#die a hero?...no thanks

[uhohdad]

Drabble requests?? If you would be so kind to humor me then-

Could there be like... soft and kind könig? Maybe just really gentle and domestic cause a while back i saw someone make headcanons of him being like a really mean guy and like all to them for sure!

But I was having a bit of a bad delusional day and könig is one of my attachments and seeing it made me so so sad and a bit paranoid cause like! Thats my partner! He wouldn't be like that!

So uh. Maybe just really soft comforting könig? If thats ok? Cause despite it being a few days now I still can't shake it and I feel bad over it :( hes such a silly but really good comfort for me. Big Austrian man ♡

Anyway if its no trouble then thank you! If not then its alright! Take care ok? ♡♡♡

for you my sweet beautiful anon? anything. i know könig would treat you like his liege ♡

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

Köni💕: ‘How s work?’

Liebling: ‘:(‘

Köni💕: ‘o no, what happenbed?’

Liebling: ‘nothing. just nervous and weird. per usual lmao. 🙃’

Köni💕: ‘ill make u feel better when u get home’

Liebling: ‘:’)’

The aroma hits like a wave as you push the front door open, your mouth watering and tummy grumbling at the smell alone.

“Meine Prinzessin,” König calls as you set your bags down with a heavy thunk, “Did your day get better?”

“Just now,” You say, palm flush with the wall to support yourself as you kick off your shoes, “Whatever you’re doing in there, it’s art.”

“Your favorite,” he says proudly, a bit of a tune in his tone.

A giddy, mischievous giggle leaves you.

“Comfy clothes on the bed,” He adds.

You give a soft little whine, because it’s just too sickeningly sweet how he dotes on you.

After changed and settled, he’ll serve you your plate, listening intently as you vent about all the little things that have been bothering you lately.

“And, I don’t know. I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but I can’t-”

You sigh before continuing, “Sometimes I have this stupid voice in my brain, and it just tells me that you don’t actually like me, and I’m just not good enough for you. I know it’s not true, but it still gets to me, sometimes. Y’know?”

You look at him, faced pinched and a hand rubbing the back of your neck.

“I have the same stupid voice,” He says, those hooded blue eyes trained carefully in you, “But know little one, I love you more than anything.”

You pinch your nose at him, but you still have to fold your smile, cheeks warm and bunched.

“I love you more than anything, too,” You say sheepishly to your plate, tone soft as your fork absentmindedly plays with your food.

Once tummies are full and plates cleared away, König herds you to the couch, draping you with a cozy blanket. He fixes you a tea before joining you, happily letting you rest your head on his thigh. He’ll tolerate your silly little comfort movie without complaint, stroking your hair, playing with the soft locks. He doesn’t dare move after you ensnare him by falling asleep, snoring softly into his leg long after your half-drunk tea has gone cold. ♡

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

♡gentle!könig

[im-not-buying-it-ether]

Okay but now I feel compelled to wonder, in that fun AU of CC and Marilyn being Captain and Mary Marvel, what their lives as heroes would be like

Like, villains are the same for the most part with probable lack of antagonism with Sivana, he’s the dude who hired them for the dog in the first place with the public intent of a historical attraction at a park and on the side of the bus he’s campaigning for mayor. Other than that, villains seem to be the same from the brief moments we see.

They stay out of the limelight, they prioritize keeping their identities hidden for the sake of Billy and Mary’s saftey and childhoods, and they take their duties seriously.

But what’s tingling at the brain right now is how they’d interact with the rest of the world of DC, heroes and teams and whatnot, outside of Fawcett and the menagerie of characters there. We know CC accidentally stumbled onto some daring scene with Spy Smasher and the bunch (no joke, time was funky in Fawcett and CC was alive at that time) but I’d love to see him with other heroes

Like, say he fills the normal roles in comics Billy would’ve, joins JLI and, like his son, tries calling the other heroes out for acting like bigger juveniles than his actual kids and ditches bc apparently the people who save the world on the regular cant not try and fist fight the other every few hours. He’s on and off some team, focusing on his city and his family more and more, pops in for bigger fights when they occur but is mostly hometown based and handles his own issues.

