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whoopdyprompts · 2 years

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I had a psychic dream wherein my family was running towards an area where all the poor, impoverished people were trying to get in.

"Why are we going there?" I ask, wondering where we were going. I'm the type of soul that wants to know before it goes.

"It's where the planes are," he said, backpack on his back with a son on his shoulders, another son beside his left, his wife on his right, and me on his trolley that he's pulling.

We were in the middle of barren lands. Even though it seemed illogical to live in the desert plains, I know that it's where the low vibrational people live.

There they are, trying to tower each other just to get into "where the abundance lies."

Abundance is having the infinite overflow.

This abundance is created through mind washing the people and exploiting their needs by telling them they aren't inherently worthy of it, and then using that inflicted wounded as a hole to crawl in in order to exploit this need, as if the same people that took your power away from you could give it back.

Planes are here? I asked in my mind, and then my vision goes bird's eye view.

They're dropping bombs here.

I heard my guide say.

I have guides that help me in the spiritual realm, overlapping the physical one I'm currently in.

Earth.

I looked back at the moving planes with carts of boxes with red inks of large caps, "EXPLOSIVES."

Still thinking they were giving us food and shelter (in the middle of a barren land wherein water and needs aren't supported in the middle of a "war"),

"But they told us airplanes would be dropping by and-"

Wait.

"The planes! They're dropping the planes?"

"What?" My father had asked loudly, trumping nearly towards where the people are, brainwashed into thinking what they need is in the government's hands. Little do they know, that it's a bait for them, to lure them into the trap, their original plan.

To eliminate us all along.

"They're dropping planes to drop us bombs!"

Suddenly there were planes passing by. Far enough to give us a good distance when they would send out bombs, but still large enough to see them accelerating.

Realization hit before the dropped bombs did.

And so the ran began.

I was on a wheelbarrow now, my father pushing the cart among the growing cabbages around me. Oddly enough, the only color in my black and white dream was red.

Blood? War? WW2? 1970s?

Were we, as humanity, stuck in a time loop, wherein as dense as we go, as fast we make haste, and as long as we hurry as long as we are late?

We go to a cave, a hideout wherein "Old People Came Here To Die To"

My mother was acting strange. It's as if she wanted to kill me.

Wanting to leave me behind in a war when I was the one who indirectly saved her.

Odd.

A conversation went up between two lads. Since I, a child, was young, the adult men talked while I climbed the insides of the cave.

I played with the webs while they were talking, spidermanning in my little 1970s outfits while they conversed.

Their voices muffled as I got more into my own world, fully aware of the destruction outside but not the enormousness of it. Like an innocent child with the aspects of naivety and hyper-awareness.

My father had asked the old man, sitting with a cane and other older people, men and women, who were going "Into The Light," as physically described with the bright white end of the cave (Why wouldn't they go there? Why wouldn't they escape being killed?"),

"What are you here for? The donation packages and refugee camps were there outside," he'd asked, bowing as the small cave was small for an average man like him, putting his cap in his hand as he folded it out of courtesy and meekness, like a boy with a family going to his dad.

"They just told us to go here." (Where, where a cave is an easy hideout for all the enemy onlookers to see, the enemy planes to bomb?)

I went back to climbing another edge of the wall. Funnily enough, my mom doesn't seem to stop me, caring less of me now. My brothers are neglected, my youngest brother crying in his walker, my brother sitting there in thought, ignored by the lack of role or purpose, prohibiting him from being important or needed to the family.

I was a child, playing, when I was aware of everything.

"Oh, they told us it's where old people go." The lady in a pink shirt and white hair on her head laughed and looked towards her left, which is where the portal was sitting at. Some old people are already walking up and leaving their canes, standing and walking towards the light, disappearing as though so did their back and bone problems.

"This is just where the old people die."

This is where they want us to be, I heard her think.

We have nothing to do with ourselves, another lady at the opposite end of the cave, the portal by her left, thought as well.

All the three of them- the man, the pink woman, the yellow orange woman with her hair in a bun and hands on her cane, smiled sadly.

