neon-kazoo

[neon-kazoo]

Part one Part two

A Price (Nothing Comes for Free part three)

Cw: soft restraint (for medical reasons), wound care without anesthetic/analgesic

In an bittersweet turn of events, Hero got to see Sidekick after all. Well, 'see' was a strong word, their vision blurring as it was. They could barely make out a figure laid out on the white sheets of what must have been a medical bed, similar to the one they now found themselves on.

"Hero? What the hell?"

Hero didn't know whether to be relieved or alarmed that Sidekick was awake. Thinking was like moving through sludge, and they almost didn't register the danger that they were currently in, like hearing an alarm blaring while your head is underwater. At the very least, it was nice to hear their partner's voice.

Suddenly, pain broke sharply through the fog and Hero reached to clutch their side.

"Uh uh." Hands closed over their wrists before they could reach, pushing them back against the thin foam to their sides. The villain's form leaned over them, switching their grip for that of a softer but just as unforgiving material.

With their arms restrained, Hero attempted to curl their other two limbs towards the wound. Weak as they were, it was easy for the villain to push their thighs back down, but they seemed exasperated as they did.

"This was easier on your unconscious counterpart," Villain mumbled, though maybe that was just the blood rushing in their ears that made them sound that way.

"Let me—" Sidekick started to swing their legs off the bed before they were quickly interrupted.

"You pop those stitches and I'm not redoing them," Villain warned, pointing an accusing finger back across the room.

Sidekick retreated immediately, laying their head back with tight lips that suggested Villain's warning wasn't the only thing keeping them from springing upright.

"I ran out of lidocaine on my earlier patient. So, to put it lightly," Villain informed them with all the sympathy one would use to regard a rock, "this is gonna hurt."

Hero groaned as Villain hopped onto the bed and settled their weight onto their thighs. They couldn't quite find it in themselves to care as they cut away the bottom of their shirt and reached for the supplies laid on a small table pulled to the edge next to them. It already hurt, they weren't really sure it could get much worse.

Spoiler alert: it absolutely could.

Rubbing their hands together with what was probably a sanitizer, Villain started by tearing open a packet of some type of powder and holding it in their off hand while their other headed for the scrapnel. They poked gingerly around the edges for a moment and Hero bit their lip to the point they tasted blood.

"Hm, doesn't look too deep—"

With no warning, they yanked it out, immediately covering the hole that was left with a hefty sprinkling of powder and replacing the metal with a heap of rags. Villain leaned their entire upper body into pressing the cloth against the wound, taking weight off of Hero's legs in the process.

Hero wasn't quite conscious enough to hear the sound that escaped them as this happened. Next thing they knew, all they could register was Sidekick's voice, sounding like it was shouted from the other end of a tunnel.

"-reathe Hero. Breathe!"

Hero sucked air past their swollen lip and slowly the spots dancing in their vision faded out one by one.

"Still with us, Hero?" The villain mused, much closer and clearer than before. "I'm impressed."

Hero groaned again, though a little more out of annoyance this time.

"You f—”

Villain raised an eyebrow and Hero wisely decided against finishing that statement. Instead, they directed their attention to the other person in the room.

"Sidekick, are you okay?"

Something akin to startled and weak laughter travelled across the room, before Sidekick answered, "I think I'm doing better than you."

Hero would've laughed, if they could lift their diaphragm without excruciating pain.

"Since you feel like talking, care to tell me what the hell you were thinking?" Sidekick called over.

"I don't believe 'thinking' factored into this decision," Villain cut in, reminding Hero that they were still there and privy to this conversation.

"Yeah, that checks out," Sidekick spoke with an eye roll Hero couldn't see but could still sense all the same.

"Excuse me for not wanting you to die, Sidekick," Hero grit out.

"Says the one actively bleeding to death!"

"You almost died first!"

"And here I thought I was capturing heroes, not children."

Finally, Villain shifted their weight, lifting up the towels briefly to check if blood was still flowing. They must have started clotting, because Villain didn't replace the pressure. Their enemy grabbed a bottle from the table and spun open the top, moving to straddle the hero now instead of sitting completely on them.

"Hey, you could at least take me to dinner fir—" Hero choked as they poured antiseptic into the wound, soaking some into a clean rag and using it to wipe around the edges.

Sidekick's voice returned but with its edge, soothing in a way that not many people could master with the hero. "Breathe, Hero. In and out."

Closing their eyes momentarily to focus, Hero missed the villain pick up a needle and thread. They pinched the skin together and Hero hissed as they started stitches, but opening their eyes and watching their sidekick conduct a pattern of breathing kept them grounded.

By the time their wound was dressed and their arms released, Hero could barely keep their head off the foam.

"This comes with a price, you know?" Villain patted atop the dressing, hard enough to hurt but not enough to risk a stitch popping or a recurrence of bleeding.

"They know," Sidekick answered, something regretful in their tone.

They were all well aware, nothing comes for free.

Those interested: @piplupfluffwritingstuff2 @autisticdryspaghetti

[neon-kazoo]

And only over one year later, I present part three of my favorite snippet—by popular request.

Part one (Choo Choo) Part two (Honk Honk)

Beep Beep (The Briefcase- Part Three)

Turns out, when you try to run more than twice, you get hand cuffed to the steering wheel.

Who knew, right?

At least that dispelled any obligation to keep cooking up half-baked escape plans and executing them to the worst of their abilities. Unfortunately, this also meant that Hero had to drive. With the busted ankle they were pushing pedals two-footed, which was inadvisable under most circumstances but Hero felt they could make an exception for this one. As long as they remembered right foot was gas and left foot was brake, everything would be fine.

Well, almost fine. Not really, though.

Villain had wasted no time grabbing their wrist and cinching shining silver metal down over it. The quality was once again infuriating to the hero that attempted to discreetly yank on the cuffs as hard as they could, revealing only that they were more likely to pull out the entire steering column than to get themselves free. Villain must have noticed, Hero knew he did. They could clock that amused look even just out of the corner of their eye, but graciously he let them have their silent tantrum, knowing damn well they weren’t going to get anywhere with it.

First the stupid shoes, and now these stupid cuffs. Where did Villain even get this shit? Someone—and Hero wasn’t pointing fingers here—should have put these things to better use and handcuffed themselves to that case and avoided this whole fiasco in the first place.

Speaking of the case, where on Earth was it?

A better question, what was a random—different—briefcase doing in the back of a random semi. Hero had yet to figure out what was even in the original case, but whatever it was certainly hadn’t been in the second one. Villain—in a rare unveiled moment of rage—had snapped it open in anger by swinging it repeatedly against the concrete until it cracked open and all that had fluttered out were fifty plus blank pieces of paper.

Whoever was on the other end of that phone was in a lot of trouble. That was still a mystery to Hero too.

Regardless, Hero was trying their best to master the new skill of restrained driving. Luckily, Villain was available to be an excellent motivator, sitting right beside them with the eyes of an eagle and the bullets of a Glock.

At least, their current chances of being noticed were pretty high. They had covered a lot of ground since the semi incident, but police presence would have to be elevated if anybody had heard those shots. This was optimistic for such a rural area, but Hero really hoped most hunting was currently out of season. Not to mention they were driving a car that was still riddled with bullet holes. If that didn’t get someone’s attention, Hero didn’t know what would.

Abruptly, Villain ordered, “Turn here.”

Hero turned into the lot, which was full of rusted and half-assembled cars. A long building held several garage-like doors, but Villain directed them to park tucked beside a smaller building off to the side. A faded and broken wooden sign, barely visible under two small outdoor lights, read “Bill’s Auto.”

Great, a car switch. It was almost like they manifested it.

Hero was tired of Villain being two steps ahead of their every thought. Sure, they were impulsive, reckless, and sometimes just plain stupid, but occasionally they were pretty capable of things. They hadn’t felt capable since before they got on that train.

Villain left the car and slipped inside the shack-like office, returning just a moment later with a new set of keys. He came back to unlock them from the wheel and Hero groaned as they attempted to heave themselves out of the truck.

The past forty-eight hours—or-so, they really stopped keeping count—were starting to catch up with them. Hard. They were so tired it wasn’t even funny. And on top of that, everything hurt. Apparently, they had also lost Advil privileges, which Hero was incredibly salty about. Sure, it was their own fault, but really, what were they supposed to do? Hand over the briefcase and pray Villain wouldn’t use it to end the world or something? For all they knew, his plan was to go kill innocent babies with it. They’d take a mosaic of bruises over the fall of civilization any day.

Okay, they were probably being just a little dramatic. Surely, it would take more than a sixteen inch briefcase to end the world as they knew it.

It was really best to be sure though, wasn’t it? For the babies' sakes.

At any rate, they weren’t going to have anything figured out with an empty stomach. They hadn’t seen Villain transfer any snacks to the new car they were driving, and though the cracked tan upholstery was starting to look rather appetizing, they figured it probably wouldn’t sit right.

“I’m hungry,” Hero stated neutrally, which was quite the understatement in their opinion. Starving was more like it, but they feared rejection if they sounded too whiny. It wasn’t like they were on particularly thick ice at the moment. Right on cue, their stomach growled like a jet engine, providing them ample evidence to back up their claim.

“That’s too bad,” came the lilting reply.

It had to be past midnight, and there wasn’t really a lot of options around to begin with, let alone ones open at this hour. Hero had been scouting for drive thrus for the last thirty miles, fantasizing about sizzling drinks and greasy food. So far, all they had seen was a sketchy Dollar General that was suspiciously still open with several shady figures hanging around. Hero was already a part of one too many conspiracies this week, so they opted out of trying that one. This new tank was three-quarters full, so they couldn’t finesse a gas station stop. They just had to hope Villain had no real interest in leaving them to starvation,  as it would be pretty unfortunate for Hero to run them both off the road because their blood sugar dropped.

Speaking of, a glorious sign had just appeared, peaking out of a break in the never ending line of trees just up ahead. A giant yellow M.

Hero gasped.

Villain looked over in mild alarm before rolling his eyes.

“Can we—”

“It is two a. m.”

“They’re open twenty-four hours,” Hero argued.

“No, they aren’t,” the villain stated.

“The lights are on.”

Hero activated their turn signal and started to lightly press on the brake.

“We are not stopping,” Villain insisted, grabbing the steering wheel with one hand to keep them from turning. Hero frowned disappointedly but kept the vehicle on a straight forward path. The turn lane slowly disappeared and Villain took his hand off the wheel.

“Well,” Hero sighed, “it’s a good thing you’re not driving.”

Before Villain could pull out any creative new threats, Hero jerked the wheel at the very last second, cutting across the double yellow line and sending the car swinging into a very improper partial u-turn. They pulled into the desolate parking lot at a frowned upon speed, barreling towards the overhang with two yellow arches and blatantly ignoring the gun now shoved into their side.

“What the—Hero, I would think seriously about your next mo—“

Hero hit the brakes hard and rolled the window down. Villain recoiled from almost being folded into the glove box. Hero figured that would teach him to wear his seatbelt.

“Hi, welcome to McDonald’s,” an employee droned through the dying speaker. “Will you be using your mobile app today?”

"Hi,“ Hero started, hesitating briefly from the villain whispering lowly in their ear.

“Say a word that isn’t on that menu, and you can forget about eating anything ever again.”

Hero’s skin blanched slightly.

“…No I will not.”

“Alright, what can I get for you.”

Hero took a deep breath, which was unsatisfying with the increasing pressure at their ribs.

"Can I get a Double Quarter Pounder with cheese, a large fry, and a Dr. Pepper, please. Large.”

"Oooookay, and will that be all?”

Hero recovered from the earlier moment quickly and turned to face Villain, asking him casually, “What do you want?”

Villain, to his credit, only gaped for a moment before answering.

“I’ll take a McFlurry.”

A suspicious beat of silence followed.

“Uh, sorry." The essence of a minimum wage employee leaked through speaker. "Our ice cream machine is broken.”

Hero tried and failed to smother a laugh with their free hand. That was the best thing they had heard all week. Villain, perpetually unfazed as he was, didn’t miss a beat.

“Just a coke, then.”

