#i think that as sides are added it gets more and more sci fi#but eventually you circle around to having so many sides its a sphere and also fantasy again
Asymptotic Fantasy
Not today Justin
$LAYYYTER
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çĽćĽ / Permanent Vacation

Love Begins
we're not kids anymore.
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cherry valley forever
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â

Kiana Khansmith
Jules of Nature
todays bird
Claire Keane
Misplaced Lens Cap
occasionally subtle
Peter Solarz
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@abrokenherocomplex
#i think that as sides are added it gets more and more sci fi#but eventually you circle around to having so many sides its a sphere and also fantasy again
Asymptotic Fantasy

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Supervillain haunts Hero.
////
âLook at what youâve done.â
Supervillainâs hand curls over his shoulder, a phantom touch, the weight of each finger known only to Hero. Hero jolts. Not here. He swallows, glancing down the line of soldiers, all clothed in ceremonial garments. Not now.
âYouâve pathed the way for a tyrant king.â Supervillain croons, tracing the ceramic edge of Heroâs mask. âAll that power, all that will, and yet you bow before him, without name, without face.â
Hero turns his head from the touch, gaze forced along the crimson carpet. The runner leads up to a semi-circular dais. At its center, Superhero stands, facing an assembly of clergymen and alchemists. The lead priest cradles a spired crown with both hands.
He will lead us to the light. Hero swears.
Supervillain sighs against his ear. âSuch willful delusion.â
Superhero bears the mark of destiny. The gods have chosen him and he shall bring us into an age of prosperity.
A weight builds along Heroâs back. If Hero focuses, he can feel Supervillainâs chest through his cloak, rising and falling in a languid rhythm. The slowness of each breath reminds Hero of where Supervillainâs real body remains, entrapped in slumber beneath Superheroâs soon-to-be palace.
âFortune favors fools.â Supervillain rests his forehead against Heroâs back and Hero twists his hand tighter around his spear. âAnd destiny breeds compliance. True power lies in choice, in the courage to forge a new path.â
After hours of standing in the cold ceremony chamber, Supervillainâs touch scalds, and Hero swallows back a pitching breath. Supervillain had never been so solid, so warm beforeâalmost real.
âAnd if your destined Superhero was so powerful, why was it not his hand that felled me?â Supervillain reaches down Heroâs arm and wraps his fingers over his knuckles. The shaft of the spear creaks; splinters flake the floor. âHe couldnât even touch me but youâyou burned me.â
It was not his destiny to slay you.
âThen why did he claim it so?â Supervillain hisses. âWhy did the world praise his name and not yours?â
The priest begins to sing, voice like a tolling bell, resounding about the hollow hall. Each note devolves into a singular, piercing tone in Heroâs ear.
âThatâs it.â Supervillain purrs and Hero can feel his breath this time, stirring the hair by his ear. âYou have so much power. Let them see. Let them know.â
Sweat builds beneath Heroâs mask though the porcelain should be frigid. Beyond Supervillainâs weight, the heat spreads, pooling in chest.
The singing stops.
The priests and the long, long, line of soldiersâeveryone except Superheroâturns their attention down the hall. Gasping, Hero stumbles back, dropping his half-ashen spear. His neighboring soldiers spring away as he descends but Hero never falls.
Heâs caught by the shoulders and pushed back into the light.
Supervillainâs laugh follows after him, pealing through the room.
call me a tragedy enjoyer but i just LOVE belle being unable to save the girl with an aortic aneurysm. i love how it's the first time we see belle fail in a medical setting and how it's this, of all things, the very surgery that saved her, and she has to live with the knowledge that another surgeon was able to do what she herself could not. i love her panic as she realizes she's made a mistake, how she runs to find sneed, and how sneed speaks to her like she's an equal, doesn't condemn her, doesn't do or say anything to make her more panicked or upset. and i love love love how she falls apart when the girl dies on her table, and she's the only one who does, because she's the only one who's never lost a patient before, but also this isn't just any patient, this could have been her. and if she had been the surgeon assigned to her own surgery, she would be dead. that jack saved her then, but he was nowhere to be found now, and he probably would have saved this girl, but all she got was belle, and belle wasn't good enough.