They've all been bamboozled to think that their death and the government's causations of it are exclusive unrelated.

They've all been bamboozled, I think, my little 4 year old's fingers scratching through the spider's web, pulling it back to examine it.

As easy ass to weave a web, as easy as it is to break through.

Swat it with a hand.

The people think the power is in the government, when the power is taken from the people by the government, the old people are relocated and made to think as if they're only meant to death, and

Oh shit.

There's a lady, as I'm remembering this dream, smiling at me, standing there in her office outfit from the 1940s, hands and arms lengthy and the side, smiling and standing so cheerily it's creepy.

Her smile and the knowingness in her eyes, showing that she's American, hoping for the fall of the other countries.

THe people keep screaming and pushing the gates of the compound forward, finally breaking through the gates of the compound, (why am I repeating this phrase: gates of the compound, as if it's fucking dogs) overstepping the metal fencees of osion death, not seeing as though the reason why there were no houses in the middle of the

(the lady keeps smiling on me SHIT.

GET THE FUCK AWAY.)

[You can't suppose to know this, she thinks. I tap into her mind. She sees me, sitting on the red wheelbarrow. Family out of sight. A war between the freedom child and the oppressive adult.

You're a child.]

I tap back into my dream body. I looked at the people. I had modest clothes on. They were dressed in rages, the lack energy manifesting through physical appearances.

They were kicking, forcing the others to go through the fence. Overhead, the planes were big, nearing.

I knew I was protected, as I, and the lady, was standing by. Mere observers to a mass murder of a government's crime on the country, later to place in the battlefield themselves.

The lady keeps looking at me.

Those sickneing (I'm getting sick as I type her in this submission post.) eyes, soul-sucking drying, soulless being, looking at me, wanting me to note of her presence without seeing the truth of the situation.

The military was dropping of boxes and bombs with the words EXPLOSIVES on it on the ground, the men inside pulling the man back up, the anonymousity of his face showing as though the government is both brainwashing people into being in a cult and forgetting their

(WHY DOES BETTY WHITE KEEPS APPEARING SMILING BRIGHTLY AT ME?!!)

-identites, as they afeel encompassed through a collective cult identity as "THE GOVERNMENT." Bombs were made as thought to drop as foods but then are LABELED as EXPLOSIVES while the PEOPLE WERE JUST FUCKING AWAY.

I went away, going back to the cave as I heard multiple bombs went off, exploding everyone there, even the ones who were on top of the pile of humans they've just walked on for some title they felt entitled to, "I AM DESERVING OF THIS HIGHER POSITION OF WORTHINESS THAT I WORKED FOR" falling into the trap of chasing worthiness out of the feeling of unworthy.

Two things were happening at once. I had visions of the people I'm leaving behind, I saw the cave I was once headed, but seeing as though the people at the bottom fo the massive stockpile of herd mentality of the humans crumble down, led the entire workforce to crumble.

Planes ahead of me, as small and far away they might seem, are actually ones that bomb up the things most.

Like the cave I was going into, for example.

"Come!" My father gestured me to go faster, a man with a checkered blouse an red pants from the 2020s are now reahchig out his hand for me to grab once I come closer.

As I began nearing the entrance of the cave, I saw small plane, one size of a car, appear from nowhere and bomb the opposite of the end of the cave.

THe old people in the portal were gone, and all the three adults that we had talked to (why did i refer to adults talking as we?) were staring straight into the distance, haze in their eyes,

Better to see daydreams than it is to see reality.

Outside the cave, I stopped. As I stood off the (SHIT THE 2020s GUY WAS THE ASTROLOGER FROM TIKTOK. REFERENCES TO THE FUTURE I'M IN WHILE IN THE PAST I'M WITNESSING?? AKA WITNESSED??) red wheelbarrow. Somehow it's as red as Clifford The Red Big Dog. In fact, every red was like that, except for explosives. Oh, and the planes and the government's military men where dressed in camouflage jungle, which was odd when we were from the plain fields, no trees or grass around, which had meant that they were bombing a neighboring country whilst dropping theirs alone.

