#superheroes and supervillains

[defectivehero]

Hello! If ur requests are open, I'd love to see a villain or hero trying to break down the walls of their enemy, who's whole purpose is to be a tool. Denied everything for the sake of a single goal, a mere sacrifice, destined to die :)

this ask is so peko pekoyama & izuru kamakura coded. and i love it so much. warnings: manipulation, child abuse, graphic depictions of injury/violence/blood, dehumanization

"Ah, you're awake," the villain realizes aloud, looking at the hero. "I was hoping to get some answers from you."

The hero is silent. They look surprisingly calm, despite the situation they find themself in: bound to a chair, a blindfold secured around their eyes. They don't look unnerved, startled; there's no emotion in their expression—no modicum of energy or presence to denote them as even remotely human.

Admittedly, this hero has intrigued the villain, ever since the moment they met. The hero had moved with a mechanical precision, and the villain was surprised to find that their precision extended to every other facet of their life. There is no boundary between work and personal life for the hero—because they simply don't have a personal life. At least, that's what the villain has found. They'd love to be proven wrong at this point—would love to be proven wrong about their lingering suspicions regarding the cruelty of the local hero agency.

"What did you want to ask about?" The hero asks, as if they are the one controlling the conversation. And maybe they are. The villain blinks, thrown back into reality.

"Why are you...?" The villain tries to say. They're not quite sure how to proceed. They take a slow breath and start pacing around the hero, hoping to quell their restless energy. They are the one in control. "No. What did the agency do to you?"

"Why do you care?" The hero hums. There isn't a denial of any kind—"They didn't do anything to me" wasn't a response. The villain's stomach stews in unease.

"Answer the question," the villain demands.

"Very well," the hero answers carefully.

In hindsight, the villain should've braced themself for the answer. They were so focused on the question that they neglected to prepare themself for the nearly infinite amount of possibilities—unspeakably cruel possibilities. They're suddenly grateful that they blindfolded the hero—grateful that the hero won't be able to see their expression. Because what they say next breaks the villain’s composure.

"I was seven when it happened… My powers manifested. I didn't know how to use them. It was bound to happen."

"...What was bound to happen?" The villain hears themself say. Their voice sounds like a stranger’s.

"I was kidnapped walking home from school. One moment, there was a sharp pain on the back of my head; the next, I woke up to a glass cage and a manacle secured around my ankle."

The villain is biting the inside of their cheek so hard they can taste blood. They shouldn't be surprised, but they are.

"I didn't know where I was or what was happening. I was just a child." The hero continues. The villain wants to think that there's a trace of emotion in the hero's voice after the latter statement, but they get the feeling it's just their imagination.

"For a while, I was alone. I don't know how long. I tried to summon my powers, but they still weren't under control. I nearly killed myself in my attempt to escape.

"Then, someone visited. It was a man in a dark suit. He unlocked the cage, or manipulated it, I can't remember—and walked up to me. There was a glass of water in his hand. I was so thirsty.

"I was too young to know any different, too young to question what was clearly a kind gesture. I took a sip... My vision spiraled and I fell to the ground.

"I woke up on an operating table, with people staring down at me through advanced medical equipment. Tears were slipping down my cheeks, from the brightness of the lights above. Someone secured a mask on my face. I tried to stay awake, but I couldn't move.

"I woke up on the floor of my cage, in a pool of my own blood. There was a giant wound on my forearm, leaking pus. I dry-heaved over and over again. Nothing came up.

"I got a lot of visitors after that. It was clear that they did something to me. Suddenly, I was getting meals three times a day, books and video games to keep me busy... I must've been eight or nine years old at that point—old enough to understand that I was nothing more than a lab rat."

It takes them several moments for the villain to find their voice. "...And then?" They manage to ask. They stopped pacing minutes ago—now they're standing across from the bound hero.

"Then I was trained," the hero says. "Brought to the brink of my exhaustion over and over again, day after day. Months passed, then years... like granules of sand slipping through my fingers."

"I was soon trusted to participate in missions. I didn't know what was happening, why I was fighting who I was fighting. All I knew... was the hollowness in my chest and the commands inscribed on my mind itself."

The villain is silent. They don't trust themself to speak—they know their voice would break, betraying their thoughts.

At some point, the hero is the one to break the silence. They tilt their head to the side slightly, leveling the villain with what they can assume to be a curious gaze under the blindfold. "Why have you captured me? Do you hope to rehabilitate me?"

"It won't work," the hero says before the villain can answer. Somehow, they've ascertained that their capture was motivated by that exact desire: the wish for rehabilitation, the visceral need to do something good for someone other than themself. "They have broken me beyond repair." The hero's voice is hollow.

"Everyone can be fixed," the villain responds.

