#villain pov

[theunboundwriter]

You Will Never Be A God Characters

Link to WIP Intro Here.

Lochlan // The young prince and future King of Breyca whose life was flipped sideways when he found out he had a destiny that would lead him down the path of good and evil.

Ambrose // Lochlan's best friend and crush of many years. He's Breyca's scholar and a practicing wizard, and when he finds out about Lochlan's destiny he is there to make sure his best friend doesn't lose himself.

Cora // A fairy that was rescued by Lochlan and Ambrose from a hunter's net. She seems to know more about The Fates, the deities that told Lochlan his destiny, and wants to help out in any way she can.

Diantha // She stumbled upon Lochlan and his group of friends one evening, and the minute she finds out about Lochlan's destiny she is invested and wants to be a part of the journey.

Clotho // One of The Fates that assigns individuals destinies at birth. She chooses the individual and spins their thread.

Lachesis // One of The Fates. She measures the thread.

Atropos // One of The Fates. She cuts the thread.

[sugar-phoenix]

cw: gore

The monster. The witch. The hunger. I am all of them, and yet, none of them. I murder in cold blood, I curse others, I eat blood-filled flesh with glee, and smile, my fangs glinting between gums stained red. I live in the dark, no, I thrive in it -- for it knows me best and hides my faults, my crimes. You may see me and bleat at me, for I look like no threat, but come close enough and I’ll bite your head off with sharp, sharp teeth.

[faenemy]

I don't know how to format, notes are under the cut, and tw fire, explosions, minor choking?, and poorly written violence

Countdown

02:00 remaining

They had waited all this time, meticulously planning each and every detail. And it worked.

Each building was laced with hidden explosives, a timer slowly ticked toward demise. If this didn’t catch their dear hero’s attention, then what possibly could? For this to be their first truly public appearance, they wanted it to be as memorable, and as scarring, as possible. No longer could they lurk in the shadows, using others to mask their actions, to mask their intentions. The villain’s musings were interrupted when they felt a tug on their wrist before being aggressively yanked backward into a dim alleyway. Ah, it appears a hero had been called. They couldn’t help the grin that spread acrosstheir face. For there stood Puppeteer, the number four hero, clad in black. Though her face was covered by a gilded, white, masquerade mask, they imagined it was painted with a burning glare. How they wished to see, just to even glimpse, the hero’s auburn eyes once more.

“Care to tell me the locations of those bombs? Or will I have to force it out of you?” The blonde woman spat.

Staring up at her from where they lay, breath caught in their throat, all their thoughts were focused on the woman above them. So much so that they almost missed Puppeteer reaching for the handcuffs on her belt. Within a moment they’ve struck. Electricity shoots from their fingers, aimed upward at The Puppeteer before they hastily right themselves. Not a moment later, the hero had already recovered, swinging herself up into the air, walking some invisible tightrope only she could see.

01:30 remaining

Oh, they couldn’t allow that, now could they? With an arch of their arm and a crackle of energy, the dance truly began. Every move by Puppeteer was calculated, an attempt to distract, to keep them from harming the civilians still in the area. Whilst the villain attacked in a frenzy of power, the nearby structures suffer from their destructive display. With a roar, the building above begins to crumble and collapse. Screams echoed from inside the falling structure. Before they can move to avoid the descending rubble, something collides violently with their chest. Puppeteer stands above (on) them, using their abilities to restrain the villain, Though their hands were pinned to their sides, and any attempt to currently use their abilities would only harm them, the villain waited for their opportunity to strike.

“Stay down.” the hero seethes, venom in her tone.

“Make me.”

A scoff escaped the hero before she continued, “ Why don’t we try this again.” Reaching once more for her handcuffs.

And there it was, the opportunity they needed. Though she tried to be quick, there was still a moment of respite for them. As she reached to clasp the handcuffs on their arm, they pounced. The electricity burned their side a bit, sure, but more importantly, it shot through the handcuffs and into the hero’s shoulder, scarring her and leaving the hero shrieking in agony. With a jolt, she sprung away, and they did not think this through, pulling the villain with them. Being drug-face-first across concrete was not on their to-do list today, thank you very much.

