#against expectations

This story belongs to a larger series featuring the same Hero and Villain characters. For a list of all parts, in chronological order, check out: [Masterlist: Fame and Flourish]

Synopsis: Hero is confronted with the reality of Villain's profession. Villain's methods, however, sure come as a surprise.

tw: queerphobic side character

Hero had been so naïve.

They’d had two mostly positive interactions with Villain. Two. – Two wasn’t even a pattern. And yet that’s all it had taken for them to start assuming … What? That Villain was their friend? No. Definitely not that. But maybe … friendly? Harmless like the mayor had suggested. Fun. Someone safe. Safe-adjacent.

That Villain was somehow on Hero’s side despite being what they were: one of the villains, small-time or no. And they hadn’t even tried to hide it. No lies, no promises, no clever misdirection. So how had Hero deluded themself into assuming Villain wouldn’t do anything … villainous?

Yeah, it really did sound stupid.

Hero of all people should have known better. Feeling betrayed now, when all the cards had been on the table all along, had got to be the pinnacle of stupidity.

And how the police were handling – or, in this case, not handling – the situation didn’t improve Hero’s mood in the slightest as they climbed over yet another trunk of yet another fallen tree and continued stomping through dense undergrowth, trying to keep the trees’ lower-hanging branches from snagging on their hair and ruining their French braid.

After almost an hour of tedious searching, Hero found the place.

The clearing stretched out before them, sunbathed and serene. A fairy tale film set. Like Hero’s meandering through the woods had accidentally led them somewhere beyond reality. An otherworldly oasis where tree stumps formed natural tables, wider on top than where they met the earth, with massive roots conveniently protruding from the surrounding mossy ground as if extending an invitation for passers-by to take a seat. Insects buzzed, birds sang, a small stream gurgled in the background. A solitary, ancient-looking, crooked willow tree sat enthroned at the centre of the clearing.

Leaning against its gnarly trunk stood Villain. So perfectly at home haloed by golden autumn light and the rustle of windswept leaves. A forest spirit. A fay creature.

As if they could sense the intrusion into their realm, Villain turned and, with a startling immediacy, their gaze fixed on Hero. Their face went through a flurry of expressions in quick succession, from stunned surprise to blank incomprehension to, ultimately, a dazzling smile.

“Oh, hey Hero!” Villain called out then, in a tone suggesting this was a casual meeting and they hadn’t just forced Hero to comb through half the park’s sizeable arboretum in order to find them. “What are you doing all the way out here?”

“Me? Seriously?! What do you think you’re doing? The police said you’ve got hostages.”

Villain said, “uh, yeah? But … I wasn’t expecting you. I can’t believe they called you in for that.”

(The police had not actually called them in for that. Hero just so happened to have run into the, in their opinion, too small group of officers assigned to the case earlier, and had decided to join their search. That Villain apparently hadn’t expected Hero to show up for this any more than the police officers had, irked them. As if this operation was somehow beneath Hero and no one could believe they would care to participate.)

They stopped what seemed a safe distance and then some away from Villain, just in case, and opened their mouth to tell them that—

“Whoa! Your mask!” Villain interrupted, smirking. “Heh. Looks like eyeliner.”

Hero bristled, instinctively. They barely stopped themself from taking an abrupt step backwards.

Why did every bit of scrutiny have to affect them so? Why couldn’t they just be cool, and not let themself be influenced or feel threatened by what other people might think or say?

They reminded themself of this spark of pure joy they’d felt when they’d applied the paint, the pride warming their chest as they’d checked the results in the mirror, how they’d vowed they wouldn’t get defensive or self-conscious later, that they were fine just the way they were, and that what felt right was right, and nobody would ruin it for them this time.

It was fine. They were fine.

Yes, the swipes of green on their mask resembled eyeliner. Yes, they’d deliberately drawn them directly below the eye holes to create that very effect. Yes, they did think the dual swirls of lime-green and pine-green made them look cute, thank you very much.

No, it wasn’t girly. No, it didn’t invalidate their identity.

And if they felt this stab of panic telling them otherwise whenever someone so much as glanced their way, they’d just have to keep reminding themself that this was nothing but their own internalised transphobia speaking. They were working on that and they could – would! – unlearn it.