belle has always known that she is good and she has been underestimated and condescended her entire life and she's taken solace in the fact that the people doing that have always been wrong. but now she looks at her patient, who died on her table, and for the very first time, she wonders whether they were right. whether it was her own arrogance, her desperate ambition, that killed this girl. because she was reckless, unpracticed, and she nicked the aorta, and now the girl is dead, and sneed and jack are right, of course, that sometimes patients die, that you can do everything right and still lose the patient, but belle will always carry this with her, this first loss. this failure to give the second chance she got. she will always feel like this was her fault.
crazy how someone was like "uhh we should make a series about uhhh.. the artful dodger. yeah, yeah, the second male lead from oliver!, that one. and he's uhhh... a surgeon. in australia? and he can't read? and he fucks. big time. and it's gonna fucking rock." and it absolutely did fucking rock
percy saying heâd burn olympus down if it meant saving annabeth: yes. obviously. of course he would. annabethâs wide eyes were really cute. BUT the show is allergic to subtext. this is the kind of thing thatâs supposed to be understood over time, not said out loud this early. in the books you realize percy would do that because of how he acts, and then athena spells it out for him at the end of book 3. he would also never have the balls to announce it to her like a vow. the most romantic thing this guy had the guts to say to her before they got together was âIf i was going to pick one person in the world to reattach my head, Iâd pick you.â itâs like the show is trying to make up for the loss of percyâs narration so theyâre turning his thoughts and innermost desires into dialogue rather than letting his actions speak for themselves, which in turn makes him a lot more emotionally brave and competent than he really is.

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âWhereâs that unrelenting optimism?â The villain called from where he lounged in the doorway.
The heroine only rolled over, ignoring her rival.Â
âWhereâs that fire in your veins, huh?â The villainâs voice was light â but the heroine knew how quickly that could change. He crossed to perch on the edge of the bed, and the heroine felt the slight dip in the mattress.Â
âItâs more like opportunism,â she grumbled.Â
âAh,â the villain paused, understanding. âSo youâve come to your senses. Finally realized youâre the root cause of all the mayhem in this city.âÂ
The response was muffled by a feather pillow, but the villain knew her well enough to piece it together.Â
âYes,â was the muffled reply.Â
âBetter then to hole up here drowning in your guilt,â the villain tsked.Â
âYeah, basically.âÂ
The villain rolled his eyes at that, moving to flop down on the bed beside her. He stared up at the ceiling. She opened one eye to star at the side of his face â his elongated nose, an annoyingly chiseled jaw. She knew him quite now by well, but even she caught glimpses of⌠something in his expression, these days. It was a darkening, an intensity she didnât recognize from him, even from their days of glowering at one another across battlefields.Â
âYou realize you canât save everyone,â the villain quipped all-to-lightly.Â
âI can try.â
The villain tutted. âThat would be the opportunism speaking.â
âWe covered that,â the heroine grumbled. âNow go away.âÂ
The villain ignored her. âYou feel powerful knowing you can save someone.â He pillowed his hands behind his head, watching the lazy rotation of the ceiling fan. âIt makes you feel less weak. When others are weak, I mean.âÂ
The heroine, whoâd since closed her eyes to ignore him, cracked one eye open in a glare. The villain only responded with a raised eyebrow.Â
The heroine sighed, relenting. âOpportunism, then.âÂ
The antagonist rolled onto his side, and the heroine mimicked him. They were knee-to-knee, and eye-to-eye. She didnât feel small under his scrutiny. Not anymore, not after all those years. But something in her felt stripped bare, like he was seeing into the depths of her soul, if either of them had such a thing as that.Â
âI think weâre more alike than you know-â the villain said lazily.