America with the wage of the war all over the world?

I mean, America waging a war-

America with the wage of the war?

All over the world?

I stood there in the sunlight, my outfit like the guy in Tiktok, leather coat lavishly over my shoulders as I looked at the fast small planes. I had been fearful of spotting another one near the caves, but it was fine.

My head took a mental note that (BETTY WHITE?? KEEPS REAPPEARING??? YOU CAN'T DISTRACT ME) the small, easy, missile planes were gone, pacing slowly as the distance made them look and move so, but screaming as the big plane that had just exploded every poor person into bits in half as they were baited into the needing food, wanting power, climbing on top of other people as a trap, and being sent to the "where the airplanes drop" message was there.

The military guy saluted to my father, who came out of the cave.

"Nice to see you going there," he had said. Mask off, his eyeprotecion wear was still there.

"Ah, yes! Nice going." he had said.

I could see the excitement as he had "gained" respect from someone dangerous. I see this as a trap and a manipulation form that the government uses.

A form of plor and play in order to get enemies who might stand up to it as "powerful with me" only respecting you when you were with them, making you feel as though you're making an alliance out of both mutual best interests while their plan is to get you to feel unworthy ad powerless outside of yourself, similar to the poor people, but with the middle class, the surviving or "thriving" group of people, making them feel as though they could only gain the amount of power and food and shelter that they deserve because they were average, young, and healthy, but not too healthy, rich, but not too rich, able, but not too able, and powerful, but not too powerful, in order for the middle class to prevent an uprising wherein conditions that should be inherently met are only guaranteed if you play along, seemign as if to grant you a win over others when it's plying you in their game.

Once the helicopter cop was gone, a vision fo the dead people where there, a mile away from the cave hideout of the once were alive adult people. The white corpses of the humans starved by work to death, wear there, piles of bodies just the same, adults, youngsters, and children at the bottom, adult men at the top, dead and white, in cartoonish style of the 1980s comics, as their red blood piled under them as they lay on top of it. Like a feats fit for a king cannibal for his servants, there they lay, lifelss as their bodies are in half, raw white meat and bones and teeth and stones.

I went back inside the cave, clutching the leather jacket around me. My family was there, but my mother was more than disappointed that she hadn't gotten rid of me during the war. She had wished to not have a spoiled and disappointing and mischevious child like me, hoped that my naivety of going into the battlefield would keep me there, dead, and long gone, when hoping and continouing to go on for the hope of a light (myeslf) was the one that helped me bring back inner peace as I strived through it (the battlefield). I passed her in the cave as her eyes blink and close out of disapproval of my essence and the form I had chosen to take.

I looked at the once-now-corridor-once-was-portal haven was. It was a hospital corridor, as if old people who get treated where treated to die, instead of live.

The old man was sleeping, slouching as though there weren't any walls behind him, the pink lady looking through the smoked end of the cave, revealing yet another light, but one that we can't go to, given the previous way of peaceful passing as once now gone, and now replaced by the sorching hot desert death with the white gleaming reflection fo the bright usn, brought by the baarren land that encompasses the angel view of the cave from its soil, effectively rephrasing the white portal from "realm we're going peacefully into, away from all of this," into "a portal of the open physical realm, preparing you for strike. embrace me"

The orange lady sat there, starign straight into the bald man's head.

"They all want us dead..." she had said, this time with the haze of the old woman as she watches were years go by, frozen as time struck with move.

There's a piranha slappign on the ground, jumping to move, but moving and coming closer at the edge of the antrance nonethelesss.

It was actually the actual gore fishes that had lightbulbs on their carrote head broomstick of bait, telling me a message.