Of newer stuff, I turn to YJ’s tv show for another idea. Aka, CC also being a chaperone for the Team at the same time Billy comes in but with a twist, turns out his kids have a percolation for magic and have been getting the hang of some spells so they’re joining the Team too while CC is on chaperone duty. So leads Billy and Mary’s attempt at a slow entrance into heroism that immediately backfires when they get captured, cue heartwarming scene of dad hugging his kids after a dangerous situation that follows him tearing the base apart looking for them. True dad fashion and all that. What becomes complicated is the World Without Grown Ups plot, in which I say have Billy and his had pre-the plot agree that Billy can have Shazam powers for super big emergencies and Billy definitely counts all adults disappearing as an emergency. Cue once more the fun father son bonding of Billy looking just like his old man with Shazam powers.

Onto Marilyn, who unfortunately doesn’t seem to have more beyond “clever” and “good mom” from comics, but she’s got her hutzpah and would probably be as active a hero as CC while still prioritizing her life and family over heroism. The whole Shazam thing is definitely more a job than it is what kind of person she is, she’s an archeologist and likes that profession more than she likes worrying about everyone else. She’s definitely more no nonsense and, if there’s a difference, she’d probably prefer the more grounded crime fighting than the mystical shenanigans CC would do in her stead. Billy and Mary end up closer to her in quality time since that focus of crime fighting keeps her grounded.

Also, the general vibes of the Captain Marvel tropes. Such as the identity shenanigans.

It is a fun thing of fanfic that, since his civilian identity is very vulnerable and people like their identity plots, Billy has his questioned or revealed a lot. Add in CC as Marvel instead and it flips a bit to be a man who is well known in his home city whose entire family, non-powered children included, could easily become targets if anyone knew who he was. And he’s deliberately secretive about it for that purpose, he’s protecting his children with his wife. So, perspective, there’s a new hero who comes in with a hero partner who is also their life partner. They have the power of actual gods and titans, they don’t explain anything past some nebulous Wizard they can’t name as to how they got their powers, they are very hush-hush on their normal lives but everyone knows they have to have one. It’s hard to contact them, you don’t know they’re working or traveling or with their kids because you don’t know they do work or that they have kids, so you worry what they’re up to for what seems to be every hour they aren’t begrudgingly saving the world with the rest of the heroes. You catch them talking to the other but the minute they hear you they clam up and change everything about how they were just a second ago, you could swear they were talking about digs or gods or bringing someone home but you don’t know anything because you don’t know them.

Cue the mistrust, the reveals, how it all goes wrong and someone gets hurt, be it the other when they don’t have their powers or their kids and suddenly you’ve pissed off the man who loves his family so much he was tearing the multiverse open to try and keep the timeline going where they were all alive and happy together and the woman who loves those kids just as much. Or, say that reveal had villains get both of the Batsons, and now those heroes have to look those orphans in the eye and beg forgiveness, and when fate still demands its heroes out comes two new ones that make it seem like the whole Batson sham was fake and no way Marilyn and CC were the Marvels, the marvels are still flying around after they’ve gone and gotten dead and buried. Cue those heroes looking at the new Captain and Mary Marvel, knowing it’s the kids they accidentally made orphans wearing the faces of the friends they betrayed.

[amanitacurses]

more linkshipping? hmm... little odd as an experiment, but what about spirit and sacred? (hopefully i got the names right djzngdiddb)

You got the names right!

Spirit proceeded to have the midlife crises ever (and also bit anyone who tried to take it off)

[moodyvoid]

A headcanon I love (I'll stick to a lighter one as I'm an angst writer) to give Dabi is that he has Hyperthymesia (which boils down very accurate and very long personal memory of one's life) and he has no idea he has this. He has the vague idea that he has good memory but no idea just how good

A very common headcanon I see and despise is Dabi smokes (specifically with cigarettes, cigars, tobacco). First off he is never shown in any remotely canon material smoking. Second this series does show people smoking, Twice, Giran, and Principal Nezu (character profile) have all been shown smoking in the manga. Three how the fuck would he have access this man has been legally dead for a decade, so can't purchase them legally and as they are legal (but restricted) goods, they wouldn't be a common black market item), he didn't do anything big enough for Giran to tell Shigaraki when he brought in him and Himiko to join the League. The implication is that he hasn't been with any groups long enough to give him regular access to this addictive government restricted item

So how the fuck would he become a smoker?

I can understand giving him an addiction to pain killers, his condition if treated with any realism would be constant chronic pain. But smoking, it's still expensive, doesn't give any floaty feelings, is just addicting, so why would he even want to get into that?