"But I am not a person. I am just a shell, an empty husk. An amalgamation of observations on human behavior, with no memories, no passions, no opinions. I don't even have a name."

Somehow, this is what breaks them. Somehow, the villain survived the onslaught of horrible information, suffered through the retelling of dehumanizing events and cruelty beyond measure. Yet this is what breaks them: the hero does not have a name. A name: a concept so simple. Even animals have names—they are ascribed names by humans. What does it say that this person has no name? They have been deemed lower than humans, lower than animals. They are merely a tool. A weapon.

The villain's thoughts are spiraling. They feel themself moving before they can stop. They robotically break the distance between the two of them, until they're standing over the hero. The hero must sense their proximity, but they do not respond—do not even flinch or move. The villain bites the inside of their cheek hard and begins untying the ropes around the hero's limbs.

"What are you doing?" The hero asks. They sound vaguely surprised. But the villain is nearly certain it’s just an act.

"Leave," the villain demands, their hands shaking ever so slightly as they finish freeing the hero. "Go."

There's a brief flicker of emotion on the hero's face—a quick flash of complete, utter confusion. It happens so fast that the villain can just barely comprehend it, can just barely grasp that the hero may, deep down, have the freedom to express genuine emotion. But as quick as it appears, the confusion is gone: smoothed over by an infuriatingly blank slate.

The villain watches the hero leave. The moment the door clicks shut, the bile on their tongue rises and they dry-heave. They cough and take deep breaths, feeling their throat burn with more than just acid. Unshed tears linger in their eyes, in the back of their throat.

Is the hero past saving? More importantly, do they even want to be saved?

The villain rubs a hand over their face and walks back to the wooden chair where the hero sat moments ago, kicking it over in a rush of pure frustration. It slides across the floor with a horrible screeching noise.

The villain is overcome with an intense desire to do something rather uncharacteristic: they want to free the hero from the agency's chains. And, hell, it's not out of a foolish desire to do something good. Not anymore. Somewhere, deep down, the villain wants the person they just spoke to—who has only known cruelty—to be given a chance to truly live.

It's ironic. The villain has been fighting heroes for years, unaware that the real evil has been under their nose this entire time. Because, while the heroes may be purveyors of justice, the nature of that "justice" is determined by the agency. It's the agency that contributes to the systemic oppression running rampant in their city, it's the agency that manufactures people and turns them into weapons.

The villain clenches their restless hands at their sides. It seems they have to make a slight change to their plans.

©2024, @defectivehero | @defectivevillain, All Rights Reserved. reblogs are greatly appreciated—just please don't steal my writing or share outside of Tumblr.

i can't tell if i'm happy with how this turned out or not. i feel like the ending kind of sucks, but whatever. it is what it is.

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[mirohtron]

The superhero went in to break the suturing thread with their teeth, and their breath brushed warm and tickled the villain's skin.

The villain shivered and gripped hard at the edge of the roof as though they'd fall. "Ouch," they said softly, a little helplessly, because their neck burned.

"Sorry."

The villain could hear the smile, so really, not very sorry. "That's not very hygienic," they mumbled. "I'm starting to think you want me to get infected and die."

"If I want you dead, I would've pushed you off this roof the moment I saw you."

The villain blinked, because they hadn't really thought of that, just of accidentally falling, so maybe they were a bit more dazed from the fight than they'd like to admit.

There was a grin in that sentence, too, though. The villain was grateful that the superhero was tending to the wounds on their back because then they wouldn't see the red creeping up the villain's face. The villain scraped their heels against the building's side to try for a distraction.

The superhero's knuckles pressed into the villain's tired, aching muscles as they dressed the wound. The pressure was so warm and relieving that the villain imagined melting into it, imagined the superhero holding them, like a delusional idiot. Then those hands left and the cold night felt colder.

The superhero lightly tapped the villain's elbow with a finger, so gently they could've imagined it. "Rest this on your knee," they said, so the villain brought their knee up and put their arm on it, and the action hurt because of the way the wounded muscle had to stretch, but it was nothing the villain couldn't handle. But the wounds were a little bad, they supposed, if the superhero was going to patch him up.

Or, perhaps, the superhero was just too good for this world. Or maybe the villain looked just that pathetic. Whichever came first. Both made their heart squeeze in largely different ways.

They'd seen the superhero work, on TV. They'd made him do commercials back then, intermissions where he'd teach children how to do this, that, how to fix the dishwasher, how to dress a wound. Sometimes help the wounded on field. Back when they were a child, when the superhero was merely termed hero or saviour, because they were the first of a long line of many. Back when they were terribly young to do such selfless things, to protect the city from such horrible horrors. But they'd been quick and meticulous then, and had only grown better. The suturing was painless and barely felt.