“I told you your outfit needed some colour.” Villain’s smirk had widened to a proper grin, grown so very smug around the edges. They’d stepped a little closer still. “And now look at you.”

Immediately, Hero felt extra stupid again.

It was a compliment. Not a taunt. Not even teasing.

(Perhaps a tiny bit of teasing.)

Coming from Villain, it couldn’t be anything but a compliment. Adding highlights to Hero’s costume had been their idea after all. And Villain of all people wouldn’t mock anyone for a fleck of paint that looked like eyeliner. If anything, they’d sooner judge Hero for a lack of self-expression.

Villain, too, was out as non-binary and used they/them pronouns. And while Hero was clearly still struggling with the proud part of out and proud. Villain had no such limitations.

Weirdly, both of them seemed to aspire to androgyny. But whereas Hero had always aimed for an inconspicuous, palatable neutrality, Villain adorned themself with flashy colours and strangely intriguing campy fashion:

Today, Villain had donned a more practical outfit. Instead of their velvet coat and the figure-enhancing pants, they’d combined a long-sleeved grey cropped jean jacket with tie-dye cloth dungarees in vibrant shades ranging from sun-glow yellow to auburn orange. The dungarees’ colours paired with the fern pattern embroidered on top with thick silver thread created a certain autumn-forest camouflage effect that Hero strongly suspected was intentional. At about mid-calf, the trouser legs were tucked into lilac lace-up boots that, unlike the heeled ones from last week, actually looked like they were made for walking.

Villain’s equally lilac metallic lipstick contrasted nicely with the medium brown of their skin and complimented that bold shade of mermaid-blue Villain had dyed their hair.

They’d also replaced their golden mask with a silver one (though Hero couldn’t recall enough details to determine whether the design was the same or merely similar). Underneath the mask, Villain’s hazel eyes gleamed almost amber against the violet eyeshadow on their lower eyelids as they caught the light just right.

Which coincided with the exact instance Hero realised they’d spaced out and openly stared at Villain for an indeterminate amount of time. They quickly dropped their gaze.

After a moment, Villain’s head tilted. “No, really, I mean it: the green suits you. Brings out your eyes. I like what you did there with the darker green against the white and the lighter green layered on top to increase the contrast against the black.”

Somewhere out of sight, somebody coughed in that peculiar way of someone trying to hold in laughter and subsequently choking on it. Another person snickered in response.

Hostages. Right. They were here because of the hostages.

They crossed their arms over their chest and tried to channel their earlier disappointment and anger, with less than lukewarm success.

“I know I look nice,” they dared, feeling profoundly embarrassed and hoping it wouldn’t show on their face. “You can stop trying” – and succeeding – “to distract me with flattery. I’m here for the hostages.”

“Over here! Hi,” a voice – young, feminine, unexpectedly upbeat – called from the part of the clearing currently hidden from Hero’s view by the drooping branches of that gigantic willow tree.

They kept their gaze fixed on Villain’s shoes to avoid the possibility of accidentally making eye contact again as they circled slowly around the clearing to a better vantage point. Then, they looked up and stopped short, staring once more – this time, at the hostages.

Surprisingly, the entire situation seemed to be very much under control and unlikely to suddenly escalate.

(Just as the officer in charge had suggested when she’d briefed Hero and told them she doubted her team would need any assistance. They’d been indignant then. Now they were equal parts relieved and annoyed to find she had been correct in her irresponsible assessment.)

They felt entirely, though not altogether unpleasantly, confused. But no longer betrayed. No longer like they’d been robbed of something fresh and fragile that hadn’t had a chance to be much at all yet, but which they had – against their better judgement and in a moment of weakness – hoped might grow into something … meaningful.

Not that there could ever be a real connection between them and any of the villains. They knew that much. Even though duty, responsibility, and common sense had temporarily slipped their mind at Villain’s general lack of aggression and open hostility, Villain could not become their friend. At best, Hero could hope for one less enemy.

Either way, they couldn’t afford to let their guard down.

Right. They had to pull themself together and do their job.

