A Powerful Origin Story For A Sympathetic Villain And The "heroes" Whose Lack Of Empathy Created Him

Hey! I love your writing so much. I think I read almost all of your stories.

I was wondering if you could write an angst to comfort story with a henchman who made a minor mistake and is absolutely freaking out because their previous boss didn’t allow for mistakes and the Supervillain and current leader would comfort them?

I think it would be so cute!

Bonus point if the henchman is ruthless in fights and normally very stoic and cold.

I hope you have a nice and once again, I love your writing ❤️

A Misplacement

Henchman braced as Supervillain swept into the room, their grandiose presence seeming to bring everyone in the office into a more upright posture. The henchman stood impassively with their hands clasped and head slightly bowed, awaiting any orders that might be heading their way after the rather dramatic entrance.

“Henchman. Grab Hero’s file for me, will you?”

Henchman knew a command when they heard one, just as they had been prepared for.

“Yes, sir.”

Supervillain brushed by, still speaking as they walked.

“You can stop with that ‘sir’ nonsense. I respect the dedication, but you could really stand to lighten up a bit. It’s Supervillain,” their boss called, rounding the corner into their private office before Henchman had a chance to retort.

It would take more than that to trip Henchman up. They knew the rules, and ‘sir’ was just the tip of the iceberg.

Fight well, follow orders, and keep their head down. That’s all Henchman knew how to had to do. The trap of casualness was not one they would be falling into anytime soon.

They walked briskly to a cabinet against the wall and jingled a small set of keys from their pocket. They found the correct one almost automatically and went straight for the initials they knew Hero would be filed under. They dug past a few folders, brow creasing as they passed the suspected location. Semi-frantically, Henchman pulled out two other drawers, digging through those too to no avail.

Henchman froze. Hero’s file. It was gone.

Numbly, their gaze shifted across the room to the shredder that they had used yesterday to purge some older files at the request of their supervisor. Their hand shook as they closed the drawer of the filing cabinet.

Follow orders, until they can’t. Then it becomes, accept what comes next.

Blankly, they stepped towards their superior’s office. They paused at the door, shoving all their thoughts down into a tiny box they sealed shut with the mental equivalent of an excessive amount of duct-tape.

They could face the punishment. They always could.

The door opened with a click and Henchman allowed their jelly-filled legs to carry them into the center of the room, stopping there and reassuming the stiff posture and clasped hands that they reserved solely for moments spent in the presence of their boss.

“You can just set it on the desk,” Supervillain voiced dismissively, not looking up from the task at hand, which seemed to be signing some papers spread out in front of them. When no file placed itself on their desk, Supervillain rested their pen and questioned, “Is there something else?”

When they received no response, the supervillain lifted their head and immediately took notice of their employee’s current state.

“Henchman, are you alright?”

Supervillain had risen from their large leather arm chair and was now heading towards their subordinate.

“You just look a little pale. Come, sit down will you?”

They grabbed Henchman by the shoulders and led them to sit down in the chair that they had just occupied.

They hadn’t so much as touched the cushion before the words started to spill out of their mouth, lacking the usual curtness Supervillain had grown used to during Henchman’s lengthy employment.

“The file. I’m sorry. I must have misplaced it yesterday with some old papers. It’s not an excuse,” they added hurriedly. “I know and I understand that you need to-“

Their boss shot observant eyes to Henchman’s hands, which they had unknowingly started wringing in their lap.

“Is that what this is about? The file?” Supervillain questioned incredulously.

Their stoic, ruthless fighter who had never been anything but absolutely dependable on the battlefield was now ashy as a ghost and squirming after being asked to deliver a file.

“I messed up. I know the consequences-” Henchman explained almost robotically before their boss cut them off.

“Consequences? Henchman, we can just print another one. They’re saved in the cloud. It’s no big deal. It takes, like, two minutes. I know the printer is slow but it’s certainly not worth crying over.”

Crying? Henchman would never-

Oh. There was liquid trailing down their cheek now, running from the corner of their eye to the bottom of their jaw.

Oh no. Their boss would never forgive them for this.

Their boss, who was-

Henchman braced for sharpness, but Supervillain met them with nothing but soothing words.

“Breathe, Henchman. Breathe.”

Supervillain still had them by the shoulders, but now they were in front of them, kneeling and modeling deep breaths with their whole body and maintaining eye contact with a completely frozen Henchman.

