The Hero Was Halfway Home When They Got The Call.

The hero was halfway home when they got the call.

“I’m sorry,” the person on the other end said, voice wet with tears, and the hero knew.

They knew that tone of voice, they knew this sinking in their stomach. They knew.

Their phone shattered against the ground, fingers numb.

Their friend was dead.

Again. Again, again, again again–

“Fuck,” the hero muttered, heart clenching. “Fuck.”

They were crying by the time the villain appeared next to them, and it took everything in the hero not to punch them.

“I don’t know why you do this to yourself,” the villain said, eyeing their tears.

“What, love?”

The villain tipped their head slightly. “No. Love things you can't keep.”

The hero was sure it would kill them this time, the heartbreak. They had thought after enough centuries, enough people loved, enough funerals attended, death would be an old friend and not a bullet wound. They had hoped it would hurt less.

But it still hurt, and death was chronic.

“What, you expect me to be you? Cold, killing people for fun?”

The villain raised an eyebrow at their tone.

“I don’t kill people for fun.”

“Don’t you?”

“No,” the villain shrugged a shoulder. “I just don’t care if there are casualties. Besides, not everyone is a good person in the first place. I’m doing the world a favor, half the time”

“How can you say something like that,” the hero hissed. “Do you hear yourself? Do you hear how awful you sound right now?”

The villain gave the hero a long look.

“Hero. You fight the worst people this world has to see for a living, and you’re standing here saying they deserve a second chance?”

“Yes,” the hero snapped. “I am.”

“You are a bleeding heart,” the villain observed. “It’s amazing you haven’t turned into me.”

“You and I, we are not the same.”

The villain half-smiled. “Aren’t we?”

“Shut up,” the hero looked away, chest tight. “These people, these lives, are so precious, so, so fragile, and you take them away like it is nothing.”

They were shaking, and they weren’t sure if it was rage or fear or something else. They couldn’t stop. The hero wondered if this was what death felt like. If this is what it felt like to have your body betray you, longing for the ground and solitude of a grave.

“I am not going to stand here and debate morality with you when you are breaking apart at the seams.”

“I’m fine,” the hero managed. They willed themself to stop crying.

“Death is inevitable, and you are hiding from the truth of that.”

The hero’s throat closed before they could respond.

“Your friend is dead, and no matter how much you fight, you will not win the war against death a second time. Do you hear me? You and me, we already won. We are time’s children. We will be here longer than ‘here’ will be. Death has no claim to us, and yet you keep pushing, and pushing, and pushing, because you cannot bear the weight of this gift.”

The hero’s knees gave out, and the villain caught them.

“Stop letting the guilt of being alive break you.”

“I don’t want this anymore.” It was a pitiful thing as it fell from their mouth. Something broken, worn out and tired.

The villain rested a hand on the back of the hero’s neck. “You cannot undo this any more than you could the last time you tried. I promise.”

It almost sounded like an apology.

“I am tired of loving precious, fleeting things.”

“So don’t,” the villain said easily.

The hero closed their eyes. “How?”

The villain hummed, voice soft. “Love me for a while. Until the burden of existence fades. I won’t leave.”

“You say that like loving you is easy.”

“It isn’t. But you’ve done it for centuries–what’s a few more?”

“You kill people.”

“No. I just don’t save them, and I don’t carry the guilt of not saving them, because it isn’t my job.”

“Yeah.”

“It isn’t your job either.”

The hero had known that, centuries ago. Somewhere along the way of funerals and eulogies, it had been hard to keep believing it wasn’t their fault when they were always the one left alive.

So they had stopped.

“Promise you won’t leave?”

“I couldn’t leave you if I tried.”

“Liar.”

“Yeah,” the villain agreed. “But never to you.”

Just like the hero had known it to be true when they were both fifteen, mortal, and wild, the hero knew it was true now.

And so, like every time this had happened before, across centuries and continents and deaths, the villain brushed away the hero’s tears; and they went home.

