Malcom Had Lived A Good Five Centuries On Earth, And Not Once Had He Seen Such Stupid, Brazen Audacity.

"Do I even have a purpose?"

"You're the reason I'm tolerating this world at all."

Hey! I love your writing so much. I think I read almost all of your stories.

I was wondering if you could write an angst to comfort story with a henchman who made a minor mistake and is absolutely freaking out because their previous boss didn’t allow for mistakes and the Supervillain and current leader would comfort them?

I think it would be so cute!

Bonus point if the henchman is ruthless in fights and normally very stoic and cold.

I hope you have a nice and once again, I love your writing ❤️

A Misplacement

Henchman braced as Supervillain swept into the room, their grandiose presence seeming to bring everyone in the office into a more upright posture. The henchman stood impassively with their hands clasped and head slightly bowed, awaiting any orders that might be heading their way after the rather dramatic entrance.

“Henchman. Grab Hero’s file for me, will you?”

Henchman knew a command when they heard one, just as they had been prepared for.

“Yes, sir.”

Supervillain brushed by, still speaking as they walked.

“You can stop with that ‘sir’ nonsense. I respect the dedication, but you could really stand to lighten up a bit. It’s Supervillain,” their boss called, rounding the corner into their private office before Henchman had a chance to retort.

It would take more than that to trip Henchman up. They knew the rules, and ‘sir’ was just the tip of the iceberg.

Fight well, follow orders, and keep their head down. That’s all Henchman knew how to had to do. The trap of casualness was not one they would be falling into anytime soon.

They walked briskly to a cabinet against the wall and jingled a small set of keys from their pocket. They found the correct one almost automatically and went straight for the initials they knew Hero would be filed under. They dug past a few folders, brow creasing as they passed the suspected location. Semi-frantically, Henchman pulled out two other drawers, digging through those too to no avail.

Henchman froze. Hero’s file. It was gone.

Numbly, their gaze shifted across the room to the shredder that they had used yesterday to purge some older files at the request of their supervisor. Their hand shook as they closed the drawer of the filing cabinet.

Follow orders, until they can’t. Then it becomes, accept what comes next.

Blankly, they stepped towards their superior’s office. They paused at the door, shoving all their thoughts down into a tiny box they sealed shut with the mental equivalent of an excessive amount of duct-tape.

They could face the punishment. They always could.

The door opened with a click and Henchman allowed their jelly-filled legs to carry them into the center of the room, stopping there and reassuming the stiff posture and clasped hands that they reserved solely for moments spent in the presence of their boss.

“You can just set it on the desk,” Supervillain voiced dismissively, not looking up from the task at hand, which seemed to be signing some papers spread out in front of them. When no file placed itself on their desk, Supervillain rested their pen and questioned, “Is there something else?”

When they received no response, the supervillain lifted their head and immediately took notice of their employee’s current state.

“Henchman, are you alright?”

Supervillain had risen from their large leather arm chair and was now heading towards their subordinate.

“You just look a little pale. Come, sit down will you?”

They grabbed Henchman by the shoulders and led them to sit down in the chair that they had just occupied.

They hadn’t so much as touched the cushion before the words started to spill out of their mouth, lacking the usual curtness Supervillain had grown used to during Henchman’s lengthy employment.

“The file. I’m sorry. I must have misplaced it yesterday with some old papers. It’s not an excuse,” they added hurriedly. “I know and I understand that you need to-“

Their boss shot observant eyes to Henchman’s hands, which they had unknowingly started wringing in their lap.

“Is that what this is about? The file?” Supervillain questioned incredulously.

Their stoic, ruthless fighter who had never been anything but absolutely dependable on the battlefield was now ashy as a ghost and squirming after being asked to deliver a file.

“I messed up. I know the consequences-” Henchman explained almost robotically before their boss cut them off.

“Consequences? Henchman, we can just print another one. They’re saved in the cloud. It’s no big deal. It takes, like, two minutes. I know the printer is slow but it’s certainly not worth crying over.”

Crying? Henchman would never-

Oh. There was liquid trailing down their cheek now, running from the corner of their eye to the bottom of their jaw.

Oh no. Their boss would never forgive them for this.

Their boss, who was-

Henchman braced for sharpness, but Supervillain met them with nothing but soothing words.

“Breathe, Henchman. Breathe.”

