Grace Glowered Over The Laptop. "What Makes You Think You Earned It?"

Chips🥔

"I have something of yours."

"I know. You can keep it."

Would you ever write a fluff piece about hero and villain getting distracted from their (already quite flirty in that hero/villain way) battle because they see an injured dog and want to help

Neither one trusts the other to save the dog and so they both watch over it/take care of it

They end up bonding over this and as it turns out, the dog doesn’t belong to anyone. Where would it live now?

(Love your work btw <3) - 🐞

Hi there, Ladybug Anon! Can I call you Ladybug Anon? Anyway, thank you for requesting this, here you go! This one is kinda long, so I put it under the cut!

A well-timed fireball to Hero’s chest had them careening off the rooftop, down a fire escape, and to the hard pavement below.

“Ugh, that’s gonna bruise,” Hero mumbled.

They clambered to get to their feet and looked up at Villain watching them from above.

“Sorry, darling, I thought you were going to dodge!” they called.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Hero huffed, dusting themselves off.

Villain climbed down the fire escape and approached Hero, who threw a snowball at their face.

“Oof!”

“There, now we’re even… sort of.”

“Oh, how mature,” Villain scoffed, wiping the snow from their face.

A whimper echoed in the alleyway.

“Well, it was immature of you!” Villain argued.

“That wasn’t me!” Hero said indignantly.

Another whimper. Quiet, high-pitched, and absolutely pitiful.

Villain and Hero turned to the end of the alleyway, where a sable and white lump shivered inside a dilapidated cardboard box. They both approached it, Hero crouching down first.

Two sad brown eyes looked back at them, ears flat against their head. Fur matted with dirt.

“Oh my goodness!” Hero cooed, “you poor baby, who did this to you?”

“Hmph,” Villain folded their arms across their chest, “you never call me baby.”

“Hush.” Hero snapped.

They held a hand out to the little dog, who sniffed it cautiously. It shuffled out of the box and limped over to Hero.

“Are you hurt?” Hero asked, brows furrowed.

The dog whimpered again, then licked Hero’s hand. Villain crouched down next to Hero.

“It’s a corgi,” Villain said, “very strange to find a stray one…”

“Maybe it’s lost?” Hero suggested.

“It’s possible,” Villain agreed, “it could have a microchip. We could take it to a shelter and-”

The corgi growled, baring its teeth. Villain had been petting it, but when they started scratching near its hind leg, it didn’t appreciate it.

“Scratch that,” Hero said, “let’s take it to the vet.”

…

Vet Tech scanned the microchip and pulled up the corgi’s information.

“Says here his name is Chester, aaaand… his human is [Civilian’s full name].”

Vet Tech dialed Civilian’s number. It rang… and rang… and no response. Not even an answering machine.

“If you could give us their address we could take Chester home.” Hero said.

“Well… since it’s you asking, Hero…”

Vet Tech wrote down the address on a slip of paper. Hero thanked them and took it. Chester however, didn’t want to go. They kept clinging to Vet Tech, licking her face and covering it in puppy kisses.

“I know, I know!” they giggled, “but you’ve gotta go home! Bye-bye!”

…

Hero knocked on Civilian’s door, Villain right next to them, and Chester in their arms.

“Hello?” Civilian asked.

“We’ve found your friend!” Hero said, beaming.

Hero had expected at least a smile and a thank-you. What they weren’t expecting was the reaction they got instead.

“Dang it, why did you bring the thing back!?” they snapped.

Hero clutched Chester tightly. Villain looked dangerously calm.

“Pardon?” Villain asked.

“I turned the thing loose! I drove it into the heart of the city so it wouldn’t come back! And now you come here and bring the stupid-”

Hero conveniently turned away as Villain slammed a fist into Civilian’s face. Civilian stumbled back, crashing to the floor. Villain closed the door.

“Hero,” Villain said, “I don’t think this is Chester’s home.”

“You don’t say,” Hero remarked.

…

Chester barked happily, chasing a butterfly through the park. Hero and Villain sat on a bench, keeping a close eye on them. He was still limping, but Vet Tech had bandaged their hind leg and given them a good wash. Their fluffy fur swished in the breeze and their little nubby tail wagged swiftly back and forth.

“What do we do, Villain?” Hero asked, “neither of us have time for a puppy.”

“Speak for yourself, I would quit villainy right now if… ah, who am I kidding, then I wouldn’t get to see you~”

…

Vet Tech arrived at the park bench.

“You guys wanted to see me?”

