbelievingly. The villain is sitting in his office in cuffs, sure, but this is only the beginning of what will be an ass kicking.

“You villains are so violent.” The superhero tuts, opening a tin box next to him with a shake of his head. “Has anything happened to warrant this so-called new one tearing, or is this just routine?”

“I’m glad you asked. Did you not notice [Hero] was missing?”

“Oh, yeah I did.” A biscuit comes out of the tin and promptly disappears into the superhero’s mouth. “Are they with you then?”

The disgusted silence the villain leaves is a second too long. “… Yes.”

The superhero nods mindlessly. “Cool.”

This silence is even longer. The villain can hear the hero behind them shuffle awkwardly. “You don’t care,” they say flatly.

“[Hero]’s a rookie,” the superhero offers with a shrug. “Catch one of my best, and I’ll consider coming to visit sometime. I don’t send rescue parties for just anyone.”

The villain can only stare at him in disbelief as he nonchalantly fishes about for another biscuit. Villains would never do that. Villains leave no man behind. The idea that they could be trapped somewhere, in enemy territory, with no promise of at least someone coming for them, is a horror enough to haunt their nightmares.

The villain really thought they’d done something when they’d managed to catch the hero. The hero was scared, of course, but the villain had put that down to the usual. A hero in a villain’s grasp won’t be without injury for long. But the hero had had a certain defeated look in their eye as well, and it’s only now that the villain is realising that that was probably because someone like them disappearing into a villain’s lair means they aren’t getting out.

The cuffs rattle slightly, and the villain heaves a deep breath to stop their hands from shaking. “I've heard them crying every night, knowing you’re not coming for them,” they snap coldly. “You’re heartless.”

The superhero can just about be bothered to meet their eye for a second before his interest diverts back to the food in his hand. “You don’t become a superhero by loving everyone, [Villain]. Do we have a cell set up?”

The hero behind the villain clears their throat. “We do.”

The superhero waves them off, and that’s the end of the conversation. The hero shoves the villain into a cell, and several hours later finds the back of that cell blown clean out with the villain’s friends at the detonator.

The villain never had a doubt they would be set free—they always are. Villains may not be looked upon favourably, but having a posse of like-minded outcasts can make some real ride-or-dies.

-

The hero wipes their eyes when they hear the door at the end of the corridor opening, rubbing their sleeve against their nose in an attempt to look a little less pathetic. They glance up to realise it’s not just the villain, but several of their friends too, all watching them with curiosity. Their stomach drops.

“You got it bad, huh?” the villain says lightly.

The hero doesn’t know what to say to that. They turn their gaze down at their hands to avoid everyone’s burning stares.

There’s a heavy clunk, and out the corner of their eye they can see the cell door swinging open. The villain shoots them a smile as they look up confusedly.

“We were wondering if you’d like to come with us,” the villain continues. “I mean, you’re welcome to stay in here, in the cold and the damp, like a hero. But, y’know…”

The villain shrugs. “We don’t leave people behind, I’ll say that much.”

A hero should never consider an offer from a villain. It’s a trap, the superhero always said. It’s common sense, it’s the right thing to do, it’s what a hero would do.

They didn’t think heroes were left at the mercy of their enemies by their own either, but here they are.

The hero wipes at their face again and clears their throat, painfully aware of how much they’ve been crying. “Um,” they say, their voice a horrible rasp. “O-Okay.”

They all cheer as the villain reaches in to pull them out. Someone hands them a thick jacket. “Put it on,” someone else says. “You’re in the gang now!”

It almost feels like they’re happy to see the hero as one of them. It’s a new feeling, and one the hero finds they like.

Prompt 16 - Hot Chocolate

“Do you have any hot cocoa? It’s freezing outside.” Villain rummaged through Hero’s cupboards.

“There’s hot chocolate powder in the cupboard closest to the fridge.”

“How do you turn on your stove?”

“Just microwave a cup of water.”

“Microwave? I didn’t know you had such terrible taste,” Villain said, affronted.

Hero cracked an eye open, but they couldn’t see Villain from their current position. “What’s the difference? It’s just hot water.”

“That’s another thing. You make hot cocoa with water?”

“Yeah, so?”

“It’s so much better with milk!”