Ugh, unbothered bastard. He just had to ruin it.

The worker shared their total and asked them to pull forward and Hero happily complied. They noticed the villain staring daggers at them as they lifted their brake foot and lowered their gas foot as gently as they could.

“What?” They looked over to see Villain’s eyes shift to their wrist. “Oh,” Hero rolled their eyes. “Please, it’s two a. m. Everyone is either too high or too tired to notice.”

And if they did, they’d probably just assume it was a kink thing, but Hero wasn’t going to mention that.

Villain reached into the backseat anyway, grabbing Hero’s discarded jacket and throwing it over their arm. Just in time, as the window opened and a shaggy-haired employee read out their total again. Hero held out their hand expectantly. Villain stared at their palm, making no move to fill it with anything.

“You have money, right?” Hero questioned. Briefly, they started to wonder if Villain had reached levels of thievery that surpassed all need for legal tender. He disproved this theory when he finally reached for his wallet and pulled out a twenty, handing it over with an unreadable look on his face.

“Would you like to round up for Ronald McDonald house?”

“Of course.” Hero smiled as they passed two drinks into the car.

Was this stop their smartest idea? Probably not. Okay, definitely not. It was just so hard to think. Bad decisions were kind of their default lately, as they had unfortunately come to find out.

By the time they were handed their bag, Hero could barely form a coherent thought. It was a good thing the worker never spared them a glance because they were salivating like one of Pavlov’s dogs.

They pulled out of the drive thru and into a random spot—well, more like two spots with the way they took the faded white lines as more of a suggestion than a proper guide—and threw the car into park. They immediately reached for the bag that had been warming their lap, but Villain beat them to it. He snatched the food with a loud crumple and Hero’s heart fell. He pointedly looked straight out the windshield while placing the bag strategically to his right side. He reached in, pulling out a straw. He struck it against the door once before placing it between his lips. Turning his head, he pointed it at the hero and blew the wrapper off. Hero froze, too dumbstruck to retrieve the crumpled paper from where it had fallen onto their seat after striking them right in the forehead.

He took a long sip of his coke and was surely relishing in the overwhelming tension in Hero’s body as he did. He picked two fries between his fingers, bringing them leisurely up to his mouth. When he smacked his lips, Hero almost lost it, stopping themselves just short of lunging across the car and catching something—or someone—with their teeth.

He must have seen them jerk, because he chuckled in a way that made their face burn.

“Pull another stunt like that,” he spoke amusedly between fries, “and you will be upgraded to cargo in the trunk.”

Hero nodded slowly, eyeing their lost meal with immeasurable grief.

Point taken.

Villain handed the bag back, short one box of salty paradise.

A small price to pay.

Hero dug in like a ravenous raccoon, tearing the bag in at least two places as they did.

“Damn it,” they groaned, unwrapping their burger and lifting up the bun. “They forgot the cheese.”

——————

The cuffs came off when the sun rose and they entered a quaint little town, marked by few pedestrians and a colorful welcome sign. Just the click of a tiny key and they could almost pretend they were just on a typical miserable roadtrip and zone out accordingly. Villain took a phone call that briefly pulled the hero out of their self-induced road hypnosis. They caught a place and time—Betty's at noon. He didn't elaborate and Hero didn't ask, unwilling to push their luck any further than they already had.

Another routine bathroom break and gas stop later, Villain had them pull into the center of a lot facing a cute torquoise-themed cafe. He twisted and pulled the keys out of the ignition after they parked, tucking them into his back pocket and pulling out his phone. Hero watched as he shot off a quick text before climbing out of the car. He slammed the door shut unnecessarily hard—probably used to the old beat up thing they had left behind at the auto shop—and left without so much as a teeny tiny threat. Hero watched him walk away skeptically, their scrutiny intensifying as he held open the door for a woman with kids heading out.

Inside, he approached the figures of a man and a woman before disappearing behind a pillar. On the other side, Hero saw them moving with a proximity and some body language—namely laughter and a clap on the back—that suggested they were something akin to old friends. A host lead them to a table of which Hero had an unimpeded view of through the main window.

Villain seemingly thanked the host and settled into a dainty chair facing the back of the restaurant, gesturing for his companions to sit across from him. The woman crossed one leg over the other under the table, revealing a pair of pointed velvet heels—and Hero recognized that shade of maroon. They all situated at a little round table and picked up their mini menus with what Hero could only assume was faux interest—given all they surely had to discuss.

Glancing away for a moment to process, Hero spotted something that almost had them short-circuiting. Laying on the leather of the front passenger seat was the key ring, engine key attached. Hero blinked, switching their gaze rapidly between the seat and the window.

He left them in the car. With the keys.

Hero looped their finger through the ring and pulled it towards them, lifting it up in disbelief.

This felt like a test.

…

But what if it wasn’t?

He didn’t show it, but Hero knew Villain had to be exhausted. Running around for three days straight without any more than one proper meal a day took a toll on even the most indestructible of people. It was entirely possible the keys just slipped out of his pocket, his mind occupied elsewhere with tracking the case—though maybe that was just their own exhaustion talking.

It was time for a pro/con analysis.

Pro: leaving meant getting the fuck out of here. They could forget this whole thing and go home. Alone. Nobody to steal their fries, a long hot shower, and an ulcer-inducing amount of Advil. And sleep. Lots and lots of sleep.

Con: they were already this far in. If they left now, not only would they be on the run with a pissed off Villain on their tail—not that that was particularly new—but they would also have no access to information about the briefcase. If they bailed now, the past thirty-six hours or-so would all be for nothing. It was hard to consider just giving up now, sunk cost fallacy and what not.

Pro: not giving in to their enemy. They couldn’t have Villain thinking that he broke them. Hero was never one to stay down, even when they probably should. As previously demonstrated.

Con: if this was a test, they risked being thrown in the trunk and losing any future—real—opportunities to escape.

The likelihood of this con being applicable was rising steadily in their mental assessment. Villain had yet to make any mistakes so far, at least not since the case had fallen in the water—and that really wasn't even his fault. Hero knew from past encounters that his calculations were almost automatic—and very rarely flawed. There was really no way he didn’t know exactly what he was doing when he left the keys in the car and went inside the building, sat facing pointedly away from them.

So it was definitely a test.

Well, if Hero knew how to do one thing, it was fail.

Within a moment the engine was ignited and the tires squealing as Hero threw it in drive. The woman inside the cafe gave the villain a polite tap on the shoulder as the sedan shot off with a light rhythmic thump Hero didn’t remember it having before. They paid it no mind as there were far too many other things to be stressed about at the moment. Like the old woman and two children crossing the road in front of them.

Hero panicked. They had assumed there was no one around, as it was when they pulled in. Hero laid on the horn and hit the brake hard—except no, that wasn’t the brake.

That was the gas.

“Wrong foot! Wrong foot—“ Hero cursed.

They spun the wheel and hit the curb, thankfully preventing them from fulfilling a real-life trolley problem. They didn’t dare look back at the cafe, instead gritting their teeth. They shifted into reverse and threw their arm over the passenger seat like a teenage boy on a movie date to make sure there were no more pedestrians to potentially become pancakes behind them. The car dropped off the curb with a concerning thunk and oh—that tire was definitely blown.

Well, too late to stop now.

Hero floored their right foot—on purpose this time. The thunking unfortunately continued as hero attempted to turn onto the two lane road and the sound quickly turned into a metal-on-concrete screech.

Hero winced and yelled “Sorry Bill!” in no particular direction.

It seemed Bill didn't appreciate the sentiment—either that or he wasn't big on forgiveness. In the rear view, Hero could see lumps of black on the concrete that totally weren't rubber. And if they were, they definitely weren't from the sedan. Even with their gallons of denial, they could only pretend they were hitting endless potholes for so long before it became painfully clear that this car wasn't going to last the next two blocks, let alone get them to a place where they could safely ditch it and head home. This fact rapidly ushered in the fifth stage of grief: acceptance that they were going to have to run.

The all-too familiar flood of adrenaline felt a little too much like dread for their liking as they used numb fingers to unbuckle their seatbelt. They threw open the door and swung their legs out to stand, catching a glimpse of disfigured silver hubcaps when they rounded the car.

Ah—where to go?

They spun to do a quick scan of their surroundings. Back towards the cafe? No. The woods surrounding town? No. A gas station, a laundromat, another car—

Suddenly they were spinning again, but this time in the opposite direction. There were hands on their shoulders and in the next second they were falling—no they were pushed—into the surprisingly soft interior of the sedan. A quick glance back revealed a figure leaning against the door behind them, maroon shirt blocking most of the window from the outside. Semi frantically, Hero looked forward to see a woman holding open the door they had just fallen into. Last but certainly not least, with arms braced on either side of the opening, Villain leaned into the car after them. He loomed like the manifestation and personification of every terrible decision that had led them here—which was a lot.

Hero looked at him with bleary terror. By their own count, this was strike three. They expected to see fury-filled eyes, a threat on the tip of his tongue, maybe even a knife between his fingers. Instead, they saw nothing but stone. He looked back at them for an indeterminate amount of time, and every second that passed just unsettled the hero further.

But there was nothing scarier than the words he finally decided to speak.

“I think it’s time we have a talk.”

Those interested: @whumplicity @sp00kyssscary

[neon-kazoo]

Honk Honk (The briefcase-pt. 2) as requested o7

Choo Choo (part 1)

He had led them all the way back to the depot, weaving through discarded train cars and criss-crossing tracks like it was his second home. They had stopped at a forest green two-door Chevy in a gravel—Hero was really starting to hate gravel—backlot. The truck was old enough that Villain had to twist the key in the lock and rattle the handle to pry the door open. He had shoved Hero past the steering wheel and climbed in after them and the vehicle roared to life after two tries aggressively turning the key in the ignition. Twisted ankle screaming from the uneven terrain, Hero had all but collapsed onto the fabric bench seat, endlessly thankful to not be tossed in the back in a body bag or an equally-claustrophobia-inducing enclosure.

Hero assumed it was his car, given the fact that he knew the key would be left in the rear wheel well and the heavy aroma of tobacco. Hero swore they were getting lung cancer just smelling it.

Wrinkled nose aside, Hero sat obediently in the passenger seat of the truck, busying themselves with a roll of gauze Villain had fished out of the back and thrown at them carelessly. Since he had such great care for their well-being, he even mentioned he hoped the switchblade was clean—which thankfully it was.

He did, however, refuse to offer assistance in the wrapping of Hero’s inconveniently-located gashes, which led Hero to sport several loose and stray loops of gauze around their arms before they shrugged their jacket back on. Clearly, he was still mad they interrupted his smoke break.

They were just glad he had not actually pushed the blade into their thigh, because there was no way Hero would be removing their pants to care for a leg wound next to Villain in this tiny cab.

They were able to wrap their rib wound with a little difficultly, tucking their shirt up and holding one end of gauze with their chin and praying Villain wouldn’t take the next curve too hard. Hero didn’t know how much good just dressing the stab and slices would do healing-wise, but it was their only option, and at the very least it might staunch the bleeding.

The belt across their lap did little to help hold them in place as they worked, and they found that most of their muscles protested their continued usage. Finally good enough to hold, Hero tore the wrap with their teeth and shoved the tail between the layers above their stomach. Only then could they relax.

Well, relax was a bit of a strong word.

Exactly how mad was Villain, and what did that mean for Hero? He certainly didn’t seem too shy about dealing fatal blows a few hours ago. They realized tiredly that they should probably be trying to figure out a way out of this before he made good on his previous threats.

Hero eyed the door handle beside them. Before they could commit to any less-than-stellar ideas, Villain cleared his throat. That was when Hero finally spotted the gun resting in his lap.

“I think you’ve had enough abrupt departures from moving vehicles for the day, don’t you?”

Hero tried to slump, but quickly shot back up at the pain in their ribs. They threw Villain a sideways glare.

Knife-happy bastard.

Hero just hoped he wasn’t going to be so liberal with the use of his bullets.

“Are you gonna tell me what this is all about?”

Are you going to kill me?

Villain answered only with silence, so Hero closed their increasingly-heavy eyelids and tried to work through the situation in their head.