Chester turned, hearing their voice. He barked loudly, running up to them and jumping, his tongue sticking out of his open mouth.

“Hello again!” Vet Tech smiled, crouching down to pet him.

Hero and Villain explained the situation.

“You… oh gosh, I mean, I’ve always wanted to… but I don’t know if I-”

They were interrupted by Chester’s happy bark.

Vet Tech’s gaze softened. They nodded.

“Oh all right,” they said, “I guess Chester can come home with me. But only for the time being!”

Six months later

“Chester!” Hero called, “here boy!”

Chester bolted across the park, Vet Tech watching him happily. He ran right past Hero and into Villain’s arms. Hero frowned and looked at Villain.

“Jealous, are we? That I’m the favorite this week?” Villain asked knowingly.

“Haha.”

Chester came back to Hero, barking and running in circles around them. Hero chuckled, crouching down to pet him.

“Guys, we can only play for a bit, you know Chester eats dinner at six thirty,” Vet Tech said.

“Aww,” Villain pouted.

Hero produced a dog toy from a shopping bag and squeaked it. Chester tilted his head.

“You want this, boy?” Hero asked, “go get it!”

Hero threw the toy and Chester chased after it, ecstatic. His hind leg had completely healed, and so had his heart. He finally had humans he could trust.

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CW: Violence

Beware, friend

story by @yeehawpim and illustrated by @rvicta

The vampire spat out your blood. "God, what have you been eating?!"

You guys get ONE animated wip for the Laikas Comet AMV I’m working on ‼️‼️ It’s with the song Neighborhood #2 (Laika)

It will be posted on my YouTube channel! (But I’ll let you all know when it’s finished dw)

Smile out of spite

They want you to cry

Not here, not tonight

Existence is resistance

You are here, despite all odds

Thriving in the cracks they tried to seal

You are magnificent

Your roots are strong

One day you'll reach sunlight

But for now?

You know how to do with less

Everyone has a little creative muse that lives off the things we make. They're very hungry, and they will wander away dejected if we ignore them.

You can use anything to feed them.

Five words, five little scribbles on the page, five music notes.

Every little bit helps. Doodle on your math notes. Vent poetry while you're on hold. Hum some made-up tune during a traffic jam.

They don't need much. They don't need you to be passionate or polished.

They want you to come as you are.

Occasionally they'll bring you little gifts. Mostly, though, they'll make you feel a little lighter.

You may say, "I'm not creative," or "I have no time," or, "I'm so burnt out". When you're prioritizing survival, it's hard to prioritize your inner self.

Work within your time and energy, but remind yourself that you and your feelings and where you are right now all matters.

Your little muse will thank you.

Their First Villain

Secret Santa gift for @the-modern-typewriter Prompt: "Scary villain x hero in a Christmas setting of your [the writer's] choice. Could go spicy, could go whumpy, could go unexpectedly sweet!" Hope you like this! Merry Christmas!! 🎅🎁

“You recognised me,” the villain observes, his tone unnaturally flat. His face betrays no emotion.

“Kinda hard not to, with your…” – the hero tilts their head at where the villain’s magic continues to spread, coiling around their limbs and securely fixing them in place – “…snake thingies?”

The individual tendrils really do vaguely resemble snakes, although the magic in its entirety reminds them more of some writhing alien monster plant from an old Sci-fi B-movie whose title they cannot remember. It’s not a good comparison anyway. The movie hadn’t been scary at all.

They experimentally try to wrestle one of their arms free, but despite the magic’s apparent fluidity, the moment they push or pull in any direction, whatever give appeared to be there all but disappears and they can’t move a millimetre.

“Oh.” The villain’s eyes widen. “You can see it.”

“See it. Feel it. Didn’t expect it to be this hot.”

An awkward pause follows.

They are decidedly not blushing. It’s just warm. All of them is so warm now that the villain’s powers have moulded themselves around the hero like something liquid but alive. Wherever the tendrils touch bare skin – their ungloved hands and that area just above their ankles where their pants don’t quite meet the rims of their boots – the raw energy buzzes, prickles just short of stinging.

They’d been shivering just minutes ago in their much too thin poncho and the not seasonally appropriate Agency office uniform. Well, they still are shivering, just no longer from the cold.

Where the villain’s magic is fever-hot, his scrutiny runs icy.

“You can see it, but not fight it,” he muses. “How curious. The Agency must be understaffed to send their defenceless little office drones out into the field.”

The hero would be glaring if the villain weren’t underscoring the point by pulling his magic tighter with the mere flick of a finger. That small, anxious sound that escapes them in response brings a self-satisfied grin to the villain’s lips.