Leave it to Villain to pick fights over the smallest and strangest things. “Milk is easier to burn and more expensive than water.”

“But it tastes better!”

“It tastes perfectly fine either way.”

“You sound so boring!”

“And you sound childish.”

“See, this is why we can’t be together!”

“It’s not because you’re a villain and I’m a hero?”

“No! It’s because you insist on settling for subpar satisfaction when there’s better options available to you! You can’t let yourself truly enjoy anything because you feel guilty every moment you’re not suffering!”

Hero stared at Villain, speechless. How were they supposed to respond to that? How did the argument go from hot chocolate preferences to Hero’s guilt complex?

“Woah, that got a bit heavy,” Villain said. “We really need to talk about your mental health, but that’s a conversation for another time. What I’m trying to say is, you should indulge yourself every once and a while.” They shoved a mug into Hero’s hands. “Here, just try it.”

Hero didn’t want to admit Villain had a point, but it did taste pretty good. “How about I compromise by microwaving the water until it’s boiling, then adding milk to it?”

“Fine, but you’re on thin ice.”

You, the villain, faked your death and started over years ago. But you never expected the hero to stumble into your new favorite bar, laughing with their friends.

im not usually big on hero x villain whump but today im thinking of the two hottest roles in them. villain and medic. i want to combine the two

villain's own medic treating them

"doctor's orders"

"i said bed rest"

"you might be a criminal mastermind or whatever but believe me, those sutures do not care"

villain's medic being the only one in a cushy position

"you know medic, if anyone else talked to me like this, they wouldn't have their tongue now" "but i'm not anyone else, am i?"

villain's own medic being their favourite on the team

"they're the most useful"

"all of you other idiots are practically useless"

villain being their own medic because i guess the evil budget only allowed for evil henchmen

the enemy medic begrudgingly treating villain

"i'm only doing this because i have principles"

"i'm under oath"

"suffering is suffering, and i just can't bear to watch it"

the enemy medic sabotaging villain's recovery

"i've never wanted to leave anyone to suffer before... that changed today"

"you know what's in this syringe? no? good"

evil medic moments?? so good. top tier. both a villain and a medic hold so much power and im just ahdhfj feral for them

The blank page

There was something intimidating about the blank page. No words seemed good enough, she thought to herself. She looked at the blank page again, crisp and white, like a snowy field frozen in time. "You could be anything", she thought. A furrowed brow. An ink pen caught in between two fingers while scratching her scalp with the rest of them. The rain pladdering against the window 🪟🌧️☔

A Man of His Word

(Context: Civilian has a friend that is well known for never breaking promises. This friend also just so happens to have a secret, and Civilian has figured it out.)

Cw: threat of death, knife violence

Civilian smiled across the kitchen at Friend. He was helping them put their groceries away, transferring things from the floor to the fridge. Plastic rustled as he removed milk from one bag and various cheeses from another.

“Thanks again for helping me carry these. You know how much I hate doing two trips.”

Friend sighed, rolling his head back dramatically as he replied, “I know you just keep me around for my arm muscles.”

Civilian glared at their friend, who was now flexing his biceps, for all of two seconds before a smile broke back out across their face.

“But really, it’s no problem at all.”

Breaking the comfortable silence after the amendment, Friend bunched up an empty bag, throwing it straight at Civilian instead of shoving it into the bag-of-bags looped around the pantry door handle.

Civilian gasped as they batted it away, instinctively going for the closest thing on the island that wasn’t breakable. They clutched the freshly-bought apple in their hand before throwing it mercilessly at their friend. Luckily, Friend caught it with a laugh, keeping the fruit from being bruised.

Civilian joined in with some light giggling of their own as they watched him take a bite with a satisfying crunch before continuing to stock the fridge while they conquered the pantry.

“Hey! That was supposed to be for a pie!” They protested.

“Please,” he started, pulling some scissors from the kitchen drawer and cutting open the plastic rings from a six-pack of soda they had broken into earlier. “I saved it from a terrible fate:” He finished, tossing the bird-safe remains into the trash, “The horrors of your baking.”

Civilian gaped in offense.

“No more birthday cakes for you!”

“The best gift I could ever ask for,” he winked, coming over to throw an arm over Civilian’s shoulders and ruffle their hair.

