#supervillian

A clash of wills between Altairey's Bolt and Demain - who will come out on top?

Loki had always enjoyed being the center of attention. Being the one that everyone way looking at, and talking about, being admired and the best place to be the center of attention? A party! Or in this case, a gala.

It was hosted by The Crows, and being a member of the council that oversees The Crows he was obviously invited! It was different from the massive feasts Loki had gotten used to in his youth, this was quieter. cleaner. Atleast on the surface, but Loki knew it was all just a facade. The drama was all the same, just repackaged to look elegant and classy.

He didn't mind. This place was built on lies, and Loki loved a good lie. So he stood slightly off to the side, listening and watching. Catching every bit of gossip and drama, for when he finally decided to join a conversation.

The sheets were warm, room quiet, their wounds bandaged. A quick once-over told Henchman that they were alone in the room at the moment, but pressure marks in a nearby armchair, notably with the same color and texture upholstry as Villain’s desk chairs, told them that the emptiness of the room was a rather recent development. The distant sounds of Right Hand and Villain in a heated argument outside the door, though, was not. Their voices were quiet, yet each traded unintelligable words in harsh tones that were recongizable through the thick walls of inner Headquarters. 

Henchman was curious, senses dulled slightly by the amount of pain killers, and even if the pain in their head had yet to subside, laying in place while a quiet battle waged outside the door would not give them the necessary peace to heal. Neither would the constant wondering of why. Henchman was familiar with Villain and the runnings of their business-like operations. The enormous risk would not have been warranted, even considering the information that Henchman held. While not insignificant, they were not a member of Villain’s inner circle the way that Right Hand was. 

Their mouth tasted bitter at that thought. Likely just the medicine, they supposed. Either way, Villain and Right Hand were not stopping any time soon, so Henchman tentitively laid one foot on the soft gray rug. Step after step, Henchman neared the door but came no closer to understanding the angry words the two traded. Their fingers hardly ghosted along the brass handle before the door swung away and opened into the hallway. Villain’s brow was furrowed, lips thinned and eyes narrowed how they always were when they were mad, yet the expression eased into something calmer upon searching Henchman’s face. 

“I’m sorry,” Henchmen said, though from the looks of the two, their speech was slurred to at least some extent. Henchman found that hypcritical, because even as Villain’s mouth moved, expression morphing into one of concern, their words were no more intelligable than they were from when Henchman laid in the bed across the room. Even so, Villain appeared unmoved by the swaying of the ground that threatened to knock Henchman off their feet, instead reaching out their arms to steady them. The ground swayed for a moment longer, then the power went out, and everything went black. 

When Henchman awoke, it was to the inside of the same room, if not with a few changes. The lights were too bright, machines too loud, their body in too much pain despite the copious amount of painkillers that Medic supposedly had access too. Henchman would have to ask them what they did to upset them enough to skip out on the pain management. They raised their hand to their face, feeling tenderly at the bandages that wrapped around their head. The arm itself was also bandaged heavily, more white gauze than visible skin, and Henchman grimaced. The bandages must have been changed recently; nothing seemed to stain the outside yet. Henchman cast another look down their own body. 

They were dressed in a classic hospital gown of thin, checkered fabric that did little to stave off the cold of the room. The sheets of the bed were clean, but tables flanked the frame, lined with different wires and cords. They were attached to a monitor on one side, and an IV on the other. They squinted their eyes against the light, looking around for a way to dim the lights. They’d never been in Villain’s private rooms before; very few, if any other people had. To their understanding, Right Hand would occasionally meet Villain in their outer chambers for emergent reports, but even those were quickly taken to their nearby office.

Henchman shifted in the enormous bed again, using their arms in whatever way they could to lift themselves into a sitting position. The pressure along their wrist resulted in another blinding flash of pain. The sound that came out of Henchman’s mouth, which they will not be discussing, thank you, was loud enough to draw medic out of wherever they were hiding, sticking their head into the room. 

“You’re awake,” they said, then walked over and helped them lean up. Henchman had just enough mental capacity to recognize new scratches all across Medic’s face, continuing down their neck and arms, visible between their gloves and rolled-up sleeves. 