â- youâve said this before-â
âI too enjoy the presence of weak civilians. Right under my thumb. Itâs a rush, to say the least.âÂ
âI donât-â
âAnd you get a rush from rescue, do you not?â The villain asked. âItâs practically the same thing if you think about it.âÂ
At that, she threw her pillow at him, which he only caught and shoved under his head with a smile.Â
The heroine flopped back down on the mattress, retorting, âyour reign of terror was hardly the same as my valiant rescue.â She hesitated, amending, ârescue attempt.â
The villain thought for a moment, pursing his lips. âThe optics were bad for me, yes. But for both of us⌠we got what we wanted.â
â⌠adrenaline rush?â
The villain grinned. âPower. Admit it. Donât play the reluctant hero on me. Besides, it goes against your unfailing optimism. Your PR team is in shambles trying to reconcile it all.â
She had to purse her lips to keep from smiling. âWhat do you suggest?â
âWell, Iâm enjoying the unflinching honesty of this conversationâ â he purposefully ignored her eye roll â âAnd I donât think you should fully give up on this opportunism thing either. If thatâs what fuels you. If itâs what gets you out of bed in the morning.â
âSo youâre telling me not to quit my day job,â the heroine deadpanned.Â
âYeah, basically.â
âAlright,â she pillowed her arms under her head. âYou can tell my PR team theyâll still have job come morning.âÂ
âYeah they were freaked,â the villain smiled. âThatâs why they sent me in here. But I wasnât. Freaked, I mean. I knew you wouldnât quit.âÂ
âIâm flattered by your unfailing faith in me.â
âAnytime.â
âMorgan, she is an independent, fierce Eurydice. She falls for this sweet, soft boy, and she just wants to protect him.â (x)
Morgan Dudley as Eurydice and Jack Wolfe as Orpheus Hadestown on Broadway: Sep 2, 2025 đš:Â bikinibottomdayz
Now letâs talk about Morganâs Eurydice.
Morganâs Eurydice doesnât like to be touched.
Iâve been trying to find clips of other casts to see if what she does is a new choice or not (let me know if anyoneâs seen other Eurydices do this -- I've seen Eva and Maia's Wedding Song and they don't play it this way). Eurydice is always written as stand-off-ish at the start so there's obviously a foundation for it, but the new blocking plays it up in a way that's really interesting. (Also I've only watched the Sep 2 opening night performance so I don't know what else Morganâs done with the role on other nights). (And to be clear, I'm comparing with other Eurydice performances as a way to explain what I think are unique choices that this production made, not saying one is better than the other).
So when Orpheus and Eurydice are first meeting, Eurydice sits up on the table and at one point Hermes tells her âOrpheus isnât like any man youâve met.â In most productions, Hermes places a hand on her shoulder as he says this.
Now in our current version of the show, Kurtâs Hermes reaches a hand toward Eurydice's (Morgan's) shoulder and she flinches back and glares at him. So then he backs away from her with his hands up in a placating gesture.
When Orpheus hops up on the table beside her she scoots over to the edge of it and leans away from him.
Then they sing Wedding Song. In OBC the choreo is a push and pull of Orpheus moving toward Eurydice and her playfully stepping past him to avoid him. Then maybe halfway through the song Orpheus stops moving and holds his hand out for her to come to him (truly stray cat energy). In OBC, Eva brushes her fingers against his and then steps past him again.
In Morgan's version, every time Orpheus walks toward her, Eurydice steps past him and then holds her hand up in a "stop" gesture. When he stops moving and holds his hand out for her, Morgan holds out her index finger, slowly walks toward him and makes a show of touching his palm with just the tip of her finger. Then runs past him again.
[Edit to add: Jackâs Orpheus then smiles down at his hand and rubs the spot that she touched, which was cute].
The rest of the blocking seems to play out the usual way. (Though if you haven't heard it yet, in the Sep 6 show Morgan did an impression of Jack's accent when she's teasing Orpheus about his song. I love her, your honour). Anyway, Orpheus does his first iteration of "La la la la" to conjure the flower, which impresses her, and he ends Wedding Song holding her hand and kneeling like a proposal, the usual.
When Persephone shows up for her song, there's a few lines where she puts an arm over Eurydice's shoulders, welcoming her to the place. Eva's Eurydice also puts an arm around Persephone so they're holding each other shoulder-to-shoulder. But Morgan's Eurydice doesn't touch Persephone back: she keeps her hands to herself and even stands with a bit of space between them, and they don't stay in contact for nearly as long.
Then we get to All I've Ever Known and Morgan's Eurydice is so heartbreaking y'all.