The normalcy sent off a pang in their chest.

A thoughtful, dependable, goofy guy. It was just so easy to believe.

It was a shame they knew it was a lie.

Friend had started to relay some adventure from earlier in his day, which Civilian tried their best to attend to. In the background, the TV in the living room was playing some stupid sitcom with a shitty laugh track that was definitely being overused. They leaned against the counter, basking in the peace of it all for just another moment.

Before it all went to shit.

Civilian made their move after the pantry was shut and they both headed for the next room.

“Hey,” Civilian checked their nails as they spoke, “I want to talk to you about something, but you have to promise me something first.”

An innocently confused, mildly concerned expression plastered itself over Friend’s face as he stopped short of the couch. Civilian’s stomach twisted at the sight.

“Yeah, of course. Anything.”

Friend crossed their arms and leaned against the pony wall disarmingly.

“You have to hear me out. Give me ten seconds.”

An awkward chuckle.

“What is this about?”

Civilian met their friend’s eyes seriously.

“Just promise me. Ten seconds.”

“Okay… Yeah sure, ten seconds,” he assured, shooting them an uneasy smile.

Civilian took a deep breath.

“I know who you are.”

And just like that, Friend was gone. Instead, there was Villain, pinning Civilian to the floor, holding a blade a hair’s width from their jugular.

Where he had hidden the knife, Civilian had no idea, not that was particularly important right now. Only one thing was.

“You promised!” They squeaked out, hating how helpless they were in that moment, how they were betting their life on there being a kernel of their friend left in the man on top of them now.

Inflectionless, he responded, “Nine. Eight.”

Civilian’s relief was very short lived. Shit, they should have said fifteen.

Trying so very hard to stay still, to keep that sharpened metal away from their carotid, they practically whispered their desperate plea to the stone face above them, “I don’t care. I swear to anything I don’t. You have a plan to take down Hero. In- in three days. I need to help.”

“Two.”

Frantically, they stumbled over their words as they added. “Oh! and um- dead man’s switch.”

Despite themselves, they scrunched their eyes shut as their internal countdown hit zero. When nothing happened, their eyelids fluttered open again to see utterly unchanged features. No reaction at all.

“What,” Villain spoke, in a voice that Civilian no longer recognized, “does that mean?”

“If I live, your identity stays between us. If I die…”

A sharp pain lit up their arm as, presumably, the knife that had been at their neck relocated itself into their flesh. Civilian swore.

“Who,” Villain growled lowly, leaning close to their ear, “The fuck. Do you think you are?.”

“Someone with a will to live?” Civilian choked, no longer scared to take deep, heaving breaths to the side now that there wasn’t a blade directly above their artery.

“Clearly not. People who want to live keep their mouth shut and run far, far away,” he spit.

Their head was wrenched back into a forward-facing position via a hand in their hair.

“How long?” Villain demanded.

Civilian blinked. Right, the switch.

“Fifteen minutes.”

Suddenly, they were being hauled up by the collar, then unceremoniously shoved into the light blue accent wall, conveniently within sight of where their laptop rested closed in the middle of the room.

“Disable it.”

“I can’t. It's automatic, every 8 hours. No off switch.”

Spots arose in their vision as their arm was grabbed in a rather unfortunate location.

“Disable. It.”

“I can’t. I swear.”

“I can get the code one way or another,” Villain warned.

“I know you could.” Involuntary tears dripped down their face as they explained, “There’s nothing to get. The answer changes every time. It’s randomly selected. I don’t know it till I see it.”

“You’re lying,” he accused, and Civilian didn’t have to look to know that they were bleeding somewhere else now with just a swipe of his hand.

“I’m not! Give me the laptop, we’re running out of time.”

Civilain gestured wildly to the oak wood coffee table.

“The only person running out of time here is you.”

With that, Civilian was thrown back to the floor, Villain straddling their horizontal form before they could get their legs underneath them to scramble back. The knife returned, only this time it would not be pressed shallowly, and there would be no more counting, no more promises of time, no more hesitation.

”Look! Hero killed my parents, okay?!” They blurted, a last, desperate attempt at getting through to him before he ended their life.