A strange meeting, a black briefcase, an angry Villain.

It didn’t make sense.

Despite the uneven rocking of a poor-suspension system and the rumbling of a questionable engine, Hero eventually drifted off with their head rolling like a rag doll and filled with unanswered questions.

They awoke to almost smashing their head open like a watermelon on the dash as Villain pulled aggressively into a spot at a rest stop. Hero saw poorly-lit vending machines and restroom signs between heavy blinks they tried to use to clear the sleep from their head. Lagging back into reality, Hero turned to squint at Villain…who was somehow now wearing jeans and a hoodie?

They blinked a few more times just to be sure, and the figure in the driver’s seat didn’t change. It was still him—and Hero had not hallucinated their failed mission because they could still see the remnants of gel in his hair—but clearly Hero had been out long enough for Villain to do a quick change or something. Hero cursed themselves for falling unconscious when they should have been worrying about an escape or finding the case. Not to mention, they didn’t trust Villain as far as they could throw them, and they would much rather be awake in his presence.

Hero assessed themselves, and found they remained exactly as disheveled as they were before they left the waking world. The hastily-wrapped gauze was even still poking out of their sleeve.

“Sleep well?” He mocked.

Judging by the massive crick in their neck, the answer was yes.

“Right up until you almost gave me a traumatic brain injury,” Hero replied, slightly mumbling as they rubbed at their eyes and dragged their hands down their face dramatically.

“Had to wake you up somehow,” he replied with a trace of mischief as he exited the car and started walking around the hood towards their side.

Hero froze in confusion when their door was opened.

Villain leveled them with a look that screamed ‘where-are-your-brain-cells?’ and threw his head back towards the scary looking building and rolled his eyes.

“Bathroom? You know, bodily functions?”

Hero did not feel very intelligent as they unbuckled the flimsy lap belt and walked under the flickering street lights.

Left to their own devices in the poorly-maintained family bathroom, Hero silently thanked Congress for the hand rails that helped them limp around the room. Outside, Villain could be heard talking on what Hero presumed was a phone, considering how deserted this stop was.

Hero, of course, eavesdropped. Blah blah, fifty miles north, blah blah, should have known, blah blah blah—Something about a blue cab?

Briefly, they considered locking the door and trying to wait Villain out, but they decided the chances of him having a lock picking set or just plain being able to bust the door down himself were too great to risk losing their privileges. Plus, if they were being honest, the bugs attacking the light in the corner scared them more than going back outside. They were unnaturally large. Giving the infested corner a wide berth, Hero hobbled back out and was led back to the truck.

“Great news,” Villain began after they were settled, “I’ve got a lead for you.”

It took Hero a second to realize he was talking about the briefcase. So he was serious about sending them after it, but to already have a lead? How long had they been out?

“Good morning to you too,” Hero spoke, even though it was clearly the beginning of the night. Crickets chirped outside the window, removing any doubt. They weren’t even sure what day of the week it was anymore, and they definitely weren’t about to ask.

In response, Hero was pelted with..something. They flinched back before they realized whatever had been launched in their direction hadn’t done any damage, and they found the mystery object resting in the floorboard. A bottle of Advil rattled in their hand as they feveredly twisted it open and downed two pills dry.

“I had water, you know?”

Hero said nothing, simply grabbing the offered bottle and chugging it all in one go.

Villain, looking rather horrified, slowly handed over a bag of chips that were immediately ripped open.

Hero crunched as loud as humanly possible as Villain drove until he finally broke and turned the radio on to some random pop station.

Hero, satisfied with their win, remained silent after balling up the empty bag and tossing it in the floorboard with the empty plastic bottle. Villain refrained from reacting until Hero made a show of licking their thumb clean, then wiping the rest of their fingers on the seat beside them.

“You do remember the gun, don’t you?”

“Shooting someone over Cheeto dust seems a little extreme, don’t you think?”

They seriously wondered how Villain managed to remain impassive after all this time. He certainly hadn’t slept, and Hero wasn’t even sure if he had eaten anything. There was no way he stayed that fit with just the half-empty coke can beside him.

In classic Villain fashion, he ignored them once again until they pulled into a second rest stop, this one more populated than the last.

From the spot Villain parked, the area containing semi-trucks was clearly visible. Long, slanted lines marked the separate spaces, with several being occupied by trucks and trailers. From what Hero could see, two were blue, one black, and a couple red with all white trailers. Villain’s eyes were glued towards the two farthest trucks, parked away from the rest.

“You see the one on the right?” Villain asked, pointing towards the semis he had been watching.

“Yes…” Hero answered suspiciously.

He wasn’t planning to get them run over, was he?

“Congratulations, you’re gonna steal from it.”

“You want me to steal?”

Hero whipped their head in disbelief.

“This is what happens when you lose things that aren’t yours. Considering you stole it in the first place, I assumed you’d be thrilled.”

Hero was not thrilled. At least, what Villain had planned was not to dangle Hero by the ankles and have them fish a waterlogged briefcase out of the river—as Hero may or may not have been imagining on the long trek through the countryside—but it honestly might as well have been. Instead, Villain informed them that he was sending them over to a parked semi-truck to break in and locate the case that may or may not be in there.

He didn’t say anything about how he knew it would be in there or who was driving, but if it was any indication he handed back the switchblade before shooing them out of the car.

They considered arguing about their injuries and how he would be a far better candidate for a stealth mission, but that would involve admitting he was in better shape than them.

They couldn’t satisfy the bastard like that.

Besides, they had resolved to keep the briefcase out of everyone’s hands, and that included his.

With no other choice, Hero circled the back of the trailer lot, taking the long route through the grass and hiding behind a trailer when any truckers came too close. They tugged at the annoying watch Villain had insisted—threatened—them to wear.

Reaching the farthest trailer, Hero walked past the sparkling blue cab and came to a stop behind the access doors to the container. Oddly enough, there were no numbers or hazard squares pasted on the back, only mud flaps and a dirty license plate hanging low under the latches and chains.

“Iowa? What in this case is worth taking to Iowa. Am I risking my life for corn seeds right now?” They spoke into the watch incredulously.

Their annoying lookout responded, “Less talking, more thieving.”

Hero rolled their eyes, then—realizing Villain couldn’t see them—groaned audibly.

Regardless, they lifted up the latch and cringed at the sound the metal made when it creaked open.

“Are you sure this is a good-“

“Get in.”

The man did have a gun.

Planting their foot on the red and white striped rebar strip, they threw themselves unceremoniously into the dark container. They fumbled around in the shadows, running their hands across plastic-wrapped pallets. They tripped a few times on the wood, and they cursed.

“You couldn’t have given me a flashlight,” they whisper-yelled into their wrist.

“You’ll live,” came the drawled reply.

“I’m not the one that wants this stupid- ah hah!”

Hero lifted up a smooth leather briefcase, hidden behind a shipment of soft drinks—maybe. It was really dark.

“Grab it and get out,” ordered Villain.

“Yeah yeah, I’m going.”

Hero, for some reason, struggled to keep their balance as they back tracked towards the doors. When they stepped down backwards, red lights illuminated right in their face, and they froze with one foot out the door.

“YOU DIDNT TELL ME IT WAS MOVING?!” Hero screeched in realization.

“What are you talking about?”

Hero didn’t bother to keep verbally reprimanding Villain for his inattentiveness, instead preparing to practice their new signature move—the tuck-and-roll as they searched desperately for a patch of grass to aim for. They slammed the doors shut as quietly as they could, crossing their arms awkwardly to try and hold onto the door and the case at the same time.

Just when the shoulder turned from concrete to dirt, Hero made to let go of the door, only, something pulled them back. They looked back to find the loose gauze in their sleeve had been closed in the door, and—to make matters worse—the case was stuck on the handle. Truly a comedy of errors, not that Hero could appreciate the humor in their situation as the semi picked up speed and traveled towards the highway. Hero had never seen a large vehicle accelerate so fast.

In a split second, Hero had to decide between freeing themselves or the case.

“Throw the case!” Villain suggested, like the devil on their shoulder.

Hero was not so naive. They unraveled their bandage before lifting the case up and off the lever it was hooked on. When they looked down again, it was now too late for them to drop without breaking a few bones, and the only reason Villain would have to help them was held in their hand. If they let it go, they would be on their own, and there would be no one to stop Villain from doing whatever he planned to do with it.

They were thrown from side to side roughly as they tried to remain attached to the vehicle. If there was a sticker with a number to report this trucker’s driving, Hero would be calling it. Knowing Advil was not all powerful and they wouldn’t last long clinging to the back with this lunatic behind the wheel, Hero set their eyes towards the top.

There were two vertical poles running up each side of the door, and there was just enough room for Hero to shove their fingers behind them and get a good enough grip to start climbing up and away from the asphalt rushing beneath them. Hero was hit with sudden Deja vu for the one handed climbing and moving containers.

They should have asked Villain for some of those stupid shoes, because their nike tennis shoes were not made for ascending the back of an eighteen-wheeler. If they lived through this, they were going to buy a membership to a climbing gym and hire Villain as their personal trainer.

Heavily regretting not wrapping their ankle, Hero heaved up onto the roof and was immediately hit with wind resistance much greater than that on the train. The ground was also moving much faster, and Hero imagined falling now would hurt a lot more. There was nothing up here to hold onto, and stray hairs were flying all around Hero’s face. Trying to stay upright and on top of the truck, Hero surveyed the traffic ahead, or lack there of. The only lights up ahead appeared to belong to a truck pulling a camper, probably belonging to some family making a long drive to some beautiful destination.

God, Hero could really use a vacation.

Now with a second to think, Hero realized the smart plan would have been to try and get back inside the truck while they were still by the latch. Unfortunately, it was too late now. Hero was stuck.

Mind racing, Hero scrambled for a realistic idea. Maybe if they could get to the cab-

They heard the faintest call of “fuck” and they wondered what late-night trucker was cursing so loud at cars on the road. The chorus of swearing continued before Hero realized it was coming from the com on their wrist, and Villain wasn’t yelling expletives.

“Duck!”

Hero whipped their head around, searching for any waterfowl they were supposed to look out for. Just in the nic of time, they noticed the real danger—the low overpass hurtling towards them.

They flattened as best they could and promised to make good on all the promises they had made the last time they were in mortal danger.

Concrete brushed the back of their hood as they tried their best to channel the energy of a pancake, and by some miracle the semi had enough extra clearance for Hero to get by unscathed.

Physically that is. Mentally they were very much scathed.

Hero screamed about how there better be a nuclear weapon or something of equal importance in this briefcase, but it was swallowed by the air.

Hero stayed down for longer than necessary before looking ahead to ensure there were no more surprises coming up.

Path clear as far as they could tell, they army crawled towards the front of the truck, hoping the friction of their clothes would be enough to keep them from flying off. They swore the container was growing because of how long it was taking them to move across it. When the edge was finally in reach, they grabbed it with two hands and pulled, sliding the rest of the way before dropping into the space where the wiring was strung between the cab to the trailer. By the grace of someone, they didn’t trip and face plant after getting tangled in the connections.

Turning to the left, Hero spotted a dark colored shape driving alongside the truck with its lights off.

Hero had never been so glad to see Villain in their life.

Trying their best not to think about the image of them going splat on the road, Hero moved into a lunging stance. All they had to do was wait for the bed of the pickup truck to line up with the gap they were standing on.

They took a deep breath. Almost…

A loud sound sent their ears ringing and them stumbling back on the aluminum grating.

A gunshot.

Apparently, someone had other ideas.

Two more shots later, and Hero was positive they were going to have hearing damage. Judging by the hole in Villain’s windshield, the safest place for them to be right now seemed to be right where they were. They clutched the convenient handle beside them and prepared to wait out the gunfight. That was, until the driver of the semi-truck seemed to abruptly floor it. Hero could see they were pulling away from the Chevy, and they had no plans to stay on this semi-death machine any longer.

Locking all their doubt away, Hero leapt for the truck bed. They hit the rusted metal with a slam and the briefcase attempted to lodge itself in their abdomen beneath them. Gasping, Hero ducked down in case any more bullets decided to fly.