"I don't think you don't want me dead," the villain said.

"I wouldn't waste my supplies on you if I did," the superhero said playfully. The villain's mind caught on to the use of my supplies as though it meant anything. Stored that in a stupid special place. Like a smitten thing.

"My," they said, tried to put a cheeky smile to the words, "you make me feel so special."

The superhero paused behind them chuckled, then resumed with their work.

A beat of peaceful silence passed.

"You shouldn't be out here," they said eventually. They pushed overgrown hair away from the villain's neck, exposing scarred skin there. "Out on your own like this. People haven't completely forgotten, you know."

"That I was cast out? I'd like it if they never do. They'd question the agency's competency that way."

"Darling," the superhero said, "you think they don't?"

The villain blushed pink. "I think they don't question it enough."

The superhero chuckled. "They always have. No matter how hard we try, there's always going to be people who won't trust us completely." They bandaged the villain's arm and moved away. That was the last of the villain's wounds, and they turned to look at the superhero.

"That's it," they said once they realised the superhero was looking for any wound they might have missed. They picked up their shirt and moved to put it on, but it made their sutured wounds stretch and they halted to a stop and hissed. The superhero took it from their hands and helped them put it on instead, and as they helped, their knuckles brushed the villain's chest.

A blush spread through the villain's face, and they looked away and fixed their shirt. They mumbled a shy thanks.

The superhero put their arms steadily on their shoulders as they helped them up. They pressed a bottle into their palm. "Medicine," they said. "Apply it to the wounds on your back twice a day, all right?"

The villain nodded. The superhero brushed a finger delicately to their wrapped bicep. "If this gets too bloody, redress it."

"I can take care of myself," the villain said playfully.

The superhero smiled. "I worry."

The villain smiled back, getting a soft feeling in their chest. They didn't try to move back.

The superhero's thumbs rubbed circles into the chorded muscles of their shoulder.

"You should be careful," the superhero said eventually. Too good for this world. "That stunt you pulled at the mayor's conferance was too overboard."

The villain frowned. They stepped out of the superhero's grip, then. "Too overboard? You heard the proposals. Or do you favour cheaper water systems over the city's health like those greedy politicians?"

The superhero winced. "That's not what I meant."

"Then?"

The superhero closed their eyes and sighed a little pained sigh, and it made the villain regret the animosity. They hadn't always been like that, jumping to accusations. But ever since the agency had cast them out over what they'd found, well...a different environment warranted a different attitude.

"I'm sorry."

"I meant...what you said. I know you think there's only a conspiracy that one of the city's heroes has become a villain, but..."

"I know the rumours were high when I first showed up," the villain said. "I know what I said. I told you. I want them doubting the agency's competency."

The superhero sighed again. "I know, darling, I know. But...I don't want you getting hurt."

The villain began to form a reply, but the superhero gave them a look like whatever they were going to say, the superhero would know it was a lie. I can take a couple punches. I wasn't actually hurt so bad. This fight wasn't the worst fight till date.

They sighed. "I'll expect better retaliation next time."

"I won't always be there to look after you," the superhero said. They took the villain's chin in their thumb and index finger. "You're our brightest star. You know that, right?"

The villain flushed hard, then, heart fluttering. But their chest also lit up with confidence, with hope.

"I know," they said.

The superhero smiled. "Good," they said. Then, they did something unexpected: they pulled the villain in and kissed their brow.

It was more tender than what the villain had expected. Inwardly they feared the superhero liked them the wrong way, but then they pulled away and looked into the villain's eyes and the look felt a little too intense to keep up. They giggled and pulled away and shyly squeezed the superhero's hand.

"See you," they said.

"See you," the superhero said fondly.

The villain ran rooftop to rooftop, climbed down a couple balconies and pressed their forehead to the wall of a dark alleyway, glowing ball of light in their chest and all.

They'd take the agency down with any other bright stars they could gather one day.

[doctorslippery]

Doing this, I would get sued because I would be Professor X. So, I'm using last letter instead…hmmm…

I'm Dark Strike. I'm a 90s-era, big guns and shoulder pads, anti-hero with a dark past, who may one day turn to evil.

[dragonofthedepths]

Superhero AU 24.7.22

Mairuma. Old Guard. Sullivan x Poro x Delkira

Poro, Delkira, and Sullivan were all superheroes once. They’d worked as a team, a trio with Delkira as the lead. Content to largely ignore the hero agency in favor of eachother even though with Delkira’s charisma he could’ve been in charge of the entire agency if he wanted.

Then Delkira went missing. Now Sullivan leads his own much larger team of superheroes, a group known as Babylis. And Poro is a supervillain, because if the heroes aren’t trying find Delkira, what use has he for being on their side?