“I— I really don’t know what I was expecting, but this is … not it.” They sighed, resigned. Nothing about this made any sense. They made a broad gesture encompassing the whole scene. “Honestly. I have no idea what this is, but I am here and it seems you do have hostages and I’m afraid I’ll have to arrest you. I don’t suppose you’ll come peacefully?”

Villain pouted. “Do you really have to?”

“Yes.”

“It’s just, I feel like today’s not a getting-arrested kind of day, you know. Much too nice out here. Unusually warm too for early November. This is probably the last pleasantly warm weekend we’ll get until spring. Wouldn’t arresting me be such a waste of a potentially great evening? Weather forecast says temperatures are going to drop starting tomorrow.

“No, no,” Villain concluded. “I’d say, all signs point toward a bit of sunbathing and a little tittle-tattle over a nice hot cup of tea and some snacks. So, how about it? You in?”

Granted, it was a really nice day. And it was unusually mild for the season. And the weather forecast had promised a cold front. But as far as excuses went, this was simply ridiculous.

And just like that Villain had them laughing again, despite everything.

“Is that why you’re making your hostages … have a picnic?”

“Well, I need them to be here; I don’t need them to be scared and miserable, or to get dehydrated and go hungry.” They turned to a group of four teenagers lounging on a checked-patterned blanket and nibbling on sandwiches. The kids were gawking – though more at Hero than at Villain (yikes) – and whispering among each other (double yikes). Villain waved to get their attention. “Yo, Antonio and co! How are you holding up over there? Got everything you need?”

One of the picnic’s unwilling participants waved back shyly. Another held up a mug in one hand and gave a thumbs up with the other. The third kid made a rude gesture and was immediately admonished by the fourth. Each of them had something that looked like interwoven strands of thin tree roots slung around one ankle to keep them from wandering off. None of them looked particularly traumatised.

A little to the side lay four BMX bikes. A dirt path with some ramps was barely visible through the columns of trees on the other side of the clearing.

Over by another one of those odd table-shaped tree stumps, an unkempt older man sat chuckling while the equally dishevelled woman next to him chugged apple juice straight from a carton. When he noticed Hero looking their way, he raised his hand – he only had the one – in a quick greeting. The woman didn’t acknowledge them. Neither of these two was bound by root shackles. Huh.

“See,” Villain said, self-satisfied. “No harm done. My hostages are doing great. I’m taking good care of them. They almost don’t want to not be here.”

“Uh-huh. What about this guy then?”

A collective groan from the assembled onlookers.

“Ah yeah,” Villain agreed. “Except that guy.” That guy being a middle-aged man in a dark suit currently tied with a wild tangle of vines to a tree a little aside from the rest of the group. He glowered at Villain from behind square glasses and Villain glowered back. “Unfortunately, I had to put Bob over there into timeout for, among other things, throwing a sandwich at me. And don’t you glare at me, Bob, you know you started this.”

Hero took a deep breath, let it out again. “I don’t suppose you’ll let Bob down if I ask nicely?”

“Not a chance.”

“Right. Could you at least … ungag him then?”

Another collective sound of disapproval.

Villain grimaced. “I would strongly advise against that.”

One of the teenagers mumbled “same” under their breath.

(At this point Hero did kind of regret not having listened to the lazy police officers. And how come the police still hadn’t arrived at the scene?)

They forced themself to say, “please.”

Villain shrugged. “All right. Fine. But don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.”

Immediately that thicker, woodier length of vine wedged between the man’s teeth loosened. He spit it out.

“My name isn’t Bob,” apparently-not-Bob complained.

Villain rolled their eyes. “Well, if you’d told me your name when I asked, maybe I—”

“Fuck you!”

Yup. All right. Should have listened. Gag should have stayed in.

Villain shot Hero their best what did I just tell you? look.

The man kept screeching, spittle flying from his mouth, “I didn’t start shit!”

“Oh, get over yourself and grow some common decency. As you are well aware, there are people on the brink of starvation in this city, Mr. Fuck You. Wasting food is disrespectful.”

The one-armed man with the scruffy beard nodded along and added a quiet “yeah, man. ’s not cool.”