“It’s Christmas,” the hero says, once the magic has settled again.

The villain raises a brow.

“Most of the regulars are on holiday, Christmas being a time best spent with family … or so I’m told.”

“Yet you are working.”

“Don’t have anyone.” They aren’t technically without family just … Sometimes, family isn’t a place of refuge and welcome. Not a home to turn to for holiday celebrations or company. Some families fashion themselves exclusive clubs with strict rules that refuse or revoke memberships as they please. The hero forces some levity into their tone. “I have nowhere else to be today, so, I’m helping out here.”

The villain chuckles. “Helping is perhaps not what I would call that.”

“Hey, I did recognise you,” they say, defensively.

“And look where that got you.” His smile is sharper than before, meaner. “Am I your first villain? My heartfelt condolences.”

They don’t dignify that with an answer. But the answer is yes. The villains they watched being interrogated through one-way mirrors at HQ don't count.

“Pity,” the villain says with zero warmth, “that you couldn’t just look the other way. What is it with you people that you're always so eager to cause unnecessary conflict.”

“Reporting suspicious behaviour is kind of my job.” It comes out barely above a whisper and carries the distinct cadence of an apology.

“Ah yes, and my mere existence struck you as suspicious behaviour because …”

Admittedly, once they’d recognised the villain, they hadn’t taken the time to consider his appearance beyond the magic he’d been wearing around his shoulders like a particularly weaponizable scarf. The lack of a combat suit in favour of a sleek, dark coat over a woollen jumper and cargo joggers – either an outfit designed to blend in or just what the villain happens to like to wear when he isn’t working – hadn’t registered any more than the total absence of weaponry other than his powers. And while he could have hidden those better, it’s not like he could have simply left them at home.

There hadn’t been time to ponder. It had all happened so fast. Their eyes had met, and a moment later the hero had already been scrambling away from the crowd, past a stall selling mulled wine and into the nearest alley, where they’d scrolled through their contacts with stiff, unfeeling fingers. The villain had caught up with them before they’d managed to call for backup.

Their gaze darts to the remnants of their smashed phone, sprinkled across the muddy snow, mere metres away but entirely useless even if they could reach it.

What if the villain hadn’t had anything nefarious planned? What if the hero’s brain had naturally jumped to the most prejudiced conclusion all on its own?

Of course, it is unfair to treat his mere presence as if it is a crime. But the things he could do ...

They think about the parents with their cameras, filming their ice-skating children, the squealing toddlers on the merry-go-round, the nice old ladies selling tea out of the back of a car.

“You could be a danger to all those innocent people,” they defend their judgement.

“And you could be a danger to me,” the villain replies coolly. “Would be unwise, letting someone roam free who can pick me out of a crowd with a glance. Perhaps I should thank you for revealing yourself. Very ill-advised. But quite convenient. You were so obvious about it, too.”

He has crossed the distance between them while speaking. Close enough now to reach out and tuck an unruly strand of hair behind their ear with his cold, slender fingers. His other hand settles almost gently on their throat, atop the magic that has slivered around their neck at some point during the conversation.

The tip of a new tendril is in the process of worming its way lower, nestling into the collar of their shirt. It laps against the crook of their neck and they cringe away from the touch as much as the magic allows. It doesn’t hurt. It would be so much easier if it did. The touch is light; it kind of tickles and, given the overall direness of the situation, the hero really isn’t in the mood for that. Or, they shouldn’t be.

Unhelpfully, their traitorous mind supplies them with a thoroughly inappropriate image of what else someone who isn’t the enemy could be doing to them with magic such as this.

“Tell me,” the villain says as the power shifts upwards, tilting their chin back with the movement, so his nails can bite into the newly exposed skin below their jaw, “is there anything else troublesome about you, or is it just the eyes?”

He looks most pleased when their breath hitches despite their best efforts to remain stoic. His grip tightens. He’s studying them intently, staring at their eyes like those are priced gems he considers adding to his collection.

Maybe, underneath the mockery, he actually does consider them somewhat of a threat. If he didn’t, why would he be looking at them like that.

It’s stupid, truly and utterly stupid, to feel flattered. This is not respect, they know, just sharp, calculating consideration. His attention promises imminent danger, might turn lethal at any second. It’s not something they should revel in. Still, it feels good, too – being seen.

Has anyone ever really seen them before?

Or perhaps that is the lack of oxygen speaking.

They struggle to focus their vision but all the twinkling Christmas lights in the trees are starting to smudge into dull, red and golden blurs. Vertigo is clawing at them.