“Unfortunately,” Henchman quipped. Medic’s brow furrowed despite Henchman’s attempt at humor, which fell flat when done with their hoarse voice and ravaged throat. 

Medic hushed them. “Try not to move. You’ve got a concussion and broken bones everywhere.”

“Which is why I’m… here?” Medic’s hands stilled. They hesitated, refusing to look away from the equipment set up on the table beside Henchman. “I thought it was just the chandelier that got broken,” they offered uselessly. 

Another moment of silence. A shake of Medic’s head. They swallowed hard. “Hero League did some damage to Headquarters. It’s nothing you need to worry about, it just means that my base of operations has shifted for the time being.”

“Were others hurt, then?”

“You’re the patient I’m focused on right now,” Medic replied, busying themselves once again. They went to wrap something around Henchman’s arm, who stopped them with their opposite hand, still thrumming with pain.

“Medic. What happened?” Henchman hesitated. “How long has it been?”

Another moment of hesitation. “I can’t explain this all to you right now. It will be explained in time, after you’ve had a chance to recover. You’ve been through a lot, now let us worry about the rest.”

First | Masterlist | Next

its every villians favorite side kick: Elasticana!

i redrew this one pic from ages ago to kinda reset my skillset lookit how good my art got :)

Version 1

“Oh love, I told you this would happen.” 

Hero looked up with wide eyes, legs trembling as they tried to push themselves further against the wall. 

Their eyes burned with the heat of tears they denied themselves to shed in front of their captor, Supervillain thrived in vulnerability, they fed off of it like a leech and Hero would not give them such satisfaction. 

They watched with shaking breaths as the other approached, cold sweat running down their back as the looming figure of their master’s enemy leaned down, towering over them even when bent over right in half, having them feeling like a scared mouse in the corner of a cage. 

A warm hand cupped their cheek, and Hero was far too scared to flinch back, caught frozen. Supervillian’s thumbs stroked their cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry, I can’t remember if I locked the door this morning,” Supervillian said, kneeling down before them, gently twisting their head, forcing Hero to look straight at them. The pure worry in their eyes made Hero dizzy. “Is that how you got out?” 

Hero found themselves absentmindedly nodding. 

Supervillain sighed “I’m sorry, love, I know how impulsive you can be when given the chance, it won’t happen again.” 

Slowly, as if with a scared feral cat, the criminal approached their victim. Pulling them in by the neck, and leaning to kiss their forehead. 

Then, they felt it. The prick of a needle, the sharp pain of metal breaking the skin, a weave of nausea, and the feeling of laying in wet fabric. 

The hold tightened, they were being rocked. 

“I know you don’t like it when I use it, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Supervillain whispered, pulling Hero impossibly closer “but I know you won’t behave on the way back home, you get so angry when this happens. So this is for both of us, okay? To make the way as comfortable for us as we can.” 

A foggy drowsiness started to overtake, and whatever words Supervillain offered as comfort muddled together into a pile of nonsensical gentleness accompanied by the soft touches of hands responsible for so much bloodshed.

Hero trembled still.

Their head fell full weight over the other’s shoulder. 

*

“What happened to your pet? They look horrible,” asked Villain, entering the studio. 

“Escape attempt,” Supervillain answered, eyes not leaving the sleeping face of the hero laying in their lap, brushing their head off of their face “didn’t get too far, those traps really roughed them up.” 

“I didn’t go to the trouble to get them for you just so you can break them, take care of your things.”

“I do, Villain, I’ll make sure they never want to pull something like this again once they heal. Now, what did you want here?” 

Villain smiled halfheartedly, throwing the front page of the newsletter to the couch Supervillain sat on.

A YEAR AFTER THEIR DISAPPEARING, EFFORTS TO FIND [HERO] HAVE ALL BEEN DISMISSED.

Gently despite the enthusiasm, Supervillain pulled Hero up, pressing them against their chest and smiling with their face buried in the other’s hair. 

Finally.

_

Masterlist

More short ones people, I need to practice after like two months of writing nothing but scienc-y stuff.

Heed's latest IG post: A well deserved vacation after all the stressful events I've lived."