Traits of Sympathetic Villains in a Story
“Evil for Evil’s sake” just doesn’t cut it anymore.
If you’re writing villains that exist purely to oppose the hero, you’re probably leaving a lot of narrative potential on the table.
These days, audiences are gravitating toward sympathetic villains—antagonists who are morally complicated, emotionally layered, and sometimes even… kind of right?
In fact, I’d argue that one of the surest ways to elevate a story is to craft a villain who makes us uncomfortable because we get them. We might not agree with what they do, but we understand why they do it. That tension—between understanding and condemnation—is where the real magic happens.
This blog isn’t about the basics.
If you’re here, I’m assuming you’ve read the monomyth and diagrammed your fair share of tragic arcs. Instead, let’s go deeper. Let’s look at what actually makes a villain feel human—and why we sometimes root for them against our better judgment.
What Makes a Villain Relatable?
When we talk about sympathetic villains, we’re really talking about humanizing antagonism. It’s not just slapping a tragic backstory onto a bad guy—it’s about tapping into the same emotional and psychological frameworks that drive every believable character.
What makes a villain truly sympathetic—as opposed to just tragic—is their emotional resonance. They reflect something vulnerable, painful, or relatable about us. And when that’s done well, it creates a kind of cognitive friction. We’re forced to ask: What if I were them?
Would I make the same choices?
Let me show you what I mean.
1. Villainy Rooted in Loss, Trauma, or Fear
Take Zuko from Avatar: The Last Airbender. His need for validation and love from his abusive father drives his early antagonism. He’s not evil—he’s broken, confused, and scared. We see the damage. And even when he’s hunting our protagonist, we feel for him. Why? Because his pain is recognizable. He doesn’t wake up and choose violence for fun—he’s trying to restore a shattered sense of self.
And look, this doesn’t have to mean a villain is passive. Quite the opposite. The more they fight to fix what hurt them, the more dynamic they become. Think of Magneto—his radicalism is born from trauma, but that same trauma makes his ideology dangerously persuasive. He’s not just opposing the X-Men for conflict’s sake; he’s trying to prevent a future like the past he survived.
2. Empathy Through Moral Conflict
Now here’s where it gets interesting: when a villain’s beliefs almost make sense.
Killmonger in Black Panther is a textbook case. His motives are grounded in a legitimate critique of Wakanda’s isolationism and global Black oppression. The movie works precisely because we understand his rage. We might reject his method, but we can’t ignore his message.
This kind of villain doesn’t challenge the hero’s fists—they challenge the hero’s values. And as writers, that’s a goldmine. When your audience finds themselves nodding along with the antagonist, then stopping and thinking, Wait, should I be agreeing with this?, you’ve hit a narrative sweet spot. That tension creates deeper engagement.
3. Identity, Agency, and the “Shadow Self”
Carl Jung’s concept of the shadow self is so underused when designing villains. If your hero represents the light—the aspirational, moral self—your villain can represent the repressed, unacknowledged parts. They’re not just an obstacle; they’re a distorted mirror.
Walter White isn’t technically the “villain” of Breaking Bad early on, but he’s a great example of this dynamic. His journey is one of slowly embracing his shadow—ambition, pride, dominance—under the justification of “doing it for his family.” But viewers still rooted for him, even as he unraveled morally, because they saw a version of themselves in his slide. That’s uncomfortable. And compelling.
If you’re writing a villain and you’re not asking yourself, What part of the audience’s psychology am I trying to reflect or provoke?, you’re probably missing out on depth.
4. Relatability Isn’t Redemption
One final point here: making a villain sympathetic isn’t about redeeming them. It’s about adding emotional complexity so that their presence challenges both the protagonist and the audience.
Thanos in Infinity War was a philosophical villain, not a mustache-twirler. He genuinely believed in his plan to restore “balance.” The horror came from realizing that he thought he was saving the universe. And because the film gave him screen time to show that logic, it blurred the moral lines just enough to make us hesitate.