Poro doesn’t really keep in touch with Sullivan. So when he sneaks into the hero agency’s headquarters to do a little bit of light theft, only to find that the hero agency has betrayed Sullivan and taken him prisoner*, it comes as a nasty shock.

*trying to force him to give them information on a child he’s protecting

Day (419/100) in my #∞daysofwriting @the-wip-project

[pumpkinprompts]

“I don’t kill kids...”

“But annoying little punks like you make it hard,” the supervillain growled, holding the sidekick by the scruff of their cape. The sidekick wriggled in their grasp and kicked the air, spitting mad in a way that was almost admirable. The supervillain needed to stop being so soft on kids. Not today, but some other day in the future.

“Fuck you! Put me down!”

The supervillain shook the kid like that would make them settle down. When it didn’t, they tossed the sidekick to the side. “Get out of here. This doesn’t involve you.”

O~*

“But that doesn’t mean I won’t hurt them.” The supervillain tossed the trembling sidekick against the wall, where they collided with a dull thud and collapsed to the ground. Their mentor was too far out to stop this; oh, they’d be racing the clock, but even five minutes was more than enough time for the supervillain to do something unforgivable. With fifteen? They’d be lucky to get their sidekick back in enough pieces to put back together.

The kid knew it. They were sniffling, curled up a little bit and shielding their head with their arms.

“If you were just a tiny bit older, I’d crush your throat and that would be it,” the supervillain continued, sing-song, advancing on the shivering huddle. “But you’ll live...”

The gentlest touch to the shoulder made the sidekick cry out.

“Isn’t that nice?”

[scarlettearrowrites]

Writing Livestreams Episode 7

Features: Some sketches, Scarlette recounting the story of the man of spoons, spoon theory, Tam almost goes into a fight without a healer, villain development, and deleting weight from every character sheet I fill out.

[vanillathread]

The next chapter to my Hualian Superhero!AU fic has been posted! Please heed the warnings before you read! TW: descriptions of gore, medical malpractice, adultery, and mentions of human trafficking

[pengold]

Goblin Queen and Jean Grey

I am a huge fan of X-men and I am absolutely loving 97, so expect more art from me in the future!

(also possibly a new style what do you guys think?)

[bet-on-me-13]

The First Supervillain

So! A Typical "Early Start" AU where the events of The Show happen early in the Timeline. Like, in the 70's or 80's.

Danny never quite managed to fix his Public Perception, and even years into his career people still saw him as the Villain.

Coincidentally Valerie was seen as a Hero because of how often they were seen fighting. Even after they revealed their Identities and got together, they still had the occasional Battle. It was their love language.

His role as the Villain was Cemented when Pariah launched his Second Invasion of Earth after some dumbass accidentally freed him, and Danny took the Blame for it. Instead of being seen as the Hero who battled Pariah and stopped the Invasion, he was seen as the Tyrant to launched the Invasion in the first place, with Red Huntess being the one to defeat him in one final Ultimate Battle.

And honestly? He was fine with that. Now that he was the King of the Ghost Zone, he had the Authority to Regulate the Portal so villains stopped getting through. And that meant that he wasn't needed to stop random Ghost Attacks anymore. He could finally focus on College and his own Life, instead of sacrificing everything to act as the Protector of the Human Realm.

Val continued to be a Hero for a few more years, eventually retiring when it became Clear that the new generation of Heroes could pick up the Slack.

He went to College, got a Job as an Aerospace Engineer, and eventually proposed to Valerie.

About 20 years since his initial Accident, and he was doing great! He had moved into a humble home on the edge of town with his loving wife Val, his beautiful daughter Ellie, and his cute dog Cujo.

Yeah, life was good.

Until the day Danny accidently caused a Mass Crisis.

...

Superman was having some extreme trouble in dealing with his current Opponent. He had just been flying around the City, patrolling as Usual, when all of a sudden he had been attacked by a Flying Mech Suit.

At first he had assumed that Lex was giving it another Go, but he quickly realized that was not the case when the Armor seemed to Phase though solid matter in the middle of the battle. Lex had never made Tech advanced enough to do that on the fly.

This opponent was tough too. Strong enough and Durable enough to go blow for blow with him, and seemingly able to pull Advanced Weaponry from out of nowhere whenever he wanted. As tough as it was to admit, Superman as losing the Battle.

Then, without warning, the battle stopped. His opponent was staring at the space just behind him, with a look of pure dread. He turned around, and his heart stopped.

Floating behind him, staring right past him and directly at the Mech Suit, was the First Villain Phantom.