They flipped onto their back, catching a view of the night sky. The stars were bright out here with no light pollution to cloud them.

After what seemed like a lifetime, Hero’s breathing returned to a normal rhythm and the car rolled gradually to a slower pace.

Well, it was now or never.

Hero sat up and threw themselves out of the back and onto solid ground. Clutching the case, they made to run the opposite direction the car was facing. Adrenaline reserves reset, they figured they had a small window to get out and find a place to hide. They followed the pavement while simultaneously scanning the tree line for any thickened foliage they could use to obscure themselves. Realizing they’d need a lot more cover than the sparse forest could provide, Hero started scanning the highway. It stretched past a bend, with freshly painted lines and impressed rumble strips on the shoulder. It appeared not a soul was traveling it aside from Hero and Villain.

Hero cursed their flimsy plan, hoping for a trucker, a convenient cop, or even just a Good Samaritan out for a midnight drive.

The road was so quiet, Villain’s voice boomed when he yelled, “Where do you think you’re going?”

Hero, once again, had no idea.

Making the curve with their feet pounding beneath them, Hero looked back to see if Villain had managed to make a U-turn yet. What they saw were reverse lights and the growing silhouette of his truck, which unfortunately distracted them from what was ahead of them.

By the time they saw the headlights coming from the other direction and heard the loud honking of a horn, they had only a second to dive away.

Once again spared road rash by their clothes, Hero groaned through a mouthful of grass. The other car and its lights continued to barrel around the corner, leaving Hero alone with the forest green truck that was now upon them.

Under the light of his headlights, a hand grabbed and pulled the leather bag up and away from the hero and held it above them.

Only then did they realize the briefcase was brown.

(I hope this part was equally enjoyable <3

Shout out to the semi-trucks I stared at for a few hours and to my beta reader, who puts up with me for some reason)

Beep Beep (part three)

[neon-kazoo]

Hello again! I’m the anon who sent you the request of the story “a Misplacement”. I found this story so very cute and I don’t see nearly enough Supervillain x Henchman stories so I would like to ask you for another little story.

I was wondering if you could write a story where Supervillain discovers their henchman sings very well during his time off. Maybe they can have a conversation about it and Henchman is at first scared to be discovered but then finds comfort in knowing he sings well?

I was also wondering if you could reuse the same characters as “a Misplacement” because I love their dynamic?

I hope you have a wonderful day! I’m giving you two hearts and a star this time: ❤️❤️ ⭐️

ty I love my hearts and star

Good to see you, hope you enjoy again!

The original: A Misplacement

Karaoke Night

“Come on Henchman. We’re up next.”

The bar was crowded, lit with warm multi-color bottle lights strung across the beams in the ceiling. Clinking, chugging, and chatter filled the air, as was typical for a Thursday evening. Not too crowded, just those who drank lightly or had Friday’s off like Henchman and their friends did.

Speaking of their friends, five pairs of eyes watched Henchman cheerfully for their reaction. When they didn’t immediately hop out of their seat, five sets of lips pouted.

Their hands wrung lightly in their lap. “Oh no. I don’t— I don’t sing.”

Not in front of other people, at least.

“Ah, sure you do. Everyone does. Come on, we’re all doing it.”

A shot glass was slid enticingly across the table in front of them. They started to push it away before they paused. Before, they would have never even considered it. Before, they never even would have been in this bar in the first place.

Henchman’s fingers crept towards the glass.

“Henchman, we believe in you. Come slaughter that mic with us.”

Maybe just this once.

They grabbed the shot, knocking it back with a confidence they usually only showed on the battlefield. The group cheered, and for the first time in a while Henchman smiled. They lifted one finger to signal for another, and downed that one just as fast before chasing it with a whole glass of water.

Henchman wouldn’t say they ever got a chance to let loose. Or rather, they never took a chance to let loose. So, for tonight they were saying to Hell with it. Regret would probably be waiting for them in the morning, but for now, it felt right.

Well, here goes nothing.

They allowed their friends to drag them up to the stage, taking the microphone that was handed to them and trying to make sense of the discord of recommendations being shouted from the small-but-enthusiastic crowd.

One voice rose above the rest shouting “SUPER BASS!”

Eyes connected all over stage, grins widening in agreement.

Super Bass it was, then.

Henchman shared their mic with the two friends on either side of them, the more sloppy drunk one of which was sort of hunched over it in a way that wasn’t great for the acoustics. It was probably a good thing, though, given how pitchy the sober friend was on their other side.

It was really more giggling than singing, but Henchman was enjoying it nonetheless.

“Hey, you’re kinda good at this.” The compliment warmed something in their chest, right before the follow up froze them with fear. “You should do a solo!”

“Oh, I don’t think—” Their protest was swallowed by the applause following the end of their flawless group rendition of Super Bass.

The thing is, they kind of wanted to. That feeling in their chest, it wasn’t fear. It was excitement. It was something they had wanted to try forever, and the stakes didn’t get much lower than a Thursday in a Karaoke bar before 8pm.

To Hell with it, indeed.

This time, they took a minute to personally flip through the songs and choose one they knew would suit their voice while avoiding all the technical stuff they probably couldn’t pull off with alcohol in their system.

After a tentative start, they really got into it, stepping with the beat and letting the music carry them away. For a moment they were on their own stage, crowd both fading out and growing exponentially as they sang the lyrics like they came straight from their own heart.

They made the mistake of opening their eyes, catching the gaze of someone in the crowd perched on a barstool near the back. That– that wasn’t just someone. That was their boss.

Supervillain was watching while they were up here, singing. Henchman froze. They couldn’t be seen like this, it was beyond unprofessional. They were dressed for a night out, nothing like their work clothes. Oh God, and they were tipsy—

They hung the mic back on the stand, and stepped off the stage quickly, turning their back on the chorus of protests across the room. They slipped into a hall towards the bathrooms, leaning heavily against the wall as their breaths picked up pace. It wasn’t a full minute before they caught Supervillain coming around the corner. Henchman stiffened at their approach, clasping their hands and carefully schooling their face as best they could.

Supervillain stopped in front of them, and Henchman knew they had to speak first.

“Sir—” they choked out, just to be stopped almost immediately by a hand on their shoulder.

“Please, you’re drunk. There’s really no need for formalities.”

It was going to take a lot more than two shots to undo years of conditioning. Still, Henchman tried, manually releasing their shoulders and allowing a small slouch to form in their posture. They meant to aim for more relaxed but must have just ended up looking pained.

“Look, S–Supervillain,” only the mildest stutter slipped its way through as Henchman addressed their superior, “it won’t happen again. You’ll never see me here—”

“Henchman,” Supervillain interrupted, softly but firmly, “you didn’t do anything wrong. You’re enjoying yourself. That’s great. Wonderful, actually.”

They smiled and Henchman was taken mildly aback at the sight.

“You sound amazing, too. Have you ever considered pursuing that?”

They had, actually. Sort of. Back when they worked for Villain, they had floated the idea with the request of a night off every week to work a couple bars and restaurants on the strip. It had gone over about as well as expected, with the added bonus of going home to find their guitar smashed to bits in their living room next to a shattered coffee table.

But that wasn’t something they could share with Supervillain.

Was it?

Ever since Villain had gone missing, they had felt a little lighter. A little braver. Maybe this really was what they needed.

Henchman placed their hands by their sides and turned towards Supervillain. They met their eyes and opened their mouth before they could think better of it.

“I quit.”

Henchman’s eyes widened at their own words. Did they really just quit? They had no idea how Supervillain would react. They barely knew how they were reacting to themselves. They certainly didn’t expect the supervillain’s grin to grow wider at their declaration.

“To pursue your dream, I presume?”

It didn’t seem as mocking as it should have. It didn’t really seem mocking at all.

“Yeah,” Henchman whispered, “to pursue my dream.”

“Good for you, Henchman,” Supervillain spoke earnestly, clapping them on the back. “Just know, your job will always be here if you need it.” They winked. “Which you won’t.”

Henchman wasn’t so sure, but it was too late now.

“Come on, let me buy you a round.”

Supervillain looped their arm over their shoulder, leading Henchman back out to the bar. They joined their friends at a table, and everyone spent the next half hour gushing about how great of a singer Henchman was. It seemed the redder they got, the more the compliments kept coming. Some other patrons even stopped by, one even to offer them a drink for their performance, abrupt departure be damned.

It made them feel good. It made them feel like they had a future.

[neon-kazoo]

Social Hour

The hero sat on the cold damp stone that was the floor of their cell. Their knees were pulled to their chest, their arms wrapped loosely around them. Their head was settled cocked against the wall, giving them a crooked view of their nemesis’ lackey sitting on the other side of the bars.

‘Social hour’, they called it. Hero would rather affectionately think of it as an attempt at unlicensed talk therapy. Still, they took advantage, as the alternative of succumbing to the madness of isolation was rather unappealing. There was barely any light down here, and certainly no bush to beat around when they asked their question.

“Do you hurt?”

At the inquisitive face they perceived on Henchman, the hero clarified.

“Like, your body. I’m not asking if you’re a psychopath.”

The villain’s henchman didn’t answer, they rarely did. At least, not directly. They frequently packed Hero’s ears with the fluff of indirect metaphors and open-ended follow ups that had them forgetting what the question had even been in the first place.

They responded simply, “I take it you do?”

The hero sighed and leveled their best tired-prisoner-on-the-brink-of-insanity look at their jailer.

“Yeah, yeah I do.”

It’s not like the chains in here were laced with lidocaine. It was a dumb response, really, but the hero was desperate for some kind of release—and so they took the opportunity, however lackluster it was.

“I can’t even describe it really. It just feels wrong. I’m never comfortable. I can never relax.”

As if to punctuate their point, they released their legs to stretch out in front of them with a thinly-veiled grimace.

“I wish I could say something new, something poetic. But I just hurt.”

And that’s really what it was. Muscles that struggled with every shift, bones that sat incorrectly, joints that moved too little and too much. These days, their heart beat hard for no reason at all. And so here they were, pouring it out to the closest pair of hearing ears.

“It’s like, can I not not be in pain for one second of my life? It’s exhausting. It’s—”

They froze, because they had promised to never go where they were heading. A small voice from deep inside them came forward to finish, “I don’t know what to do.”

Their nonchalant shrug did little to discount the weight of their words. It wasn’t a question. Just a statement.

A confession.

“I don’t think there’s anything you can do, really.”

Hero held their rolling eyes at bay for the moment. Henchman wasn’t wrong for pointing out the obvious, and it seemed that really wasn’t their point.

“No,” they conceded, “there’s not.” Hero averted their eyes at the disgusting hint of sympathy that appeared in the henchman’s eyes. “I think that’s the problem.”

For the first time, social hour held the same silence as solitude.

“Well,” Hero slapped their hands down onto their lap, chains clanking loudly in the process, “this has been rather productive.”

The henchman took the cue, standing with an ease that the hero would never have again. When the door closed, Hero broke—releasing the tears that had been building for as long as they could remember.

[neon-kazoo]

Choo Choo (Train Top Chase- The Briefcase)

(cw: threats, knife violence)

When Hero heard that Villain was planning to steal something in transit on the railroad, they assumed that they would find him rummaging through one of the sixty plus freight cars lined up on the tracks. They did not expect to find an immaculately dressed Villain surrounded by similarly dressed people dining in a singular passenger car at the end of the train.

The caboose of the train was…out of place, to say the least. Polished cherry wood lined the top of it, sealed and waxed to an impressive level of shine. There was no rust to be found, which was impressive for a train exposed to the elements for days on end. Chestnut paneling and gilded accents completed the outside, which was notably absent of any identifying number markers. The craftsmanship of the exterior was a stark contrast to the amateur graffiti that marked the previous car that the caboose was coupled to.

Hero observed the carriage car through a convenient skylight as the train started to move. The interior was similarly well-crafted with white tiered ceilings that gave way to wide windows, separated into panes only in conjunction with the white-clothed dining tables and corresponding upholstered booth seats. The silver cutlery gleamed in the light that filtered through lace curtains. Hero would not have been surprised to see a chandelier strung from the roof, made of crystals or something similarly stunning. It looked fit to hold a wedding, complete with a dozen guests all dressed in black tie apparel. Villain himself wore a black suit, dress shoes polished and brown hair gelled down. His face was even freshly shaven. A picture perfect gentleman—the opposite of his true nature.