01:05 remaining

Face now thoroughly dirty, they attempted to right themselves, however, they were too tangled in the hero's web to do so. Out of breath and aching all over the villain turned toward their captor.

"I think you'll want to move out of the way, darling. Unless you feel like being buried alive, which I would highly recommend against doing." they sneered, pulling at their invisible restraints.

00:55 remaining

Puppeteer stared at the crumpled villain in front of her and after a moment of hesitation, swung the villain up and out of her path. With a loud crack, they hit the opposing sidewalk. Dazed they looked after her, just to see a flick of her blond hair as she swiftly disappeared into the toppled structure. Grunting in pain, they managed to slowly rise to their feet.

00:50 remaining

No longer restrained by the Puppeteer’s powers, they sprinted in after her, ever so slightly stumbling as went. Consequences of one’s fresh electric burns and what was most likely a concussion. Everything would be simply wasted if the hero went up in smoke alongside the city block.

00:30 remaining

Frantically looking around for the blonde hero, but turning up blanks in the smoke-filled, dusty atmosphere, panic took over. The villain did not have a moment to lose, so when they heard a series of footsteps and groans from behind them, they rushed to the source of the sound.

00:20 remaining

There by the entrance, was Puppeteer, exiting the collapsed building, if you could even still call the structure that, a child is cradled gently in her arms, and a man clutching desperately onto her arm. She hurried them to safety, removing the two civilians from the ticking bomb’s radius. Once the hero had confirmed the civilians would be unharmed by the blast, Puppeteer prepared to re-enter the blast zone. Time was slipping by like sand through the villain’s fingers, they had no patience for the hero’s saviour complex. With a snap an electric wave swept through the air, blocking off the woman’s route. In a moment Puppeteer is above them, using her abilities to propel herself past them.

00:05 remaining

Landing, the blonde hero whips around, shooting the villain a venomous look, before sprinting back toward the rubble. The villain lunges at her, latching onto her waist, and pulling her back toward safety. Puppeteer pushes them down roughly, grabbing at the villain’s neck, constricting their airway but-

00:00 remaining

BAAM!

The sound of an, honestly, excessive amount of explosives shakes the earth and heavens alike. Having been knocked off of them by the sheer force of the blast, Puppeteer lay splayed across the ground, her hair slightly charred, her pristine mask, darkened by soot. The villain imagined they looked much the same. Behind them the fire roared, scorching all that surrounded it. Slowly the villain pushed themselves to their feet, grabbing the hero’s hand and dragging her away from the blaze. Consider it returning a long overdue favor. With one last glance at their treasured hero, and the destruction of their own creation, the villain made their exit.

Perfect.

It was all perfect.

Haven't written a fight scene in forever and boy does it show. I just wanted to write some silly little messed up romance but nooooooo my brain insists on having a whole ass plot :/ also how long this took me to write and edit stays between me and god

Anyway constructive criticism is always welcome, just be gentle cause the person behind the screen is just doing for their own enjoyment at the end of the day. Now enjoy my poor attempt at tagging

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

A monster hunter makes notes in the leadup to attacking a lair of unusual creatures.

Prompts from @achraya's Monster May Bingo: Monster Hunters and @pridewrite’s 2022 Challenge: Unknown. If you like Pride, but don't want to give your money to pink capitalism, consider each donating to or at least boosting one of these charities.

[wanderrealms]

I'm starting prefer writing henchmen over their masters.

[shrimpchipsss]

reverse transmigration for dove for SVSSSAction!

[satoshy12]

My hero actually DID his job!

It had been a political meeting with the big media, as Vlad had to listen to other citizens talk about their heroes and complain about how they have more supervillains and damage. As a reporter, asked Vlad, the mayor of Amity Park, what he thought about it. He himself didn't talk about villain attacks or similar.

Vlad:" It's not my fault that your heroes are failures."

Yeah Vlad insulted every hero and city just with 1 sentence.

Politician angry from Metropolis:" What the hell are you talking about?"

Vlad:" How many years did your heroes fight their villains in your cities with collateral damage?"

Someone from Gotham said, " Maybe now 20 years maybe more."