I’m 100% guilty of the Dabi smoking headcanon. (As if he needs anymore smoke polluting his body anyway) Fully, I have no good reason other than I think it’s hot lmao

I’ve never thought about the pain killer addiction before. That’s actually very interesting. I have personal experience with that (not me, but a family member) so I’ve seen what that can be like.

[ehlnofay]

One day – as far-off as a century, as near as tomorrow – it will all be a grand old story.

The stories will speak of a handful of champions, rushing headlong against time and logic to save the world; the last Blades, the last Septim, and his hanger-on Hero, carving a bloody path to the Temple doors. The stories will tell of skies like burned blood, of fire and ash and uncountable legions of monsters – hundreds, thousands, millions, the quantity rising with each telling – the city streets cracked and quaking, every civilian locked up in their homes and businesses and praying for deliverance. The stories will tell of the appearance of Dagon, red-hot and roiling, a gory perversion of the sun; they’ll tell that when all seemed lost, Martin Septim sacrificed himself in a blaze of glory, calling down the avatar of Akatosh and casting Dagon and his ilk back whence he came. They’ll tell that the golden dragon threw back its head and roared, and the sky cleared and brightened at its word; they’ll tell how it petrified in place, a magnificent pillar of stone, a sacrosanct statue. A site of pilgrimage. A shrine, to the grace and glory of the gods, and the bravery and benevolence of the last Emperor, the best of men.

It will be a good story. All splendour and triumph, a bittersweet victory right out of the epics; the pages closed, the crisis done, the world saved in as golden a resolution as could be asked for. It doesn’t get better than this, a perfect saviour, a hallowed end.

What the stories won’t tell is how, under clear skies and sunlight, the Hero of Kvatch falls at the statue’s marbled feet and howls like the world is still ending.

“You fucking coward,” Pax is screaming, as best as she can. Her mouth tastes like smoke. Her voice is hoarse. “Stupid worm, fucking – selfish bastard – what’s wrong with you?”

His head is swimming, a bit; he shouldn’t have tried to stand, but he – but – he’s dragged himself up to the dais, just about, and managed to sprawl himself over the edge, a snail’s trail of blood smeared along the floor behind him. The copper tang of it is strong in his nostrils. The statue stands, proud and silent, one marble claw dug into the cracked stone of the rostrum. His whole body is beginning to ache – just because of a stupid stab wound in his side, he’d swear he’s had worse, it’s not that bad, it’s not that bad. His throat burns. He isn’t crying. He isn’t.

The sky is so fucking blue.

“What’s wrong with you?” he demands, again, and brings the heel of his hand thudding against the clawed foot hard enough that he feels the impact down his arm, through his blurry head. “Why would you – piece of shit – sorry spit-gill – I thought –”

None of their thoughts will go through to the end. “I thought,” Pax says again, and she’s not crying, and it hurts so much it’s looped back around to not hurting, and it’s all getting fuzzy at the edges, all the world narrowed down to this and this and this and all fucking hell she’d rather be anywhere, anything else. The statue is cold. Her throat is scraped raw. “Come back,” she’s begging without quite meaning to, “come back,” and she drives her palm into the stone again, and the pain sets her reeling.

And all hell, the sky is so blue; the statue enormous; and here they are, at its feet, vision blurring, staring up at its cold marble face. It’s so fucking tall, so proud, face tipped up towards the new-appeared sun, away from them.

“How could you?” Pax says, and then they can’t even see it anymore, blood unspooling from them like skeins of madder-dyed thread. Red has never been their favourite colour. The shape of the dragon, glowing like the sun, is fixed forever on the backs of their eyelids; gold, they think, is worse. The world is detached and floating about them. They taste smoke and then bile. Stone digs fierce into their spine.

It burned like the sun, the dragon; like all the divine light of Aetherius come to earth just to sear the moisture from her eyes. Where it clawed Mehrunes Dagon, his blood boiled; when it screamed, the world moulded itself to its call. Pax hadn’t known what was happening, while it happened; sure as shit doesn’t know now. What they do know is that he’s gone. What they do know is that the dragon didn’t look at them once. They don’t taste ash on their breath, now; just fear, stagnant, sour, blood jangling bitter in their veins and seeping out to soak their gambeson.