There appeared to be some type of business taking place—as opposed to this being just a randomly-conspicuous social gathering or a confusingly-disguised heist. A singular black briefcase sat inconspicuously at the feet of a black-haired man. Hero would have thought nothing of it, but it seemed to be the only bag in the room, not to mention that every pair of eyes seemed to be ogling it at every sly opportunity. Deciding that there was no way this was legitimate business if Villain was present, Hero resolved to keep the briefcase out of all of their hands.

Several conversations were taking place around the tables—none of which could Hero hear over the rumbling of the tracks—but Hero was only focused on one specific group.

Villain stood in front of a booth that sat one woman in a pencil-straight maroon dress and one man in a suit with a corresponding maroon tie. Hero watched the fake laughs and twirling forks until Villain leaned in close to make his excuses to his company before he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small carton.

Hero crawled to the back of the roof, careful not to alert the people sipping champagne inside that an uninvited guest was about to crash their party. When he exited the back door of the train to stand on the small platform there, cigarette in hand, Hero pounced.

Villain did not even have a chance to flick open his lighter before Hero was on him, swinging down from the overhang to kick him square in the chest. He was pushed back into the railing, giving Hero enough space to land on the platform and get a hand wrapped over the door handle. Determining this was not the safest place for a fight, Hero swung open the door and rushed inside before Villain had a chance to recover.

They took advantage of the startled and stunned people inside the car and made a beeline for the man with the case. About halfway there, Hero bumped into a woman with braids who consequently spilled her bubbly drink down the front of her expensive-looking pink dress. Hero mouthed their apologies before snatching the case from the floor across the aisle, much to the chagrin of the black-haired man who tried to grab for their arm. Light on their feet, Hero deftly avoided his grip and slid open the door on the other side, which was harder to do than they thought thanks to the weird air pressure between the cars.

A chorus of offended shouts got swallowed by the gap as Hero fought to close the door behind them. From there, Hero would scale the ladder on the back of the container car and make the leap to the truck they had called to pull up alongside the train. At least, that’s what they thought they would do before they reached the top one-handed and raced to the edge of the roof.

When they looked down, they saw there was no truck, and more importantly, there was no road. Here, the tracks were paralleled only by a river. Huh, they must have seriously misjudged the speed of the train.

A quick glance back to the ladder revealed a brown-haired head just about to graze the top.

Well, time for plan B.

There were no tunnels on this route—they checked—so at least Hero didn’t have to worry about being taken out Indiana Jones style as they ran across the box car towards the front of the locomotive. Blessedly, the first chain of freight cars were all the same height and the train had yet to hit a curve. It was easier than expected to step between them.

They kept moving forward, crossing one car after another. Their steps landed on tops from faded orange to blue to grey to brown. After about the tenth container, something changed.

The next car had no roof, instead filled to the top with some type of granules. Deciding that pile looked a little too much like quicksand, Hero elected to chance balancing along the edge of the hopper car for fear of silo-style suffocation. Hero slowed to ensure their steps were true—which was probably a bad move in hindsight—and finally leapt the rest of the way to the thankfully-covered train car waiting ahead.

Just when they were getting back into a rhythm and gaining speed and confidence, Hero reached the tanker section.

The tanker cars stretched out as far as their eyes could see, all black cylinders, sporting rails only in the middle and much wider gaps between them than the previous box cars had. Jumping down onto the first one, Hero ran and grabbed the bar, vaulting over the valve access and heading towards the next. Praying to every god they could think of and making several promises they didn’t plan on keeping, Hero made the leap between the first tanker car and the second. It was an extremely weird feeling, jumping forward on something that was already moving forward with wind resistance pushing you back. Hero had no time to dwell on it though.

They risked another glance back, confirming their fear that Villain was still in pursuit.

How Villain could keep up a train-top chase dressed in those clothes was anyone’s guess. Hero certainly would’ve ripped a seam by now in such a well-tailored dress pants.

And those shoes.

There was no way a normal pair of dress shoes was getting any traction on top of a tanker car. They must have custom rubber soles or something even grippier. Probably some new material that hadn’t even hit the market yet.

Rich fucker could definitely afford it.

Unfortunately for Hero, they were rather poor and did not have access to state-of-the-art footware, and it took only one misstep to almost go plummeting towards the couplings. Said misstep occurred around the fifth leap.

They caught themselves enough to stumble forward a few more steps onto the cylinder, but were unable to keep their balance with the briefcase throwing them off. They dropped onto their stomach, grappling for a handhold anywhere. They began to slip off the side, fingerless glove not finding enough traction on the side of the smooth metal tank. They couldn’t reach the cap or the ladder to stop their fall with their one free hand, so they used the last of their precious split second to push away from the car and hope it was enough to keep from being crushed beneath the train wheels.

They hit the ground with a series of crunches they hoped were only the gravel around the tracks shifting under their weight. Groaning, they thanked themselves for their choice of attire—covered completely from head to toe—because otherwise they would likely be pulling pebbles out of their skin for weeks. As soon as they were sure they weren’t about to lose life or limb to the roaring train, they looked up just in time to see Villain roll and land—admittedly more gracefully than them—a few dozen feet ahead.

Attempting to pick themselves up, Hero gritted their teeth. Their tuck-and-roll had turned into more of a sprawl-and-tumble. That was definitely going to hurt tomorrow.

That was, assuming they made it to tomorrow, which they realized with a wince was quite a presumption. Villain stalked towards them, seemingly unbothered by the whole falling/jumping-off-a-train thing.

His hair was still slicked back perfectly, but his tie was slightly askew—the only visible sign of the chase Hero could find. It didn’t even look like he was breathing hard—which was ridiculous. Hero’s breaths were heavy enough to blow down a brick house, and they considered themselves to be in pretty good shape.

Putting aside Villain’s infuriating fitness level for later, Hero finally managed to get their feet underneath them and wasted no time turning and running in the opposite direction, briefcase roughed up but still in hand. Either they were miraculously uninjured, or adrenaline was really a hell of a drug. Regardless, they scrambled back up the loose-gravel pile and followed the rails back the way they came, hoping to make it back to the section with the road, which was seeming further and further away the longer they thought about it.

How long had they stayed atop the train?

They really, desperately did not want to look back behind them. Although they couldn’t hear him over the roaring in their ears, Hero knew instinctively that Villain was hot on their tail. Problem was, the road was no where in sight, and there was nowhere else to go. Unless Hero wanted to chance class III rapids with no floatation device—plus, who knew if the case was waterproof—the only things around were wide open grass plains and steep hills peppered with hard-to-scale pine trees. Not to mention the bugs and bears and who knew what else that probably littered the countryside. Hero couldn’t run forever, and for all they knew, Villain could.

This led them to the unfortunate realization that this mission was probably not going to end in success. Maybe they should have thought this through a little more.

That realization was appropriately accompanied by the feeling of something crashing into them from behind. Tumbling onto the tracks for a second time that day, Hero yelped as one of their elbows hit the rail harshly.

Great, another bruise. Or worse.

Rolling quickly onto their back, ready to spring back upright, Hero spotted the culprit lying across the tracks.

A stick.

He threw a stick at them.

Hero cursed themselves for being bested by a glorified twig of all things.

“Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy a good long chase, but surely you must be getting tired by now,” came a voice from behind them that should have been breathless, and Hero cursed that it wasn’t.

They were quickly back on their feet. Their legs were on fire, their elbow throbbed, their skin prickled, and their throat and lungs burned with the intensity of a thousand suns.

Nope. Not tired at all.

Hero’s lead had dwindled greatly in the time it had taken them to get back up. They knew with painful certainty that they could no longer out run Villain on a straight-away.

Okay, on to plan C.

Hero gathered the last of their energy and dashed off the tracks and down the hill, making a beeline for the river. In front of them, the water churned to the point of opaqueness. Perfect.

Hero spotted a boulder on the water’s edge and promptly threw themselves on top of it. Grateful for their knee pads, they clambered up to the highest point. From there, they held the briefcase out over the water and shouted an order for the villain to stop.

Villain halted in the tall grass a dozen feet away, which Hero almost counted as a victory before they spotted the perturbing smirk on his face.

“That’s cute,” he called back, sticking his hands in his pockets and leaning back casually.

Adrenaline reserves exhausted, Hero fought to maintain a neutral expression as their knees turned to jelly and they remained greedy for oxygen.

It would be really unfortunate if they fell into the river right now.

“So what’s your plan? Toss your only bargaining chip in the river and hope for the best?” Villain inquired with an air of curiosity, as if this show was amusing to him.

“It’s simple. You leave, and this case lives for you to steal another day,” Hero spoke in what they hoped was a calm and assured voice. They added a pat against the side of the leather casing for good measure.

“I believe the only thief here is you.”

Hero thought Villain ended that correction with a chuckle, but it was honestly hard to hear with the raging river in the immediate background.

“Do you even know what’s in there?” He asked.

Hero, in fact, did not.

“Of course I do. How else would I know you wouldn’t want to risk losing it in a river,” Hero blustered with all the courage they could muster.

“It would be an inconvenience at best. You think I don’t have contingency plans? A tracker, perhaps?” Villain was much better at achieving a tone of nonchalance than Hero.

Hero had no idea if he was bluffing. They didn’t even know if they were bluffing.

Would a tracker even matter if the case got caught under the current? Would they really risk throwing this mysterious bag into the rapids? For all they knew, it could explode. Or poison all the local wildlife. Or something equally catastrophic.

Hero once again found themselves envious of Villain’s calm demeanor. He should have at least been sweating through his starch-white dress shirt by now.

Villain did have a point. Plan C was no where near foolproof.

Hero sized him up.

It’d be hard to hide a weapon in a suit that tight, but then again if it’s truly custom there could be all kinds of hidden pockets-

Who were they kidding, his weapon of choice earlier was a stick.

So no weapon, but that didn’t mean he still wasn’t dangerous. If at all possible, Hero would still like to avoid a fight.

“Do you have a counter offer?”

“Yes. Give me the case, and they won’t have to clean your blood off the train pistons,” he replied evenly.

Hero blanched at the visceral image triggered by his statement. They tried to reassure themselves that they were armed, albeit with a measly switchblade and utility knife, and their opponent was most likely not. Plus, in true Obi Wan fashion, they had the literal high ground.

“Like Hell I’m just handing this over,” Hero scoffed as loudly as they could, “You wouldn’t hesitate to tie me to the tracks regardless. You watch too many cartoons, by the way. There are plenty of ways to kill me that don’t involve traumatizing some poor train conductor.”

Hero punctuated their response with an exaggerated eye roll. Unfortunately, what their eyes landed back on was not the smooth stone they expected to see beneath them. Instead, they found themselves staring right at the diamond back of a snake sunning itself on the rock.

They threw their arms up in surprise, which sent a jolt through their hand from their injured elbow. Furthering the series of unfortunate events, this caused Hero to lose their grip on the case. The mystery container went plummeting into the white water, but Hero had more pressing concerns at the moment. They had stumbled back from the legless reptile and subsequently lost their footing. They flailed, about to meet the same fate as the contentious case.

Before they could, however, they were yanked back by the hood of their jacket, and they collided with the hard rock instead of the turbulent water. They were pulled the rest of the way down into the softer grass and, temporarily blinded by the relief of not drowning, they didn’t resist.

“You assume,” came a voice that was unmistakably filtered through gritted teeth, “that I would let you die.”

Realizing they were far from safe after that near-death experience, Hero pushed away from the hands that saved them. It did them no good as they were manhandled to their feet, but they continued to struggle anyway.

“What? Still think you can outrun me? Go ahead. Try.”

He threw them back to the ground, challenge written all over his face as he peered down at them. Hero felt their ankle fold beneath them and swore.

They couldn’t, they knew they couldn’t, but they couldn’t just give up.

Out of options, Hero reached for the switchblade that was clipped to their waistband.