Cuddle, an intense cuddle scene in the dark grotesque hallway filled with soft sobs, until its the villain flinching from the same dull fuzzy ache in very core of their heart, their skin feeling tingles against the warm of the cozy couch and flurry blanket wrapped around them with the hero sound and softy breathing in their arms. Their small hands cluched on the material of the loose shirt in their smol fist.

Now this is so wrong because they were just suppose to return the favour in time when they need. They almost lost the hope with a heavy longing heart to be ever to see hero again, but here they are giving in with their plead to, "...just hold me for once...hold me tight..." with their heart crumbling like cookie in their pious hand.

Actual ask:I always write promts of unfolding scene, lol. Can u do a quick monologue from villain while cuddles.

I craved reading the energy ur dailogue fumes with. Finally finding ur a/c here was like discovering a new nirvana. Congratulations on having just another supporter *flashing u my best giddy smiles* lol

The hero was sound asleep in their lap, and the villain was panicking, just a little. Not panicking exactly—their schedule wasn’t exactly conducive to panic attacks—but they were….frazzled. Yes, that was a good word for it.

They shifted slightly and the hero mumbled their displeasure. The villain froze, because what were they supposed to—they carded their hand through the hero’s hair as soothingly as they could. The hero quieted, hand clutching into the villain’s shirt.

The villain sighed with relief.

The hero looked exhausted. The kind of exhausted you find in hospital rooms and gas stations at 2am. Maybe that was why, when the hero had sobbed, “Can you just—hold me, for a second, I just—“ the villain had let the hero collapse into their arms.

The villain, selfishly, was glad they were asleep.

The hero needed the rest, sure, but mostly the villain had just wanted the hero to stop crying. They didn’t know how to handle that. They weren’t a gentle person, someone who knew the correct words at the correct moments; but the hero was. And the hero deserved the same kind of comfort in return, so the last time this had happened, the villain had tried their best.

The last time, the hero, crying and bloody and entirely a mess, looked at them, said their name in a collapsed hallway, and the villain had—not panicked, because they didn’t do that—become increasingly frazzled.

And then the hero had been in their arms, and they were sitting on the ground, because the villain had hugged them.

The villain was an idiot.

They swore it wouldn’t happen again, because it couldn’t. The hero could never be their friend, and the villain could never be theirs.

It happened again.

It was happening now.

And the villain, secretly, was glad the hero was asleep, because they just wanted this moment, this forbidden thing, to last. Because if the hero saw the villain’s face right now, the hero would know that the villain cared.

The villain couldn’t care. They weren’t allowed to.

But desperately, they did.

For now, they simply brushed the hero’s hair back. Held them tighter, resting their chin on the top of the hero’s head. They let themself have this stolen, forbidden, soft thing.

Because they knew, when the hero woke up, it would be gone.

So, they listened to the hero’s breathing, and selfishly, hopelessly, let themselves care.

Hi! I saw the “Hero heals with positive feelings” thing and checked out your blog, and immediately got hit with the “Don’t Die” thing and that emotional whiplash was enough to send me back to an essay I was avoiding. Great writing!

✨Traumatizing people so they don’t procrastinate since 2023✨

How about a hero who accidentally kills a cat and feels bad about it so they bury it but villain finds them? Love your writing!

The hero was thoroughly, miserably, soaked and shivering on the ground. Dirt coated their palms, under their fingernails and on their knees.

They dragged a hand down their face. Fought off a wretched sob.

Their fingers shook as they set the flower down on the tiny mound.

Behind them, the sirens on an ambulance cut off, plunging them into silence. If they thought about it, they could feel the blood seeping from their side. They could hear the sound of rubble shattering to the ground echo in their ears.

And the screaming.

They could hear that, too.

They didn’t think about it.

A sob worked it’s way out of their chest, painful in their throat as they tried to swallow it.

“I’m sorry,” they choked. Their voice cracked. “It was—an accident, and I know that doesn’t…”

They had to bite their lip to stop another sob.

“Praying?” the villain questioned from behind, voice gentle.

The hero shrugged one bruised shoulder.