And that hesitation?
That’s what makes stories memorable.
Core Traits of Sympathetic Villains
By now, we’ve laid out the psychological groundwork. But let’s get practical—what concrete traits actually make a villain feel sympathetic? Below is a curated list I’ve built through a mix of writing experience, late-night story deconstructions, and let’s be honest—a lot of overthinking morally gray characters.
Each of these traits works best when layered—not thrown in like ingredients in a checklist casserole. When done right, these characteristics trigger empathy without softening the danger the villain poses.
1. A Tragic Backstory (But with Purpose)
Everyone loves a good fall-from-grace or origin-in-pain setup. But here’s the key: the backstory has to inform the villain’s present-day decisions, not just function as exposition.
Think of Mr. Freeze (Batman: The Animated Series). His desperate attempts to save his wife aren’t just there to make him sad—they justify his cold-hearted behavior (pun intended). He becomes dangerous because his grief over Nora turns obsessive. It’s not the tragedy itself—it’s what it makes him do.
Pro tip: Reveal backstory gradually. Let the audience judge actions first, then reframe their assumptions later. Sympathy hits harder when it surprises us.
2. A Noble Goal (Corrupted by Method)
Sympathetic villains almost always start with a point. Maybe they want peace. Or justice. Or equality. But they take a morally indefensible route to get there.
Case in point: Ozymandias from Watchmen. His plan to destroy New York and fake an alien invasion is horrifying—but his goal? Stop nuclear war. He “saves” humanity. Horrifically. The villain believes the end justifies the means—and what’s even more unsettling is that… maybe it did?
These are the villains who force the hero—and the audience—to consider the uncomfortable question: Would I do the same, if I thought it would work?
3. A Personal Moral Code
Not every villain needs to be chaotic evil. In fact, the more consistent and personal their ethics, the more human they feel. This is where we get villains who won’t hurt innocents, or who keep their word—even to their enemies.
Anton Chigurh (No Country for Old Men) is a wild example. He operates by a strict code, using a coin toss to decide fate. It’s not a good code, but it’s unwavering. And that consistency makes him compelling, not random.
Even when the moral system is twisted, it gives the villain a spine—a structure for the audience to grab onto.
4. Charisma and Intelligence
Let’s be honest: it’s hard to sympathize with someone we don’t want to hear speak. That’s why so many sympathetic villains are smart and charming as hell.
Hans Landa (Inglourious Basterds) is terrifying, but also hypnotic. He commands attention, and we want to listen—even as we’re repulsed. Loki from the MCU? Literally a god of mischief. He’s witty, charming, brilliant—and that makes us forgive more than we probably should.
Charisma bypasses moral scrutiny. It’s dangerous. And when a villain uses it well, we’re pulled in against our better judgment.
5. Deep Emotional Vulnerability
A villain who bleeds emotionally—even if they mask it—becomes instantly more real. Vulnerability is one of the fastest ways to generate empathy. It doesn’t even need to be sympathetic right away; it just needs to show that they’re affected by the world.
Kylo Ren (Star Wars) is a great case. He’s full of pain, insecurity, and conflict. He lashes out precisely because he feels things so intensely. That volatility makes him unpredictable—but also weirdly relatable.
Let them break down. Let them doubt. Give them that one scene where the mask slips. That’s often the moment audiences go from hate to fascination.
6. Relationship to the Protagonist
Some of the strongest sympathetic villains share a deep personal link with the hero—a mirror, a rival, or even a former friend. This dynamic allows for emotional storytelling that’s baked into the conflict.
Erik Killmonger isn’t just a political counterpoint to T’Challa—he’s family. The intimacy of that connection forces the protagonist to engage with his ideas, not just fight him.
Use this. Give your villain history with your protagonist. Let their conflict feel like a breakup, not a battlefield.
7. Self-Awareness
Last but not least, give your villain the power of reflection. A sympathetic villain might say: “I know what I’m doing is wrong. But I have no other choice.” That’s chilling—but human.