He looked much the same as when he had last been seen, although he was definitely Older. He had snow white hair, and glowing green eyes that seemed to stare right past him and into his very soul. He was wearing what seemed to be a costume of sorts, with an all black suit, white gloves, and white boots. Over his Shoulders sat a Cloak made of Stars, and above his head sat a Crown made of an Icy Blue Fire.

The Mech tried for a greeting, "Er- Hello t-Lord Phantom. How do you d-"

"Skulker."

"Y-yes?"

"What are you doing here? I thought I gave you explicit orders to stay in the Ghost Zone until further notice. You disobeyed me."

"Okay look. I got excited, that's my fault. It's just, I got anxious waiting. Can you really blame me? I've been waiting 20 years to take another Crack at the Human World, what's it matter if I left a few weeks Early?"

"I told you. You were supposed to wait exactly 20 Years, and you left Early. This calls for punishment."

"No wait!"

"Let's see how you feel after a few days as Soup."

The Villain pulled out a Thermos, and in a flash of green light, Skulker was gone, and the King was capping the Thermos. He then turned to Superman.

"I apologize for him, he decided to leave ahead of schedule." The King addressed him. "Now, Kryptonian. Rest and tend to your wounds, you will need to be in your best health if you want to continue saving the lives of those people below us."

With a dramatic flare, the King reached up and Tore a hole in Space. Through the Hole, Superman could only see an infinite Green Void, with the sound of screams cheering being heard through the rift.

The King departed through the Tear in Spacetime, and it closed behind him.

Superman tried to collect himself, and activated his League Emergency Comms.

"Attention All Founding Members, and Justice League Dark Members. This is Superman calling for an immediate Emergency Meeting."

He took a deep breath.

"Phantom is Back."

[wiingdings]

cat people

[youcalledsworld]

DP x DC prompt

The Justice League failed and the earth will blow in 8 minutes. They can't evacuate everyone on the planet, they are all tired and can barely move.

In a last ditch effort John and Zatanna call upon the King of the Infinite Realms for help.

Danny said he can't stop the planet from blowing up and the Justice League sighed in defeat. But then he goes on to say that he can save everyone on earth.

The League wondered how he could. So he told them he'll just move the entire population of earth to a different earth so similar to theirs it would be extremely difficult to tell the difference.

He tells them the only difference is that on that earth the Heroes and even the Villains failed to stop a big evil from turning everyone including animal into dust.

And after he finishes relocating everyone to the different earth he will then swap the earth's around so that they remain in their original universe.

For his payment Danny told them that he will take everything valuable from the earth that's about to explode. That means precious metals, vehicles, mansions, weapons, artwork, magical artifacts, villains and heroes equipment, he will take everything.

[mirohtron]

They'd met, before.

"It's all right, tiger." The superhero's attention was half-not on them as he spoke, flying down to ground a safe distance away from the burning building.

The civilian doubted the superhero remembered. They hoped that he didn't. Prayed. Buried their face into his shoulder just so that he wouldn't get a good look at their face. They hadn't used powers, had they? They didn't think they had. Superpowered people had greater strength, could hold their breath for longer, were more durable to fire and smoke, of course, but that wouldn't have been so noticeable, surely?

Just to stay safe, the civilian coughed a few times. They didn't know how regular human bodies reacted to inhaling so much smoke. They hoped they were doing it right.

The superhero gently set them on the ground. "Keep these people safe, yeah?" he said, jutting his chin to the people behind the two of them—and the crowd was mostly made up of the people the civilian had ushered out. The civilian looked down and nodded their head.

The superhero shot back up to the skies.

The civilian took to rounding everyone up, counting heads, inspecting for injuries. It was—it was odd, to do. Something so good, at the behest of one who told you off once upon a time for trying to do more. But surely the superhero didn't remember. Seventeen years was so long ago. Besides, the civilian understood now. Why they were told to not try to be better. Not be a superhero. You couldn't be a good person, as a superhero. It was impossible to not indulge in hedonism. To not lose yourself along the way. Goodness was like sand.

More people were getting dropped off by the superhero. Ambulances came. The civilian was fine, obviously, and didn't need help. Their breathing was fine. No burns on their arms, just ash. They helped paramedics. They soothed their neighbours. They prayed every evidence of their evil scheming that they'd brought back from their lair was burned in the fire. It wasn't much, but it was incriminating.

It didn't take much time for press to arrive. They ignored the civilian, at first. A couple interviewers came—small ones, who knew they wouldn't be able to talk over huge, charismatic journalists with years of experience—to ask questions. The civilian didn't want to give them their name. Or face. They pushed a camera away and tried moving away, but they caught a lady from the crowd coming straight for them.

"Here we have," she began, and shoved a mic in front of their face, "the brave civilian who took on the position of leader for the group of survivors of this burning tragedy. Civilian, how many people did you count injured?"