"Tell the world what you see." He slaps his tail as he jumped again, water dripping from its scales to the sand, his head bobbed towards the bleeding corposes and the airplanes dropping. There are now white leiutenants in white caumoflages (fighters in the spiritual realm, but in a more unsettling way?) drops to the ground, blasting their bazookas off as it vacuums the bodies into dust like a blackhole in their hands, leaving the few remains of a few corpses, the corpses of a girl, her father,r, and her mother, on the ground, seeming as though it was a mere murder family that had it coming by going through the fence of the government. He cleans up, and sits at the helicopter, a white one, blank of its crime sins, dressed up as though they were innocent of the job.

but it wwas playing innocent for the job.

The man sits there, looking past the fog that enclosed the once desert plain land population as protection from the wars of the outside world.

But now it made sense. The government was wagigin war on us, and it led us to knowing that other countries fought back in return, and yet the government keet screwing us over, blaming the corruption and prevalent poverty on those suffering from it, no the system causing it itself, as a way to prolong the abuse of the tenants of a foreign land to its owners.

The helicopter was gone, adn so did the military camp base. THe scenery kept changing, until I realized one thing.

They conquered them first, I thought as I looked as how the military campaigners brought the fog border with them as they strode off through the cave's location.

Now they're coming for us.

THe fish slapped itself on the ground by jumping on it again.

"Go tell them to the world."

There's a spiritual warfare happenign in the world whilst the physical manifestations come as the symptoms of mysoginy, rampant abuse, taking power and control over the women, the children, and the youth, the lgbtqia+, minrotiies, indigenous groups, and older people, whilst the middle class, especially adults, are being made to feel as though the world is wrong and is broken place, and they, the ones who can fix it, are the ones who are supposed to, by enforcing more rules and lawws, perpetuating the abuse of constant loops of cycles of disempowerment by corrupted people in the government and powerhouse itself.

Observe and don't project, people. Observe and don't project.

#dream #psychic dream #i-once-dreamt #dream decoding #message #message to the world #fuck it #i'm a tired-of-this-shit wizard from another realm #this is ridiculous at this point

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whoopdyprompts · 2 years

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hey hey! i love your prompts so much, i always refer to them when i struggle writing my characters! is it possible to ask for a where character a meets b through a friend and it becomes more than just friends maybe??? thank you so much, stay safe and healthy!!

aa yay ty!! and yes this sounds so interesting :)

introducing a friend but it becomes friends to lovers

written

C introduces A to B through a groupchat and the two hit it off immediately, and poor C begins getting notifications at 3 A.M when the two decide to have late night chats.

A shyly pulling B aside and asking to hang out, just the two of them. B feels their heart do a backflip as they accept.

C noticing how A looks at B and pushes them to try and get closer with them more, excited to play Cupid.

A and B trying to hide their relationship from their friend as they fear that they might be a little upset or awkward.

dialogue

"That... That's your friend...and you've never introduced me to them before?!"

"You guys were practically making heart eyes at eachother the whole time...go for it."

"I wanted you guys to be friends so we could all hang out together but I just ended up being a third wheel."

"I'm going to have a lot to say at your wedding..."

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whoopdyprompts · 2 years

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the way i want this to happen with me please-

hey I adore your writing and heard about your pride month snippets that you might be posting soon??? starting with asexual for the alphabet (which is really creative I love that 😊!) and so I was hoping that maybe you could do a very flirty villain finding out hero is asexual and all the questions and almost like friendship that sprouts from it?!?

if not don’t worry! love your work!! ❤️❤️❤️

The villain hummed and very suddenly and very softly their hand landed on the hero’s shoulder. The hero had enough time to turn around before the villain could presumably ambush them.

“You look so lonely, darling. You look like you have the world on your shoulders.” In one second, the hero had almost enjoyed the gala and in the next, their devilish nemesis was here to mess everything up again.

“I didn’t know you’re allowed on galas,” the hero said. They scrutinised the villain to find any kind of threat, any weapon on them.

And yet again, the villain was the threat. They were the weapon.

The villain grinned from ear to ear.

“I am not, darling.” They took a sip out of their champagne glass and wiggled with their eyebrows. “But let’s just say that I invited myself in. I wanted to see you.”