Not-Bob turned his attention to Hero. “And what are you just standing there for? Will you do something already?! Do I look like I’ve got time for this crap. I have places to be. Arrest that fucking twink and free me!”

Villain calmly informed him, “that word isn’t nearly as insulting as you think it is.”

A nasty sneer spread on the man’s lips. “Cock sucking. Tranny. Fa—”

“WILL YOU,” one of the teenagers screamed back, “shut the fuck up already. ASSHOLE.”

For a moment, even the birds fell silent.

Villain turned their attention back to Hero, with a saccharine smile on their lips that only half reached their eyes. “So, anyway, in my defence – as Mil kindly pointed out, and I’m sure you’ve gathered yourself – that guy is a corporate ass-face with no moral backbone or integrity who’s got a heap of dog turd for a brain, and whenever he opens his mouth the only thing that comes out is hot air reeking of fart.”

Several someones snorted. Mil whooped.

The corporate ass-face went so red it was fair to assume he might start popping blood vessels any second now. But he didn’t say anything else because the moment he opened his mouth Hero shot him the darkest warning look they could manage. Thankfully, the man got the hint. Because otherwise Hero would have had no choice but to ask Villain to put that gag back, and they’d rather not face the awkwardness of making such a request.

“I do see your point,” Hero told Villain, wearily. “But that isn’t going to stop me from arresting you.”

“Hate to break it to you, superstar,” Villain said, mouth curving into a lopsided sneer. “In order to arrest me, you’d have to catch me first.”

Hah, sweet. Now this fell perfectly within the bounds of the usual script. This type of conversation Hero knew exactly how to handle.

“Oh? You don’t think I can?”

“I don’t think you will.”

“I’m fast.”

“Not that fast.”

“We’ll see.”

“No. We won’t.”

They both sprang into action at the same time. Hero dashed across the clearing; Villain spun around and fled into the woods.

Hero was undoubtedly the faster runner. At least out in the open. But Villain had been right: they weren’t nearly fast enough. They would have had to catch Villain during those first three seconds when they were both still in the clearing.

They understood the pointlessness of the chase as soon as they’d passed between the first row of trees. Roots immediately attempted to trip them up. Vines and brambles snatched at them, tried to ensnare their feet, slowing them down further. Low-hanging tree branches whipped down into their path to obscure their view of their surroundings to the point where they might as well have been staggering blindly through thick fog.

Less than two minutes into the pursuit, Hero had to admit defeat.

Villain had vanished.

———

i started reading the yuri manga “she loves to cook and she loves to eat” which is about a woman who ends up dating another woman bc she’ll always eat the extra portions she cooks, and i like how this early page deals with, like, the gender politics + lesbian discomfort of being with a woman vs being with a man. the way she feels about cooking for her (future) girlfriend is entirely different than the way she feels about the idea of cooking for a man, not just because she’s completely uninterested in this man, but because what society says being with that man means is completely different, too. translation:

male coworker: but being able to talk (about cooking) like that is really cool!

nomoto: ?!

male coworker: like, a woman who’s good on the job and good at home

nomoto: (what- what’s happening) no, it’s just…a hobby of mine…

male coworker: man, you’re gonna be a great mom. i wish i had a girlfriend to cook for me!

Dealing with unwelcome guests is a bit harder if its family. And Gabriel really is the worst kinda company too. From the latest chapter of “Against Expectations” by @summerofspock and me

Chapters: 7/15 Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Anathema Device, Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens), Anathema Device, Newton Pulsifer, Madame Tracy (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Regency, Regency Romance, Femme Aziraphale (Good Omens), Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Misunderstandings, Pining, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Awkward First Times, Friends to Lovers, Self-Discovery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Background Relationships, Eventual Smut, everybody is bisexual in this fic because i said so Summary:

After being pressured by their families into a marriage neither of them want, Aziraphale and Crowley resign themselves to an unfulfilling life together. For Aziraphale that means trying to be the dutiful wife she was always taught to be and for Crowley it means hiding an important part of who he is.

story by summerofspock and art by Blue_Sparkle

**

this is for @kiernaserea and everyone else who has helped me recently, y’all know who you are. I hope you like it, it was really fun to write. 