Maybe there was a shred of Friend left in the villain after all, because Civilian caught the slightest moment of pause in his movements, a blip they might never have noticed having never spent time with the man.

“Please, I would never stop you,” they pleaded, searching for another blip deep inside their former friend’s eyes. They came away empty.

They didn’t really know how it happened, but somehow they ended up perched on the couch, laptop open and propped on shaking legs. Villain breathed down their neck every second, watching them like a starved hawk.

They were lucky they could even punch the code in with the amount of nervous movement in their fingers and hands.

“That’s it. We’re good for another eight hours,” they confirmed, slowly closing the lid of their laptop and sliding it back onto the table next to the coaster. “Guess we’re partners now,” Civilian laughed weakly.

“No,” Villain dissented, in a tone that left no room for argument. “You’re a temporarily-alive prisoner.”

He appeared in front of them, pulling them up and off the couch with an alarmingly harsh grip.

“Don’t forget it.”

I love love all your writing and jealous villains / possessive villains always make me kick my feet!! Can I request a hero that’s been under appreciated by the city and getting hurt / almost killed by civilians they were meant to protect? And the villain finds the aftermath? ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

"My god." The voice was strained. Familiar. Them.

It really wasn't the hero's day, was it? They released a slow, pained breath, pushing themselves gingerly off the grimy, rain-puddled street. "Enjoy the show?"

"What show? You could have taken them. You should have taken them."

The hero grunted. They straightened. They wobbled.

The villain appeared out of the shadows, at their side, in an instant. It took the hero a moment to realise that the villain had placed a steadying hand on their arm.

The villain's face was harsher in the streetlight; all firelit edges, beautifully demonic, orange pinpricks glinting almost red in their furious eyes. Rain spat down, soaking into the villain's hair and clothes. They didn't seem to care.

The hero did a double-take. The flippant comment they'd been about to make died in their mouth.

"How much did you see?" the hero asked.

The villain's jaw clenched. "I just got here."

It was an unexpected confession. On closer inspection, the rapid rise an fall of the villain's chest suggested they'd been running.

"Huh," the hero said.

The villain's gaze raked over them, taking in every bruise and scrape and bit of blood. "You didn't fight back. Why didn't you fight back? You could have pulverised them. Made them fear ever hurting someone again. That's what you do if I attacked you."

The hero shrugged, awkwardly. They eased their arm free of the villain's grip.

"That's not an answer," the villain snapped.

"I would have killed them. Normal people can't deal with my powers."

"So better to let them nearly kill you?"

The hero shrugged again. Everything ached; they weren't especially in the mood for hearing about how wrongly they'd handled getting the flying spit kicked out of them, they weren't in the mood to explain how the villain was different. Even at war, it was easier with them.

"You're in uniform," the villain said. "They knew who they attacked."

"Oh." The hero hadn't realised. The truth of it struck them like a low blow and their shoulders slumped, as if it wasn't already far too late to brace and curl into a foetal position to guard the heart of them. "Right. Yeah. Well, bold move on their part!"

They tried for chipper. They failed completely.

The whole time, they'd been so preoccupied, they'd thought the strangers had no idea. A wave of stupidity, prickling with humiliation, washed over them. Their eyes felt hot.

The hero swore under their threat.

"I'm going to kill them." Possessiveness threaded low and heated through the villain's voice.

"I don't need you to do that."

"I know. It will be my absolute pleasure." The villain grabbed the hero's arm again as the took a step and stumbled. "They shouldn't-"

The hero could feel themselves beginning to shake, a myriad emotions welling up inside them, threatening to explode, as they listened to the villain's insistence that really no one else should be allowed to touch what was theirs.

"I said, I don't fucking need you to do that."

The villain went quiet. Still.

The hero closed their eyes again, already regretting their sharpness. A treacherous tear rolled down their cheek. Christ. That was all they needed, wasn't it? Cherry, meet the top of the garbage pile. They swiped furiously at their face and didn't say sorry. They couldn't say sorry. They'd never stop, they were sure of it.

"What do you need?" the villain asked.

The hero glanced up at them, startled.

It wasn't that the possessiveness was gone from the villain's face, only that the burning of it had finally cleared enough for the hero to see what lay beneath it.