Vlad:" The hero in Amity Park only took 1 year to show all his villains the right path, that they dropped being evil, and only once in a while visit to fight the hero without any damage to the city other than that place where they fight."

Vlad had built an Arena for it; it helped both Ghost and Danny fight and train.

Many of them are silent, as if they couldn't believe 1 word to say, " Impossible. Our heroes tried it for so many years."

Vlad:" If your failures did their job, you wouldn't have any villains years ago. So, yes, I don't think your heroes do their jobs."

Vlad then didn't talk anymore about this theme; he got bored of it.

And for the media and politicians, 1 online search and they saw Vlad told the truth... And they were kind of angry and confused. How comes that boy in 1 year fixed all his villain but someone like Superman or Batman wasn't able to do it for years!

[syntaxxor]

When Great Evil Rises

CW: Violence

“When great evil rises, a great hero will rise to fight against it.” A prophecy that everyone takes rather for granted. It’s silly, but it makes sense, right? Of course a hero will rise against evil. All those fairy tales seem to agree about it, that’s for sure.

But, well, that’s not going to happen.

I sit in my chambers, mentally reviewing my plans. My forces are nearly assembled and soon, I will strike out against the castle. I’ve already taken several of the smaller villages nearby, cutting a line through their territory where my troops and supply lines can travel. Tomorrow, I will ride out to the front lines and make the final assault on the castle, kill the King, and begin my rule as Lord of these lands.

A knock on my door interrupts my mulling. I make a motion with my hand and open the door from a distance. Of course, I could say “come in” or stand up and walk over there. But there’s a certain benefit to maintaining an image. Presenting myself in a powerful manner. Decorating my chambers with banners of red, lit weakly by torches. It ensures that friend and foe alike know that I, and no other, am the Dark Lord.

A short imp enters the chambers. Despite his appearance and the general image of his species, he’s got quite the tactical mind. I like keeping him around. He silently enters, carrying my dinner on a covered platter. He approaches, avoiding eye contact, and places my dinner on the table next to me. Before he can leave, I stop him.

“Pilif, is something the matter?”

He turns around, eyes towards the ground.

“Look me in the eyes and speak.”

He hesitantly looks up. “Apologies, my Lord. I’m just… worried about the invasion tomorrow.”

“Why? We’ve secured territory such that it will be easy to take. And once the King is dead, the Kingdom will have nobody to rally under. I should get very little resistance to the invasion of the rest of the lands.”

“Yes, of course, your planning and tactics have been immaculate. I just worry about the prophecy.”

I chuckle. Of course my troops have heard the prophecy. Everyone has, after all. I look him in the eye as I say, “Don’t you worry. The prophecy, the hero, they are irrelevant. Make sure all my troops know this. Morale is important, after all.”

Pilif nods with a look of hesitant relief. “Yes, my Lord.”

He bows and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. I smile to myself and then turn to pursue my dinner. I remove the lid and a cloud of steam floats out. Underneath, I find a cup of tea, a roast chicken, and various vegetables. Just how I like it.

Just before dawn breaks, my troops and I find ourselves outside the walls of Redmont. The red paint on the walls appears chipped and poorly maintained. Considering that the city was named after its glorious red walls, that’s rather surprising. But sometimes, humans just can’t keep up a good image.

 I’m waiting for my negotiator to finish negotiating at the gates. It’s mostly just a formality. Have one of my underlings ride to the gate, establish that we’re here to conquer, offer them the chance of surrender, and so on. These cities never stand down, they always try to fight. But I want to make sure nobody says I conquered the world unfairly.

I see it riding back, so I prepare myself. It tells me that they refused, and I nod. I draw my ebony-black sword and raise it high above me, before pointing it toward the wall. The warhorns sound off, and the assault begins.

Ah, glorious combat! There’s something refreshing about knowing these people have chosen to fight, despite their obvious demise. My troops perform their functions brilliantly, clearly both trained and experienced. The ones with flight ascend above the wall, arrows bouncing off of their well-protected underbellies. They swoop down, grabbing the troops on the wall and dropping them, letting them die from the fall. Meanwhile, more brutish soldiers bring siege machines forward. Trebuchets to damage the wall, battering rams to destroy the gates. Most archers on the wall are too distracted with my flying soldiers to interrupt the siege machines. And the ones who aren’t distracted are instead targeted by my most skilled archers instead. As much as these humans fight, they’re unfortunately unable to work with the multi-faceted attack I’ve set upon them.