It doesn’t hurt, anymore, there’s just this spreading, vague numbness. It doesn’t feel like their body. It’s just a thing they’re putting on. Their ears are still ringing from the crashing-in of the Temple, but there’s a faint buzzing of noise outside. They might be dying. They can’t be assed to get up.

Skeeving asshole. They’re getting blood on the dragon’s immaculate feet. The hollow sounds of voices feels distant. Could well be worse.

Then, “… a healer, here!” they hear, much closer than anything else had been before, paired with the faraway thudding of the door, and “Pax. Pax! It’s – where’s –” and there’s hands on him, a cautious manipulation of his neck, a shifting of his legs. Pressure on his sternum, and then his stomach, and a pained grunt slips out of his mouth, bound up with a slurred curse.

“Stay calm,” says an unfamiliar voice, soft and steady. “I’m just accessing the wound.”

“Go away,” Pax says, or tries to say, but his voice is whispering-hoarse and the dragon looms in the dark even still. He could open his eyes, but what would be the point?

The hands stay on him even when he bucks, holding him steady; they whisper over the stab in her gut, pulling at the drying blood, mumbling words that she can’t be fucking bothered to listen to, one voice known to her already, one voice not; pressure again on the injury, and they try, half-heartedly, to breathe out a swear – and then light, copper-bright, behind their eyelids, and burning heat, and pain pain pain eclipsing all else as something inside them wrenches back into working order, and then their eyes are open and the sky is blue and they are very fucking aware, thank you.

Pax sits up, fast enough to send the world dizzily whirling, and shoves the mage-medic away from them.

“Piss off,” he says – and it’s still hoarse, smoke-throated and scraped raw, but there’s more bite to it this time, more sound. The strange hands fall away from his side, and he looks down. His gambeson is hanging open, cords untied, the emblem of the wolf split clean down the middle. His undershirt is rucked up around his chest, too, so much of his skin is bared to the clear, bright air; all to get to the wound tucked just under their ribs. It’s an underwhelming thing – smaller than they would’ve thought, a thin short slash like a very red mouth has opened itself up in their gut. It’s stopped dribbling quite so much blood, gone scabby with rough healing, though the stuff is still smeared all over their skin, damn near enough to bathe in. It’s barely anything, really. They’re barely even hurt.

“I’m not done,” says the mage-medic, all stern. The wound itches, the taste of hasty magic gone sour in the back of their throat with all the rest of it. “I might have to find my suturing needle. It isn’t too bad, but it can’t be healed all at once.”

“Piss off,” Pax repeats – and all fucking hell it hurts, and he’s sitting up against the statue, legs lolling. He’s dizzy. He ignores it.

Ocato – his fine clothes sooty, face tight as a wound-up spring – says, “Calm down, please – he’s a skilled healer, he knows what he’s doing.” His eyes keep skipping around the room like he’s searching for another enemy lurking hidden in the shadows. “What happened? Where’s the Emperor?”

Ah – not an enemy, then.

Pax tastes bile.

“Not very quick on the uptake, are you?” she says, elbow braced against the statue’s massive marble claws (she hates touching it, she hates it, she hates it, she wants to set it crumbling apart, she doesn’t want to let anyone else touch it ever again). She can’t stop leaning because then she might topple back down again. Fuck, she needs to keep her head on straight – or lose it altogether, whichever happens faster. Her fingers feel cold. “How’re you going to run an Empire when you’re this fucking clueless?”

Ocato looks them in the face; his brow, high and slanted in that way elves have, furrows. “You’re hurt,” he says, in a tone like he expects Pax to argue with him. “Martin Septim–”

“Can’t you see him?” Pax demands, tone torn in half and uglier than they’ve ever heard it before, and they slam the back of their hand against the stone for echoing emphasis. (They want to shatter all the bones in their knuckles, break every piece in their hand one by one, like wishbones. They want it bloody and bruising. They want to scratch its polished-smooth surface until their fingernails tear. They want – they want – they want –)

Ocato, the Empire’s de facto leader, says, “Ah.”

In his plummy robes, all fruit-rich and stained with ash, he looks very stark against the Temple’s cracked marble floors.

“The Avatar,” he says. “If – the Amulet – joined blood of kings and gods –”

“Ocato,” says Pax, leaning heavy against the statue’s hateful foot, “shut up.” Their voice is bowstring-taut; he looks at them, his eyes too golden to meet. His mouth twists. They tip their head back against the stone, glaring up at the chips of blue sky shown in the crater where the roof once was, and try hard to ignore the tugging ache hooked behind their ribs.