"I, uhm," the civilian began, and then another reporter shoved a mic in front of their face.

"What caused this fire?" he asked.

The civilian caught the lady rolling her eyes at him. "How long did it take for the superhero to arrive?" she asked. "Were there any casualties?"

The civilian tried putting on their most sheepish smile. "I'd really not like to answer any questions right now—"

"Did the superhero rescue you? Or did you run out of the building on your own?"

A camera flashed. Then another, and there was a brief moment of silence before the clicking of shutters was all that they could hear, and they were blinded by light. The superhero was right. They wouldn't survive heroism, with camera flashes burning their eyes out every other day. And if he didn't know their face before, he'd surely know now, with all the pictures that were being taken.

The civilian stepped back.

Like vultures, the reporters and camerapeople stepped closer. Crowded them. Shoved mics in their face. They couldn't see a single thing.

A big, strong, gloved hand rested on their shoulder. The civilian flinched and tensed up like stone. Between flashes, they caught smitten, blushing faces or story-hungry, predatory expressions from reporters wanting to stir up drama.

"Hey, everyone," said the superhero, over the civilian's shoulder, in a media-friendly, jovial tone and with a camera-ready smile that they could hear in their voice. He put a chummy arm around their shoulder and the civilian tried not to act put out. "I hope I'm not late. Wouldn't want to leave this poor thing to fend for themselves, ha! Am I right?" He stepped back and dragged the civilian with him, giving them a squeeze. "If you want to hide, just get behind me."

Aha. Right. When the civilian could totally just run right now. They very much wanted to, now that they'd gotten the opening and the reporters swarmed the superhero. They faked a laugh and half-hid behind the superhero.

"Superhero, superhero!"

"Yes?"

"What would you like to say to the brave civilian behind you? Eyewitnesses claim they were seen ushering out many people out of the burning building."

The civilian choked. Who the fuck told on them? They quickly searched for really good alleyways to disappear into.

"Ah—well, uhm." The civilian said stupidly. "Just trying to help! With, uhm, being raised with a good righteous role model like the superhero, instinct just overrode to save all those people." God, why did they say anything? They could feel their pallor.

"Oh, you look quite unwell. Did the fire cause several injuries?"

"Yes—yes! I might've, uhm, just inhaled too much smoke. God! Haha." The civilian coughed very weakly. "I should probably get to the hospital, y'know. Couldn't." That was a lie. They'd been checked on before the reporters arrived.

"Right, right." The superhero pat them on the back. "You should sit down. There's plenty of medical experts here."

The civilian did not look at him. They turned around and walked to an ambulance and sat there and watched the superhero walk to a spot further away, the reporters following like ducklings. The distance made it easier for them to breathe. A few officers answered questions here and there to reporters who had realised they wouldn't get an answer from the superhero.

Nobody bothered the civilian—there had been a couple reporters that came to them and the superhero politely and loudly requested that they 'keep off of the tired civilian'. They still caught the superhero eyeing them from time to time—did they recognise them? That scrawny little kid trying to be just like him, with a homemade suit and powers that they couldn't quite yet control? The civilian was half convinced they did. It made them want to shake out of their skin or maybe die. If the superhero recognised them, they'd probably be fucked. Royally. Their powers weren't so common.

The superhero glanced at them again. The civilian tapped their foot on the floor.

The superhero looked again. The civilian looked back this time, and tried to look a little ticked off. They didn't think they did that very well. They couldn't take it, though—they didn't like people. They didn't like the superhero, either. But they couldn't really leave. That would make them more suspicious.

So they waited.

Time passed.

People left as soon as the superhero snapped his head to a distant crime only he could hear and shot up to the skies.

They ached to go inside, to check if their things had burnt to a crisp completely. But they didn't want anything crumbling on top of them. Who would save them, then? Not the superhero. Not any hero. They were just there for the glory and the fame.

And yet...they stayed there helplessly, looking at their burnt apartment. Cold morning blue was beginning to seep into the horizon by now, stretching to touch the soft, grey-white edges of the moon. The smoke had left dusty residue on their cheeks and hair and singed clothes. They walked up to a wall on the building and kicked it experimentally. They didn’t hear any crack.

A soft whoosh came from behind them. Their hair swayed with the breeze.

The civilian whipped around.

The superhero stood in front of them and the villain's heart dropped in fear instantly.

"Hi," said the superhero. It wasn't... it wasn't threatening, no. But the civilian felt just a little faint. They tripped on their own feet in an attempt to step back and the superhero’s hands shot out to steady them by their arms. Ungloved.

The civilian swallowed. They tried to look calm but they weren’t sure if it was working. They weren’t sure if they were supposed to not look calm. They had no idea how to act. Maybe harmless. They tried looking like that. Small and harmless and unassuming.