“No.”

The villain stepped around, facing them. Their eyes dropped to the flower, the fresh dug dirt on the hero’s hands. The grave.

Their expression softened.

“Ah.”

“You can leave now.”

“Praying for forgiveness, or praying for salvation.”

“I said you can leave now,” the hero snapped. They swiped away an angry tear, dirt smearing on their cheek.

The villain didn’t move.

“Why are you still here?” They bared their teeth in something they hoped was enough of a message to get the villain to leave. They had a feeling it was something pathetic, instead.

“You were crying,” the villain said it like it was an answer.

If the hero thought about it too hard, it was.

They didn’t think about it.

“Burst water line,” they gestured haphazardly to the demolition behind them, the half-flooded street. “No tears, no praying, and certainly no need for you—”

The villain’s expression shifted. “I told you that you needed to microdose your power.”

The hero froze.

“Shut up,” they hissed. “Shut up—“

“You wanted to quit, and I respected that. You have enough scars for a lifetime, we both do. But I warned you. I told you that if you didn’t use your power, it would use you, and it would be an ugly, violent thing.”

The hero shook their head mutely, words stuck under their tongue.

“And you thought you knew better,” the villain continued like it wasn’t breaking the hero’s heart. “You thought you could go through life and keep it bottled inside you and ignore the pressure.”

Their gaze flicked to the wreckage the hero knew lay behind them.

“Did you know better, hero?” Their voice was soft and dangerous. “Did you?”

“I said I was sorry!” It clawed its way out of the hero, and it wasn’t a scream, but it was close. “Okay? I know I messed up. You don’t need to taunt me with it, I already—“

The hero’s gaze settled onto the grave once more.

“I already regret it,” they whispered. “You can’t make me any more sorry than I already am.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad.”

“Then you’re failing spectacularly,” the hero snorted derisively.

The villain’s jaw ground.

“I’m trying to make you understand that this would have happened regardless of what you did. And that it’s not your fault.”

The hero blinked.

“You just said that I—“

“I said you thought you could fight your power and win. And you were,” the villain conceded. “You might have made it another month. Maybe two.”

The hero had never seen the villain so angry. “But then someone shot you, off duty and in civilian clothes,” they seethed. “The fallout is on them, not you.”

“I killed a cat,” the hero managed roughly. They blinked back tears.

The villain shook their head.

“You were off-duty. A civilian.”

“I could never be just a civilian, you know that.”

“Just because you were the bullet does not mean you were the one who pulled the trigger.”

“You aren’t making any sense.”

“I am,” the villain corrected. “But you’re grieving, and bleeding, and suffering from a massive energy drop, so you can’t see it yet.”

The hero let the villain pull them to their feet, dirt smearing between their two hands.

“You want forgiveness?” The villain ducked their head to meet the hero’s eyes. “I forgive you.”

The hero forgot how to breathe.

“You can’t just do that.”

“I can do whatever I want. And what I want is for you to stop crying.”

The hero snorted again, but it was lighter this time.

“You’re an ass.”

“And you’re a civilian.”

The hero shook their legs out. When they went to turn back to the grave, the villain caught their chin, turning them away with soft fingers.

“I forgive you,” they said solemnly, as if they had never said anything so important. “They do, too.” They inclined their head just slightly towards the grave.

For once, as their chest collapsed in on itself, the hero believed them

I really adored your take on the villain ark, especially the ask about the lines like Tom riddle and all. I do have a question. I have a character who is very much like Tom riddle, she’s very charming and clever. That’s how she gets what she wants. Can you do a situation, or dialogue that conveys that?? (Keep in mind this is sort of the first step that leads her to becoming a evil person.) ❤️

Thank you so much for the ask!

However, I’m truly sorry, but I don’t think I can complete this scene for you. I don’t know much about this character, the surrounding story, or the intention of the scene within the plot, and me writing this when I don’t know the full circumstances would be a disservice.

Again, I truly do appreciate the ask, and I’m sorry I can’t be of help.