Supervillain still had them by the shoulders, but now they were in front of them, kneeling and modeling deep breaths with their whole body and maintaining eye contact with a completely frozen Henchman.

“Are you breathing? I don’t hear anything.” Supervillain shook them gently and their employee finally took one big breath in without breaking the rigid professional composure they were still so desperately clinging to.

“That’s it.” Supervillain encouraged, signaling them to release the breath with an exaggerated deep sigh through slightly pursed lips. “You’re doing so well.”

Henchman’s facade broke with a loud, hiccuping sob.

At that, Supervillain wasted no time smothering them with a tight hug, holding on for long enough that Henchman was able to stop hyperventilating and start matching the pace of the lungs pressed up against them.

Only when Henchman’s face started to burn hot with embarrassment from their situation did their superior finally pull away, but only far enough to look them in the eye as they spoke.

“You transferred from Villain’s office, correct?”

Henchman nodded in confirmation, sniffling quietly and averting their eyes.

“Ah, I see.”

Supervillain went right back into the embrace and continued it for as long as Henchman let them.

A few tissues and a short talk on acceptable treatment of workers later, Supervillain eventually exited their personal office, entering the greater office area and addressing the first worker that they encountered.

“Other Henchman, pull Villain’s file please. Send me the address.”

Other Henchman nodded, immediately sliding their chair over to the nearest filing cabinet and beginning to thumb through the labels in the drawer.

“Got it,” Other Henchman signaled by waving a file in the air, already typing out a message on their computer.

“I think it’s time I pay someone a visit,” Supervillain declared as they sauntered out the doors, their phone dinging with what was undoubtedly the location of their newest nemesis.

Part 1

The Beast (Part 2)

The hero awoke. Still disoriented, they stared at their hands.

Claws.

Last they knew... They had transformed into some kind of beast and taken refuge in the villain's warehouse. The villain then tranquilized them.

The room appeared to be some kind of kennel. Concrete floor and walls, and sturdy iron bars with a locked door. Something soft beneath them-- a bed and blanket. They rolled to stand. Something clinked, and they felt a pull on their neck. A collar chained to the concrete wall.

A beast chained to a wall.

Ironically, they were in the one place where being a beast was safer than their real form. If they managed to escape, they weren't safe outside--

Deep breaths.

They just needed to call--... Well, text someone the situation. Surely someone would come save them.

They reached down and felt only fur.

Only fur.

They couldn't focus. They couldn't breathe.

Even their breathing sounded monstrous--

Their thoughts were interrupted by the creak and scrape of the kennel door opening and closing. They scurried under a blanket.

Villain.

"Good morning, darling," the villain cooed. They were dressed head to toe in protective clothing. "How did you sleep?"

The hero grit their teeth. They wanted to demand to be let out, to scream for help. They wanted to proclaim they were a human, not some beast--

All that came out was a horrible yowl.

"Shh sh-shhh... Don't worry, I'm here now." They brushed the hero's face with their fingertips. "Are you hungry?"

The beast snapped.

"I'll take that as a yes," the villain chuckled. They pulled out a walkie-talkie. "Bring him in."

A horrible scream echoed through the corridor.

"What's going on? Where are you taking me? I'll make you regret this!!"

Two henchmen stopped at the door holding a writhing prisoner. They wrenched a bag off his head. His indignant cries became a small whimper.

"Meet my beloved new pet." The villain threw a hand around the prisoner's shoulder. "They haven't been fed recently. Do you know how hard it is to find good, fresh meat? Do you have any pets?"

"W-what is that thing," the man stammered.

I'm human, the hero wanted to scream. I'm human, and I can help you. They pulled hard against their chains, even as the man trembled in fright.

"Gorgeous," the villain said proudly. "And very hungry."

"Fine! I'll give you the codes! Anything! J-just get me away from that thing!"

That thing.

The hero shrank back.

That thing.

They retreated to the back of the cage.

That thing.

Tears sprang from their eyes. They tried to wipe them away with furry hands.

The villain seemed to notice their struggle, and that made it all the worse.

"Take the prisoner to the drawing room," the villain said. "I'll follow in a moment."

Both the prisoner and henchmen, eager to leave, clamored out of the room.

The villain turned to the beast before them.

The hero curled into a ball, hiding their tear-streaked face.

"What's wrong, darling?"

A small, plaintive whine. The hero shook in a futile effort to contain their sorrow. They hated themselves for crying in front of the villain.