He was sat on the couch, his knees drawn up to his chest, unmoving, cold, staring at nothing on the coffee table. He itched for the burn of alcohol on his tongue, senseless skin against his, but he couldn’t. They wanted him to be better, he wanted him to be better, he wanted to be better for them. So he sat, blank and empty and utterly numb, staring at nothing on the coffee table and wishing the tears would stop burning down his cheeks, itching across his chin, if only so they couldn’t remind him he was alive and feeling.

He felt more than heard Natasha enter, her soft presence changing the very air of the room, making it a bit less cold and a bit more breathable. She sat next to him, quiet, gentle, and leaned close, brushing the curls off his temple and leaning over to watch his raining eyes, her own shining with brilliance and intelligence and God, she was gorgeous. He didn’t deserve her. His body started to shiver gently, against his will.

“You’re okay,” she breathed, tucking herself closer, sharing her heat and brushing gentle kisses over his temple, cheek, the corner of his eye, the curls above his ear. “You’re okay, love.” He licked his lips, swallowed, trying to get his vocal cords to work when he desperately didn’t want to speak, but ended up with a jerk of his head instead. “You are. You’re not fine. But you’re okay. You will be fine.” He licked his lips again, his mouth dry, tasting the salt of his tears, and sniffled weakly, trying to choke back a sob. She tucked her knees under his, playing gently with the curls on the nape of his neck, and being this close to someone shouldn’t feel so good and right but it did.

Neither looked up when the soft padding of heavy feet came closer, indicating a sock-footed Steve Rogers.

Steve knelt down in front of him, studying him curiously, like he was a work of tortured art (which he knew he wasn’t, even if Natasha liked to call him beautiful). “It’s okay, darling,” he said finally, his voice soft and soothing, as he moved to sit on his other side, wrapping a warm arm around his waist and making Tony realize how cold and numb he actually was. “Want to tell us what’s wrong?” He swallowed, jerking his head again and sobbing weakly. He didn’t know what was wrong; he only knew what had set him off, but that wasn’t what was wrong. There were so many things that were wrong. “Okay, that’s fine sweetheart. You’re gonna be okay.” He choked back another sob as the blond pressed a firm kiss to his other temple, Natasha’s nose pressed to his cheek, feeling their breath against his skin, alive, important, and so very real. He turned his face into Natasha’s neck, sobs bursting free, as he pressed his back against Steve’s chest, seeking their comfort. He wrapped his arms tight around the Widow’s waist as Steve pulled them both close, pressing against Tony as much as he could, gentle hands rubbing up and down his sides, pressing gently on the knots in his back, both the lovers crooning gently to him, reassuring him that it was okay, and that he would be perfectly fine.

He whined when Steve pulled away but settled when the heavy blanket was wrapped around his shoulders, smelling like Bruce and soothing some of the numbness away. Steve came back then, and a soft kiss was pressed to the top of his head. He glanced up from Natasha’s shoulder with watery eyes to see the other genius smiling gently down at him, his hand coming to rest softly on his dark curls.

“Hard day?” Bruce asked mildly, still smiling. He nodded. “It’ll get better.” He returned his face to Nat’s shoulder, sniffling, calming. He couldn’t think bad things when his soulmates were there, soothing his fears, kissing the depression away. Natasha had her nose pressed to his forehead, whispering a litany of soft poetry into his skin, and Steve’s chest rose and fell against his back, regular and strong and grounding.

It could’ve been hours, or only a few minutes later, when a cool hand on his ankle drew him out of Natasha’s scent, startling him away from her shoulder. He saw her smile wryly and glanced down at Bucky, who was smirking slightly. “Hey doll. Feelin’ bad?” He sniffled, his tears finally done, and nodded, still not feeling very verbal. “I’ve got just the thing. Hold on, alright.” Tony nodded again, settling back against Steve, sighing gently and closing his eyes happily as the blond rubbed his fingers reverently against his name scrawled against Tony’s collar and pressed a gentle kiss to his neck. A few minutes later Bruce was back, pressing a warm cup of hot chocolate into his hands which he sipped at obediently, relishing in the feeling of warmth and sugar spreading through him and chasing away the festering thing in his chest, if only momentarily.

