#oc snippets

[rose-of-oz]

35. I'm on the outside of the greatest inside joke

With Audrey Beiste??

Thanks so much for this!! Also gonna tag the rest of the Glee gang, @luucypevensie, @dancingsunflowers-ocs, @ginger-grimm, @ginevrastilinski-ocs, and @aceyanaheim, as well as Audrey’s biggest fan, @praetoravila!! <3 <3

(Slight trigger warning for a kind-of fatphobic nickname and comment, but, well, it’s Sue.)

“You could trip over a face that long, Cowbelle.”

Startling out of her thoughts, Audrey jerked her head up to see Coach Sylvester standing in front of her, shiny track suit lit up by the hallway’s fluorescent lights. The woman’s face was as terrifying and hard to read as always, but Audrey actually did think she could detect a hint of concern, as unlikely as it seemed.

Under the intensity of her gaze, Audrey felt her face blaze bright red. “Oh! Um, Coach Sylvester, h-hi.” Unable to stop herself, her eyes darted back down the hallway towards the gaggle of Cheerios, and Sue’s own went with her.

“Ah,” Sue said knowingly, nodding slowly to herself. “I’ve seen this a hundred times. Got a classic case of the Cheerleading Envies, huh? Well, I hate to tell you, Cowbelle-” She looked Audrey up and down, disdain in her expression. “-but I’m out of spots for the bottom of the pyramid, and there’s only risk of injuries if we put you on top.”

“What?” Audrey exclaimed, feeling her face going even redder. “No, that’s not - what the heck?!” She crossed her arms over her chest, almost a protective instinct, and without really meaning to, was just flustered enough to blurt out her real problem. “I mean, I do envy them, but it’s not because they’re cheerleaders, it’s just because… because they fit in! Everyone at this school seems to fit in with each other even if they’re technically losers, everyone knows each other and gets each other even if they don’t really, and here I am, the fat Texas new girl who doesn’t have a clue how to talk to anyone here!”

She stopped, finally, breathing a bit heavily from the force of her word vomit. Coach Sylvester just kept staring at her, face intensely impassive.

“I just…” Audrey muttered, moving her gaze resolutely to the floor. “I just feel like I’m on the outside of the greatest inside joke. Like everyone here’s keeping some big secret from me, and I’ll never find out what it is.”

There was a beat of silence - or silence only between the two of them, anyway, as the tide of students and faculty continued to flow down the hall. And then Coach Sylvester took an audible breath in, and Audrey looked back up at her.

“Well,” said the cheerleading coach, with the face of someone who was already forcing herself to forget this conversation, “that was pathetic. Good luck with all that, Cowbelle.” And then she patted Audrey’s shoulder, a singular, firm slap, and walked away.

Audrey watched her go with wide eyes, and, once the shock of the abrupt exit had passed, turned back to her locker, mumbling a word that her aunt would surely scold her if she heard. Several of them, in fact, all in a long, Southern drawling string.

guts writing prompts!!

[theoccoven]

“Baby, tell me what's wrong, what's up?”

“Oh, you done? Had enough 'cause your man messed up, huh? (Yeah!)”

“Baby, tell me what's wrong, what's up?”

“Oh, you bored tryna fuck, 'cause your man can't touch, ha”

“I ain't know her, we just happened to fuck”

“Nah, I ain't even know her, we just happened to fu-uck”

“Nah, I ain't know her, we just happened to fuck”

⇢ Loki just fits the lyrics of this song to me

[kabsey]

The moment the last of the Antaam fell, Rook dashed across the battlefield, hurrying to Harding's side. Lucanis shielded his eyes from the Rivaini sun to try and see what had prompted such a response, but all he saw was Harding laughing as Rook tugged her down to sit on the grass. Then Rook's gaze swept the area, and when it landed on him, she called his name with such urgency that he found himself moving just as quickly as she had.

"Keep her upright," Rook ordered as he knelt beside them, and he immediately placed a supportive hand on Harding's back.