The care, the sincerity, in the villain's question felt like a knockout blow. They didn't know what to do with it. They had no armour for it, no shield.

"What do you need?" the villain asked again, softer, when the hero said nothing. Their other hand rose, cupping the hero's cheek. "You want me to get you home? Your leg's screwed. You can't walk."

"I can walk." The hero looked down at their leg. They could...well, it wouldn't be fun walking. They eyed the villain. "Seriously?"

"Well, I'd prefer to hunt the bastards down and kill them, but I also do an incredible taxi service, yeah."

"Thank you."

The villain looked almost as uncomfortable as the hero felt. They shrugged. Their jaw worked, eyes narrowing when they caught sight of the hero's injuries again. The hero could feel the villain's fingers flexing against their skin with barely leashed violence - and, yet. It was leashed.

The villain dropped their hand.

"My car is this way. Can you - can I - I can help you get there. If I'm allowed."

"You're asking permission to touch me?"

The villain glared at them.

Despite everything, the hero managed a weak smile back. "Yeah," they said. "You're allowed."

The villain nodded, wrapping an arm around the hero, before pulling them up into an unexpected bridal carry. They were strong. All lean muscle and warmth against the hero's frozen body.

"I'm going to get blood on you," the hero said.

"Because nobody has ever bled on me before ever."

The hero huffed.

They let the villain walk them out of the alleyway, brain still sluggishly working its way through all of the implications of the villain's sudden appearance.

They'd come running when - what? When they learned the hero was in trouble? When they learned that the hero wasn't fighting back to the full extent they were capable of?

Thoughts were hard and the villain's car was warm, the heating soon on full blast.

Thank you. It welled in their throat again. The hero choked on it.

They didn't think they'd ever been as well looked after as they were that week.

How the Turns Have Tabled

Hero approached the cell with all the feet-dragging reluctance of someone who was in way over their head. They dug through their pocket for the key, mumbling something about stupidity and youth mortality under their breath. A quick glance through the small window nestled in the door revealed a form unmoving laid out in the corner.

To their minor relief, it appeared their guest was still out cold.

The hinges squeaked as Hero slowly pushed open the door. They watched closely for any movement and saw none, so they continued.

Once inside, they dropped a bundle of fabric at the feet of the sleeping figure and left a plastic bottle and an aluminum package on the ground. They were back out the door quickly and the lock clicked back into place just as fast.

Hero turned away from the door and let out a quiet breath as they moved away.

A few steps in, a creak sounded from behind them.

Shit.

Hero froze, then spoke calmly into the stale air,“The exits out back.”

Lowly, a gruff voice responded, “Not that easy.”

Hero winced.

“Worth a shot.”

By the time their hand shot to their belt and they made to spin around, Villain had already closed the distance. Their knife was knocked from their hand the second it was drawn. The villain kicked it away in the same move he used to grab the hero’s wrist. Hero used their free hand to punch him in the face, landing a hard hit before Villain used his leverage to twist, forcing their arm behind their back and shoving them face-first into the wall.

Hero groaned into the cinder block, “Fuck my life.”

They would not have even realized that they had said that aloud had it not been for the confirmation of a deep but quiet chuckle.

Fingers curled lightly into their scalp as Villain spoke, “Other hand.”

Hero squeezed their eyes shut and offered up their free hand into the borderline-painful grip behind them.

“You want to tell me where the ties are?”

Hero turned their cheek against the wall so their jaw was free to move with the words.

“Second shelf from the bottom, other wall.”

They were lifted from the concrete and pulled backwards to the opposite side of the room. A plastic tie soon zipped into place, pinning their wrists together before the villain shifted his grip to their arm to lead them forward.

“In.”

They stepped through the door into the dimly-lit cell, and Hero scowled at the lock hanging broken off the latch.

“Sit,” he ordered with a shove towards where the crumpled blanket rested on the stripped down cot.

The hero stumbled but did as they were told, settling with their back against the wall and feet planted firmly on the floor.

They watched as Villain dragged in a folding chair, flipping it around in front of him to plant a leg on either side and sit backwards, conveniently blocking the doorway.

“Kidnapping, huh?” The villain begun to question, “Is that what you do now?”