It really fucking hurts. Worse than it did before, maybe, like some gauzy veil has been ripped from it. A veil has been ripped from the world. All the colours are too-bright, hideous. Pax breathes, because there’s no alternative, and waits for the pain to ebb.

(It doesn’t, really.)

“The Gates are sealed,” Ocato says, slowly, and he’s looking at her again, she can see out of the edge of her eye. “We will speak later. I’ll have you put up in the Palace until you’re healed. Ah – Quintus, does –”

“As long as she doesn’t go back into shock,” says the mage-medic, busily flipping through some kind of supply bag at his belt, “her odds are good. Lost blood, but I don’t think anything important was too damaged – get a proper examination, all I did was give her a second wind. Stitches, rest, fluids should do it, with luck.”

“Can she stand?”

“Can or should are –”

“Shut the fuck up,” Pax snaps, “I’m right here.” Her back pressed against the cold marble of the statue, her plait half-loose and knotted, filled with ash. The sky is so fucking blue. It hurts like hell – if the healer took her out of shock, then shit, she wishes he’d put her back in. She can see in too much detail. She can feel the skin, damp and ragged and angry. She presses the heel of her hand to the injury; her palm is crusted with dust, tacky with the same half-dried blood streaked over the floors.

Ocato, in the edges of her vision, shifts, all a blur of rich clothes and sympathetic eyes and solemn voice turned soft like he’s talking to an easily spooked horse. “I know.”

The mage-medic clucks his tongue. “Let me take another look first,” he says, and takes a step forward –

Pax kicks out at him before he even gets close. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

“Pax,” says Ocato – and why, why the fuck is the Empire’s de facto leader here, now, babying them like a whimpering little puppy instead of anywhere fucking else, why is he bothering to talk to them all patronising soft, why does he care? They’ve barely fucking met – talked twice, if you can call either of those times talking. Is it because they’re the Hero of Kvatch? Is this what they’ve earned – a bit of leeway as they throw a tantrum, bleeding out at the marble feet of that stupid bloody statue? Ocato looks so fucking tired; Pax wants to hit him in the nose. “You need care.”

“I need –” and Pax chokes it off in a puff of air. The statue looms behind them. There’s blood on the floors. (Traitor liar coward come back come back I hate you come down I’ll knock your fucking teeth in stupid selfish fraud come BACK. LOOK AT ME.)

Pax closes his eyes.

“My gratitude,” Ocato says, “ – our gratitude for what you’ve done cannot be overstated. The Crisis if over. The gates are sealed. Mehrunes Dagon and his ilk can never threaten Tamriel again.”

The knobs of Pax’s braid are pressing uncomfortably against their scalp. They can hear footsteps, coming closer. They don’t respond.

“It’s a great shame we had to pay such a price,” Ocato says, and Pax would fucking love to know who’s we here, “but it’s done. Dagon is defeated. We’ve won.” He’s much too close, now; his voice pitches softer. “Martin – is dead. But he died an Emperor – and a hero to rival Tiber Septim.”

Pax shoves him.

It’s a good fucking shove – knocks him right to the ground, his elbow hitting the marble with a painfully audible crack, Pax standing over him, shirt rucked up, their handprint on his shoulder marked in blood. “You useless, prattling jackass!” they spit, hoarse, and deal a swift, savage kick to his side. “How dare you act like this is a victory! It should have been me!”

Then their head swims, and they’re sitting again on the edge of the dais, palm pressed to their side, the sweaty cloth of their gambeson pushed half off their shoulder and its cord biting into their hand. The mage-medic is kneeling over Ocato, who still lies, stunned; Pax can’t see his eyes, now, but they remember them, brassy with shocked fear. Their bow is off by the wall where they left it. Pax’s palms are sticky with blood. The sky is so fucking blue. No matter how hard she rages the dragon won’t look down at them.

By the time the mage-medic has helped Ocato up, they’re gone. The Kvatch guard gambeson remains, smoke-smelling and crusted with blood, left like an offering at the statue’s feet. The Hero of Kvatch is never seen again.