And now that the battle was underway, it was time for me to have some fun. My dark red wings unfurl and I leap to the skies, flying straight for the wall. I approach quickly, arrows bouncing off my armored body. I arrive and drive my sword through one of the hapless soldiers on the wall. Cursed purple flame erupts where my sword pierces through his skin, and he immediately falls limp. Another charges towards me, sword drawn, but I deftly dodge to the side and grab him by the head. My claws pierce through his helmet and into his skull, killing him instantly. I turn around and use my momentum to throw his corpse through a group of enemy soldiers. As more soldiers attempt to stop me, my own successfully put up a ladder in the gap I’ve made. They flood onto the wall, slaughtering any humans in their way.

The assault continues much the same, my troops flooding the city. We don’t kill anybody who doesn’t resist. We’re not savages, after all. Though the joyful manner in which we kill those who do may give some the wrong opinion. Regardless, it’s not too long before the city falls. I enter the throne room of the castle myself, killing the guards outside before bursting into the room. I approach the King and grab him by the collar, holding my sword against his throat.

“Any last words, your Majesty?”

He struggles but speaks, “When the great evil comes, a great hero will come and defeat it!”

“You wish.” I slit his throat and then drop his body on the ground, his blood mixing with the red carpet on the floor. “Couldn’t even quote it correctly.”

Over the next few days, the city is cleaned out. Resistance is squashed and banners are raised up. The flag of the Dark Lord now flies over my new castle.

Several months have passed. The remaining villages didn’t put up much resistance. As I predicted, they’re powerless without the king, without his banner leading them. My domain is now firmly held over the kingdom, as it was always meant to be.

Life can’t be much different for most of the civilians. The serfs still live under the rule of their lords. They just have to live now around my own underlings. They seem to think mine are ugly. But I think that’s rather subjective.

I’ve adjusted rather well to this throne room. It’s more spacious than my previous one, and I think the sunlight fills the room a bit better. Nothing wrong with that, I suppose. After all, I don’t intend for much more violence now that I’m in charge, so a brighter image may be useful. I stand near one of the vast windows, looking over the city of Redmont with its fresh coat of paint. I won’t let that glorious wall go without maintenance.

I hear a commotion outside of my room, so I return to my throne and call out, “What is the meaning of this?” My guards enter, dragging in a human with tattered clothes. I see that one of my guards has confiscated a crude dagger from them. I smirk and approach.

“And what might you be here for? A nice cup of tea, perhaps?” The human says nothing, simply giving me a look of defiance.

“Surely you aren’t here to kill me. After all, I can’t be much worse than that doddering old fool.” I lean down, putting my face near the human’s, and they spit in mine. I turn and wipe it off, before turning back and standing above them.

“Now, don’t be rude. If you have something to say, then say it, cretin.”

They look angrily at me and then let out a yell, “When great evil rises, a great hero will rise against it!”

I let out a small chuckle before drawing my sword and stabbing it through their head. Then, I wipe the blade off and return it to its sheath. “Clean this mess up,” I command my guards. I return to my throne and consider what they said.

Of course I know that prophecy. Everyone does. Most of the humans in this kingdom are waiting for the hero to rise, for someone to come and lead them to victory. Just biding their time, preparing for that moment.

Of course, that’s silly. That moment will never come.

After all, I wrote that “prophecy.”

[novelconcepts]

One of the most fundamentally interesting things to me about YJ and writing fic, specifically, is how the blame changes hands depending on the story. On whose perspective you're writing from. On whose story it is at a given moment. The very thing I dislike about viewers missing the point becomes so fascinating to me from within the narrative. Who are these characters when seen through the eyes of their peers?

Who does Jackie become? If you're Shauna, she's the love of your life, and your greatest rival, and the other half of your soul, and the person you blame for your dead dreams. If you're Van, she's the respected captain who earns none of your respect in the woods, the one who left you to die without blinking, the easiest target for teenage malice. If you're Natalie, she's competition for affection, the blabbermouth who can't leave well enough alone, the hands putting themselves to no good use. If you're Jackie? You're just a girl. You're so tired. You're so scared. You're losing face a little more every day, and you're made of despair, and you can't even trust your best friend. It's not your fault. It's not your fault. It's not your fault.

