Prompt #68
You are a superhero with a secret identity. Or it should be a secret identity, but somehow you are not very good at lying. So everyone knows who you are.
However, nobody ever admits knowing your secret (even though you know that they know).
So when you are standing in the middle of your room in your costume without your mask, you are not really surprised, that your roommate only says: „Cool cosplay.“
Prompt #54
A lot of superheroes keep their identity a secret by acting differently in and out of costume.
So what happens, when the superhero-team finds out, that the supposedly grumpiest, unhappiest and most silent hero is without his mask a real sunshine?
Prompt #32
Person A: *Reveals secret identity as a vigilante*
Person B: „I knew it!“
Person A: „What? How?“
Person B: „Because you are a horrible liar. I mean, every time you are injured, you have this unbelievable explanation. Like that time you broke your arm and you said you were attacked by a goose? Or the ‚I walked against a street-lamp‘ thing - you used that excuse three times! Or when you said, that you slipped on a banana peel. That only happens in movies.“
Person A: „...Actually I was telling you the truth most of the times. Except the second time I said, I walked into a street-lamp. I actually saved the world that time and got punched in the face by my archenemy.“
BESTIE U SKIPPED THE SASHANNE GAY MESS KISS FKWBXKFNCJ
ALSO PLS WHOEVER IS INTERESTED ASK ABOUT THIS AU CUZ OH BOY WE HAVE A LOT TO SAY-
PLEASE I COULDN’T FIT EVERYTHING YOU KNOW ITS BEEN 2+ HOURS OF JUST PURE WRITING
ALSO YES SASHANNE GAY MESS:
Silkrider finally warmed up to Spider after she realized the other wasn’t actually interested in dating Anne—the two met when The Spider saved Anne and she asked for a photograph, and it just escalated. The two vigilantes clarified that neither were predators, they were just trying to defend the civilian from the other’s “wrong intentions,” but it was all a misunderstanding. So with Anne safe, and the start of a new friendship with the Spider, things were looking up.
Until Anne got into danger. This journalism photography is gonna be the death of her. Silkrider saved Anne, safely dropping her down from the roof before taking care of the villain. Hah, Spider never even had the chance to show up. She went back to check on her friend and realized she was staring, jaw dropped.
Silkrider pulled her mask up to speak clearer from five stories away. She huffed and leaned on the ledge, “What? Not gonna take any amazing photos of the incredible Silkrider? Or is that honor reserved for The Spider.”
“Uh... I dropped my camera up there.”
She checked behind her—and yes, it was definitely on the roof. Damaged. “Hey—you’re Anne, right?” She called to the alleyway below.
“Yes...?”
Silkrider tethered a web to a balcony and slowly lowered herself down, holding the camera close to her chest, “Well, sorry Anne, I think the lense is broken.” She handed it over as gently as she could.
“Oh no—this was so expensive!” Anne started to freak out, “It’s not even mine! The Daily Bugle lent it to me—I can’t have broken it!”
Silkrider grabbed her shoulder, snapping her out of her rambling. “Hey, I know a place where they repair cameras like these. I could have it fixed for you—I mean, if you’re okay with that.”
Anne stared at her with wide eyes, “Uh. Yeah. I mean—yes please. Thank you.”
Silkrider gave her a small smile. Anne leaned in.
It was an awkward upside down crashing of lips, but as Anne shoved the camera into Silkweaver’s hand and ran out the alley with a very bright blush glowing on her face, Sasha could only think it was the best kiss she ever had.
Batman’s secret identity gets revealed to the public and now when asked about it bruce fully plays into it in a way that makes it sound like an obvious joke.
"oh yes of course i’m the batman, i keep all of my secret bat-gadgets in a secret cave under wayne manor and i definitly love dressing up as a bat during my free time, it’s very freeing haha"
Then batman starts publically beefing with bruce wayne for impersonating him.
"bruce wayne is an idiot and has always been. this is why I never go save him when he always gets himself kidnapped like the incompetent bastard he is"
Somehow this strategy succeed in making everyone stop believing batman is bruce wayne. Except now people think they act like salty exes
author:
summary: Five times Dazai Osamu asked Dr. Nakahara out on a date while sporting varying degrees of injuries and got rejected, and one time he finally did it right.
A Man of His Word
(Context: Civilian has a friend that is well known for never breaking promises. This friend also just so happens to have a secret, and Civilian has figured it out.)
Cw: threat of death, knife violence
Civilian smiled across the kitchen at Friend. He was helping them put their groceries away, transferring things from the floor to the fridge. Plastic rustled as he removed milk from one bag and various cheeses from another.
“Thanks again for helping me carry these. You know how much I hate doing two trips.”
Friend sighed, rolling his head back dramatically as he replied, “I know you just keep me around for my arm muscles.”
Civilian glared at their friend, who was now flexing his biceps, for all of two seconds before a smile broke back out across their face.
“But really, it’s no problem at all.”
Breaking the comfortable silence after the amendment, Friend bunched up an empty bag, throwing it straight at Civilian instead of shoving it into the bag-of-bags looped around the pantry door handle.
Civilian gasped as they batted it away, instinctively going for the closest thing on the island that wasn’t breakable. They clutched the freshly-bought apple in their hand before throwing it mercilessly at their friend. Luckily, Friend caught it with a laugh, keeping the fruit from being bruised.
Civilian joined in with some light giggling of their own as they watched him take a bite with a satisfying crunch before continuing to stock the fridge while they conquered the pantry.