"Rook, I'm fine. It's barely a scratch," Harding protested. "I'm not going to faint at the sight of a little blood."

Rook didn't answer; she was too busy dumping the arrows from her quiver. When they lay scattered, she reached into the quiver to her shoulder and fished out a circular leather case. When she unlatched it, it split open. One half held a set of miniature tools, and the other bristled with tiny vials in a rainbow of colors that sparkled in the afternoon light.

"Rook?" Harding's voice had gone quiet.

Rook glanced up with only a hint of her usual boisterous smile. "You're going to be fine. I promise."

She went straight back to picking at the wax seal on one of the vials. Lucanis shared a glance with Harding and then they both silently watched Rook work. He had never had the opportunity to see her perform such a delicate task or to witness her concentrate with a singular focus. In the short time he'd known her, constant movement had seemed to be her natural state. In combat, she flipped and flittered from enemy to enemy, and outside of it, she seemed to relish the simplest motions, always pacing or stretching or even dancing when the mood struck. He had found himself wondering how someone as cerebral as he knew Viago to be wound up with a protégé so steeped in the physical.

As he watched Rook's hands measure out precise dropfuls of liquid into an empty vial, she suddenly appeared as a de Riva to his eyes. Her fingers were long and elegant, tipped by shaped and buffed nails. Unlike nearly every other part of her, the backs of her hands were free of freckles. They looked pale and soft in the sunlight, though he knew they were likely as calloused as his own. Their weapons were similar. Did her calluses match his? Palm to palm, would they be mirrors of each other? And why did that thought strike him as familiar?

He hadn't intended to lapse into reverie, and it broke at the sound of Harding swallowing heavily.

"I feel a little strange," she admitted.

Lucanis glanced down at her again and was alarmed to see her face had gone white behind her freckles. He shifted closer, allowing her to lean against his side.

"You have nothing to worry about," he assured her.

"Oh, yeah?" She lifted one of her booted feet in a weak poke at Rook's side. "You could have mentioned I was poisoned."

Rook only flashed her a brief smile before resuming her work.

"Every Crow in Antiva knows that Viago de Riva is the best among us at creating poisons and antidotes, which means he is likely the best in the world," Lucanis told Harding. "You've met him, yes?"

Harding nodded, her head lolling a bit against his chest. "He trained Rook, right?" The last word came out as barely more than air as her breath ran short.

"Yes. For many years."

"But you and Rook... never met?"

Lucanis shook his head. "Perhaps he did not want her entangled with the Dellamortes. My house has many enemies."

"More likely he thought I'd embarrass him," Rook said. She held a vial to Harding's lips. "Drink."

Harding obeyed, though she seemed to have a bit of trouble swallowing whatever antidote Rook had mixed. Lucanis shifted again, trying to guide her head to tip back slightly against his shoulder. When she finally drained the last drop, he let out a soft sigh of relief, one that Rook echoed.

"Well, that was fun," Rook remarked.

She rocked back on her heels and began tucking the various elixirs and tools back in their case. Once that was safely settled at the bottom of her quiver, she scooped up her remaining arrows, dropped them in, and then swung the quiver over her shoulder. A moment later she was on her feet and stretching her arms over her head.

"Thanks, Harding. I was afraid I was getting rusty."

"Don't mention it," Harding replied drily.

Already her voice came steadier, and Lucanis thought her color was returning, though it might have been wishful thinking coupled with the ruddy light of the setting sun. Rook grinned, her usual good humor restored. She trotted off down the beach, searching the Antaam corpses for potions or coin or Maker knew what. Lucanis stayed with Harding, and they sat in comfortable silence broken by nothing but the waves, the birds, and the flies buzzing around the bodies. He took a moment for gratitude that none of his new allies were among them. They were all still reeling from the devastation they'd seen in Minrathous; Neve had not yet returned to the Lighthouse. To lose one of their number—and one with such a vital spark as Harding—might have broken the fledgling team.