Who does Lottie become? If you're Natalie, she's your direct foil, the splinter under the edge of your thumbnail, the smart mouth to match your own, the confusing amalgamation of normal friend and mad ritual. If you're Misty, she's the first shred of obvious power in months, a leader who might need to be nudged back into line, a fascinating exercise in hitching your wagon to the right star early on. If you're Taissa, she's flat-nuts and endlessly frustrating, she's got your girlfriend's full attention, she's incredibly dangerous. If you're Lottie? You're just a girl. You're so tired. You're so scared. You've built a pedestal you can't keep your balance on, and you're not sure if you're right or going crazy, and you didn't want this. It's not your fault. It's not your fault. It's not your fault.

From outside the narrative, there is no bad guy. There is no blame. It is no one's fault. It is Man v. Nature, they are doing the best they can with an impossible situation. They're all trying to contribute what they can to the story, for better or worse.

From inside the narrative, you are a teenager trapped in a society constructed entirely of bare-bones-survival with the wildest assortment of girls. From inside the narrative, to stay human, you have to love and fight, respect and judge. Every story changes the game. Every story shifts the blame. A hero in one has the bloodiest hands in the next. And that, to me, is such a thrilling sandbox to play in.

[xxautumnivyxx]

POV The Muscle Mommy Villain had bigger plans for you.

[eavioli]

The blood splattered on your face was dripping down to the ground. You pushed the knife deeper through the strangers throat as the anger blinded your eyes and mind. Your breathing uneven as your heart rate rised to unreal numbers. The thrill of killing someone, the adrenaline, it was too much to handle, too much to hate.

A little smile creeped up on your face as you pulled the knife out and sliced it through the strangers stomach

Stab stab stab

You never felt this alive before. Everything turned real around you as the blood spattered all around the place. The red hue was pooling below your feet as you took the helpless soul away.

More, more.. More!

You ignited a darker side of you with every stab you made. You needed to feel this again, you needed to taste the feelings when you take the knife in your hands. The bloodthirst, need to kill.. Kill.. Kill... Kill. You wanted more and more and-

I'm not thinking straight

Your thoughts got silent as you looked at the dead body in front of you.

I'm definitely not thinking straight

[gingerhastoomanyobsessions]

the lords in black are so interesting to me because. they’re so us. we’re watching the citizens of hatchetfield suffer for our own entertainment just as much as they are. we’re their accomplices in all of it

pokotho made hatchetfield into a musical because musicals are entertaining. and we ate that shit up! it’s soooo fun watching a little man scramble as the world around him bursts into song. the musical genre is satirized because pokey knows how the genre conventions work just as well as we do. we like watching musicals so much that black friday and npmd are musicals, too, even though they don’t revolve around pokotho’s plans as much as tgwdlm. we want them to sing. pokotho does too.

bliklotep is the audience and the audience is bliklotep. trail to oregon calls the audience “the watcher with one thousand eyes” and that’s not all, in watcher world blinky seems to be able to see through the eyes of anyone and everyone who loves spectacle. he wants to see the characters go through angst because WE love angst. it’s fun to watch alice and bill express their buried frustrations. blinky wants it to end in bloodshed because he loves tragedy, and let’s face it, so do we. it’s like that one post about how hamlet is aware of the audience and is angry that we don’t do anything to intervene because we want to see how it plays out. personally, I think blinky could have stopped the woodwards if he really wanted (he’s an elder god, after all) but alice shooting him shifted the narrative so that the emotional payoff would be more fulfilling if they escaped. and blinky loves a good story.