The villain laid a gentle hand on their back.

"Look at me," the villain said.

The hero turned to them with haunted eyes.

"I'm sorry, darling. I can tell that upset you deeply." The villain softly stroked their fur. "The way he yelled at you. I'll make him regret those words. I promise."

The hero shook their head vigorously.

"No?"

The villain pet them absentmindedly, deep in thought.

"Wait... You can understand me, can't you?"

The beast hesitated. Nodded.

The villain looked a bit taken aback. "Oh. I see. Oh my. I thought-- well, can you speak?"

A yowl. The hero shook their head. They pulled at the fur on their arm.

"This form is... New?"

Nod.

"You're trapped in this form." The villain gave them a look of intrigue. "Oh. Oh my. What caused this? Do you know?"

The hero shook their head.

The villain clapped their hands. "Oh, oh, very exciting, very exciting." They patted the hero's back, who snarled indignantly. "We'll get to the bottom of this, you and I. This is fascinating."

The hero had a very, very bad feeling about this.

Part 3

hero has a fencing sword. villain has a fencing sword.

hop to it

The swords were real. Not just for practice, even though that was what they were being used for. They could cut skin like paper. Paper like air.

Alive was not the right word they'd use to describe the hero. But alive they looked. Overwhelmingly so. The sweat-matted hair sticking to their face. The warm puffs of air let out with every exhale. The sun burning red into their cheeks. Overwhelmingly alive and there and existing.

(But they were not alive, they were very much dead. Dead and revived and more alive than they'd ever been actually alive.)

So alive was the hero, so painfully alive that they felt like a second sun burning the villain's eyes, that they wondered what would happen if they plunged the fencing sword into the hero's chest.

The villain managed to get the hero down on the practice ground, sword fallen away, staring up at them shadowed.

The hero glared up at them. The blazing sun made their eyes squint into narrow crescents.

The villain tipped the hero's chin up by the end of their sword. "Déjà vu much?"

"Not really," said the hero. Their breath came hotter than the air around them like it was winter. The villain hadn't touched them once, since the resurrection. "I'm rather hurt you're not treating me gently."

"I figured you needed something fresh."

"I do. Believe me, I do. I'm rather sick and tired of everyone treating me like I'll die again with one wrong shove. But I hoped that tough exterior would come apart. It's like you don't care about me after all."

The villain gripped their sword tight, and tipped the hero's chin up further so they could see their throat. Their sword left a red line up, but that was the only mark on their neck, and it was so painfully human and alive that the villain's grip on the sword threatened to go slack.

"How did you do it?" the villain asked, because their throat was as smooth as marble.

They'd found them with their throat slit, already dead. Too late to do anything. Hell-bent on revenge. Then they'd found them again, cleaning up the days-old blood on the same spot. They called it fucking social work.

"Like I'd let you know. Like you won't use the info to try and become immortal. Wreak havoc for ever and ever."

The villain twisted their sword, daring them to keep talking. But they didn't dig it in. Didn't dare push further. All that they were was morbid curiosity and no bite.

The hero grinned and threw sand at them. The villain shouted and dropped their sword, too, and felt hands roughly twist into their shirt, dragging them back and slamming them against the wall so fast and so hard that the villain had the wind knocked out of them.

The villain's eyes flew open as they felt the hero's chuckle inches away from their neck.

The hero leaned back, alive and well and overwhelming on the senses. A playful grin tugged at their lip. "Déjà vu?"

Anything else the hero said got snuffed out by the villain's ears as their gaze landed on the little cut on the hero's neck. They darted forward as if on instinct, pressing their lips against the wound.

(And they were so, so, warm and so, so mortal still. Their blood ran hotter than ever and the villain wanted for it to never go cold.)

The wound healed in seconds, moments. It healed with such force that the hero gasped and shook.

The villain drew back to the hero wide-eyed, breathing hard. They looked so rejuvenated and so shocked that there was no doubt that the villain's power had rippled through their entire body.

The villain tensed up against the wall.

"I see," the hero said breathlessly.

"You see nothing," hissed the villain, then choked on air as the hero darted forward and pressed their lips hard against the villain's neck. Stiffening up like a cat.

The hero held them there for a long moment, impossibly warm, burning hot. Then they let go and shifted to nuzzle at the underside of their jaw kittenishly.