Their hands found nothing but cloth.

Panicked, they looked up towards Villain. They were horrified to find their blade flicked open in his hand.

“Looking for this?” He asked lightly, pausing to study the tip with faux curiosity, “What were you going to do with it? A light jab, perhaps?” Quick as the snake that brought them to this position, Villain pushed the blade into their ribs and pulled it right back out.

Hero choked in disbelief. He didn’t cut deep, but the wound was dangerously close to their lungs.

“A slash? Or two?”

Villain caught Hero once on their upper arm and once on the opposite lower arm with shallow cuts as they attempted to block.

“Maybe something a little more substantial. The kidneys?”

Hero crabbed walked back as best they could, which wasn’t good enough. Villain descended atop them, intent clear in the movement of the blade.

“Shit, dude! What the fuck was in there?!”

Villain stopped and held the knife still. It was pointed at their abdomen, pushing lightly into the cloth of their jacket. He was kneeling beside them, one hand on their shoulder to keep them from moving back.

“So you’re a liar and a thief?” He asked rhetorically. Hero was frozen with terror and exhaustion, hands pushing into their side where the metal had entered. Villain leaned in closer, and Hero heard a whimper leave their own lips involuntarily.

“Maybe you’ll find out when you get it for me,” He nearly whispered.

Hero blinked.

They pulled back slightly as hands grabbed onto their arms. Villain’s expression darkened.

“We’re getting up. Unless you need another reminder?” He questioned, brandishing the knife and holding it lightly to the inside of hero’s thigh. Hero shook their head frantically and allowed themselves to be pulled up onto their feet.

Swallowing the pain from their ankle and the grip on their forearm that crossed over the gash in the fabric of their sleeve, they steeled.

They were going to need so many painkillers later.

…

There was going to be a later, right?

Hero held their gaze on the view of the landscape around them. Where the water hit the rocks and sprayed upwards, they spotted a small rainbow projected onto the vapor.

Hand on the back of their neck, Villain led them away. As Hero limped along, they felt a bit like a misbehaving kitten that had been caught by its mom and dragged back to the litter by its scruff. Embarrassed, injured, and utterly defeated.

Honk Honk (part 2)

[neon-kazoo]

So... Bluff

Good stuff

Hero's tough

Villain's hot stuff

But I'll never have enough

Would writing part 2 be too rough???

-a terrible poem by me, in hopes you'll write part 2 for Bluff

I can’t resist a good poem! pls ignore the embarrassingly long time it took me to write this, hope you enjoy :)

Part Two (Part One here)

Hero tugged at their wrists for what seemed like the hundreth time that day. Now, they did it sat on the floor of a nicely furnished lair, settled in the center of a Persian rug. Villain eyed them lightly from across the room, eerily quiet as he had been since they'd gotten here. Hero glared back, decidedly very unhappy with their current circumstances.

Was it better than being stuck in a storage room? Hero didn't know. It wasn't like they had much of a choice. They could only kick the villain so many times before he tied their feet together.

Trust them, they would know.

At the very least, Villain had given their shoulders a break, securing their wrists in front as opposed to behind. Hero rolled their shoulders and their neck before dropping their gaze back into their lap. Although, on second thought, maybe it was crueler to be able to see their own insignia on the metal locking them up.

Unfortunately, they really had no one to blame here but themselves.

Villain sipped slowly from a glass that he had previously poured and lazily swirled in the air. He was lounged mockingly in a chair that fit the rich villain vibe he had going in this room. Hero shifted uncomfortably. The silence was starting to itch at them, almost as if they were allergic to the fibers or the expensive rug below them.

"You know, if you're not gonna say anything, you might as well let me go."

The villain perked up at that. He sat down his glass on a dark oak side table—on top of a coaster of course—and unfolded his legs to lean forward and give them a low-lidded questioning look.

"Is that so?" He hummed.

Probably not, Hero thought, but worth a shot.

When they didn't audibly respond, Villain rose from his leather seat and started to stalk towards them. Instant regret flooded the hero as he approached and they fought hard to maintain the distainful look they reserved just for moments with him.

The villain crouched beside them and locked eyes. He leaned in and—despite themselves—the hero leaned back slightly.

"Careful," the villain warned, "one might be lead to believe you aren't nearly as tough as you seem."

"Uncuff me and we'll see who's tough."

Villain smirked as the hero snarled.

"That's more like it."

Hero wasn't scared. Villain just had a very specific presence, one that sent them wildly off-kilter. His tone was always shielded, his mood switching up on a dime, leaving Hero never knowing what would happen next.

Including now.

The villain's eyes gave away nothing as they studied the hero, who was running through their non-existent escape options in their mind. Ankles properly subdued, the only action left available to them would be to roll, and that seemed just a tad too demeaning, even given the circumstance. Wiggling like a worm certainly wasn't going to improve their image here either.

Maybe if he got within biting range—

Villain leaned closer and Hero lunged, snapping their teeth against flesh.

"That," he wiped a drop of blood from his cheek with a chuckle, "is way more like it."

"There's more where that came from," Hero spit.

"I'm sure there is."

Villain rose back to his full height, leaving Hero staring up at them from the ground. However tempting it was to divert their eyes to the golden frames of the pretentious paintings on the walls, they didn't allow their gaze to waver off the thin scrape on the side of his face. They wished they had gotten in more than a graze when he continued, "I guess I'd better get to it then."

Hero fought the pull to question his statement, and reluctantly lost very quickly.

"Get to what?"

Too familiar teeth formed an infuriating smile before the villain turned his back.

"You'll see."

[neon-kazoo]

Waffles all the way, you can’t beat the crunch AND softness

No shade to pancake lovers though, they are also yummy

I'm boutta start a war on Tumblr

Pancakes or Waffles (Reblog with answer then tag more people)

@mifgirlcomics @belladeezbombz

@mosslover999 @the-real-great-papyrus

[neon-kazoo]

As promised!

Singing Bird (Bloodstained Ivory pt. 3) pt. 2 here

Hero found herself back inside soon enough, unable to sit still for any substantial length of time. For now, she perched on the arm of a chair that faced a half-full bookshelf. She pecked at a tray of fruit a servant had brought to her door, which she accepted only because it hadn't come directly from him. Popping a grape into her mouth, she traced her fingernail along the trim of the fine fabric chair and began to question if maybe this was all just some messed up dream she had yet to wake from.

Why? What did he gain from this, other than humiliating her? Showering his enemy in his luxurious mercy until she drowned in it? Was this finery really made to torture her?

Or was there something she wasn’t seeing?

Back on her feet and rounding the arm chair, she came to stand in view of the yard and the various plants that accompanied it. On branches that sprawled out on the closest oak tree reaching towards her window, a small bird hopped between leaves. A spark of jealously followed the sight of its rounded body and speckled feathers. It reminded her what she couldn't have, showing her what she really was.

A canary in a gilded cage.

At least that analogy implied she was beautiful and talented. She was never one for singing, though. Nor was she one for sitting around. She was, however, one for yelling. So that's what she decided to do.

"Supervillain!" She shouted. "Super! Villainnn!"

She stomped barefooted out into the hall, marching towards the stairs before her semi-frantic nemesis appeared around the corner heading towards her.

"Hero? Are you okay?" He questioned, sounding just a little breathless. His hair was ruffled like he had been in a rush, which was a stark contrast to his usual put-togetherness. Hero found her eyes drawn to the messy strands and it took an unmentionable amount of time for her to look away, which she reasoned to be nothing more than a warrior's eyes honing in on a crack in a opponent's armor. Just getting a view of his weaknesses.

Nothing more.

"What is all this?" She demanded, ignoring his concern entirely.

"What is what?" He asked, which Hero took as a play at innocence. Supervillain ran his hand through his hair, raising an eyebrow at the fired-up hero.

"This!" She gestured around with a mock of his sweeping arm, pointing at various mosaic lamps that had to have cost a fortune, framed paintings that were definitely stolen, and plush carpet runners that must have required constant cleaning since he apparently walked around in his work shoes.

"I don't think I understa—"

Hero boldly grabbed her fiancé by the wrist and dragged him back towards her room, only mildly surprised when he allowed it with little to no resistance.

Back inside the room, Hero dropped his hand and made a bee-line for the ornately covered mattress.

"What is this!" She loudly reiterated.

She snatched a pillow off the bed, shaking it so hard she was shocked feathers didn't come flying out.

Supervillain opened his mouth, but he didn't even have a chance to speak before the passionate shouting continued.

"Why is it so horrifically soft!" She tossed the pillow with little regard to where it landed, regretting only for a moment that she hadn't thrown it at him instead. "Why am I comfortable! Why isn't this place made of damp concrete and filled with brainwashed minions that feed me watered down broth until I die!"

She took a much needed breathe before she continued, but it didn't stop her voice from breaking at her last question. The one that truly had her mind spinning and her heart twisting in knots.

"Why am I not dead?"

She looked up, and Supervillain immediately met her eyes. He stepped forward, closer than he had ever really gotten before. Hero supposed he need not worry now about being close enough to be stabbed with a knife or kicked between the legs.

It occurred to her that marriage might actually entail exactly what she feared it would entail. Supervillain must seen the change in her eyes, a slight pupil contraction or a hint of fear, because he immediately took a half-step back.

“I’m not going to make you love me,” he reassured, though it wasn't exactly what Hero would describe as comforting. The implication that he could weighed in the air and stuck to her skin in a way that made her feel hot, though she was as cold natured as they come.

She pretended this mansion was just in desperate need of a dehumidifier.

He chewed on his lip for a moment while Hero caught up on the breaths she had missed due to his proximity. He was clearly contemplating, until he finally seemed to settle on a follow up.

“But my door is open.”

He paused before he walked away, steps receding with the measured taps of fine leather dress shoes on polished marble floor. He left her standing in the doorway, arms hugging herself tighter than she was willing to admit. Hero got the impression he had wanted to say more, but she was in no mood to push, and it was clear he was in no mood to elaborate.

It seemed marriage didn't entitle her to see inside the ever-working mind of her nemesis, just as it didn't entitle her body to him. The first part was neither here nor there to Hero.

She would just have to draw her own conclusions about what was going on in his head.

[neon-kazoo]

I’m crying, this is hilarious and I totally see it

It got long again, so more tomorrow, I promise!

Gilded Cage (Bloodstained Ivory pt. 2)

It was an awkward car ride.

His car was exactly what Hero had expected, a sleek black top-model sedan with leather seats and silver accents. She had tried to get in the back. Supervillain—her future husband—had directed her to the front. He even held the door open and closed it, to which Hero held back a sneer. Any day before, and she would have been spitting a comment about meaningless chivalry. But not today. Or ever again.

She was going to have to get used to it.

It was quiet. Few words, no radio. Even the engine had very little to say about the journey. Hero wondered aloud about the fish in a tank she had back home. Supervillain said they’d pick up some of her things tomorrow. It was a small relief, but she hadn't said anything back.

Instead, she focused on the scenery. Anything but her new husband, really. Trees that were various rich shades of green sped by outside the heavily tinted windows and windshield. They were headed a decent distance outside the city, with slightly delapidated roads and only sporadic homes with 'no trespassing' signs to mark their progress. It was pretty, but that wasn't terribly surprising for a summer here. Hero rested her eyes until the car slowed as they approached a stacked river-rock gate. A press of a button and said gate swung open. Hero rolled her eyes.

Continuing on, the car crested a hill lined with evergreen saplings and Hero's gaze landed on a house she had only seen in realtor photos pinned to a crime board. It was so much bigger in person, so much more obnoxious than she had imagined.

Supervillain's mansion stood three stories tall with white walls and a slated roof. A circular parkway framed by shaped bushes is where the car was pulled to a stop. In the center rested a fountain with mirrored statues that Hero made a note to admire more closely later. She was honestly surprised the villain hadn't used a chauffeur, fancy and rich as their surroundings were.

Hero swung her feet out onto the cobbled drive and ignored the hand that was offered to help her out of the car. Supervillain made no mention of it, simply stepping back to allow her room to stand. She made to follow him but he insisted on walking side by side up the path to the porch. The lawn rolled with precisely cut grass covering an area so vast Hero knew the upkeep had to be a full time job. Jasmine crawled up the sides of the entryway and Hero breathed it in while she waited for Supervillain to open the door.