[lillybearrie]

Possibly a hot take but i don't like when The Joker is a character with an actually really tragic Backstory that the audience gets to know that explains exactly why he is that way or when he's portrayed as actually secretly a super genius

And it's not that I don't like psychotic characters who are tragic and smart but if I wanted that I'd pick up a riddler comic

Joker narratively is suposed to be Batman's perfect antithesis exact opposites ultimate archenemies.

Batman is dark and brooding so Joker is colorful and is famous for smiling

Batman feels guilt for everyone around him getting hurt, Joker hurts everyone around him for shiggles

Batman protects gotham through fear, Joker terrorizes the city with laughter

Batman is cold and calculated mapping out hundreds of contingencies before a threat is even identified, Joker does what he wants when he wants with no regards for anyone including himself

Bruce Wayne has a tragic backstory that everyone who has ever even heard the name batman knows, the Joker's true origins are unknown even to the audience

Batman is an unlucky genius detective, Joker is an extremely lucky moron

"A defined joker? One with a name? An identity? Why that ruins the very definition of me." - The Joker

"he's not like the rest of us. we all want something money, power, control, fear,love. but [joker] dosen’t he's like a wildfire. a wildfire dosen’t want anything it just happens" - Edward Nigma

[whump-in-the-closet]

Hi! I know you’ve written stuff like this before and I absolutely adore it so I have to request some more sidekick whump? Either hero’s or villain’s sidekick, doesn’t matter!

Have a nice day!!

Sure! Went with hero’s sidekick here because of ✨vibes✨

Villain stood over the blindfolded Sidekick, tied to the chair with hands twisted behind them. Their chest rose and fell unevenly, breath freezing in the air.

They were terrified.

Good.

Villain crouched down to eye level with Hero’s Sidekick. “Rise and shine.”

Sidekick jerked back in the chair, straining against the restraints. “Fuck you—” their voice was raw, spent from screaming for help that would not come.

“Ah ah ah, language,” said Villain. “I would have thought Hero taught you better.”

An unintelligible snarl.

Villain leaned close, yanking off the blindfold. They smiled without showing any teeth. “Now for the first order of business.” With a quick, rough gesture, they pulled off Sidekick’s mask.

“Hey!” Sidekick blinked frantically, trying to adjust their eyes to the cold light. Their breathing was shallow. Panicked. “Hero—” they started to say, then broke off abruptly.

Underneath the mask was a cloud of dark hair and tired eyes. No trademark scar. No dye or piercings. Unsettlingly average. Ordinary.

Villain rocked back on their heels. “Hero what? You think he’ll come and save you still? Or were you going to say, Hero’s gonna kill me?” They laughed. “I’m far ahead of him in that.”

Sidekick looked down. Away. Anywhere that wasn’t Villain.

Villain stood and started inspecting the tools laid out on the table. “You do understand this is business, right?” They lifted up a long, curving knife. “It’s nothing personal.”

Wiping the knife off on the hem of their shirt, they spun back on Sidekick. “For purely business matters, you’ll have to give me your name.”

Sidekick’s lips tightened. No. But their eyes were on the flashing steel.

They shrank back into the chair as Villain circled behind them. “Fine. Be difficult,” they whispered, uncomfortably close to Sidekick’s face.

Villain slammed Sidekick’s head into the table.

Stars. Brilliant-white-pain stars.

Villain’s grip relented long enough for Sidekick to register the pain. And then slammed their head into the wood a second time.

Crack.

“Your name?” said Villain.

“You…you should know. Your mom gave it to me—” Sidekick’s biting response twisted into a cry when Villain yanked their head back until their neck threatened to snap.

When Villain drove Sidekick’s head into the wood this time, Sidekick’s vision went black.

Blood stained the tabletop.

Villain shoved the tip of their blade towards Sidekick’s face.

Hovering there.

Sidekick saw double. Everything was ringing.

“Alright then, smartass, what’s Hero’s name? Tell me, and you’ll go home without any scars,” whispered Villain. “Well, minimal scars.”

Sidekick drew back, shuddering. Their eyes burned with unshed tears. “I—” Their voice cracked. “I can’t.”

Villain shrugged and traced the tip of Sidekick’s ear with the blade. At the touch of the cold steel, Sidekick bit back a sob. They did not beg, but they wanted too. Desperately.

“Your loss, really,” said Villain. “I can do this all day.”

The steel cut down, and something sticky and wet dripped down Sidekick’s ear and the side of their throat.

“Can you?”

