Do not concern yourself with what might be. Focus on what is and be vigilant.

Anger can be a weapon if you control it.

I am always serious.

I guess you never really get over losing the ones you care about.

You think I’m weak because I’m not like you.

Even good leaders make poor choices. The best take responsibility for them.

It feels good to be strong.

It is a delicate balance. Expect the worst. Assume nothing. And always anticipate an attack.

Do not mistake my silence for lack of grief.

I just want to know the truth from now on. I don’t care if it hurts me or not.

This path you walk… vengeance. You will no peace.

You’re gonna get me all weepy.

I am your monster no longer.

You will always be a monster.

We really should expect that sort of response at this point...

Do NOT call me that.

Well, that's a sight no man should ever see. Thanks for that.

Keep your expectations low and you'll never be disappointed.

Close your heart to their desperation. Close your heart to their suffering. Do not allow yourself to feel for them. They will not feel for you.

This is why no one likes you.

Haven't you been teaching me to kill?

Nobody cared about him anyways. What's the difference?

if you are sending to a multi-muse, remember to specify the muse that the sentence starters are being sent for .

"Your breath against my neck is the only thing keeping me from losing control right now."

"Don’t look around. Don’t change your expression. Just listen very carefully to what I’m about to tell you."

"I can make you disappear, and the best part? Everyone who loves you will help me look for you."

"You’re acting like you have cards left to play. Look at your hand. Look at me. We both know you're done."

"Take a deep breath. Let it out. Enjoy it, because it’s the last easy thing you’re going to do today."

"I'm not going to ruin your life. I'm just going to stand back and watch you do it yourself."

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't end this conversation right now.

"Choose your next words like your life depends on them, because they do."

"You think you're the monster in this room?"

"We are well past the point of apologies.

"Now, we're just negotiating the collateral damage."

"I am being incredibly patient with you right now, but you are running out of seconds."

"Go ahead. Pull the trigger. Let's see who haunts who more."

"I didn't lock the door to keep them out. I locked it to keep you in."

"I've been watching you sleep for a week.

"You talk in your sleep, did you know that?

"You keep apologizing to me."

"You can scream if you want to. No one is going to come, but I’d quite like to hear what you sound like when you're desperate."

"Hold still. It hurts a lot less if you don't fight it, and frankly, I'd like to get this over with."

"I’m going to ask you a question. If you lie, I take a finger. If you stay silent, I take two. Let’s begin."

"You’re crying. Why? This is exactly what you chose when you decided to double-cross me."

"Don't bother looking for the keys. I melted them down an hour ago."

"I’m not angry. I’m just calculating exactly how much of you I can take apart before you stop breathing."

"If you make a single sound, I will drive this blade straight through your throat. Do you understand me?"

"Please. Please don't look at me like that. Just do it quickly. Just don't make me beg."

"They're downstairs. They found us. If we don't jump right now, we are going to die in this room."

"Look at my hands. I can't get the blood off. It won't come off. Why won't it come off?"

"Run. Don't look back, don't wait, just run because whatever is coming next will be me."

"Go ahead, call the police. Who do you think answers the phone when you dial those numbers?"

"Look in the mirror. Do you even recognize what's left of you?"

HER GAZE SHARPENED INTO A GLARE. “ Why are you acting like this? ”

ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ ` #VILLAINOUSTM an independent & selective multimuse rp blog for women & villains from DISNEY, DC, MARVEL, LITERATURE, BALDUR'S GATE 3, VIDEO GAMES, & MY MIND. 

@faierytale

The corridor smoldered in low torchlight, shadows licking up the stone like they had teeth. Outside, rain dragged itself across the night in a slow, steady hiss but inside, everything narrowed ;; quiet, contained, too aware. Floyd stood near the window----- one shoulder against the cold wall, posture loose but INTENTIONAL, like he’d already accounted for every exit.... except this moment.

Her words didn’t pass;; they stayed. Sat between them, heavy in a way that didn’t belong to war rooms or strategy. He felt the shift it caused, subtle but real like a MISALIGNMENT he couldn’t quite correct. She had a way of pulling him off-center without even trying, turning instinct into something less reliable. His gaze moved to her again, slower like he wasn’t pretending it didn’t affect him.

THE QUEEN WAS SITTING AT HER DESK WITH KINGDOM MATTERS TO ATTEND TO. New regulations to review, charities and infrastructure to fund, all on a stack of parchment for her approval, sitting neatly in front of her. Yet, the quill sat idly between her fingers as her eyes poured over the words over and over again as she was trying to make sense of the requests.

She was distracted, that much was clear as day. AND IT HAD ALL TO DO WITH THE OUTLAW IN FRONT OF HER. He was observing, looking out the window as if he were expecting something to appear before him, some sort of danger he would have to protect her from.

He had long since abandoned the PRETENSE of searching for danger outside the window. If assassins were scaling the castle walls, they had picked an unfortunate evening for it, because the queen's office was already occupied by one nuisance too many.

The man stood in comfortable silence, listening to the rustle of PARCHMENT and the increasingly dramatic ways Olympia attempted to convince herself she was reading. She'd been staring at the same stack for the better part of twenty minutes. He knew because he'd caught himself watching her instead of the courtyard.

Her sigh finally broke the quiet. Loud. Deliberate. The sort of sigh designed to make another person feel responsible for it. Floyd turned from the window then ;; one shoulder settling against the stone as his gaze found her across the desk. For a second, his EXPRESSION softened despite himself before the familiar dry amusement returned.