"It's sweet that you care." The villain could hear the grin in their words. They tried not to shiver at the hot breath brushing at all their sensitive nerve endings. "That fear in your eyes was frankly delectable. I still won't tell you how I did it."

"I wish you'd stayed dead," they managed to croak out.

"You love me." The hero leaned back to tuck two fingers underneath the villain's chin and make them look. "It's sweet. Really. But don't let it affect practice, hm? We have a mission to complete, after all." They took the sword, threw it for the villain to catch, and picked up their own. In the heat, they looked like a godsent soldier.

They resumed practice.

The embarrassment never left the villain. Ever.

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.

CW: Death

but this advice lives in my mind rent-free

some of the best writing advice I’ve ever received: always put the punch line at the end of the sentence.

it doesn’t have to be a “punch line” as in the end of a joke. It could be the part that punches you in the gut. The most exciting, juicy, shocking info goes at the end of the sentence. Two different examples that show the difference it makes:

doing it wrong:

She saw her brother’s dead body when she caught the smell of something rotting, thought it was coming from the fridge, and followed it into the kitchen.

doing it right:

Catching the smell of something rotten wafting from the kitchen—probably from the fridge, she thought—she followed the smell into the kitchen, and saw her brother’s dead body.

Periods are where you stop to process the sentence. Put the dead body at the start of the sentence and by the time you reach the end of the sentence, you’ve piled a whole kitchen and a weird fridge smell on top of it, and THEN you have to process the body, and it’s buried so much it barely has an impact. Put the dead body at the end, and it’s like an emotional exclamation point. Everything’s normal and then BAM, her brother’s dead.

This rule doesn’t just apply to sentences: structuring lists or paragraphs like this, by putting the important info at the end, increases their punch too. It’s why in tropes like Arson, Murder, and Jaywalking or Bread, Eggs, Milk, Squick, the odd item out comes at the end of the list.

Subverting this rule can also be used to manipulate reader’s emotional reactions or tell them how shocking they SHOULD find a piece of information in the context of a story. For example, a more conventional sentence that follows this rule:

She opened the pantry door, looking for a jar of grape jelly, but the view of the shelves was blocked by a ghost.

Oh! There’s a ghost! That’s shocking! Probably the character in our sentence doesn’t even care about the jelly anymore because the spirit of a dead person has suddenly appeared inside her pantry, and that’s obviously a much higher priority. But, subvert the rule:

She opened the pantry door, found a ghost blocking her view of the shelves, and couldn’t see past it to where the grape jelly was supposed to be.

Because the ghost is in the middle of the sentence, it’s presented like it’s a mere shelf-blocking pest, and thus less important than the REAL goal of this sentence: the grape jelly. The ghost is diminished, and now you get the impression that the character is probably not too surprised by ghosts in her pantry. Maybe it lives there. Maybe she sees a dozen ghosts a day. In any case, it’s not a big deal. Even though both sentences convey the exact same information, they set up the reader to regard the presence of ghosts very differently in this story.

The woman was barefoot and caked in mud and ash. Her eyes glared up at his. Glowing, hungry.

"Impossible," The prince huffed. "But an excellent bluff."

"They all are," she said, voice hollow, gesturing across the landscape.

She picked her way through the destruction, hardly breaking eye contact even as she stumbled.

The prince laughed, but the sound wasn't convincing, even to his own ears. "Save your breath," he said. "They... They must have moved farther east."

"...Without their helmets?" The woman said, picking up a partially melted helmet from the rubble.

The prince faltered. "That... That's my father's helmet," he gasped. He seemed to look at her with a new wariness.

"You know who I am," the woman said.

"Y-you're nothing more than a legend," the prince said. "You... You must have stolen the helmet. To trick me!"

The woman grew closer.

The prince's mount chuffed and backed away.

"S-Stay back!" The prince said.

The woman tilted her head, but she stopped. "Go."

"Go?..." The prince whimpered.

"Go back to where you came from, and tell your kingdom what you saw here."

The prince gulped. Nodded. Ran.

He did not pause until the woman completely faded from view.

"I knew he was afraid of my conquering army, but I didn't think he would be stupid enough to leave you behind." "Oh, no, you quite misunderstand. Your army's already dead."

Gorgeous. I could stare at these all day.

This year has been quite trying, but I'm happy that I discovered a love of making these horse animations in 2023.