shorts

Reputations and Expectations

A Hero/Villain piece. Minor cw for violence.

It is to be noted that this is one of the few remaining H/V pieces. Cursed Prince posts will resume promptly.

The Hero and Villain faced each other, violent intent marring their expressions. 

Both bled freely from the myriad wounds they’d inflicted upon each other: the Villain had a split lip and several loose teeth, but they’d given their own back by blacking both of the Hero’s eyes and breaking their nose for the umpteenth time.

Their fight had been scrappy, violent, not so much to kill as to maim. 

To hurt and scar. 

All The Villain had simply taken the Sidekick prisoner, and the Hero had retaliated by targeting the Minion, taking their torment a step further. 

The Hero had beaten the Minion so soundly that the Villain hadn’t recognized them, finding them only thanks to the tracking necklace they made them wear.

“Since when… did you stop pulling punches?” The Villain panted, wiping blood from their aching mouth. Grim determination contorted their bloody face into a sneer.

“Since you made this personal.” The Hero snarled. They made to lunge, but drew up short, a hand pressed to their undoubtedly broken ribs. 

The Villain exhaled sharply in disbelief.

“You thought I wouldn’t retaliate when you beat my Minion?” 

Thanks to the Hero the Minion had lost an eye, and had required reconstructive surgery. Even now, they was laid up in the Villain’s private medical ward, unconscious and hurting. 

Silence rang through the abandoned lot. The Hero stared at the Villain through slitted eyes, righteous hatred radiating from them like heat from a flame.

“Figures.” The Villain sagged, bracing their hands on their knees, staring at the Hero a gimlet eye. “It’s always a double standard with you galumphing Hero types. It’s okay for you to beat the shit out of people in ‘the name of good,’” – the Villain’s tone dripped with sarcasm – “but as soon as I, the Villain, retaliate in kind it’s wrong?”

“They’re not involved.” The Hero argued. Their breathing was labored, wheezing from between clenched teeth. Satisfaction welled within the Villain: they had finally, finally, managed to hurt the Hero in a fight.

“They became involved the moment they came into your life, my darling.” They snapped back. “You’re just too blind to recognize that what you call protection is damnation!”

“From you!”

“From me?! You absolute shit filled idiot! It’s not just me. It’s never just been me. And do you know why?”

The Hero remained silent and glaring, shoulders hitching in pain.

“Because I swore that I would flay and gut anyone who crossed you without my leave. You think you know what power is.” The Villain laughed, only to fold double with a wet cough. Blood dribbled from their mouth, landing with a wet pat on the cement. “Well, darling. That, is power.”

“It’s not true power if it’s based in fear,” The Hero argued. 

“And what would you have it be? Respect?”

“Ideally? Yes.”

“Well news flash for you. Fear and respect are of a kind, in the grand scheme of things. At least with fear you actually know where you stand with people. They’re not lying behind your back or to your face, making protestations that they love and adore you when in truth they are terrified of you. Terrified of what you may become should your oh so precious morals fail.

“Me?” The Villain uttered a bitter, agonized laugh. “They know what I am, and I know what they think I am. They don’t expect me to ask for forgiveness, and I’m unapologetic in my actions. That’s as close to being truly free as you can be in this fucked society.”

“That sounds like a lonely way to live.”

The Villain rolled their eyes and straightened, throwing their shoulders back despite the pain that racked their entire body.  

“It’s a true way to live, dear Hero. And I’d rather be isolated and lonely and free than surrounded by the cage of the peoples’ adoration.” They turned and limped away, the Hero’s gaze searing into their back. “Don’t think this is over, either.” The Villain paused and sent a look of complete, malicious intent over their shoulder at the sagging Hero. “This is just the beginning, dear Hero. Revenge is a sweet and sublet thing, and subtly has never been your strong suit. You’ll be lucky if you survive long enough to see that revenge come to fruition.”

With that they left, refusing to let the Hero see just how much pain they were in.

When starting a war, it never bode well for your enemy to know you were weak before the first shots were even fired.