Hero leveled their eyes on the blank sheet that was the adjacent wall in lieu of a response. Villain tilted his head at the silence and leveled a disappointed glare at the hero.

“Don’t make me come over there.”

At that, Hero dragged their gaze slowly to the man in the chair.

“I don’t suppose you’ll believe you walked in here of your own free will?”

“Right,” the villain leaned forward, placing his elbows on the seat back and planting his chin on his palms. “And the lock was for decoration.”

“Obviously, given how easily it broke.”

The distaste shown on the hero’s face suggested that they would be having more than a few words with Masterlock customer service.

Villain grinned almost imperceptibly.

“I must say, this is giving my style, not yours.”

“Yeah, well,” Hero bit their lip and averted their eyes again, “shit happens.”

They took the time to notice all the numerous cobwebs in the room before Villain opened his mouth again.

Oddly enough, he wasn’t moving his tongue to push for an explanation.

“You know, they say mimicry is the highest form of flattery.”

Hero, taken slightly aback, could only find the highly dignified words, “Fuck off.”

Instead of lashing out like the hero had predicted with muscles tensed, Villain simply pointed out, “You’re the one who brought me here. I think I might just stick around and find out why.”

With that, he stood. The chair slid across the floor and into the wall as he pushed off.

“It’s in your best interest to answer, so I’d suggest doing that.”

Hero did not dare take their eyes off his form as he approached. He towered over the low-lying cot, and Hero may or may not have forgotten to breathe as he leaned in.

“Or have you forgotten your position here, now?”

Hot breath warmed their ear and Hero bit their tongue.

“You thought you could lock me up?”

“I…made an error in judgment.” Hero spoke carefully, suppressing a shiver.

Another chuckle had Hero silently begging for a Time Machine. An arm was planted on either side of them, leaving them feeling like a bird in a cage, or an ant under a microscope.

“I sure hope the five minutes of success didn’t get to your head,” Villain spoke with faux pity, lips slightly pouted in obvious mockery.

“I think they took five years off my life, actually,” Hero admitted, figuring it was probably clear at this point how they felt about their decision to… well, abduct the villain.

“It sure sounds like you’ve learned your lesson, then.”

Hero almost cheered when Villain rose back to his full height, out of their immediate personal space. That was, until he continued.

“But really, it is best to be certain.”

“How, exactly, do you plan on being certain?” Hero inquired carefully, not that they really wanted to know the answer. Their heart beat a rapid warning inside of their chest.

Villain tapped his chin thoughtfully before a familiar grin spread slowly across his face.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got just the idea.”

Worrying did not even begin to cover the fear that sparked in the hero’s chest at that statement.

“Sit tight,” commanded the villain as he sauntered out the door, not bothering to replace the lock or even so much as close the door.

The hero was left to gawk at his abrupt departure from their place in the corner, unable to gracefully rise and follow him with arms stuck behind them as they were.

A few seconds passed, and they slumped as the adrenaline finally started to drain out of them.

They breathed out into the quiet air as the villain’s footsteps receded, “I am going to die so young.”

Prompt #82(pt. 2)

(Y'all begged for a part 2, so here it is! Enjoy ;)

Part 1

By @writingpromptsworld

The villain huffed, their cheeks tinting a shade of red. They hoped it wasn’t noticeable to the hero. They were already feeling so embarrassed. “What do you know about being a villain.” They tried to sound annoyed.

The hero didn’t stop, though. They snorted, taking another step forward. “I was one, a long time ago.” The villain looked into their eyes; all they could see was honesty. 

“Right, sure. I believe that.” They babbled. How could the number one hero ever have been a villain? From what they could recall, the hero had endangered their life more than multiple times to save the civilians. 

The hero’s lips widened again, their eyes crinkling at the corners. It was hard not to stare at the hero. The villain licked their lips nervously. 

“You’re rather cute, you know that?” The hero teased further. 

The villain swallowed. “You–...what?” Their eyes widened, caught off guard. They were about to lose their cool and fall to their knees. It wasn’t fair– what the hero was doing. Using the villain’s inexperience to their advantage. 

“What? You are. First of all, you come in here, again,  sniffing my coat rather confidently. And lying about it–you’re not hard to read even in the dark. Then you ogle me shamelessly. I mean, how cute can you get, you know?” 