“Are you breathing? I don’t hear anything.” Supervillain shook them gently and their employee finally took one big breath in without breaking the rigid professional composure they were still so desperately clinging to.

“That’s it.” Supervillain encouraged, signaling them to release the breath with an exaggerated deep sigh through slightly pursed lips. “You’re doing so well.”

Henchman’s facade broke with a loud, hiccuping sob.

At that, Supervillain wasted no time smothering them with a tight hug, holding on for long enough that Henchman was able to stop hyperventilating and start matching the pace of the lungs pressed up against them.

Only when Henchman’s face started to burn hot with embarrassment from their situation did their superior finally pull away, but only far enough to look them in the eye as they spoke.

“You transferred from Villain’s office, correct?”

Henchman nodded in confirmation, sniffling quietly and averting their eyes.

“Ah, I see.”

Supervillain went right back into the embrace and continued it for as long as Henchman let them.

A few tissues and a short talk on acceptable treatment of workers later, Supervillain eventually exited their personal office, entering the greater office area and addressing the first worker that they encountered.

“Other Henchman, pull Villain’s file please. Send me the address.”

Other Henchman nodded, immediately sliding their chair over to the nearest filing cabinet and beginning to thumb through the labels in the drawer.

“Got it,” Other Henchman signaled by waving a file in the air, already typing out a message on their computer.

“I think it’s time I pay someone a visit,” Supervillain declared as they sauntered out the doors, their phone dinging with what was undoubtedly the location of their newest nemesis.

"You're a bad influence," you said with a fond smile.

"I aim to be," they agreed, matching your smile.

They reached for your hand, but you pulled back.

"I have to go," you said.

"Afraid to stay?" they challenged with a knowing glint.

For months, you are haunted by vivid nightmares.

At the center of it is always the same strange, distinctly dressed person wearing a mask. After months of torment, you are terrified of seeing this nightmare entity.

One day you meet with a friend, and you find them dressed like the masked entity from your nightmares.

a sluge 😔

"I can't pay you."

"It appears you did not read the contract."

The man who strides in is haggard and unkempt. He looks at you with a dead-eyed expression and a look of utter despair.

"So, uh, here goes," he says. "People say you have some kind of power. And I just... I'm wondering if you can check my red string."

"Of course," you say. The request is not unusual. "I'll even tell you who's on the other side, if you like."

You find the start of the string and motion for him to follow. He trails behind you wordlessly, his eyes glued to the floor.

Outside, you can see the string disappear into the horizon.

"We'll take my car," you say.

You drive down the road in silence, following the twists and turns of the string. Sometimes you lose sight of it and have to retrace your steps. It's a bit difficult to pinpoint one string in an area full of people.

Finally you reach a residential building. The string goes straight into the walls of the third floor.

"We can stop," the man whispers. He sags in his seat and buries his head in his hands.

"You recognize this building?" you ask.

He nods quietly.

You touch his shoulder gently. "Then why--"

"It'll never work," he mutters. "My roommate, he's so... Oblivious."

You tilt your head. "Have you shared your feelings?"

He laughs. "So, so many times. He just doesn't get it. He doesn't think... Two guys..." He sighs and shakes his head in resignation. "I need to move out."

"You don't have to explain it," you say gently.

"Do you want to come in for some tea?" he asks.

You nod.

You walk up the stairs behind him. The string pulls taught as you reach his floor. You walk down the hallway, glancing at the various apartments, and pause at the door that the string leads to.

"Why are you stopped over there?" he says. "I live over here."

You blink, then follow him. He hesitates at the door. "I think he's home," he says.

"He can't be. The string leads down the hall," you say.

He opens the door. "Oh. Hey, roomie," he says.

His roommate waves back.

He gestures for you to sit.

You shake your head. "I have to tell you something," you whisper.

"Don't worry, he's got a headset on and he can't hear you right now," the man says.

"He's not your soulmate," you say.

"What?" he squawks.

You look at the string. It pulled taught straight into the wall.

"Come out to the hallway with me," you say. You knock on the door the string leads you to.

The man who answers says, "Oh no. Is your roommate being dumb again?"

Your client hesitates. He experiences a moment of realization.

"Oh. Y-yeah," he says.

"I got your favorite snacks," says the man who answered. "Also I need to share this new show with you. I know you'll love it."

Your client looks at you uncertainly. You smile.

"Oh, you're, um, welcome to join too," the man who answered says.