"Hi," they said back.

The superhero looked them over. "All right? You look pale."

"I'm fine. Just peachy."

"Sure?"

Shakily, the civilian drew in a breath. They coughed weakly. "Just—I just inhaled some smoke. But it's fine."

"That's great." The superhero tilted his head. "I was just so worried. You seemed really scared, cowering into my chest and all. That must've been to protect your eyes, huh?"

"My—what?"

They were offered a smile. Camera-ready. "Your eyes. Smoke can irritate your eyes, unless you're a super. That makes you more resistant. To smoke. And irritation. And wheezy breathing."

Oh. Oh, they didn't know that. Their breath hitched. The villain didn't know what to do, then. Run? No, the superhero could catch up easily.

They pulled ash-matted strands of hair away from their cheeks, looking down. They coughed, weakly, and it was a bad attempt because the superhero chuckled.

"You've grown," the superhero said. They sounded half-fond. "I almost didn't recognise you."

"Oh." The villain felt dizzy again. So they hadn't been busted. No, of course not. They never took their mask off. When they'd come to the superhero, scrawny and hopeful, they'd taken their mask off. They still remembered the way the grimace on the superhero's face. "Yeah. Yeah. Puberty."

The superhero searched in his pocket and took out their old mask from seventeen years ago, badly burned but still retaining its colour. He held it out. "You kept it for so long," he said. "It's a little singed, but..."

Some naïve, hopeful part of the villain fluttered warmly at the gesture, and they smothered that feeling immediately. The superhero wasn't an exception. But they had to accept. They loved that mask. They'd made the entire suit on their own, with their saved allowances and abandoned spray paint cans they'd found underneath bridges and behind dumpsters in alleyways. "Thanks."

The superhero gave them another smile. He reached out, deliberately slow so that he wouldn't spook the villain. They didn't flinch.

He scrubbed ash from their cheek with his thumb. "Don't take your mask off next time," he said.

The villain reeled back.

The superhero gave a wince. It was more theatrical. "Too obvious?" he asked, and of course he wasn't expecting an answer, but the villain still spluttered. Their shoulders rose with heaving breaths. They held their mask close to their chest.

The superhero smiled. It was not friendly. It said, I will get you.

He left before the villain could answer.

The villain clutched their mask close, and then threw it to the ground.

[writingwithcolor]

What Makes an Ethnic Villain "Ethnic" or "Villainous?" How Do You Offset it?

anonymous asked:

Hello WWC! I have a question about the antagonist of my story. She is (currently) Japanese, and I want to make sure I’m writing her in a way that doesn’t associates [sic] her being Asian with being villainous.  The story is set in modern day USA, this character is effectively immortal. She was a samurai who lost loved ones due to failure in combat, and this becomes her character[sic] motivation (portrayed sympathetically to the audience). This story explores many different time periods and how women have shown valor throughout history. The age of the samurai (and the real and legendary female warriors from it) have interested me the most, which is why I want her to be from this period.  The outfit she wears while fighting is based on samurai armor, and she wears modern and traditional Japanese fashion depending on the occasion. She acts pretty similar to modern day people, though more cynical and obsessed with her loss. She’s been able to adapt with the times but still highly values and cherishes her past.  She is the only Asian main character, but I plan to make a supportive Japanese side character. She’s a history teacher who knows about the villain and gives the protagonists information to help them, but isn’t involved in the main plot otherwise.  Are the way I’m writing this villain and the inclusion of a non-antagonist Japanese character enough to prevent a harmful reading of the story, or is there more I should do?

Why Does Your Villain Exist?

This makes me feel old because David Anders plays a villain with this kind of backstory in the series Heroes starring Masi Oka. 

I think you want to think about what you mean when you say: 

Villainous (In what way? To whom? To what end?)

Harmful (What tropes, narratives and implications are present?)

I’m relatively infamous in the mod circle for not caring too much about dimensions of “harm”. The concept is relative and varies widely between people and cultures. I don’t see much value in framing motivations around “What is less harmful?” I think for me, what matters more is: 

“What is more true?” 

“Are characteristics viewed as intrinsic to background, or the product of experiences and personal autonomy?”

“Will your portrayal resonate with a large audience?”

“What will resonate with the members of the audience who share the backgrounds your characters have?” 

This post offers additional questions you could ask yourself instead of “is this okay/not okay/harmful.” 

You could write a story where your antagonist is sly, sadistic, violent and cold-blooded. It may not be an interpretation that will make many Japanese from combat backgrounds feel seen or heard, but it’s not without precedent. These tropes have been weaponized against people of Japanese descent (Like Nikkei Japanese interned during World War II), but Japan also brutalized a good chunk of Asia during World War II. See Herge’s Tintin and The Blue Lotus for an example of a comic that accurately showcases the brutality of Japan’s colonization of Manchuria, but also is racist in terms of how Japanese characters are portrayed (CW: genocide, war, imperialism, racism).