[kittifer]

[luck-of-the-drawings]

two wrongs WILL make a right! ive got another lease on life, and im using it well, who cares if this is all fucked up cause we're all GOING TO HELL! IM JUST WILLIAM WHO SHOULD BE DEAD, HAD TO FOLLOW THE THREAD, thought he was just chillin! now he is a villain! HES ALWAYS SUCH A BUMMER, HE WANTS TO TRUST HIS BROTHER WILLIAM IN A HALLWAY BY HIMSEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

[mishy-mashy]

Kudo makes funny facial expressions

[hasarjunadoneanythingwrong]

The turas realta artist is carefully crafting images that will make me go insane

[dinosaurwithablog]

Being as so many channels have Christmas movies playing, even though we're barely out of October, I decided to join in the festivities in my own way. My favorite Christmas movie is Die Hard. It used to be How the Grinch Stole Christmas with Boris Karloff narrating, but times have changed, and so have I. Bruce Willis' portrayal of John McClane has helped me get through the hardest parts of my life. His die hard attitude and indomitable spirit helped me to face and conquer what appeared to be insurmountable obstacles. He taught me never to give up. He taught me that if you preserve, you will be triumphant. He taught me to do whatever it takes to protect your family. He taught me how tough I really am and how much I can take and still get back up again and move forward. Thank you, Mr. Willis. You don't know me, but I owe you a lot. You and Sylvester Stallone, but I digress. You both showed me how to be strong and resilient. Thank you, both.

Yippee cayay motherfucker!!!! And a happy holiday season to all!! 😁😍

[ilovefredjones]

LA’AN NOONIEN-SINGH and JAMES T. KIRK: she should have died hereafter. / there would have been a time for such a word.

william shakespeare, macbeth / amanda row, star trek: strange new worlds

[anikx]

I’m tired of pretending scrawny all might isn’t one of the hottest characters in Mha I prefer him scrawny tbh.

[elfcollector]

purely delusional veilguard posting but just thinkin bout inquisitor ahvir and how badly she wants children and

harding: i'm surprised thom didn't insist on coming with you, ahv. ahvir, laughing: oh, he tried! we argued for days about it. but i made him promise to stay home with enansyl. harding: she must be....three, now? ahvir: in about a month. she's getting so big so fast. every day i look at her and just about cry with how quick she's growing. harding: we'll get you home to them soon.

[starry-night-author]

Could I possibly request some Superhero x Hero x Villain pls? Where maybe Hero and Villain are being terrorized by Supervillain and Superhero, who is really protective of both of them isn't going to let Supervillain be a nussiance and a terror for much longer.

NYEHEHEHEHEHE YES

Prompt #17

(Part 2) (Part 3)

Superhero found them in their room, curled up in bed in the dark.

Their arms wrapped around their blanket to hold on to something, gasping quietly as they tried to catch their breath and slow their panicked mind.

Superhero had enough experience with this. They quietly slid into bed next to them, laying close but not touching. Waiting for them to come to Superhero.

Finally, after several minutes of gasps and sobs and audible swallows, Villain did. Rolling over to face their partner, wrapping their arms around Superhero and burying their face in their chest.

Superhero gently rubbed their back, listening as Villain cried softly against them.

"What'd they do this time?" Superhero murmured, letting out a breath.

Villain pushed themself away from Superhero slightly, putting just enough space between them to show Superhero their hands. It was hard to see in the dark, but Superhero could just make the large red welts running across their palms.

"Are there more anywhere else?" Superhero whispered, gently taking one of Villain's trembling hands.

Villain slowly reached back to touch their neck, and Superhero took a deep breath.

It was taking all of their effort to stay quiet. To not overreact, because they knew that was the last thing Villain wanted in their current fragile state. That despite the absolute anger and hatred running through them, they couldn't express it now.

"You're not going back there," they leaned in to kiss Villain's forehead. "I'm not letting you. Now let's get you patched up."

This had gone far enough.

Superhero had meant to slip out while the two were sleeping, but it was just as they were reaching for the door nob when something caught their wrist.

Startled, Superhero jumped, twisting around and glancing up, only to find themself facing their other partner. "Oh," they let out a breath. "It's just you."

"I'm not letting you do this." Hero said firmly, their grip on Superhero's wrist tightening. "You're going to get yourself killed."