“Oh.” The hero hadn’t expected that. It was flattering. But it scared the hero. It scared them so much. “That’s very nice.”

They flashed a smile at the villain, trying not to let them catch the fear in their eyes.

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about you for a while. The way you kicked my ass two weeks ago…I can’t get that out of my head.”

The hero tried to control the thoughts racing through their mind. They didn’t want to have a conversation that turned into a debate with a person they were intrigued by again.

“Are you drunk?”

The villain looked deeply into their glass, their gaze absent but still as intelligent as ever. Their smile was a bit sheepish, though.

“Mmmmaybe. I don’t think I’d have the confidence to tell you this when I’m sober.” They swayed a little but at least they weren’t jumping at the hero. It was funny in a way that a cat staring into the abyss was funny.

“Do you do that often? Going on galas to get yourself drunk?” The hero smiled a little. It was entertaining to see the big scary villain in civilian clothes. It was even more entertaining to see them being tipsy. This way, the hero could’ve been so cruel to their nemesis.

They could’ve arrested them. They could’ve questioned them. They could’ve blackmailed them. But technically, the villain’s civilian persona hadn’t even done anything. Yet.

“Only when you’re on the gala. I like you. A lot.”

The hero took a deep breath and the anxiety came bouncing back. They already felt guilt they shouldn’t, they felt this stupid responsibility again.

This was always the worst part.

As if they owed the villain. As if they weren’t enough. They knew those thoughts were wrong and generally speaking, those were thoughts of the past which they’d banned from their brain.

Nonetheless, habits are hard to kill.

“In what way do you like me?”

“In that way.”

“What?”

“Huh?” The villain was drunker than they’d expected.

“I’m asexual,” they said. It always felt like a confession.

And that was wrong, too. You can confess a crime. You admit something damaging to yourself. That’s confessing.

There’s nothing wrong about feeling the way you do. And still, still the hero had to explain it, justify it. Why couldn’t they just feel the way they did?

“I like you. You’re fun,” the hero admitted. “But I don’t want you in that way. I don’t want you sexually.”

The hero knew what would come next.

You haven’t found the right one.

That’s unnatural.

I can fix you.

It was so frustrating by now. They couldn’t blame people for their curiosity. But the hero wanted to blame them for their ignorance.

At this point, they were just tired. It wasn’t something they could let go of. The responses from other people got to them.

“Ah, would you like to go on a date with me? Like romantically? Or platonically if you’re aromantic, too?”

“Sorry?” the hero asked, stunned enough to let out a shaky breath. No one had ever gone into that direction.

“Oh, was that wrong to ask?” The villain looked deeply embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to! I just like you a lot and if cuddling is all you want or just a platonic relationship, then that’s okay for me. I just want something with you. If you’re interested in that.”

The hero was flabbergasted.

“Yeah, let’s do something together,” they answered shakily. “You didn’t say anything wrong. You said the perfect thing, actually.”

#thank you so much<:.]]]]]#<- me crying #telling someone i'm aroace feels like i'm invalidating their feelings towards me #as if i'm the one at fault #also #heteronormativity suckss #<:.D #at least I have this to cheer me up #thank you #save-the-villainess-cat #oops i spelled that wrong #thank you save-the-villanous-cat!!!!!!!!!!#i love you so much you have no idea!!!!!#representation matters!!!#weeeeeeee #aroacesstories

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whoopdyprompts · 2 years

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hi mœther, i loved the post with the asexual hero, it honestly made me feel a lot better about my sexuality and i felt heard , thank you

-phantom

- p.s. only sappiness you will get from me,

Babes, I just want you to know that you deserve what you want.

And you deserve to be given exactly what you want from human connection. There’s no one on this earth who should pressure you into giving things you don’t want to give. You don’t owe anyone.

There’s nothing wrong with you. There’s nothing that needs to be fixed and your sexuality is nothing you have to overcome.

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whoopdyprompts · 2 years

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Can you write about a hero who was supposed to fight the villain but gets stunned when they see how beautiful the villain is (and maybe fall in love with them)?