There is absolutely nothing they can do against the villain's grip. They're so pitifully out of their depth.

They think about their bland, only half-furnished two-room apartment; their first day at the Agency HQ; their nth day – no more eventful than the first – sitting at the exact same desk in the exact same office and working on the exact same old computer; their colleagues’ looks of pity when their 14th application for a transfer to field work is being denied and their boss tells them, in stern admonishment, that their skill sets just aren’t suited to solo missions. They think about her condescending smile when she finally does assign them the Christmas market job, clearly convinced the worst thing that could possibly happen here is people getting drunk enough on punch to start throwing punches.

They think of their first split-second impression of the villain as just another guy standing by the ice rink with a cup of something steaming in his hands and a mellow, unguarded smile curving his lips.

They hope this montage doesn’t count as their life flashing before their eyes. It’s way too sad a summary of their depressing lack of accomplishments.

They think, with equal parts age-old bitterness and new-found sarcastic vindication, about their colleagues’ infantile, unofficial, end-of-the-year office rankings where flashier heroes with more impressive abilities always receive titles such as most likely to hook up with a hot reporter or most epic battle or best one-liners.

Meanwhile, all the hero has to show for are three consecutive wins of least likely to die on the job.

Which might have been a reassuring sentiment if it weren’t so clearly code for “you’ll never be a real hero”. Real heroes risk their lives on the job all the time.

Well, look at them now!

Will their colleagues manage to come up with a new title for them in time, they wonder, if the villain kills them now, just a week before this year’s poll results will be released?

Most unexpected death has a nice ring to it.

They should be trembling in terror. Might have, if the villain’s magic weren’t encasing them so – tight but soft and deceptively warm, lulling them in. The sticky heat of it leaves them squirming, stuck in a confusing limbo between gooey not-quite-discomfort and hot-bath sluggishness.

They’re drifting. Until they’re not.

It’s impossible to discern how much time has passed or when exactly the villain has released them; but their thoughts are beginning to clear and their brain catches up to the fact that there is air in their lungs again, and that the breathless, hiccuping gasps uncontrollably tumbling out of their mouth aren’t sobs. It’s laughter.

“Are you enjoying this?” The villain sounds incredulous.

They shake their head. “I don’t know,” they manage, between hysterical giggles. “Maybe. Yes?”

“How did you know I wouldn’t kill you?”

“I didn’t.”

That startles a short laugh out of him.

“I’ve never” – they pant, still struggling for air – “felt this alive before.”

“That sounds ... unhealthy.”

There is a long pause in which the villain silently stares at them while they are more or less regaining control over their breathing.

“You wouldn’t get it,” they say then, perfectly aware they must seem most unhinged. “Bet you don't even know what boredom is. Because your life is fun. Mine is not. I practically live at my stupid job, and my stupid job doesn't even pay well. No one there gives a fuck about me. And nothing exciting ever happens. So can I please just have this one damn moment without being judged?”

The villain hums, low. “And here I thought we were ruining each other’s days.” He presses a hand to their forehead. “Did the heat fry your synapses?” he asks, sounding more amused than concerned. His other hand comes up to cup the nape of their neck, as if he can’t help but reach out. Just as they can’t help but lean into the cooling touch. His gaze drops, as if drawn, to their lips. “Or, are you just naturally this unusual?”

They can smell gingerbread and mulled wine on his breath.

“Are you going to kiss me?” they ask, because yes their synapses are definitely fried and they do not care about consequences, awkwardness, or sanity anymore.

“Would you like me to kiss you?”

“I’d certainly much rather be kissed than killed. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he repeats, smirking. “But we've established I’m not about to kill you. And that wasn’t a yes.”

“It’s not a no either.”

“Not how consent works, darling.”

They scoff. “You didn’t ask for consent first when you strangled me five minutes ago.”

The villain laughs again, in genuine delight judging by how his magic ripples and purrs.

“Okay, fair enough,” he whispers, shifting so his lips almost brush theirs.

The kiss that follows is sweet, surprisingly chaste, and initiated by the hero.

“So, since you mentioned earlier you have nowhere else to be today,” the villain says, afterwards, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “Have you ever had the pleasure of being kidnapped?”

Pleasure, as it turns out over the course of the next few hours, is an understatement.

If anyone at the office were to find out what the hero has been up to during their first (and best) and possibly only solo field mission, not only are they guaranteed to get fired, their colleagues will also surely create an entirely new office ranking category in their honour:

First to be seduced by a supervillain.