You could also write a story where your character’s grief gives way to despair, and fuels their combat such that they are seen as calculating, frigid and deeply driven by revenge/ violence. This might make sense. It’s also been done to death for Japanese female warriors, though (See “Lady Snowblood” by Kazuo Koike and Kazuo Kamimura here, CW: sexual assault, violence, murder and a host of other dark things you’d expect in a revenge story). 

You could further write a story where your antagonist is not necessarily villainous, but the perceived harm comes from fetishizing/ exoticizing elements in how her appearance is presented or how she is sexualized, which is a common problem for Japanese female characters. 

My vote always goes to the most interesting story or character. I don’t see any benefit to writing from a defensive position. This is where I'll point out that, culturally, I can't picture a Japanese character viewing immortality as anything other than a curse. Many cultures in Japan are largely defined by transience and the understanding that many things naturally decay, die, and change form.

There are a lot of ways you could conceivably cause harm, but I’d rather hear about what the point of this character is given the dilemma of their position. 

What is her purpose for the plot? 

How is she designed to make the reader feel? 

What literary devices are relevant to her portrayal?

(Arbitrarily, you can always add more than 1 extra Japanese character. I think you might put less pressure on yourself with this character’s portrayal if you have more Japanese characters to practice with in general.) 

- Marika. 

When Off-Setting: Aim for Average

Seconding the above with regards to this villainess’s story and your motivations for this character, but regardless of her story I think it’s also important to look specifically at how the Japanese teacher character provides contrast. 

I agree with the choice to make her a regular person and not a superhero. Otherwise, your one Asian character is aggressively Asian-themed in a stereotypical Cool Japan way (particularly if her villain suit is samurai-themed & she wears wafu clothing every so often). Adding a chill person who happens to be Japanese and doesn’t have some kind of ninja or kitsune motif will be a breath of fresh air (well, more like a sigh of relief) for Japanese readers. 

A note on characterization—while our standard advice for “offset” characters is to give your offset character the opposite of the personality trait you’re trying to balance, in this case you might want to avoid opposites. You have a villainess who is a cold, tough “don’t need no man” type. Making the teacher mild-mannered, helpful, and accomodating would balance out the villainess’s traits, but you’ll end up swinging to the other side of the pendulum towards the Submissive Asian stereotype depending on execution. If avoiding stereotypes is a concern, I suggest picking something outside of that spectrum of gentleness to violence and making her really boring or really weird or really nerdy or a jock gym teacher or…something. You’re the author.

Similarly, while the villainess is very traditionally Japanese in her motifs and backstory, don’t make the teacher go aggressively in either direction—give her a nice balance of modern vs. traditional, Japanese vs. Western sensibilities as far as her looks, dress, interests, values, etc. Because at the end of the day, that’s most modern Japanese people. 

Sometimes, the most difficult representation of a character of color is making a character who is really average, typical, modern, and boring. 

- Rina

[charlietheepicwriter7]

We've seen DP and DC be different universes where Danny and Valerie are the only heroes in DP, but there are thousands of heroes in DC. We've seen where DP and DC are in the same universe, and Amity Park just thinks the Justice League are ignoring them.

But what if DP and DC are different universes, BUT Danny and Val aren't the only heroes?

If we treat superheroes as basically cops/military with superpowers, then we can infer what heroes would be like using cop/military statistics. You could even use My Hero Academia society as a basis. Things like "heroes are more interested in protecting private property than serving the public" and "Heroes have high levels of PTSD and physical disability and aren't helped after they retire" are common knowledge in Danny's universe.

And specifically, the one I wanted to make clear for this prompt: In Danny's universe, heroes are highly likely to abuse their family/sidekicks outside the mask.

Suddenly, Danny's in the DC universe. For a low-stakes reason; if he's there because the DP universe imploded or his parents tried to kill him, he'd be too concerned about himself to act on his instincts. No, Danny's there for a vacation and there are so many heroes and kid heroes that he feels sick.

Maybe he catches Batman being rough with his kids, or overhears Superman "belittling" Superboy (Conner). Nevertheless...

Danny ends up thinking that all the Justice League are abusing their sidekicks and families and becomes a villain to save them.

[whatthehellami]

"Can we like, reschedule today's fight? I have an exam?"

"YOU'RE IN SCHOOL?"

[scarlettearrowrites]

Writing Livestream Episode Six

Features: new music, new mics, a thumbnail cameo of my sister's cat, cameos from two fanfics, and repeatedly going 'I wrote this character, why did I not know this about them?'