"I have to," Superhero spoke quietly, matching Hero's low tones. Neither of them wanted to wake Villain, who was now asleep in the bedroom. "They can't keep terrorizing you two like this."

"We can stay away from them," Hero's voice was soft, but determined. "We'll avoid them, and things will-"

"We both know that's not a possibility." Superhero pointed out. They took a step closer to Hero. "They're not going to leave either of you alone. This has to be dealt with before they realize Villain isn't coming back, or else they're going to hunt you two down."

Hero let out a breath, glancing down at their feet. "I know," they whispered. "I'm scared."

"Hey," Superhero pulled them to themself, holding them tightly. "I'll deal with it. I can handle them. After all, I've got two wonderful people worth fighting for, right?"

They could feel Hero's slight smile against their chest. "I guess. I know how you are when you're defensive."

"No one's beaten me when I get defensive," Superhero agreed.

It was true. Their was a different kind of fire that lit inside of Superhero when they were fighting for something or someone particularly special. They thought everything should be equal, and couldn't bear to see injustice. They put their all into fighting for the things they found important, and that side of them was particularly brought out when it came to their partners.

They felt Hero swallow. "Villain hasn't said anything all day."

"I know. That's why I have to do this." Superhero took a step back, their hands resting on Hero's shoulders. They both knew that the usually talkative Villain would go completely silent when they weren't doing well. It'd only happened twice, and it was terrifying each time. "Go back to them. They need you. I'll be back soon."

Hero nodded, but Superhero could see the warring emotions on their face, could feel their uncertainty in their movements. They leaned down to press their forehead against their partner's. "I'll be back when you two wake up."

"You'd better," Hero whispered.

"I promise."

Supervillain's lair was dark.

In the deep quiet hours of the night, every half-built contraption looming up out of the darkness as Superhero snuck through on the lightest of feet. Every step was carefully planned so Superhero wouldn't accidentally bump into anything while sneaking through.

Using the map of the lair they'd gotten from Villain, they new that Supervillain's actual quarters were on the bottom floor, behind a huge locked vault door and a hallway full of traps.

All of these could be deactivated by a code that had also been in Villain's notes, and for a moment it seemed something good had come of using Villain as a double agent to get close to Supervillain.

It definitely hadn't been worth it, however. Superhero thought back on the welts on Villain's hands and the clear markings of a horrid tight grip on their neck and scowled to themself in the darkness.

But Supervillain would be dead by morning. Superhero would see to that.

They had just made it to the computer to deactivate the traps when a light flicked on behind them.

A cool breeze tickled their back, and Superhero froze.

They were caught.

The crime-stopper slowly turned around, trying to calm their pounding heart as they faced their foe.

Supervillain sat on a large tarp, covering some sort of boxes that Superhero couldn't see. They were lounged backwards, as cool and as awake as ever even at the ungodly hours of the night.

"So," they said, leaning back further. Only pointing out their casual stance. "I see Villain ratted me out."

"I made them," Superhero lied. "I knew they'd cave."

Supervillain smirked. "Yes, they always were quite soft. Easily malleable. It's not too hard to get them to bend, I should've been better at picking my right-hand men."

It was a direct jab at Superhero, trying to get them to give something away. Superhero didn't know how much Supervillain knew about their relationship, but they knew the criminal was suspicious. It was part of why they'd started being so harsh on Villain in the first place.

But Superhero managed to keep their composure, despite their desperate urge to leap forward and tear Supervillain apart with their bare hands. They stood their ground, glaring. "I'm here for Hero." Now that relationship was public, and it was why Supervillain had started targeting them out of the other teams of heroes. They knew Superhero's favorite, and knew it was a way to really get to their enemy.

Supervillain chuckled. "Ohhh, Hero! How are they doing? Last I heard from them I scared them so badly they nearly fainted then I left them for dead. Have they recovered yet?"

Superhero's hands tightened to fists. "They were already back on patrol last week."

The criminal whistled. "That's impressive! Now, I assume you're here to do the same to me?"

Superhero dropped into a low stance, ready for a fight. They had to finish what Supervillain had started by ever daring to lay a finger on their partner's.

"I'm here for your head," they snarled.

Supervillain's eyebrows raised. "Well. Isn't that quite a threat. Shall we get this over with, then?"

"If you don't mind."

Superhero loosed their weapon as Supervillain dropped down from their stack of boxes, ready for battle.