It wasn't like the hero hadn't been warned, that was the worst thing. Everyone who had ever come across the villain was in love with them in some way - dazzled by the villain's beauty, drawn by a longing to earn the villain's admiration, possessed by a dark desire to have the villain as their own and only their own.

The hero had always known such a thing could never really happen. After all, everyone wanted the villain and no one had them. It had to be a trick, maybe some form of mind spell? The villain was powerful. They weren't something to be had. And beauty was such a surface thing - it spoke to nothing of the terrible acts the villain had proven themselves capable of. Of course, the hero would not be deceived by such things. They had trained all of their life. They knew what they were supposed to do.

Then they saw the villain, and the hero knew that they had been a fool.

The hero had been warned.

They had been warned, and seeing the villain standing in the threshold was still like seeing the sun for the first time, their face so lovely that it almost brought tears to the hero’s eyes. The hero felt their breath stutter in their throat. They felt their sword falter in their hand until the silver blade scraped carelessly against the floor. It felt like the solid surface beneath their feet had shattered.

If the villain was dead, then they would be gone from the world. The hero wouldn't be able to see that face again. The hero wouldn't be able to have them.

(As if the hero would ever have been able to have them, them, who they had heard stories about all of their life!)

The hero felt a distant ping, in the back of their brain, that maybe they should have blinded themselves before they ever looked up upon that face. They had been trained to fight in the dark. To fight with thick material bound over their eyes. The sightless mask rested on the bedside table of the inn, so close, but the hero couldn't quite bring themselves to reach for it. They felt stunned, as if from a reeling blow to the head.

Only a few seconds had passed.

"No." It came out raspy; a desperate plea. They had to stop looking.

They had been warned, but the villain wasn't supposed to have found them. It wasn't how the scene was supposed to play out. The villain was supposed to be in their fine blood-bought home, and the hero would stride in to challenge them there. It wasn't supposed to be in the cheapest inn in town, with mould on the walls, before the hero was ready. How had the villain known?

The villain stepped closer, head tilted to one side, as they shut the door to the room behind them with a click. They studied the hero, but the hero knew they wouldn't be able to get a good glance at their face while the hero's hood was still up, shrouding their features.

The hero kept staring.

Something in their chest tugged, gnawing at the tightly wound knots of duty and all of the hero's vows to protect. It felt impossible, after all, that someone so angelic could be so cruel. There had to have been a mistake, somewhere, right?

Another older instinct hissed at them to step back, look down, hide. To not be seen. To never be seen.

"Remember your lessons." The villain's voice was gentle and mocking and entirely impossible to deny. "Stay true to your heart. To your oaths."

The hero tried to remember how to swallow. How to breathe. Their mouth felt dry. They felt the enchanted sword fall from their grip with a clatter. They wondered if the villain would ask them to kneel, ask them to bear their throat to be cut. What an honour it would be, to have the villain do it personally.

No. No.

The hero squeezed their eyes shut, and the not looking almost hurt. Like amputating a limb. Like losing something vital.

The villain laughed quietly.

"Do you ever get lonely?" the hero asked.

The laughter stopped.

They heard, they felt, the villain stop too. They wondered, if they opened their eyes, if they would see surprise on the villain's face.

"Excuse me?"

"To have everyone want you, instantly. Because of your face. Want to serve you, so they might have you as their prize. Want to kill you, so maybe at least your death might be theirs alone."

The hero couldn't remember where they'd dropped their sword, they couldn't remember how to use it. It took all their efforts not to look. They felt starved. They felt hyperaware of everything the villain did; the sound of their breathing, the way there was only a few scant steps between them, the smell of them beneath the mediocre and previously not unpleasant odours of the inn.

The villain closed the final step between them, and the hero made an aborted sound as the villain swept their hood back, uncovering them.

For a moment, the only thing the hero could hear was their own panting breaths, the roar of their heart.

"Oh," the villain said.