Instead, thanks to Rook, Harding was getting to her feet with Lucanis's help in a matter of minutes. She scowled down at her torn sleeve and the still-bloody scratch in her arm that had nearly been her end.

"I'm gonna go wash this off," she said and headed down to the shoreline without the slightest waver in her step.

Soon after Rook returned to his side and showed him a simple but sleek-looking throwing knife that ended in a loop with a red tassel. "The Antaam's favored delivery method for poison."

"How did you know?" he asked.

"All part of a de Riva education." She tucked the knife carefully into a pouch at her waist. "Fortunately they generally use a fairly standardized compound across all their troops. Probably brew the stuff by the wagonload in Par Vollen."

She sighed, and her brow pinched in thought. "I'd love to carry the antidote premixed, but as soon as you add the reagent, the efficacy starts sliding down a steep cliff. If you wait too long to administer it, you're left with nothing but a foul-tasting tea. And it's not even hot."

Gazing at her as she pondered her alchemical dilemma, Lucanis was struck again by the feeling of familiarity. His eyes traveled over her face and caught on the little wrinkle that furrowed the space between her eyebrows. He knew she and Viago shared no blood connection, but some sort of resemblance teased at him. He remembered the summer nearly a decade before when he and Viago had worked together to track down a target who had poisoned several members of a rival family. Working side by side with the man, witnessing firsthand his intellect and confident competence, had been the first time Lucanis had ever understood the attraction his cousin seemed to feel for every woman that walked past him.

Rook tilted her head at him, and he noticed the smooth line of her neck, the way the strands of long hair that had escaped her messy bun teased at the skin there. He was surprised to find he was curious about that spot as well, how it would feel beneath his fingertips.

How it would feel beneath his lips.

Rook raised an eyebrow at him. "What?"

Lucanis blinked at her, caught with a wandering mind for a second time in a single afternoon. "What?"

"What's that look?" she asked.

"There's no look."

"Uh-huh." She smirked at him. "Hey, Spite. What's Lucanis thinking right now?"

In a moment of instinctual panic, Lucanis snapped his head to face the demon, who grinned back and crowed, "He Likes! Rook! Wants to Kiss! Rook!"

He felt a hint of warmth suffuse his cheeks as he turned back to Rook, whose smirk had widened to an open grin.

He frowned. "Why would you ask him that? You can't even hear his answer."

"No, but you can," she said. "You're cute when you blush."

He huffed in annoyance despite how one corner of his lips twitched with the urge to curl upward. "It's just from the sun."

"Uh-huh." She turned and began walking backward toward the water. "Let's go make sure Harding hasn't gotten into any more trouble."

She twirled again and then marched down the sand with a long, easy stride, arms swinging, as though she hadn't a care in the world. She moved with the grace all Crows were trained to, but on her it seemed effortless, natural.

Lovely.

"Mierda," he muttered to himself. Suddenly it didn't seem like Harding was the one in imminent danger.

[cokoweee]

Srry drawing these guys make me happy atm

[kenchann]

uh oh

also change my yuus outfit www

[wishfulsketching]

Ohhhh man I'd forgotten about Lu Zhen and Long Min! Love those boys 💕 I rlly missed reading their comics 🥰

THANK YOU! THANK YOU THANK YOU! I love you

Here's a little comic I did long ago but it was "too messy" to post but eh, here ya go. Context: dragons "kiss" by booping noses

Long Min realizes he has feelings.

And here's a even older doodle of Long Min's and Lu Zhen's first meeting

Lu Zhen had feelings from the start

[orangesavannah]

Something else than just comic pages. I had this very vivid idea in my head and had to get it down on canvas.

[honeycakelion]

find a divine machine today, in YOUR local abandoned factory

[regency-monster-love]

Been seeing posts about himbo monsters lately and wondering what a Regency himbo monster would be like.

He's rich, right? Part of the gentry, never had to work a day in his life, clueless about how real life works for most people. He literally doesn't know how to dress himself. That's what servants are for.