Iâve been alone so long I didnât even know that I was lonely
Evaâs Eurydice played this song a little more playfully, more sweetly: she giggles and gestures to herself in a self-deprecating kind of way. She uses the above lines to tell Orpheus âthis is who I am, this is what youâre getting,â and sheâs using the song to ask Orpheus for permission to hold him.
Morgan's Eurydice feels like she is singing this song to herself. She's still fighting her feelings. She stands so far away from Orpheus on the stage and she looks closed off, refusing to move for those first few lines. When she gets to the below line she sings it forcefully, defensively, like sheâs trying to explain herself:
All Iâve ever known is how to hold my own
And then the mask starts to slip and she says it more gently:
All Iâve ever known is how to hold my own
She holds her hand out towards him now, the way he did for her earlier in Wedding Song:
But now I wanna hold you too
But she also stares at her hand, not at him, looking unsure. And so Orpheus stays still and holds his hand out again, allowing her to make the decision. She, so hesitantly, closes the distance between them and, instead of using just her fingertip, this time she grabs his whole hand and practically flings herself into his arms, finally allowing him to touch her.
You take me in your arms And suddenly there's sunlight all around me
It might sound like a small detail (and tbh I could be reading into it more than was intended) but what I love about Morgan's Eurydice being more touch-avoidant is it makes it feel so powerful when she finally lets Orpheus hold her. It's such a release of tension when she throws herself into his arms the first time.
(You can see him holding her in this video clip).
I think this was the most interesting part to notice, but Iâve also written a description of the rest of the blocking for All I've Ever Known if anyone's curious. Under the cut because this post was getting way too long.
so chris columbus (harry potter director from 20 years ago) who not only called jkr's transphobic views "very sad" has just publicly asked "what's the point" of the new reboot after seeing pictures of the new cast in costume. because the reboot is just. unashamedly evoking every bit of cash cow nostalgia by literally using the same costuming choices and art direction of the original films that he established, while simultaneously claiming to distance itself from his work.
like i know that we all know it's a shameless cash grab by Miss Transphobia to fund more bullshit, but it's just so transparent that it's a creatively empty project whose audience consists of people who want an overbloated line-by-line adaptation, but who don't have enough object permanence to handle a series that is meaningfully or creatively different from what they saw 20 years ago as babies. like the people making the show and the people it's being made for are beyond stupid. that's all i can say.

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Overprotective whumper villain x younger sibling whumpee who IS a hero and they sedate them and have to watch their sibling take over the world? LOVE UR WORK. BONUS POINTS IF THIS IS A VILLAIN FAMILY AND THEY HATE THAT THE YOUNGER SIBLING ISNâT A KILLER
"Oh," the villain said. "You came."
"I can leave."
"No, no." The villain reached out a hand, smiling wide, drawing them inside. "It's good! I'm glad. I wasn't sure you would. What with - well. I made your favourite!" The villain stopped, considered them. "Is corned beef mash still your favourite?"
The hero's stomach twisted, the pain made a million times worse with affection. "Yeah."
The villain had been the first to make it for them, when they were sick as a kid. It was one of the few things in their lavish and bloody childhood that could truly be called comforting.
The villain's smile widened further.
"Great!" The door shut behind them both and locked with an automatic beep, the threat of it worn homely with age. Then, the villain's hands were cupping their chin, examining them. "Jesus, you look like crap."
The hero pulled away, scowling.
The villain held their hands up, placating surrender and apology.
"I'm allowed to worry about you," they still said "You'd have a lot less enemies trying to hurt ya if you were willing to kill a few of them."
The hero's jaw clenched, scowl deepening.
"I figured I owed it to you to at least chat," the hero said, cool. "But I'm not here for - this isn't - this is a courtesy. Nothing more."
"Nothing more," the villain echoed, a little mocking.
The hero turned to leave.
The villain rolled their eyes and clapped them on the shoulder, reeling them in and leading them further into their beautiful home. "Should I bin the mash too? I assume you couldn't possibly accept so much as a potato from these murderous hands of mine."
"You're such a twat."
"Well, I missed you."
"Wouldn't have to miss me if you weren't such a twat."
The villain snorted. "Is this how you start all of your diplomatic peace endeavors?"
"Only the ones with you."
"Yeah? What do mum and dad get?"