Something about the hero revolted people. Strangers crossed the street, skittered away. Even the hero's teachers had felt it, and clamped against the urge to recoil only with the force of their own training. The hero was a little surprised that they hadn't heard or felt the villain leave already.

The hero jumped as they felt fingers close around their chin.

Their eyes snapped open again, and met the villain's gaze.

"Has anyone ever wanted you?" the villain asked.

It was the hero's turn to laugh, pained and shallow like they'd already had their windpipe slit.

The villain really was so very beautiful. They didn't feel like they belonged to the world around them. Looking at them was like realising how ugly the world was, how much it deserved to be ripped down and torn apart.

(No. No.)

"No," the villain said softly. "Of course they haven't."

The hero flinched. They scrambled, in the dull and familiar ache of it, for those hours upon years of training. The quiet hall. The isolation. They started to pull back, only for the villain's grip to tighten like a unexpected vice. The villain's fingers were soft. Like they had never held a sword until their palm was more callouses than skin, never scrubbed at themselves raw like that might get away whatever thing it was that made everyone react so strongly to them. The hero froze once more.

"Yes," the villain said, their touch a caress. "I get lonely. I suppose I don't need to ask if you do too."

The hero willed themselves to pull away, even as they willed for the villain to never let go again. They tried to remember the last time anyone had ever touched them. It must have happened. At least, when they were a child.

"God," the villain said, eyes wide. "You're exquisite."

"Don't-" They had known the villain to be awful, they had heard the mockery in their voice earlier even, but that...

The villain let go, as swiftly as they'd caught hold, and in the villain's gravitational orbit the hero swayed and stumbled. They caught the chipped edge of a bed post to keep from hitting their knees. The strange moment between them broke.

The hero still tracked the villain's movements around the small space instead, as if anything in that room mattered except them.

"You have been sent to kill me," the villain said, in a business-like tone.

"To fight you. They didn't - if capture is possible-" It felt suddenly, horrifically, airlessly wrong to imagine the villain in one of the cells. Caged. Trapped like a museum piece. The hero felt dizzy.

"Mm." The villain smiled, without warmth. "And do you think me beautiful?" There was something mocking to that question too, something with more teeth than faux gentleness. "Do you love me too?"

"Yes."

Love. Hate. Overwhelming and unstoppable as a tide. Incomprehensible. They had only just met.

"In love with the enemy," the villain sighed. "Tsk, tsk. How embarrassing for you."

They had only just met, but...

The hero stared at them. But.

The villain prowled across the room once more, and when they covered the hero's vision next, the movement was quick and violent. Their nails dug into the hero's temples like they might rake across like claws and scratch the hero's eyes out.

"You are repulsed by the thought," the hero managed, hands still useless at their sides. "And yet you do not run?"

"You are used to people running."

"As you are used to them kneeling at your feet."

"I am not repulsed by the thought of you," the villain said, after a very long moment. "I have heard stories about you too, you know, for so long. A masked hero who sends even the world's worst monsters fleeing in terror. Even the people you save all go pale in fear of you, as they do of me, even as they tell me blank-eyed how you saved them."

The hero flinched once more, but the villain would have none of it. They pressed closer with every fumbling step the hero backed away.

"Everyone warned me that you would come for me one day, if I grew too powerful, if I didn't let them protect me," the villain murmured. "But you are not so terrible a thing, are you? You are gorgeous."

"Don't-"

"-I think I'd rather like to have you, actually. Would you like to be had?"

The distant no in the hero's head felt very, very far away.

"As a weapon," the hero said, even as they knew they should say no and I am not a possession.

The villain laughed. "Oh, darling, no. What use do I have for weapons? I have me."

Well, that seemed true enough. One look, and an army would feel it's knees go wobbly beneath them. They would crumple.

"I can love something and still hurt it," the hero said. "Still kill it. Still do what I am meant to do."

It was another plea, of a different sort.

The villain's lips crushed against the hero's own; the first kiss they had ever had, sweet and claiming and the hero felt stunned all over again.

"So can I," the villain whispered. "Now, come."

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