And what a war this would be. 

Empathy

A Hero/Villain piece

It is to be noted that this is one of the few remaining H/V pieces. Cursed Prince posts will resume promptly.

“You don’t understand!” The Hero choked. 

The Villain stood completely still, their face a mask. 

“Actually, I do,” they murmured, tone neutral.

The Hero shot them an agonized look, desolation ravaging their insufferably confident expression. Their face crumpled, and they curled over themselves as gut wrenching sobs tearing from their chest. 

Seeing the Hero so low, so utterly broken, cracked the Villain’s icy facade. Tears welled in their eyes, and they knelt, slowly. They reached out, slower still, to the Hero. 

Their hand brushing the Hero’s shoulder, they expected the Hero to retaliate, to lash out in grief or rage or some violent combination of both. Instead the Hero collapsed back and to the side, landing agains the Villain’s body. 

Shocked, the Villain did all they could think to do: they held the Hero. After a moment they ran their hand down the Hero’s head and back in soothing strokes. 

“It’s alright…” they whispered. They were unsure if the Hero heard them. 

“How can… can it…” the Hero sobbed, fist bunching in the Villain’s freshly pressed linen shirt. 

A flicker of annoyance flashed through the Villain at the inconvenience, but they didn’t say anything. Instead they held the Hero tighter as sobs continued to wrack their powerful body. 

They were surprised to realize they didn’t want to gloat. Didn’t want to make a snide comment about sentimentality and weakness and goodness. All they wanted to do was be there. In the moment. For the Hero. In the only way they knew how. 

As a Villain, they’d had countless moments like this, feeling so desolate they didn’t know how to move forward. But always, always, their Minion had been there. Sometimes they talked. Sometimes they sat in silence, in each other‘s arms. And sometimes they simply occupied the same space. Sure, the Villain had comforted their Minion a time or two. But never like this. 

They blinked furiously, refusing to let the Hero realize they were as human as the next fool by crying. 

The Villain held the Hero. 

Through screams of anguish and gasping sobs, they held them. They held them for an eternity, a moment, an indeterminate amount of time, until their knees and legs were screaming and throbbing in protest at being folded under the weight of two bodies, their back aching from the angle in which they sat. And yet they never let go. 

Eventually the Hero’s sobs died out, their sorrow and rage and grief spent, if only for the moment. After a prolonged moment of silence they gripped the Villain in a ferocious hug, nails biting into the Villain’s back through their thoroughly ruined shirt. 

The Villain didn’t say anything, only returned the embrace even as their desire to run, to escape, returned in full force. 

A moment later the Hero sat up. Their face was splotchy and tear streaked, their eyes swollen and red. There was a crease across their forehead from the Villain’s shirt, which was soaked in tears and snot. 

The Hero looked at the Villain. 

Neither spoke. Neither had to. Sometimes silence spoke louder than words. 

Heaving a sigh the Hero pushed to their feet, reaching a hand down to the Villain. 

The Villain took it, allowing themselves to be pulled to their feet. 

Still they didn’t say anything, even though snarky comments were fighting to break through their momentary vow of silence. 

The Hero met their gaze with tear-rimmed eyes, their hands still clasped with the Villain’s. If they noted the tears still clinging to the Villain’s lashes they didn’t comment. 

“Thank you…” they rasped. They squeezed the Villain’s hand, and the Villain squeezed back. 

The Villain opened their mouth to reply, comment, retort, anything to break the sudden tension. They never got the chance. 

With a decisive nod, the Hero released their hand, turned, and strode away, leaving the Villain standing alone in the empty alley. 

“The fuck just happened?” The Villain murmured into the rainy night. They were suddenly shivering, but whether from nerves, anticipation, cold, or a combination, they couldn’t tell. 

All they knew, in that moment, was that something irrevocable had passed between themself and the Hero. As they turned and walked the opposite direction, they realized that it wasn’t a bad thing. 

What that meant for their feud remained to be seen, true. But for now… 

For now they had come to an understanding. And the Villain felt less alone than they had in years.