The question dropped like an icy stone to the pit of the hero's stomach. They sat, folding their arms across their chest, then unfolding them again a moment later. It was hard to fight with folded arms and oh, they both knew how to fight. Mum and dad had made sure of that.
"Mm. Still avoiding them, then," the villain said. They brought plates over to the table, along with a large saucepan.
"Do they know I'm here?"
"What do you take me for?"
"A member of my god forsaken family."
"If they know you're here," the villain served up the mash with a flourish, "it's got nothing to do with me, kiddo. You tell me. Were you followed?"
The hero studied the villain for a beat, then relaxed. Just a fraction. They dragged a hand through their hair. They searched for something to say that wouldn't be thorny.
Nice place. Murder going well for you?
They came up blank.
Out of all of their family, they'd always got on with the villain best. They could be a bit overprotective, sure, but in a world where weakness was a thing to be culled or exploited, a little protectiveness had been kind of nice. Or a relief, of some sorts, anyway.
In the end, they simply pushed their bowl across the table at the villain.
The villain chuckled, but obligingly took a big forkful, before raising their brows.
"I had to check," the hero said.
"Of course you did - you were raised right."
The hero scowled again but, as usual, the villain was blithely unaffected by such things. They settled comfortably, helping themselves to their own food, smiling with all the sweetness of cyanide.
For a moment, they both thus ate in silence.
"You might as well get your pitch out of the way," the hero said.
"My pitch?"
"Join the family again? Stay safe? I'm making a terrible mistake? Yada, yada." The hero jutted their chin up. "That's why you wanted me to come, right?"
"As opposed to, abandon flesh, blood and tradition?" The villain's head tilted. "Die a martyr for the sake of sheep?"
"People aren't sheep."
"People aren't us."
"I'm not planning to die. Are you planning to kill me?"
"Now you're just deliberately hurting my feelings," the villain said.
The hero's stomach gave another awful churn. They forced down the most terrible urge to smile, ducking their head to hide it.
It was a mistake.
The very first moment they finally took their eyes off the villain, the villain moved. A viper fast shot. The tranquilizer dart sunk straight in a vein. The hero had a moment to stand, then to crumple as their limbs turned to jelly.
"Put the rug down for you," the villain said, setting the small gun down on the table. "It's brand new. Lovely and plush. Knew it wouldn't hurt you too much on the way down."
The hero didn't waste breath or time cursing at them, they grabbed for the knife and hurled while they still had waning strength in their fingers. The villain caught the blade, careless of the blood that slicked down their fingers. They tossed it again, catching it by the handle, before standing.
"For what it's worth," the villain said, as the hero went next for the saucepan lid. "I did have like fifty different contingencies to make sure you went out nice and sweet. This whole floor is rigged. Mum helped. She's got connections with the building manager. You were fucked from the moment you walked in."
The villain blocked the shaky blow of the saucepan lid with one hand and kicked, sending the hero sprawling onto their back.
The world spun. The damn carpet really was sinfully soft. The villain straddled them, like the two of them were still kids rough-housing.
"A Kensington doesn't do chats and diplomacy," the villain said, almost pitying. "This wouldn't have happened if you weren't so soft. I mean, Christ. Thank god it's just me."
"Screw you."
The hero meant to headbutt them, but their head lolled instead. The villain caught the back of their head on the way down, before they could bash their skull too hard.
"I'll put the mash in the microwave for you; feed it to you when you wake up. You'll want something gentle."
"I hate you," the hero said.
"And you love me," the villain said. They stroked their fingers through the hero's hair, unabashedly fond. "Otherwise this would never have worked."
The hero faltered, at the wretched truth of that. The poison they wished they could cut out.
Their childhood had been lavish and bloody and cruel and so filled with the most monstrous love that they couldn't possibly excise the wound cleanly.
"Go to sleep," the villain said.
The tranquiliser pulled them, nauseatingly, under.
When they woke up, it was to a straight jacket, the family all crowded around the bed, and the family doctor rattling off prescriptions.
Death would have been preferable.
âHow did you know to call my number?â Hero grimaced at the Villainâs harsh tone, eyes locked onto the floor as to avoid both the criminalâs interrogative glare and the bodies that littered the cell.