“Hey! That was supposed to be for a pie!” They protested.
“Please,” he started, pulling some scissors from the kitchen drawer and cutting open the plastic rings from a six-pack of soda they had broken into earlier. “I saved it from a terrible fate:” He finished, tossing the bird-safe remains into the trash, “The horrors of your baking.”
Civilian gaped in offense.
“No more birthday cakes for you!”
“The best gift I could ever ask for,” he winked, coming over to throw an arm over Civilian’s shoulders and ruffle their hair.
The normalcy sent off a pang in their chest.
A thoughtful, dependable, goofy guy. It was just so easy to believe.
It was a shame they knew it was a lie.
Friend had started to relay some adventure from earlier in his day, which Civilian tried their best to attend to. In the background, the TV in the living room was playing some stupid sitcom with a shitty laugh track that was definitely being overused. They leaned against the counter, basking in the peace of it all for just another moment.
Before it all went to shit.
Civilian made their move after the pantry was shut and they both headed for the next room.
“Hey,” Civilian checked their nails as they spoke, “I want to talk to you about something, but you have to promise me something first.”
An innocently confused, mildly concerned expression plastered itself over Friend’s face as he stopped short of the couch. Civilian’s stomach twisted at the sight.
“Yeah, of course. Anything.”
Friend crossed their arms and leaned against the pony wall disarmingly.
“You have to hear me out. Give me ten seconds.”
An awkward chuckle.
“What is this about?”
Civilian met their friend’s eyes seriously.
“Just promise me. Ten seconds.”
“Okay… Yeah sure, ten seconds,” he assured, shooting them an uneasy smile.
Civilian took a deep breath.
“I know who you are.”
And just like that, Friend was gone. Instead, there was Villain, pinning Civilian to the floor, holding a blade a hair’s width from their jugular.
Where he had hidden the knife, Civilian had no idea, not that was particularly important right now. Only one thing was.
“You promised!” They squeaked out, hating how helpless they were in that moment, how they were betting their life on there being a kernel of their friend left in the man on top of them now.
Inflectionless, he responded, “Nine. Eight.”
Civilian’s relief was very short lived. Shit, they should have said fifteen.
Trying so very hard to stay still, to keep that sharpened metal away from their carotid, they practically whispered their desperate plea to the stone face above them, “I don’t care. I swear to anything I don’t. You have a plan to take down Hero. In- in three days. I need to help.”
“Two.”
Frantically, they stumbled over their words as they added. “Oh! and um- dead man’s switch.”
Despite themselves, they scrunched their eyes shut as their internal countdown hit zero. When nothing happened, their eyelids fluttered open again to see utterly unchanged features. No reaction at all.
“What,” Villain spoke, in a voice that Civilian no longer recognized, “does that mean?”
“If I live, your identity stays between us. If I die…”
A sharp pain lit up their arm as, presumably, the knife that had been at their neck relocated itself into their flesh. Civilian swore.
“Who,” Villain growled lowly, leaning close to their ear, “The fuck. Do you think you are?.”
“Someone with a will to live?” Civilian choked, no longer scared to take deep, heaving breaths to the side now that there wasn’t a blade directly above their artery.
“Clearly not. People who want to live keep their mouth shut and run far, far away,” he spit.
Their head was wrenched back into a forward-facing position via a hand in their hair.
“How long?” Villain demanded.
Civilian blinked. Right, the switch.
“Fifteen minutes.”
Suddenly, they were being hauled up by the collar, then unceremoniously shoved into the light blue accent wall, conveniently within sight of where their laptop rested closed in the middle of the room.
“Disable it.”
“I can’t. It's automatic, every 8 hours. No off switch.”
Spots arose in their vision as their arm was grabbed in a rather unfortunate location.
“Disable. It.”
“I can’t. I swear.”
“I can get the code one way or another,” Villain warned.
“I know you could.” Involuntary tears dripped down their face as they explained, “There’s nothing to get. The answer changes every time. It’s randomly selected. I don’t know it till I see it.”
“You’re lying,” he accused, and Civilian didn’t have to look to know that they were bleeding somewhere else now with just a swipe of his hand.
“I’m not! Give me the laptop, we’re running out of time.”
Civilain gestured wildly to the oak wood coffee table.
“The only person running out of time here is you.”
With that, Civilian was thrown back to the floor, Villain straddling their horizontal form before they could get their legs underneath them to scramble back. The knife returned, only this time it would not be pressed shallowly, and there would be no more counting, no more promises of time, no more hesitation.
”Look! Hero killed my parents, okay?!” They blurted, a last, desperate attempt at getting through to him before he ended their life.
Maybe there was a shred of Friend left in the villain after all, because Civilian caught the slightest moment of pause in his movements, a blip they might never have noticed having never spent time with the man.
“Please, I would never stop you,” they pleaded, searching for another blip deep inside their former friend’s eyes. They came away empty.
They didn’t really know how it happened, but somehow they ended up perched on the couch, laptop open and propped on shaking legs. Villain breathed down their neck every second, watching them like a starved hawk.
They were lucky they could even punch the code in with the amount of nervous movement in their fingers and hands.
“That’s it. We’re good for another eight hours,” they confirmed, slowly closing the lid of their laptop and sliding it back onto the table next to the coaster. “Guess we’re partners now,” Civilian laughed weakly.
“No,” Villain dissented, in a tone that left no room for argument. “You’re a temporarily-alive prisoner.”
He appeared in front of them, pulling them up and off the couch with an alarmingly harsh grip.
“Don’t forget it.”