But even though he's rich, he can't be a snob, otherwise he's not a himbo. He's cheerful, kind, and generous with his money. He uses it to throw elaborate balls all the time and invites everyone because he loves to party Regency style.

He follows the rules about not touching or kissing or, God forbid, having sex before marriage because he's just so innocent and easily flustered. But you see him get hard in his breeches around you all the time.

On your wedding night, his monster mating instincts come out, and he goes totally feral fucking you, but it confuses him so badly that you, the human, have to patiently explain to him what it means to go into rut and reassure him that he's not doing anything wrong.

Then he can relax and just enjoy being a big wild monster joyfully bucking into your tight body.

But when he starts trying to talk about it in polite society—"Do you know about this thing called a rut? It's fantastic!"—you have to drag his big dumb body away from your genteel guests and try to explain the difference between private and proper conversation topics. He doesn't quite get it, but he nods his meaty head and promises to be good.

What else would a Regency himbo monster do?

[rose-of-oz]

🎤 + Josie Sparrow

Thank you so so much for this!! Also gonna tag @kendelias, @dancingsunflowers-ocs, @ginger-grimm, @ginevrastilinski-ocs, and @aceyanaheim!! <3 <3

“You little rat!”

Jerking her head up and around at the sudden yell, Josie peaked around the locker door to see who was making such a fuss. At the end of the hall, she spotted a tall, broad back in a letterman jacket, looming over a small and cowering figure surrounded by fallen books.

Oh, hell no. She tossed her supplies back into her locker and slammed the door closed, storming down the hallway as the big buffoon continued to verbally abuse the quivering little freshman who, as she got closer, she recognized as one of the little Smee twins. Double hell no.

“Who do you think you are?” the jerk demanded. “Watch where you’re going, you little piece of Isle trash!” Josie recognized him too, now that she was almost upon him, even without seeing his face. She’d know the voice of Milton Fey, Merryweather’s son and a near-permanent bench rider on the Tourney team, anywhere, given how many times she’d heard it trying to coach from the sidelines during games before Coach inevitably told him to shut up and sit down. She hated it even more now than usual.

Whichever twin it was - she always had trouble telling them apart, no matter how hard she tried - opened his mouth, presumably to try and apologize, but nothing came out except a little whimper that nearly broke Josie’s heart. Milton growled and started to reach down to grab him, but Josie was quicker, sliding between the two of them and grabbing the collar of the jerk’s jacket to haul him back to standing.

“Hi there,” she said cheerfully, smiling in the entirely too sweet way that she always did when she was pissed. “I think you’re done now.”

Milton spluttered indignantly, his pasty cheeks flushing. “What the - what are you doing, Sparrow? Defending the evil little gutter rats?” He went to gesture harshly behind her, only to realize that the Smee kid had taken Josie’s hint and dashed away. It only made him angrier, which was exactly what she’d intended. “And now you let him get away!”

“What were you planning to do, exactly?” Josie asked conversationally, “beat up a ten-year-old for bumping into you? I don’t think Fairy Godmother would take too kindly to that.” As subtly as possible, she slipped into a fighting stance, remembering exactly the way Elizabeth had taught her. Feet set evenly apart, centre of gravity low, everything tense and ready to strike. And make sure, little Sparrow, to never let them see you strike until they’re already bleeding.

Milton scoffed. “So what? I teach one little Isle rat a lesson, I get a week’s detention, and then all the villains know not to mess with a Good Fairy’s son. Pretty fair transaction if you ask me.”

“Oh?” Josie cocked her head to the side, never letting her grin slip. “And what do you think your mother and aunts’d say about it, hmm? Because I’m pretty sure a Good Fairy wouldn’t appreciate hearing her weak-chinned little son is just as wicked as he claims the kids he’s beating up are.”

Milton grit his teeth, cheeks practically purple at this point. His fists clenched at his sides, and Josie fought not to let her smile quirk higher. “I’ve never hit a girl before, Sparrow,” he hissed out.