t’noy karaxis has blorbos. we joke about it, but that’s really what it is, isn’t it? he’s the fan who watches the movie again and again and again and again to see his favorite character’s dramatic death scene. he’s the guy who writes and reads angst fics by the hundreds because he likes to see his faves cry. he’s the hatchetfield enjoyer who’s on the edge of their seat waiting to see how ted kicks the bucket this time. the bastard’s box is pretty much just an ao3 account filled with whump and hurt no comfort. he’s sadistic AND he genuinely adores ted, because we fans are often cruelest to the characters we love the most. he puts ted through character growth— the realization that his life went the way it did because of his own mistakes, his inability to be vulnerable with jenny before it was too late— and he does that by writing a 56-chapter angst fic that’s still updating to this day

nibblenephim is the fan who voraciously devours every scrap of content that a creator produces and demands more, more, more. let’s face it, the fandom will never let starkid rest until we see this story through to its end. and then someone will demand a sequel series. nibbly is hungry because we will never stop yearning for more stories. he’s simple because that desire itself is simple— as humans, we need creativity like we need air to breathe. nibbly wants more because we want more. and we will never be satiated.

wiggog y’rath is the ruler and the king because he’s the self-inserting writer. I think jon matteson plays paul *and* wiggly for a reason— wiggly is the only lord in black to be played by the same actor in every single show, and that actor also plays the protagonist of tgwdlm. wiggly wants to be the protagonist. he tries to force himself into the human world of hatchetfield because he wants to participate, dammit! he wants to be the bestest ruler that the earth has ever seen! everyone has to love him because he’s going to be their bestest fwiend! when he appears in human form he’s gonna be the prom king! he’s the ebony dark’ness dementia raven way of the hatchetfield multiverse. he wants every human character to bend to his whims and to love him and to put him at the tippy-top of planet earth because he’s the writer and the writer’s main character, you fuckheads, and he can make whatever story he wants, whether the other characters like it or not! if you’ve ever written a self-insert story? congratulations! you’ve been wiggog y’rath.

and the funny thing? I don’t think the lords know that they, too, are as fictional as anyone else in hatchetfield. maybe blinky knows— he sees through the audience’s eyes, after all— but I don’t think the others do. if they did, maybe they’d be a little less tyrannical. a little bit nicer.

but then the starkid writers wouldn’t have much of a story to tell, would they?

[imogenkol]

Ok my first reaction was I didn’t like how the dragons disobeyed their riders like that, but after thinking about it I think it’s kinda brilliant when it comes to the behaviors of dragons.

First, both Arrax and Luke were really young and had absolutely zero combat experience. As soon as they saw Vhagar, it’s very obvious they simultaneously became a lot more tense. Then after Luke had his encounter with Aemond and left you can see Arrax looking in the direction of where Vhagar was in clear distress and Luke does the same thing before mounting. Luke realized their anxiety was high and he did his best to calm Arrax down before taking flight, but that all went out the window as soon as Vhagar gave chase. Now you have a child and a very young and small dragon that are bonded together in a very scary situation: being chased down by a behemoth in the middle of a raging storm (poor Arrax was flapping his wings as hard as he could) I personally think Arrax went on the offense to try and protect both himself and Luke, if only to give them a chance to escape. Both of them did the best they could.

Then you have Vhagar, an extremely old, massive, experienced dragon that is bonded to an inexperienced rider who is feeling a lot of unhinged rage and resentment. They were flying in attack maneuvers ffs I doubt she thought it was a game. And then this little dragon has the audacity to breathe fire in her face. Of course she’s not going to deal with that shit, as utterly tragic as her response is.

At the end of the day, dragons are not mindless war machines that will obey every command. They’re very powerful animals. No matter how trained or bonded with their owners they are, very powerful animals can and will do what they want.

[universallyenthusiastsage]

POV: Hero's kidnapped, and demasked by Villain.

———

Hero was bound to a chair, scowling beneath their mask as they glared at Villain. Hero wouldn't be stuck to this stupid chair if it hadn't been for Villain's insanely strong punches.

"Well well, I wonder what you look like now that I have you all tied up like this..." Villain circled Hero, stopping behind them and tracing a finger along their shoulder, trailing it up to Hero's ear. Villain traced the outline of the strings that held Hero's mask in place.

"Don't you dare, Villain!" Hero threatened, the empty threat doing nothing to prevent Villain from ripping the mask off.

"You-" Villain was awestruck, for some odd reason.

"...is there something on my face?"

"No. Absolutely not. You're ugly." Villain is in denial.