Bruce settled on the floor in front of them and they watched as Bucky and Clint came back in, dragging blankets and pillows behind them and shoving the coffee table out of the way. They carefully arranged the soft things into something warm and inviting, and grinned at him when they stepped back, finished. “Heard you could use some cuddles,” Clint said, stepping forward and leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his lips that warmed him better than any hot drink ever could. “I aim to please.” He smiled weakly, feeling so loved it was almost overwhelming, and squeaked when Bucky lifted him effortlessly and settled him into the middle of the nest, sighing happily as his soulmates crawled in and curled around him, warm and full in a way that was hard to describe.

“What would you like to watch, sir?” JARVIS asked, voice full of warmth and concern and amusement. Tony waved a hand, and the screen in front of them turned into something sappy with Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds, and that was perfect. He turned to Natasha, who was still nestled up against his side, pressing his nose to hers and staying there, feeling their breath brush each other's lips, until she gently tipped forward and pressed her lips to his, reverent and careful and oh so gentle, and he could’ve cried all over again. He felt Bucky’s arms wrap around his waist, strong and solid, and Clint’s legs tangled with his, warm and comforting and nothing sexual about it, just firm and present.

“I love you,” he finally said after Natasha had leaned back, more of a croak than anything, his voice cracking with emotion and disuse, and he felt each of his soulmates shift. “I love you. Fuck, I fucking love you.” A sob escaped him again, and Bucky tipped his chin back, kissing him gently and warmly and full of need and emotion.

“Jesus, Tony,” Clint said breathlessly, and he felt a hand sneak under his shirt to rub against his name like a worship, grounding and important, because he knew exactly what Clint meant by it. We’ve come so far.

And then Bruce was leaning over him, staring down at him seriously, his glasses slipping down his nose.

“We love you too, Anthony Edward Stark. We absolutely adore you, and you deserve the world, you understand? This will pass, and by damn we’ll help you through it.” Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes as he stared up at the scientist, and he reached a shaking hand up to cup his face.

“I can’t believe I got you,” he whispered, and felt his lovers move closer, a silent protest and strong reminder that he was stuck with them no matter what now. And that they wanted to be stuck with him too.

“I love you too, sir,” JARVIS spoke after a moment, and Tony felt hysterical laughter bubble up in his chest until his face was buried in Bruce’s shirt, sobs and giggles mixing together in a turmoil of emotion.

Series synopsis: the popular, undefeated, and lonely hero meets a curious villain with a carefree attitude and a tendency to overshare.

The story of Hero's and Villain's relationship will be told via various, disconnected scenes from their lives. The individual arcs and snippets within this series will be posted in non-chronological order and can be read as stand-alone stories too. But for convenience's sake I'll list the miniseries here in chronological order.

***

First Impressions

[Part 1] Synopsis: the city has a new superhero. Villain is intrigued and plans to take a closer look, much to their best friend’s dismay.

[Part 2] tw: anxiety Synopsis: Hero is struggling with their anxiety, and that confusing, quirky villain who just won't leave them alone isn't helping.

[Part 3] Synopsis: Hero meets Villain again a week after their first encounter and finally gets to learn what Villain's superpower is.

***

Against Expectations

[Part 1] tw: queerphobic side character Synopsis: Hero is confronted with the reality of Villain's profession. Villain's methods, however, sure come as a surprise.

***

Favours Among Frenemies

[Part 1] Synopsis: Hero unexpectedly turns up at Villain's house, maskless and in civilian clothes, and asks for a most unusual favour.

[Part 2] Synopsis: Villain invites Hero into their house for a hot drink, a warm blanket, and a talk. Hero has a lot to confess.

***

Crowley getting some comforting kisses from Aziraphale in the latest chapter of “Against Expectations” by @summerofspock and me. Go check it out, the fic is nearly done!

Finding out that your husband likes wearing dresses sometimes, and immediately making sure to go buy him ribbons and cute stuff. From the latest chapter of “Against Expectations” by @summerofspock and I