THE MARKSMAN didn't blink as the glitter-coated explosive passed inches from his nose. He just leaned back slightly, his single visible eye tracking the swaying pink bow with a mixture of professional exhaustion && genuine curiosity. He reached out, his gloved fingers gently....very gently;; steadying her hand to keep the bomb from actually clipping his chin. "If the explosion doesn't get 'em, the retinal damage from all that glitter definitely will," Floyd let out a short, dry huff that might have been a laugh in a different life. He took a second to inspect the 'craftsmanship,' leaning in to squint at a particularly aggressive cluster of sequins near the DETONATOR.

‘  puh-lease,  y’bein’  so  dramatic  for  no  reason,  floydie.    i'm  actually  sooo  careful  when  it  comes  t’explosives.    y’could  say  i'm  a  professional.  ‘        her  pout  comes  along  with  a  playful  eyeroll,  that  changes  with  a  blink  to  a  prideful  look    —    chest  puffed  out  and  chin  lifted  high  with  his  praise.        ‘  also,  i  think  you’d  look  so  cheeky  with  a  lil  bit  o’  glitter.    might  have  t’  change  your  name  to  floyd  cullen  when  we’re  done.    just  don't  bite  me,  ey?    i  ain't  bella  swan  with  mental  health  issues.  ‘        she  teases  again,  crawling  onto  her  feet  with  a  stretch  and  a  crack  of  her  spine  that  echoes,  even  with  her  quiet  ouch.  

with  hands  on  hips  and  the  bomb  carelessly  lying  by  her  boots,  she  takes  a  quick  glance.        ‘  ain't  it  a  shame  there’s  no  flyin’  robin  kiddo  to  glue  the  bomb  to?    that  woulda  make  the  placement  decision  so  freakin’  easy  peasy.    hmm    —    what  other  constructive  criticism  yer  offering  before  y’go  runnin’  off  to  safety,  pal?  ‘        she’s  more  than  ready  to  kick  it  as  far  as  possible  and  hope  for  the  best  outcome    ;    clearly putting  more  thought  into  the  decorating  than  the  actual  plan  they’ve  had  in  their  hands.

The marksman looked at her for a moment after the hot chocolate offer, then at the bomb, then back at her again. The sequence REPEATED once more ;; like he was genuinely trying to determine which part of that sentence concerned him the most. The bomb. The nostalgia. Or the fact Harley apparently treated potential detonation as a perfectly acceptable prelude to DESSERT.

A slow breath left him through his nose as he hooked his thumbs into his belt. The mention of Easter Eve dragged up enough memories to make him immediately regret remembering it at all. There'd been screaming, property damage, at least one fire NOBODY could properly explain &&& somehow an alarming amount of pastel decorations involved. The fact she remembered it fondly felt ENTIRELY on brand.

THE COURTROOM breathed in stale air && cheap anticipation, the kind that clung to the walls of Gotham City like mildew. It wasn’t justice unfolding ------ it was THEATER.

Every cough, every shuffle of paper, every overly rehearsed objection was just noise dressing up the real hunger in the room. Spectacle. Always spectacle. && she fit into it too well, didn’t she? Bright where others dulled themselves down, deliberate where others pretended coincidence. The kind of presence that didn’t just sit in a room ;; it tilted it. && the man beside her didn’t flinch at it. Didn’t stare. Didn’t react the way civilians always did. That alone was enough to mark him WRONG.

She spoke, and the words slipped out like a blade testing the air ;; casual, but sharpened with intent. The MENTION of a corpse, of negotiation ---- it wasn’t a guess, it was bait. Because people like them didn’t come here for closure. They came for timing. For opportunity. For the exact second a life could be taken ; or preserved ;; depending on the payout.

&& when she added that she needed him breathing, that was the tell. Not mercy. Never mercy. Purpose. Something theatrical. Something very… Joker-adjacent in its cruelty. He let a beat pass. Then another. Still as a statue, but not idle ----- calculating. && when he finally turned his head, it wasn’t curiosity in his eyes, it was recognition.

The  public  was  sheep;  their  outrage  was  easy  to  manufacture  &  to  lead.  Making  them  want  something  hard  enough,  only  to  deny  them,  leads  to  a  beautiful  theater  of  outrage  ──  Throughout  history,  it's  been  the  same.  Want  &  deny  &  stab  your  friends  in  the  back  23  times.  ❝   What  if  I  tell  you  that  you're  sitting  at  the  start  of  a  bidding  war?  Your  contract's  about  to  mutate  ──  if  he  walks  free  now,  ❞  &  trust  that  he  will,  she's  spent  a  lot  of  money  to  make  sure  of  that. 

The corners of his mouth didn't move. No smirk. No amusement. JUST SILENCE. The kind that came from a man sorting information into useful && useless piles. Most people thought assassins cared about bodies. They cared about trajectories ;; Causes. Consequences. A corpse was easy. What happened because of the corpse ----- that was where things got complicated. && she was talking about consequences.

MARKETS.

Public reaction.

Pressure.

The bullet itself wasn't the product. The aftermath was.

Down below, the defendant sat UNAWARE that half the room seemed more interested in the future than his actual fate. He watched him for a moment, then let his gaze drift elsewhere. Security positions. Entrances. The judge ;; A few faces in the gallery. People always got tunnel vision around a target. That was how they missed the rest of the operation. ---- &&& operations were what interested him.

A few seconds passed.

"Maybe."

All my life, there are those who have tried to CLAIM ME.  They wanted to control that which they could not understand.  Some were evil.  Some were good.  One, I willingly offered myself to.   BUT NONE COULD EVER KEEP ME. a private and independent  𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐊𝐓𝐑𝐀 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐒.  marvel comics 616 based with headcanon influences.  Does not adhere to mcu or netflix or disney whatsoever.  twenty-one plus. assassinated by DANI may, 2022.