Contrast that with villains who are deluded into thinking they’re saints. Both are interesting. But self-aware villains tend to resonate more deeply because they’re carrying the burden of their choices. That burden reads as guilt, even if it’s buried.
Think of Gollum—who argues with himself, fears himself, and ultimately betrays himself. There’s something heartbreakingly real in watching someone lose a war with their own soul.
Building Sympathy Without Justification in a Villain’s Story
Here’s the tricky part: you want readers to empathize with your villain, not excuse them. And walking that line takes craft—real narrative control. So let’s talk shop.
1. Reframe Villainy Through Structure
One of the most powerful tools you have is when and how you reveal information. Don’t dump the villain’s tragic past in chapter one—make us hate them first. Then, once that judgment is solid, crack it.
There’s a moment in The Last of Us Part II (minor spoilers ahead) where the game shifts perspectives after you’ve committed a brutal act of revenge. Suddenly, you’re playing as the “villain.” The emotional whiplash is jarring—and brilliant. It forces the player to reckon with what they just enjoyed doing. That’s the gold standard of narrative empathy.
Technique: Use structural shifts (flashbacks, shifting POV, nonlinear timelines) to destabilize audience certainty. It turns black-and-white morality into an uncomfortable gray.
2. Let the Villain Make Sense
I can’t overstate this enough: your villain’s logic should be airtight—to them.
Don’t make them a hypocrite unless that hypocrisy is part of their arc. If they want to fix injustice, show why their plan seems like the only viable path to them. Let the audience wrestle with it. Better yet, let your hero wrestle with it.
In Black Panther, T’Challa ultimately adopts part of Killmonger’s ideology. That decision—to change because of a villain—proves the villain’s point had merit. That’s incredibly effective storytelling.
3. Show Kindness Without Sanctifying Them
Yes, your villain should have a moment of kindness—but don’t make it a redemption arc unless you’re committed to that path.
Maybe they pet a stray dog. Maybe they protect a child. These glimpses of softness are like cracks in armor. They don’t erase the harm they cause, but they haunt us. It’s unsettling to see monsters act gently.
Game of Thrones did this well with Jaime Lannister. Throwing a kid out a window? Unforgivable. But later, his relationship with Brienne shows growth, doubt, even decency. That complexity doesn’t wipe his sins—but it deepens his arc.
4. Use Dialogue to Show Internal Conflict
The best villains argue with themselves, not just others. Give them dissonance. Give them monologues that teeter on regret. Let them contradict their own rhetoric under pressure.
Why this works: Audiences tend to empathize with struggle. A villain who’s 100% sure of themselves is alienating. One who questions themselves—even a little—feels alive.
For example, in The Dark Knight, Harvey Dent doesn’t just become Two-Face overnight. We see him break. It’s painful and messy. The line “You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain” hits because we watched it happen.
5. Let Them Lose Something That Matters
If you want audiences to feel something when the villain fails or dies, then take something from them first. A loved one. A dream. Their sense of identity.
This isn’t about punishment—it’s about investment. We can’t grieve for a villain we didn’t believe had something to lose.
In Les Misérables, Javert’s suicide isn’t triumphant—it’s tragic. His worldview collapses because of one act of mercy. That unraveling is devastating because we saw how much he cared about justice, even if it was rigid and harmful.
6. Avoid Making Them a Victim of Plot Armor
Sympathetic villains shouldn’t feel protected by the narrative. Let their actions have consequences—even if we love them. That’s what makes the empathy real. We don’t root for them because they’re safe; we root for them because we understand what they’re fighting for.
Final Thoughts
Sympathetic villains aren’t built by accident. They’re the product of deliberate emotional layering, philosophical weight, and well-crafted tension. They challenge not just the hero, but the audience’s sense of right and wrong.
The best ones stick with us because they feel like people—not just plot devices. They make us hesitate. And in that hesitation, they earn their place as some of the most memorable characters we’ll ever write—or read.