"No, you two have fun," you say with a knowing smile.

Your client smiles. "Thanks."

Some say that an invisible red string is tied around the fingers of soulmates meant to be together forever. As it turns out, you can see these red strings, and have therefore created a highly successful matchmaking business.

"Nowhere for you to run," the detective said.

"You always do this," the thief said with a sly grin. "Always end up pinning me against walls."

"You always do this," the detective scowled. "You try to get me flustered when you're out of other options."

The thief pressed close, and whispered hot in their ear, "I also like seeing you flustered." And then, gently, nipped their ear.

The detective yelped and flinched away, face red. The thief pushed forward. They toppled. The detective's glasses clattered behind them.

The thief grabbed them first.

"Give those back," the detective demanded.

"I don't think I will." The thief teased.

They moved to stand, but the detective pulled them into a kiss. The thief, caught off guard, let go of the glasses.

"S-see? I can strategically disarm you as well," the detective said, pocketing their glasses.

The thief blushed and stared intently.

"I-- I'm so sorry," the detective said. "I shouldn't have done that. That was incredibly inappropri--"

They couldn't finish as the thief stole their lips. They melted a little in the warmth.

"I'd better run," the thief said. "Same time and place as usual." They grinned cheekily, holding up the detective's wallet. "You're paying."

Then they were gone.

The detective, a little dazed, went home to prepare for their date.

Traditional hand-drawn animation my beloved

I love the warmth of the pencil

Idk why quality is so bad 😔

You see their name on caller ID. Tears form in your eyes. You collect yourself and pick up, only to hear the line disconnect.

"Listen," Cara said. "I love you. I care about you. But there comes a time when I feel like I can't reach you." She brushed aside Cup Ramens, soda bottles and chip bags. Bugs skittered out of the way.

"Yeah." Grenda stared at the ceiling.

"Please... Please, for god's sake, go to a phychiatrist. Hell, go to a General Physician. You're not happy, you're not functioning, you're not--"

"Worth it," Grenda said, voice heavy. "I'm not... Worth it. I'm..." She rolled on her side. "God, why am I... Why am I h-here..."

Cara sighed heavily. "Grenda." She tried to grab her arm, but Grenda pulled it away.

"I'm a burden on you," Grenda said. "Aren't you sick of it?"

"No. Grenda..." Cara laid beside her on the floor, touching her head.

"I could just--" Grenda started, but stopped.

"I--... I get tired too," Cara whispered. "I wonder... I wonder why I'm here."

Grenda choked a little. Blew her nose.

"This place is disgusting," Grenda whispered, voice raw. "But looking at it just... I feel like if I keep letting it pile up, maybe I'll drown in it. Just like I deserve."

Cara closed her eyes. "I love you, Grenda. I'm not going to pretend seeing you hurt doesn't hurt me, but... I don't want you to pretend you're fine."

Grenda sobbed. "I... I feel like I drag you down--"

"No." Cara grabbed her hand. "...No. Life... Drags me down. We are keeping each other afloat as best as we can." She kissed her hand.

"Why do you put up with me?" Grenda said. "Don't you hate me?"

"No," Cara whispered. "I just want to help you get better."

Grenda whimpered slightly.

They lay side by side in silence, until something crawled on Cara's arm. She shrieked and bolted upright.

"Grenda... I'm helping you clean your house," Cara said. "Go shower and... I'll start taking out the trash."

"But--" Grenda started.

"If you'll allow me," Cara said.

Grenda took a deep breath. "I... Thank you, Cara. Thanks. But I want-- no, I need to do this myself."

Cara deflated. "But--"

"I don't want this to be our relationship, you constantly having to save me," Grenda said.

Cara nodded gently.

"But you made me feel better," Grenda said. "I'm grateful to have you for a friend."

"Let me help you just this once," Cara said. "And use that energy to see a doctor. Think of it as investing in the future."

Grenda sighed. "You won't let this go, will you?"

"Not when it's about your health," Cara retorted.

Grenda groaned and covered her face. "Yeah. Okay, yeah. Just don't judge what you find."

"As long as you tell me if this is any good," Cara said, holding up a Fantasy novel with a suggestive cover.

Grenda snorted. "It isn't, but all the more reason why you should read it."

"I'm not depressed."

"You haven't showered in three weeks."

"That's just because I'm a terrible, disgusting person whose life is never going to amount to anything so why even bother trying, right? But I'm not depressed."