Hero wasnât a liar, yet they struggled to admit even internally that they had simply just panicked. A few hours ago, theyâd been taken by surprise; cornered and outnumbered by plenty of adversaries who planned to have them kidnapped and later executed. Crammed into a dark, dingy cell, the only gift they had been given was a burner phone â one last chance to make amends before it all ended â and all of a sudden, relief swelled within them as they realised theyâd memorised the villainâs number.
And that was nothing but damning: during a crisis, when they had one singular shot at survival, all they could do was hope the villain would come.
They did.
The criminal walked towards the kneeling captive, nothing but scrutiny in their gaze. Their confusion made sense, after all Hero wasnât even supposed to have their number, yet the crimestopper still wished their attitude would soften even in the slightest. It wasnât like they were capable of much harm chained to the floor.
âYou could have called quite literally anyone else. You know that, right?â
The comment wasnât inherently mocking, yet Hero still felt the sting. After all, they really didnât have anyone. Nobody else would have came.
âI work solo, remember. Thereâs no team for me to call, no backup coming for me. You wereââ Hero couldnât quite finish the sentence. You were the only person who I believed would come for me died pitifully halfway up their throat.
âAh, so that leaves me the only person worth pestering in the middle of the night for help? Oh, and that does remind me: the phone you called me from was a burner. That means youâve memorised my number. My personal number. Any particular reason?â Villain ran their finger across the edge of their blade. Surprisingly, it wasnât bloodied, and sickeningly, Hero almost felt flattered that the criminal had chosen to threaten them with a fresh blade rather than an already used one.
Before this, they hadnât thought Villain cared about them in the slightest. Hero was surprised the criminal even recognised their voice through all the breaking. Then again, Captor was a rival in the industry of villainy. Maybe this was all just some large convenience to them. Two birds with one unfairly large stone.
âNo matter what I say, youâll assume I remembered it to track you down,â Hero responded, aware that Villain was looking to see how willing they were to confess rather than searching for a genuine answer. Truth be told, the reason Hero has memorised the number wasnât even incriminating, theyâd always been paranoid that spam callers were criminals in disguise trying to track them down. At least knowing Villainâs number meant they were safe from their technological tyrades.
That was too embarrassing to admit, though. That, or, they knew Villain would dismiss them as a terrible liar.
âWell, if youâre not going to entertain me with theatrics, I suppose I should work out what to do with you.â Villain moved towards the captive until they were so close that Heroâs neck ached from looking up at them (though, in actuality, that was probably a byproduct of the concussion).
âIf you wanted me dead, you could have waited for Captor to finish the job.â
âSo?â
Hero wasnât sure what came next. Their reasoning words had truthfully been a way to calm themself down, to try and rationalise with the part of their brain that was trembling at the idea of dying at Villainâs mercy. But, they werenât particularly sure what other option there was than death. It wasnât like Hero had anyone, or really anywhere, they could be unceremoniously dropped off.
If that wasnât the case, there was no way in any variation of hell that Villain would have been their emergency contact, right? A moment of silence passed, only for it to be broken by the sound of chains snapping. More specifically, the metal cuffs keeping them bound to the floor were ripped off of their wrists and chucked carelessly to the side as though they didnât matter in the slightest.
âWell, thereâs no point in deciding right away what to do with you. We can take our time now that Captor isnât pushing deadlines onto us. Come on, up we go.â
Hero expected to be hauled up (probably in a harsh manner), dragged along by their wrist, and maybe untied if their acquaintance felt they were particularly helpless and unthreatening. They were not expecting to be lifted up with seldom warning and promptly chucked over Villainâs shoulder. Their protests were delayed but certainly not weak, and in response Hero swore they heard a softer chuckle.
âFor someone who called me here to save you like a damsel in distress, you sure seem to be whining a lot. Would you have rather I have kept the chains in tact?â
Hero responded with a muffled curse, though it lacked the illwill that their frustration towards the criminal usually contained. That was, Hero could presume, because they were typically the one saving people from the villain, not the other way around. It wasnât like they were complaining though.