A gleaming chandelier and a grand staircase awaited them inside. Large windows made any synthetic lighting obselete at this time of day. Paintings with gold frames lined the walls inside halls that branched to the right and left.

Waiting a polite amount of time for her to take it all in, Supervillain turned to his fiancée and inquired conversationally, "Are you hungry, or would you like me to just show you your room?"

Hero shook off her wonder with a hint of embarrassment, but kept her head held high as she answered, "The room, please."

The 'please' felt weird on her tongue. It did not escape her notice that he had referred to it as her room. She reserved judgment on the absence of the word 'our,' but immediately rejected that anything in this mansion would ever truly be hers.

Nevertheless, Supervillain led her to the second floor with a nod and the sweep of his arm in the direction of the stairs.

It was tucked into the corner of the right wing of the mansion, right where the carpet runner made a turn. A lilac colored door swung open to reveal a similarly-colored room. An immodestly sized bed occupied the middle of a comparatively more modestly sized room. Violet curtains were drawn across most of the windows, but an open balcony allowed more than enough light through glass doors for her to see.

So this was it. Her new prison.

With nothing else to do, she walked in. Supervillain shut the door, leaving her alone without a word.

Her feet shuffled over a thick and patterned carpet, prompting her to kick off her boots and leave them in the middle of the marble portion of the floor. She ran her hands along the bed and felt between her fingers sheets so silky soft she wanted to gag. The pillowcases were much the same, covering a set of soft down pillows and a larger set of firmer ones propped against the carved headboard behind them.

Pivoting away from the bed, she gazed across the room to an armoire on one wall that didn't really catch her eye. What did however, was located in the corner adjacent to it. Hero didn't think she'd ever seen a mirror so clean in her life. It was tall enough that she could herself from the top of her head to the bottom of her shoes, had she still been wearing them.

Ironically, her mind wandered to imagining herself in that atrocious torquise gown. She could see where her hips would protrude along the side seams and make her wildly uncomfortable, where the flare would rest above her feet and make her look like an abused paint brush. The color she pictured was not dissimilar to that of the walls of her childhood bedroom, which is what made her shake the vision off.

She turned to the balcony doors, deciding she needed some air before the lavender walls and overstuffed pillows of her cell suffocated her. Like many things she had already discovered, she found the balcony to be hilariously oversized, following the length of almost the entire wall of her room. The shock of its size, however, took a backseat to the view she found in front of her.

In the distance, gray towers rose settled in the valley between a ring of mountains. Clouds softened the sky, greeting her as she stepped out into the light humidity. Hero imagined the sunset here must be breathtaking, not to mention the glow of the city lights taking over right after. She spotted a lounge chair placed conveniently for her to lay, so she settled on the edge of it and continued looking through the bars of the rail. For now, the same sun that cast a glow on this mansion cast a shadow over the city. The city that was a symbol of all that she had left behind.

What she was here to protect.

Next part: Singing Bird

[neon-kazoo]

It got long again, so more tomorrow, I promise!

Gilded Cage (Bloodstained Ivory pt. 2)

It was an awkward car ride.

His car was exactly what Hero had expected, a sleek black top-model sedan with leather seats and silver accents. She had tried to get in the back. Supervillain—her future husband—had directed her to the front. He even held the door open and closed it, to which Hero held back a sneer. Any day before, and she would have been spitting a comment about meaningless chivalry. But not today. Or ever again.

She was going to have to get used to it.

It was quiet. Few words, no radio. Even the engine had very little to say about the journey. Hero wondered aloud about the fish in a tank she had back home. Supervillain said they’d pick up some of her things tomorrow. It was a small relief, but she hadn't said anything back.

Instead, she focused on the scenery. Anything but her new husband, really. Trees that were various rich shades of green sped by outside the heavily tinted windows and windshield. They were headed a decent distance outside the city, with slightly delapidated roads and only sporadic homes with 'no trespassing' signs to mark their progress. It was pretty, but that wasn't terribly surprising for a summer here. Hero rested her eyes until the car slowed as they approached a stacked river-rock gate. A press of a button and said gate swung open. Hero rolled her eyes.

Continuing on, the car crested a hill lined with evergreen saplings and Hero's gaze landed on a house she had only seen in realtor photos pinned to a crime board. It was so much bigger in person, so much more obnoxious than she had imagined.

Supervillain's mansion stood three stories tall with white walls and a slated roof. A circular parkway framed by shaped bushes is where the car was pulled to a stop. In the center rested a fountain with mirrored statues that Hero made a note to admire more closely later. She was honestly surprised the villain hadn't used a chauffeur, fancy and rich as their surroundings were.

Hero swung her feet out onto the cobbled drive and ignored the hand that was offered to help her out of the car. Supervillain made no mention of it, simply stepping back to allow her room to stand. She made to follow him but he insisted on walking side by side up the path to the porch. The lawn rolled with precisely cut grass covering an area so vast Hero knew the upkeep had to be a full time job. Jasmine crawled up the sides of the entryway and Hero breathed it in while she waited for Supervillain to open the door.

A gleaming chandelier and a grand staircase awaited them inside. Large windows made any synthetic lighting obselete at this time of day. Paintings with gold frames lined the walls inside halls that branched to the right and left.

Waiting a polite amount of time for her to take it all in, Supervillain turned to his fiancée and inquired conversationally, "Are you hungry, or would you like me to just show you your room?"

Hero shook off her wonder with a hint of embarrassment, but kept her head held high as she answered, "The room, please."

The 'please' felt weird on her tongue. It did not escape her notice that he had referred to it as her room. She reserved judgment on the absence of the word 'our,' but immediately rejected that anything in this mansion would ever truly be hers.

Nevertheless, Supervillain led her to the second floor with a nod and the sweep of his arm in the direction of the stairs.

It was tucked into the corner of the right wing of the mansion, right where the carpet runner made a turn. A lilac colored door swung open to reveal a similarly-colored room. An immodestly sized bed occupied the middle of a comparatively more modestly sized room. Violet curtains were drawn across most of the windows, but an open balcony allowed more than enough light through glass doors for her to see.

So this was it. Her new prison.

With nothing else to do, she walked in. Supervillain shut the door, leaving her alone without a word.

Her feet shuffled over a thick and patterned carpet, prompting her to kick off her boots and leave them in the middle of the marble portion of the floor. She ran her hands along the bed and felt between her fingers sheets so silky soft she wanted to gag. The pillowcases were much the same, covering a set of soft down pillows and a larger set of firmer ones propped against the carved headboard behind them.

Pivoting away from the bed, she gazed across the room to an armoire on one wall that didn't really catch her eye. What did however, was located in the corner adjacent to it. Hero didn't think she'd ever seen a mirror so clean in her life. It was tall enough that she could herself from the top of her head to the bottom of her shoes, had she still been wearing them.

Ironically, her mind wandered to imagining herself in that atrocious torquise gown. She could see where her hips would protrude along the side seams and make her wildly uncomfortable, where the flare would rest above her feet and make her look like an abused paint brush. The color she pictured was not dissimilar to that of the walls of her childhood bedroom, which is what made her shake the vision off.

She turned to the balcony doors, deciding she needed some air before the lavender walls and overstuffed pillows of her cell suffocated her. Like many things she had already discovered, she found the balcony to be hilariously oversized, following the length of almost the entire wall of her room. The shock of its size, however, took a backseat to the view she found in front of her.

In the distance, gray towers rose settled in the valley between a ring of mountains. Clouds softened the sky, greeting her as she stepped out into the light humidity. Hero imagined the sunset here must be breathtaking, not to mention the glow of the city lights taking over right after. She spotted a lounge chair placed conveniently for her to lay, so she settled on the edge of it and continued looking through the bars of the rail. For now, the same sun that cast a glow on this mansion cast a shadow over the city. The city that was a symbol of all that she had left behind.

What she was here to protect.

Next part: Singing Bird

[neon-kazoo]

Hiiii!!!!

Could you maybe do a (f) hero x (m) supervillain??

Maybe some forced marriage tropee?? If ur ok with that but anything else is fineee<33

Lover ur writing, thank you for reading thiss :)

(also it's fine if you can't! No pressure 🙃)

Ok so I actually wrote like double this but it was getting too long and taking forever so I just decided to cut it, but if anyone wants more lemme know cause it’s basically already written.

Enjoy!

Bloodstained Ivory

Hero didn’t used to think she would ever get married. It's not that she never tried—she did. It's just that it never seemed to work out. Every summer she walked into singing Single Ladies by Beyoncé marked another year that passed without finding 'the one.' It didn't bother her, not really. She was content, although quite possibly doomed to remain single for the rest of her days. Maybe she could blame it on the lifestyle—long unpredictable hours, heroic priorities that left personal relationships feeling lacking—but she knew it was something deeper.

Growing up, she had never dreamed of walking down the aisle, never tried sketching her future gown, never imagined the face awaiting her at the altar. Her therapist would probably say she thought she was unworthy of love, but that didn’t matter now. Love was not in the question here. This was a game, and Hero had lost.

In front of her stood the consequences.

She supposed, if she did have a type, he could have been it. Athletic-built, decent tan, well-groomed, not half-bad. Better, even—if she was being honest with herself, which she wasn’t. All she could allow herself to see when she looked at him was a monster. A monster dressed as a man, in a tailored ebony suit jacket over a burgundy dress shirt, with freshly polished shoes to match. A complementary silk pocket square peaked out the top of his breast pocket. The fabrics were pretentiously dark and Hero couldn’t help but think the whole ensemble could be covered in blood and it wouldn’t show. Knowing him—whether literally or metaphorically—it certainly was.

At the very least, Hero knew she didn't find blood attractive, but the monster standing just a step away didn't care. He stood tall and victorious while he announced the completion of his plan. Hostages contained, bombs in place. He had the city by the throat, and he only wanted one thing.

The details of his play weren’t important, and quite frankly trying to rehash them sent Hero into a state of despair she almost couldn’t come back from. Every assurance set in place by the supervillain built a helplessness that crawled up her throat at random intervals, choking her to tears and almost sending her spiraling down into the darkest place of her mind. He knew it, too. She knew he did.

"You want to save everyone, Hero?" He had asked with condescension, peering down at the hero that had come to him in complete desperation.

"Yes." Of course she did. She had wasted no time dropping straight to her knees and pleading for the people and the place she had spent her whole life trying to protect. What else could she possibly want?

He had paused—like the dramatic man he was—chewing on his lip as if in deep thought, though certainty steeled his gaze. It was purely for show, because she knew his next words had been scripted all along.

"Marry me."

And just like that her fate had been sealed.

To Hero, it wasn’t a question of if she would do it. Just how she would live with it once she did.

For a second, she allowed herself to imagine what her younger self hadn't even dared to dream of. Her dress might have been fitted or flowing, pure ivory or off-white—she didn’t know.  Maybe it wouldn’t have even been either, maybe she would have strut rebelliously down the aisle in a turquoise mermaid-style gown— ignoring how the possibility made her cringe. Regardless of how much she would have regret it looking back through the photo album ten years from now, it would have been her decision

That’s what really got her about this. Here, she didn’t have a choice. There was no dress shop, no florist, no color scheme to choose. It was just her, a small velvet box, and a decision. She was trapped, and he knew it.

The war she had tried so hard to avoid raged behind his eyes as he waited for her answer. Even though it was already long decided, she swung her gaze away and stalled for just another precious moment of freedom.

This union would effectively end her career, ruin her credibility, and provide a way to keep her under the supervillain’s thumb for the rest of her life. Honestly, it was kind of genius. The only thing Hero didn’t understand is why it was better than a bullet in the back of her head.

She knew she was right there, on her knees, already at his mercy. It should have been so easy for him to put a stop to her—his enemy—right then and there.

He had presented it like how the devil would offer salvation to a sinner, with a silver tongue and a god-awful smirk on his face. His arms were crossed and his posture laid back, but his eyes never left Hero. His ease, which was probably meant to assure her of his victory, did nothing but unsettle her.