“Oh, that’s okay,” Josie replied cheerfully. “This one usually hits first.” And then she cocked back her own fist and, just like the Pirate King had taught her, punched him in the face.

send me 🎤 + an oc and i’ll pick a quote i can imagine them saying and write a drabble with it!!

[theoccoven]

“Girl, I know you want that shit”

“Just come break your back and rock that shit, like”

“Bend that back and pop that shit, like”

“Come break your back and rock that shit”

⇢ Dom!Ace is actually so hot- what-

[writingsofwerewolves]

You're sitting on a pew at church while the preacher drones on and on about sins and hell. You're bored out of your mind, only still attending church out of obligation to your family.

Suddenly something touches your ankle, tickling the small amount of exposed skin between your church shoe and long skirt you’re required to wear every Sunday.

You give a small, startled, jump, quickly glancing down over the seat of the pew to see what touched you.

A vivid red tail with a pointed tip twitches there, caressing your ankle, your calf, and moving slowly upwards, disappearing under your skirt.

You swallow hard and raise your eyes to look at your neighbor. A handsome man with a goatee is looking ahead, watching the preacher speak but has a subtle sly grin on his face.

The tail continues its slow, teasing trek upwards, snaking around your leg and gently pulling your thighs to part, giving the pointed tip access to your most sensitive areas.

You know you should put a stop to it. You should do something. But as the tail flicks against your sensitive nerves, your main concern becomes not letting out a moan.

[whumble-beeee]

You Look So Much Prettier This Way

Poor Stan. What will you do to get out of this predicament, I wonder?

What will you do when fighting back isn't even an option?

Stan sat stunned. He couldn't speak. He couldn't scream for help, he couldn't complain, he couldn't quip, he couldn't stand, he couldn't struggle, hell, he could barely even move.

He wanted to cry.

His face hurt from where they punched him. His neck hurt from where they grabbed him. His entire body hurt from where they'd manhandled him to the ground and pinned him down and tied him up, choking him, punching him if he dared flinch, or god forbid he struggled against their grasp.

And after all that excessive tying, the rope that scratched against his tender skin and pressed in on his ribcage in a suffocating embrace.

They'd gotten out the duct tape. His heart stuttered, eyes wide. He started to scream, he kicked out at them.

Big mistake. As soon as they finished they mortifying ordeal of wrapping his mouth in layer after layer of duct tape, they slammed him down onto his back and hoisted his legs into the air, bent them into the most odd position, and by the time Stan realized that had still more rope, they were already wrapping it around his ankles and his thighs.

Over and over.

He tried to scream. They kicked him. He screamed some more into the duct tape gag. More blows. Tears. It didn't stop. He couldn't even curl in on himself to protect his soft underbelly.

Then they plopped him on the floor.

Surrounded him.

Appraised him, hungry eyes searching over his body.

Stan couldn't hold back the tears anymore.

The one he thought to be the leader stepped foreward.

Knelt in front of him, cupped Stan's cheek in their hand.

Stan could barely even find the strength to jerk away, and when he did, they just grabbed his collar and yanked him back, made him stare right into their ruthless shark-like eyes. And there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop them.

"You look so much prettier this way," they lulled. "I wonder if your friends will agree when they come to find you."

* * * * * * * *

Whumptober 2024 | Day 7 | The Bee's Whumptober Masterlist

Stan is an OC that belongs to The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping!

Whumptober Taglist: @whumperofworlds | @whumptober-archive | @regular-whump-sfx

(If you wanna be added or subtracted from the taglist, don't be afraid to ask!)

[wikiangela]

fuck it friday

another snippet of the barbecue fic (aka another snippet of buck being horny for his boyfriend lmao I swear this is a wholesome fluffy family fic haha), this is my priority now, I wanna finish it soon so send all the motivation haha <3

prev snippet

___

“Behave.” He scolds with no heat behind it.

“Mhm, yessir.” Buck purrs, his lips moving across Tommy’s bare shoulder. 