The criminal took them out to the front of the building, where Hero first realised just how far out Captor had transported them. They were quite literally in the middle of nowhere, and Hero would be shocked if there was any sign of civilisation within an hour from here. Villain had come all this way? In front of the pair was a car, which brought the second wave of surprise upon the crimestopper.
As they were (almost sickeningly gently) placed horizontally into the backseat of the car, they commented interally on how average it all appeared to be. The make was nothing extravagant, a few scratches and dents adorned the blandly coloured paint job. The leather seats inside were worn in, and seemingly decorative items such as an air freshener and an old plastic water bottle were dotted around where one would expect to find them in the car of a completely normal person.
Was this their personal car? Hero knew Villain had a secret civilian identity, that practically came with the job. Still, why hadnât they just headed over to their base first? It didnât make sense â or well, it did, but the truth felt too ludicrous for Hero to consider it anything other than an a rogue notion. The villain, dressed down in civilian clothes, rushing out of the house unexpectedly, no villainous paraphernalia in tow, just to come and find them? It felt intimate.
Hero, still splayed politely across the backseat of the car, took a glance at the criminal who had just shuffled into the front seat. Their large black coat covered their torso and legs almost entirely, leaving no hints as to what type of gear they had underneath. Heroâs cheeks went warm.
âListen, Hero. As youâve demonstrated, you have access to my personal details. I canât just let you go back onto the streets, it would bite me in the ass even if you didnât mean any harm. But, it doesnât have to be all that bad for either of us, so just hang tight until we get there.â Villainâs tone matched their usual self, finding amusement in the misfortunes of a hero. Like this was all a hilarious scenario. Their worried glance towards the backseat betrayed them.
A glance that, to the surprise of nobody, Hero had missed, for they were already half asleep in their makeshift bed. And it would only take five more minutes until they were out like a light entirely, exhausted and terrifyingly comfortable in the backseat of a villainâs car.
also a poem from the new, unreleased collection. very possibly my own all-time favourite.
[ID: A poem by Lena Oleanderson, titled "We Have Enough Dead Friends". It reads, "Come over. The doors are open, / my flat's a mess and / so is my heart / but the doors are always open. / Come over. I will make soup, / probably from frozen but / the important thing is / we will both eat. / / You don't have to be dying, / but if you are, / or you feel like you are, / or if living's been hard, / call me, and I will show up. / It doesn't have to be that bad, / it doesn't have to be bad at all, / but if it is, please call. / / Do you want me to do the groceries? / Do you want me to mop the floors? / Do you need to be held; / you don't have to be dying to be held. / If you want me to be there, I want to. / / I'm on the bathroom floor again, / and breathing is hard, / and eating's been hard, and sleeping, / the world is a laden thing / rolling around on my chest lately. / Just being alive is heavy tonight, / but we have enough dead friends. / Come over." End ID.]
fucked up hurt/comfort. the person who stabbed you tends to your wound. the person who killed your loved one helps you grieve.
harrow x gideon x ianthe is one of the only love triangles i can think of where 1. itâs an actual triangle (all possible combinations have some sort of vibe, itâs not just one person choosing between two potential partners) and 2. i do NOT believe a threesome would solve the problem. in fact i think it would make it worse

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âChin up, my love.â The villainess cooed. âCome morning, there will be wedding bells.â
The protagonist barely moved from her spot at the window. Through the view of the porthole, stars floating in the near abyss seemed to mock her, promising the freedom of deep space and distant galaxes.
But there was no such thing. At least, not for her.
âIn the old world, marriage for women was an economic proposition,â the protagonist responded quietly, no matter how softly she spoke, the villainess would hang onto her every word.
The villainess crossed the room, footsteps soft against the metallic floor of the satellite. She stopped just over the protagonistâs shoulder.Â
The protagonist turned, gazing up at the much taller woman. Fire twinkled in the villainessâs eyes, like small stars themselves.Â
âMarriage between women on the other hand,â the words felt sour on her tongue, despite the protagonistâs marked past attractions to women. And current, if she was being honest. If she allowed herself to register her body swaying closer to the taller woman. As if she hadnât before imagined how everything would lock into place. Hips against hips, hands in hands. Locked together? Or lock away? Lost in the villainessâs vicelike embrace.Â
Besides, the villainess barely touched her. Not like that.Â
âIt was unprecedented in the old world,â the protagonist continued, not sure where she was going with this line of thought. Certain it was a trap, anyway.Â
âUnprecedented, but not unheard of,â the villainess replied, a hand snaking up to catch the protagonistâs chin, sliding a thumb along her jaw.Â
âWedding bells, indeed,â the protagonist whispered, surrendering to the touch.Â
âI didnât think youâd go this far for her,â the villainess murmured, stroking soft patterns across the protagonistâs cheek. Â
At that, the protagonist jolted, not expecting the comment. The direct address of a supernova smoldering just below the surface. But the villainess didnât seem to care if it exploded.