The villain let out an involuntary whine. 

The hero brought up a hand to the villain’s cheek, and the villain immediately nuzzled into it. “You should leave.” 

The villain didn’t move. 

“So desperate, it’s almost pathetic.” The hero mused, their thumb gently caressing the villain’s cheekbone. The villain sighed in response. 

The villain opened their eyes; their faces were a breath away. They stared at the hero's lips. The hero smirked, before closing the gap and kissing them.

The villain, in fact, stayed there the whole night.

Too Many Beds

(Reverse Trope: Too many beds, as seen on @out-of-jams )

Context: Hero and Villain forced to work together and need a place to stay for the night

Hero had been sent back to the car to gather their things while Villain booked them rooms for the night. Refusing to use a readily available luggage cart, Hero pridefully piled several bags across their body. They held two in each hand, two more were strapped crossbody–one resting on each hip for balance–making them so wide they would have had to step through the lobby door sideways. That is, if they could open the door in the first place, considering their hands were full and this hotel was sketchy enough to be skirting the ADA.

When Villain came back outside with only one room key, Hero could only hope that there would be two beds awaiting them behind shoddy wooden door.

Image their surprise when they unlocked the door to find not one, not two, but three beds clad in all-white linens.

Villain, ignoring the gobsmacked hero, pushed all the way into the room and made a bee-line for the bathroom. In a rather fittingly-villainous move, Villain had refused to relieve Hero of any of their cumbersome stuff during the trek up to their second-story room. The hero finally gathered themselves and their bags enough to step into the room, throwing villain’s bags on the far bed, placing their own bags on the bed closest to the wall, and sitting themselves on the bed in the middle. Immediately feeling their aching joints relax, hero fell back into the plush dramatically. They contemplated the merits of stealing some of the extra pillows to transfer to their bed before a light bulb lit up over their head. After a moment’s consideration, they stood up and started pushing the center mattress towards the one on the wall.

Mega Bed. First come, first serve.

“Hey! I got that one for me,” yelled an incredulous voice behind them. Apparently, Villain was back from the bathroom, and they were very very jealous of Mega Bed.

“You don’t need two beds!”

“Neither do you!”

“Sure I do!”

To punctuation their point, hero belly-flopped dramatically onto their claimed, enlarged sleeping arrangement.

“If you wanted more room to sleep, then you should have booked a room yourself!”

“What kind of motel has rooms with three beds anyway?!” Hero’s question was muffled by the comforter as they held their ground starfished face down over the blankets.

“This one does,” stated the villain from what sounded suspiciously far from his allocated regular-sized bed on the other side of the room.

“Obvishushlee,” the hero mumbled in reply.

“…”

The hero recognized this as a dangerous silence. The silence of plotting.

“Look, we can be adults about this-“ Hero was cut off with a yelp as they were dragged by the ankle out of Mega Bed and onto the questionably-clean carpeted motel floor. Villain attempted to step over them, presumably to claim Mega Bed for themselves, but Hero caught onto their ankle in a grand feat of revenge, thus preventing Villain from crawling into the rumpled sheets.

Hero would not give up Mega Bed without a fight.

As Hero and Villain tumbled on the ground, knocking over the lamp and accidentally turning the TV to the Spanish channel in the process, a stroke of genius hit. Hero grabbed Villain by the back of the shirt, stalling their scramble for the bedpost, playground-king-of-the-hill style.

“Stop! Stop-,” Hero shouted, then added placatingly, “I have an idea.”

And thus the Super Mega Bed was born.

In fairy tales and fantasy, two types of people go in towers:  princesses and wizards.

Princesses are placed there against their will or with the intention of ‘keeping them safe.’ This is very different from wizards, who seek out towers to hone their sorcery in solitude.

I would like a story where a princess is placed in an abandoned tower that used to belong to a wizard, and so she spends long years learning the craft of wizardry from the scraps left behind and becomes the most powerful magic wielder the world has seen in centuries, busts out of the tower and wreaks glorious, bloody vengeance on the fools that imprisoned her. 

That would be my kind of story.

I desperately wish to see more of this non-religious guy and his mom's prayer circle making garlic casserole and fighting vampires.