“Fuck.” Tommy breathes out and completely stills, and Buck can’t really see his face but he knows his boyfriend closed his eyes and is trying to calm down – which can’t be easy with Buck still plastered against his back. “This food is gonna burn if you keep this up. And we have guests to feed.” He adds, and as if to make a point, he flips a slightly overdone burger, Buck hindering his movements just a little bit.

Before he can respond, he hears another voice get through the chatter and music and reach his ears.

“Buck!” Chimney calls, and Buck looks over his shoulder to find everyone’s eyes on him, amused expressions on their faces. “Don’t distract our cook, we’re starving!”

“I’m just scolding him for taking his shirt off.” Buck says easily, then adds a little louder, to Tommy but making sure everyone hears, “Babe, you’re gonna burn yourself, you’re a firefighter, you should know better.” He shakes his head, and Tommy looks back at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, you’re gonna pretend like you don’t approve?”

“Oh, I so don’t, Tommy, at all.” Buck tries to keep a straight face, but a chuckle bubbles out of him anyway. “You’re such a distraction, this is dangerous for everyone here.”

“I think you’re the only one with that problem, Buckaroo.” Hen laughs, and only then Buck remembers everyone’s still paying attention to them. It’s so easy to get lost in Tommy, to feel like it’s just them, even in a crowd of people. So distracting. It’s a hazard, really. He should keep Tommy away from everyone, preferably locked in the bedroom with him, for everyone’s safety.

___

no pressure tags (lmk if you wanna be added or removed):

@dr-shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @ladydorian05 @diazpatcher @monsterrae1 @rainbow-nerdss @pirrusstuff @bucks-daddy-issues @rogerzsteven @honestlydarkprincess @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @diazheartsbuckley @giddyupbuck @thewolvesof1998 @underwaterninja13 @your-catfish-friend @kinard-buckley @evansboyfriend @beyourownanchor6 @weewootruck @kirkaut @jewishbuckley @loveyouanyway @daffi-990 @lonelychicago @bibuckkinard @spotsandsocks @bucked-it-up @theotherbuckley @drcloyd @bidisasterevankinard @hippolotamus @girlwonder-writes @perfectlysunny02 @dadbodbuck @kinkleydiaz @diazsdimples @aringofsalt

[kumashhii]

Okay, so snippet I wrote based on a dream I had where Danny turned a giw agent to his side

"Y'know, anyone who is liminal is on their list right?"

"Yeah. Anyone who is ectocontaminated is taken in to custody so we can cleanse them and prevent it from happening again."

"..." Danny makes a strange face at the word cleanse.

A beat of silence passes between them

"You...uh you know how that sounds right?"

"What do you mean?" Nat looks confused.

"Cleanse. You know even if that's what they're really doing, they're killing them or at the very least injuring them, heavily. You can't be," Danny waves his hands, trying to find his words. "You, you cant just be *cleansed* of liminality! Once you're liminal, you're liminal! You're forever changed. Forcefully removing the ectoplasm can cause ...death by destabilization... It would be like trying to bleach the blood out of someone."

Nathaniel's face goes blank. "Oh ancients," Danny whispered in horror "How many people do they have contained? How many have they done this to??"

Danny looked at Nathaniel and nearly snaps at him for his lack of reaction, until he realized that Nathaniel's blank expression was one of dawning horror and panicked dissociation.

Danny reaches out his hand "Hey, are you-"

Nathaniel flinches back away from Danny. He was starting to hyperventilate .

"No no no no no!" You're lying! We didn't... I didn't.." Nathan curls in on himself, clutching at his hair. "I,I,I,I, I didn't....th, they,they told me we were helping people ." Nathan weakly shakes his head. Tears stream through his tightly shut eyelids.

The wave of emotions is truly overwhelming to Danny. The panic, fear, revulsion, pain, are all secondary to the sheer amount of guilt and betrayal the man is drowning in. Danny's core aches. He wants to help him, no, he needs to help him but he doesn't know how.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Echoes from the past

Hero barged in the little hostel room, brandishing a newspaper and grinning from one ear to another:

“Did you see?” they excitedly asked. “Have you heard? It worked!”