âYou would do anything for wouldnât you? You orbit her like a moon.âÂ
The protagonistâs eyelashes fluttered involuntarily, but she managed to find her voice.
âIâm here at the request of God and at the behest of his council. If the thermo-energy of a union is needed to contain the forced of our enemies, so be it,â the protagonist replied.
The villainess tsked. âEver the diplomat, you are. You can admit that you want to save her. And only her. I think secretly you hate everyone but that lover of yours.â
âFormer lover,â the protagonist rasped, closing her eyes.Â
The villainess released her jaw, wrapping an arm around the protagonistâs waist to flick a switch just behind the small of her back. The view-port window closed, the humming noise of its metal shade almost tender. Like a lullaby.Â
âLet us avoid another fallout,â the villainess said. âThough I donât know what happens when a moon detaches from an orbit.â
The protagonist turned her face away.
It finds another, she thought into the void of the villainessâs retreating footsteps.Â
âChin up, my love.â The villainess cooed. âCome morning, there will be wedding bells.â
The protagonist barely moved from her spot at the window. Through the view of the porthole, stars floating in the near abyss seemed to mock her, promising the freedom of deep space and distant galaxes.
But there was no such thing. At least, not for her.
âIn the old world, marriage for women was an economic proposition,â the protagonist responded quietly, no matter how softly she spoke, the villainess would hang onto her every word.
The villainess crossed the room, footsteps soft against the metallic floor of the satellite. She stopped just over the protagonistâs shoulder.Â
The protagonist turned, gazing up at the much taller woman. Fire twinkled in the villainessâs eyes, like small stars themselves.Â
âMarriage between women on the other hand,â the words felt sour on her tongue, despite the protagonistâs marked past attractions to women. And current, if she was being honest. If she allowed herself to register her body swaying closer to the taller woman. As if she hadnât before imagined how everything would lock into place. Hips against hips, hands in hands. Locked together? Or lock away? Lost in the villainessâs vicelike embrace.Â
Besides, the villainess barely touched her. Not like that.Â
âIt was unprecedented in the old world,â the protagonist continued, not sure where she was going with this line of thought. Certain it was a trap, anyway.Â
âUnprecedented, but not unheard of,â the villainess replied, a hand snaking up to catch the protagonistâs chin, sliding a thumb along her jaw.Â
âWedding bells, indeed,â the protagonist whispered, surrendering to the touch.Â
âI didnât think youâd go this far for her,â the villainess murmured, stroking soft patterns across the protagonistâs cheek. Â
At that, the protagonist jolted, not expecting the comment. The direct address of a supernova smoldering just below the surface. But the villainess didnât seem to care if it exploded.
âYou would do anything for wouldnât you? You orbit her like a moon.âÂ
The protagonistâs eyelashes fluttered involuntarily, but she managed to find her voice.
âIâm here at the request of God and at the behest of his council. If the thermo-energy of a union is needed to contain the forced of our enemies, so be it,â the protagonist replied.
The villainess tsked. âEver the diplomat, you are. You can admit that you want to save her. And only her. I think secretly you hate everyone but that lover of yours.â
âFormer lover,â the protagonist rasped, closing her eyes.Â
The villainess released her jaw, wrapping an arm around the protagonistâs waist to flick a switch just behind the small of her back. The view-port window closed, the humming noise of its metal shade almost tender. Like a lullaby.Â
âLet us avoid another fallout,â the villainess said. âThough I donât know what happens when a moon detaches from an orbit.â
The protagonist turned her face away.
It finds another, she thought into the void of the villainessâs retreating footsteps.Â