"You have misunderstood the lore, hunter. It is neither crucifix, nor rosary, nor holy water, nor any other trapping of faith, but faith ITSELF that is anathema to my kind. And yours has proven to be. . . insufficient."

A very sweet and soft story

A child goes missing late one night after investigating a light emanating from their closet. The Child's teddy bear and the monster that lives under the bed must put aside their differences and form a truce in order to rescue the child.

A powerful origin story for a sympathetic villain and the "heroes" whose lack of empathy created him

The prophecy foretold that The Great Evil would awaken 1000 years after his original defeat. As it turns out, the people took this very seriously, so when he awakened, he was met with an army of blessed knights, an evil containment system, and two dozen automated holy turrets aimed at him.

Oh goodness, I'm here for these vibes and would love a part 2.

Prompt #82

By @writingpromptsworld

The villain swore they could smell the hero's very prominent cologne in the dark office, and they had to resist the urge and not take every little thing away with them.

But no, they were on a mission. And they needed to focus, or else the supervillain would-

"You're the recruit, aren't you?" Someone spoke up, the voice was deep and smooth. They sounded amused.

The vilian froze, in the process of sniffing the hero's coat that hung on the chair behind their desk. They look up, alerted. And take out their gun. The person walked closer, and their face glowed under the moonlight. The village's eyes widened when they saw who it was.

The hero grinned. "Relax. I'm in no mood to fight."

The villain’s heart beat wildly in their chest. They didn't lower the gun, scared and in awe at the same time. The hero was even more good-looking in person as if that was possible. They gulped, and when the hero didn't come closer, they lowered the gun slowly.

The hero's grin only broadened. "Care to tell me why you were sniffing around my coat?" The villain's face immediately went scarlet, their heart dropping in their stomach. '

"Uhh…" They started. "I was searching…for potential information about your- next mission?" They really hadn't meant for it to come out as a question, but it did anyway and they cursed under their breath.

"And what is this crucial information you would find in there?" The hero played along, cocking their head to the side.

The villain opened their mouth and closed it, not sure how to tell the hero they were…curious. Well, curious is putting it lightly, they were obsessed, really. "Good question." They said, a second later.

The hero looked more entertained by the minute. They took a few more steps that brought them right in front of the villain, meeting their eyes. The hero's eyes were gray, like the moon, and glowing with mirth.

The villain checked out the hero before they could stop themself, their mouth drying at the sight.

The hero chuckled, "You're terrible at keeping a blank face. A really bad quality for a vilian if I say so myself."

Okay. That's it. Everything they had read about the hero was wrong. The hero wasn't stoic and ruthless as listed in their 'bio', they were something worse: flirty and dangerously good-looking.

The slow progression of corruption and the misery it spreads, and how one woman takes it upon herself to do something about it, is what makes this such a brilliant use of the prompt.

The "evil" king was dead long before their empire turned to tyrany. However, the lords keep telling the peasants the king is alive just so they could blame him for all the atrocities they commit.

The pact was signed between the King and the Fairy Queen, 1,000 years of prosperity for his kingdom, in exchange for his yet-to-be-conceived first born. The Fairy Queen however did not expect the king to slit his own throat and die on the spot seconds later.

Late night thinking pt3/?

this was in my drafts and the number yall chose was this one soo....enjoy?

To love someone...

To love someone so much, to the point you change yourself for their sake.

It could be the normal, improving yourself, making yourself just that little bit better, someone they can be proud of, giving to charity more often, having better manners, saving more time for your partner.

But this is inspector me's late night thinking so as nice as that is, no.

To love someone so much that you change yourself...you change your very essence, if you could you'd turn yourself into an energy so they themselves could continue to be...them.

You'd change yourself into something thats no longer human, a tool, a monster, a shadow.

You dont want anything other than for them to thrive, you love them so much.

When i think of this all i imagine is the humble shadow. You'd changed into mere wisps, you swirl and sway around your lover, constantly in contact with their skin. No one expects you to be there but you don't care, as long as you are there...for them

You move quickly around them, you protect them from harm, turning into a weapon at their whim.

You move slowly around them, so soft, so slow. giving a cold comfort, covering their body entirely in yourself, your new form as a shadow allowing you to engulf them in a way you wish you could have done before.