The old Superhero, quietly sit in an armchair that had seen better days, smiled in return and said nothing back.

“The plan worked,” insisted Hero.

In a few steps, they went in front of them, putting the newspaper under their nose:

“You’ve been redeemed!”

The other looked at the papers and took a little sip from their cup:

“That’s good. Do you want some cocoa? I make very good cocoa.”

Hero waved away the invitation:

“Later. Don't you want to hear what the citizens say?”

“Oh, if I must.”

“Of course,” huffed Hero, a little annoyed by the lack of enthusiasm.

They threw the newspaper on the table, pacing the room instead of sitting down, waving their hands as they were talking:

“It was hard work, you know. Everyone thought you murdered not only Supervillain, but half the town with it.”

“I know. I was there.”

“However” - Hero puffed out their chest – “thanks to your indications, a very clever person that I shall not name – it's me, myself, I did it - investigated and realized that the machine that blew the city up could only have been triggered by Supervillain. Mad Scientist confirmed it.”

“Oh, they’re still alive?” asked Superhero, this time mildly intrigued.

“Yes, and they're doing fine, let me tell you. They still like to inflict pain, so they work on easy-open packaging these days. Quite a lucrative business, I’ve heard.”

“I see.”

“If you think really hard about it, it beats exploding people to bits. ”

Superhero reported their interest on their cup:

“What about Supervillain?”

Hero opened their big, innocent eyes wide. It suited them fine.

“What about them? Well, they're still liquid, as far as I know. They're not going to come back from that explosion. I guess they wanted to go while destroying their rival for good. They couldn't kill you, but they could kill your reputation, something like that.”

“I'm out of cocoa. Are you sure you don't want some?”

“Oh, all right.”

Superhero stood up and poured the promised drink. Hero took a little sip, thought for a while, then took one more. It was so peaceful in this little impersonal room, with the curtains half-drawn. It looked nice, but for them, it also looked, well – kind of boring.

“Don't you miss it?” they asked.

“The work?”

“What is there to miss?”

Hero waved:

“The action! The fights! The adrenaline! People looking at you with shining eyes!”

Superhero turned the faucet and washed the saucepan. That was important. It had to be done right away so they wouldn't spend hours scrubbing away the melted cocoa. Turning their back to Hero who was practically vibrating with impatience, they answered:

“All of that gets old, and so do you. My joints are not what they were anymore. At the end of the fight, there's another one as a reward. About the people, well – you saw how easily they turned against me. Not that they matter much. The ones you meet the most are your foes, and either you keep hating them, either things get... complicated.”

“Not with that Supervillain,” said Hero with disgust. “They were really the worst of them.”

“Yes,” agreed the older one, “they were.”

“It must have been horrible to fight a shapeshifter. Never being able to trust anyone, always being scared of them being around...”

Hero shivered.

“I'm glad no villains that I know have that power. When we fight, we fight, and then it's done. You don't have to be on the watch all the time. Thank you for getting rid of them. I mean it. You deserve all the gratefulness in the world.”

Superhero had a small smile.

“Thank you,” they said. “I guess I did that. All I want now is peace, a roof on my own, and enough for a cocoa cup from time to time.”

Hero's phone rang. They checked it and frowned.

“Oh, I gotta go. You know-”

“Yes, I know how it is. Good luck.”

The door closed. All of what was left of their guest was the newspaper they'd forgotten. On the first page, there was a photo of a younger Superhero. They were smiling shyly at the world, just under the word “redeemed”.

The room owner sighed, frowning, and stretched with a yawn. Their features melted. Their silhouette became much thinner. With age, it was getting harder to keep in shape – any shape that wasn’t theirs. Supervillain glared one last time at their dead nemesis:

“What?” they asked sourly. “That I could do for you.”

*

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