“So? What will it be?”

Surrender, in the form of marriage.

"Yes," she assented, with all the confidence she could scrape off the ground she kneeled on. This, she would do for her people. A final act. "I will."

She gazed up into his eyes as a cold ring of metal slid its way onto her finger. It hugged her skin perfectly, like a manacle. She was to be married to Supervillain.

Her damnation.

[neon-kazoo]

Hiiii!!!!

Could you maybe do a (f) hero x (m) supervillain??

Maybe some forced marriage tropee?? If ur ok with that but anything else is fineee<33

Lover ur writing, thank you for reading thiss :)

(also it's fine if you can't! No pressure 🙃)

Ok so I actually wrote like double this but it was getting too long and taking forever so I just decided to cut it, but if anyone wants more lemme know cause it’s basically already written.

Enjoy!

Bloodstained Ivory

Hero didn’t used to think she would ever get married. It's not that she never tried—she did. It's just that it never seemed to work out. Every summer she walked into singing Single Ladies by Beyoncé marked another year that passed without finding 'the one.' It didn't bother her, not really. She was content, although quite possibly doomed to remain single for the rest of her days. Maybe she could blame it on the lifestyle—long unpredictable hours, heroic priorities that left personal relationships feeling lacking—but she knew it was something deeper.

Growing up, she had never dreamed of walking down the aisle, never tried sketching her future gown, never imagined the face awaiting her at the altar. Her therapist would probably say she thought she was unworthy of love, but that didn’t matter now. Love was not in the question here. This was a game, and Hero had lost.

In front of her stood the consequences.

She supposed, if she did have a type, he could have been it. Athletic-built, decent tan, well-groomed, not half-bad. Better, even—if she was being honest with herself, which she wasn’t. All she could allow herself to see when she looked at him was a monster. A monster dressed as a man, in a tailored ebony suit jacket over a burgundy dress shirt, with freshly polished shoes to match. A complementary silk pocket square peaked out the top of his breast pocket. The fabrics were pretentiously dark and Hero couldn’t help but think the whole ensemble could be covered in blood and it wouldn’t show. Knowing him—whether literally or metaphorically—it certainly was.

At the very least, Hero knew she didn't find blood attractive, but the monster standing just a step away didn't care. He stood tall and victorious while he announced the completion of his plan. Hostages contained, bombs in place. He had the city by the throat, and he only wanted one thing.

The details of his play weren’t important, and quite frankly trying to rehash them sent Hero into a state of despair she almost couldn’t come back from. Every assurance set in place by the supervillain built a helplessness that crawled up her throat at random intervals, choking her to tears and almost sending her spiraling down into the darkest place of her mind. He knew it, too. She knew he did.

"You want to save everyone, Hero?" He had asked with condescension, peering down at the hero that had come to him in complete desperation.

"Yes." Of course she did. She had wasted no time dropping straight to her knees and pleading for the people and the place she had spent her whole life trying to protect. What else could she possibly want?

He had paused—like the dramatic man he was—chewing on his lip as if in deep thought, though certainty steeled his gaze. It was purely for show, because she knew his next words had been scripted all along.

"Marry me."

And just like that her fate had been sealed.

To Hero, it wasn’t a question of if she would do it. Just how she would live with it once she did.

For a second, she allowed herself to imagine what her younger self hadn't even dared to dream of. Her dress might have been fitted or flowing, pure ivory or off-white—she didn’t know.  Maybe it wouldn’t have even been either, maybe she would have strut rebelliously down the aisle in a turquoise mermaid-style gown— ignoring how the possibility made her cringe. Regardless of how much she would have regret it looking back through the photo album ten years from now, it would have been her decision

That’s what really got her about this. Here, she didn’t have a choice. There was no dress shop, no florist, no color scheme to choose. It was just her, a small velvet box, and a decision. She was trapped, and he knew it.

The war she had tried so hard to avoid raged behind his eyes as he waited for her answer. Even though it was already long decided, she swung her gaze away and stalled for just another precious moment of freedom.

This union would effectively end her career, ruin her credibility, and provide a way to keep her under the supervillain’s thumb for the rest of her life. Honestly, it was kind of genius. The only thing Hero didn’t understand is why it was better than a bullet in the back of her head.

She knew she was right there, on her knees, already at his mercy. It should have been so easy for him to put a stop to her—his enemy—right then and there.

He had presented it like how the devil would offer salvation to a sinner, with a silver tongue and a god-awful smirk on his face. His arms were crossed and his posture laid back, but his eyes never left Hero. His ease, which was probably meant to assure her of his victory, did nothing but unsettle her.

“So? What will it be?”

Surrender, in the form of marriage.

"Yes," she assented, with all the confidence she could scrape off the ground she kneeled on. This, she would do for her people. A final act. "I will."

She gazed up into his eyes as a cold ring of metal slid its way onto her finger. It hugged her skin perfectly, like a manacle. She was to be married to Supervillain.

Her damnation.

Part two: Gilded Cage

[neon-kazoo]

So uhhh

You may or may have no just posted The Perils of Drugging your Nemesis like less than 24 hours ago buttttttt

Part 2????

Love ur work!!! :D

Part Two! Part One here.

Hero was not a happy camper when they finally awoke. Really, Villain couldn’t expect them to be. It had been hours since they were brought to the lair, hours in which Villain had watched their every labored breath. Medic had mentioned something about the sedative being a depressant and affecting the lungs—Villain didn’t really know. All they knew was that using it was a mistake, one that they would not be making again.

“You…drugged me?” The hero asked sluggishly, residual muscle weakness making a mockery of their attempt to scowl.

The villain gripped their hand, the one with the oxygen monitor attached. They glanced at the number, making sure Hero was still in a good place before they answered. Above 90 Medic had said, and Villain was able to reassure themselves. Hero was doing okay.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” the villain chuckled, a little breathless themselves. The past few hours had been stressful, to say the least. Villain ran their hand through their hair for what felt like the millionth time, and they winced as they released the grease was going to warrant a shower.

“Tss alright,” Hero mumbled, dropping the disapproving look and relaxing their face. “I really needed a nap.”

That time, Villain laughed a little louder.

“Well, I’m happy I could help with that.”

The smile slowly faded from the villain’s face as the Hero started to groan. A pained look had decended upon their face. They were trying to sit up, so the villain slid a hand under their back to support them.

“Woah, slowly.”

The hero took a moment once they were fully up. Villain couldn’t help but notice how weak they looked, swaying slightly and squinting like they couldn’t quite keep their eyes open.

“Water?” The hero croaked out.

Villain rushed off to fulfill the request before they could think twice about leaving the hero alone loose in their lair. They returned, full cup in hand only a minute or two later.

Hero took the cup, whispering a thank you as they went to drink. Their hand shook, and a small amount spilled into their lap. Wordlessly, Villain wrapped their hand around the Hero’s and brought the cup up to their lips.

Hero drank, their eyes downcast as they gulped their way out of dehydration. Once they were done, the enemies sat in silence for a moment. The hero crossed one arm over their chest and hooked it with the other, stretching their muscles while Villain dutifully avoided eye contact by glancing around the room.

It was a lounge room, and Hero sat on one of three couches, this one located in the center of the room. A cozy room, as far as lairs went, not one they would normally allow anyone but themselves into. Usually, the security of their base was paramount, prisoners only ever getting to see their cell and an interrogation room, nothing else. They did everything they could to keep their plans and the mission in tact.

Funny how priorities change.

Villain slipped away around the corner to call Medic, even though Hero insisted that they were fine. Something squeezed at their chest, and Villain could only interpret it as a warning about the health of their guest. Medic said they were on their way, but relief didn't flood the villain as they had expected it to.

It just…wasn't natural. For them to care like this.

They lingered in the doorway for just a moment after hanging up. This time it was their own troubled breathing they noticed, their own heart racing in their chest.

Maybe Medic needed to check them out too.

[neon-kazoo]

Creature Feature Featuring the Creature

(Clingiest Hero on This Side of the Universe pt. 2)

Villain was on patrol when they received an incoming call from none other than the contact labeled: ‘Stage 4 Clinger’. Henchman watched the purple dot that signified Villain’s location trace down a back street as they considered whether or not to answer. Unfortunately, the day was slow and Villain already unfocused, so they really had no excuse to ignore the clingy hero. Reluctantly, they patched him into the coms.

Immediately, his filter-less words streamed through the call. “Villain, do you like the Cars franchise?”

“No,” Villain answered easily, like Hero infiltrating their earpiece was a common occurrence, which it was.

Hero gasped, as if the Villain had just informed him that she enjoyed murdering baby animals in Minecraft (which she did not. That was Vigilante’s thing.)

“So you don’t think Mater is hot??”

“…No,” Villain tried. Henchman let out a relieved breath.

Nice to see her standards were still in tact. You never knew these days.

“Sorry,” Hero started matter-of-factly, and motion could be heard on his end of the line. “I must end you now.”

“Please,” Henchman scoffed, patching themselves into the call and leaning into their standing mic, “you couldn’t commit to a six month relationship let alone commit murder.”

Hero made an offended noise even more potent than the one triggered by Villain’s indifference to an animated rusted tow truck.

“I’ll have you know I’m about to propose,” he stated smugly.

“ITS BEEN A MONTH!!” Villain and Henchman shouted in unison. Hero had proudly announced to both of them the first time he had asked this soon-to-be fiancé out on a date. That had been just two weeks after the last one, which Hero had tracked Villain down to a rooftop to loudly cry about.

“And?” Hero asked. Henchman uncapped their pen with a low whistle, circling some text that said ‘commitment issues’ and adding a small note below it that read ‘one-month’ engagement’.

Meanwhile, Hero continued on some ramble about a ring or maybe a movie with planes, they weren’t really listening. They did however, notice when Villain’s voice went quiet, cutting off a sentence mid-reply.

“Henchman,” Villain whispered into her wrist com. “Somebody’s watching me.”

“Yeah, me,” Hero joked.

Henchman wasn’t so sure it was a joke.

Just in time, the words ‘PROXIMITY ALERT’ flashed across their screen. Sure enough, on orange dot appeared in the vicinity of the villain. Henchman clicked through several screens and tapped some keys on their keyboard to pull up sketchy camera feed on their largest monitor. Villain stood just behind the corner of a building, hand cupped around her ear to amplify any sound.

Was there really any point in warning her?

“To your left,” Henchman called, though—as they suspected—it was mostly futile.

Through the tilted and half-cracked camera lens Henchman could see a dark figure wrap an arm around Villain’s neck from behind. Villain let out an incredulous choking noise and Henchman winced. That looked even less fun that the collar grab-and-swing move he pulled last time.

A characteristic howl carried through Henchman’s speakers as they barely made out that Villain had been able to tuck their chin under the Hero’s forearm.

“STOP BITING ME,” Hero insisted emphatically, and Henchman smiled.

You’d think he would learn his lesson eventually.

Seeing that Villain was not actually in immediate danger, Henchman swapped their headset to Bluetooth and muted as they walked off towards the kitchen.

After a moment, it seemed Villain relented, conceding, “You’re right, there is far too much of you in my mouth right now,” with a distinct note of disgust.

“Why would you summon me just to bite me?” Hero asked with mock offense.

“I didn’t invite you, you heathen,” Villain replied and there was a brief pause while Henchman rustled through the pantry.

“What does it take to summon you?” Villain questioned, denoting their sarcasm by adding, “Cause I’ll stop doing that.”

“Just a lady,” Hero answered confidently, uncaring for the lack of seriousness in the question.

“That’s it? Any lady?”

“Two arms, two legs, warm tongue, and a spinal cord,” Hero confirmed.

“Ableist but ok,” Henchman commented, holding down a touch-talk-button as a microwave whirred in the background.

“And gross,” Villain added, and Henchman heard someone stumble a few steps. Probably Hero, and probably due to getting shoved by Villain, if they had to guess.

Henchman grabbed a bowl from a cabinet and headed back to their desk to watch the rest of the exchange play out.

“What are you doing here, Hero?”

“Clearly, I’m out here fighting evil.”

“He is so ai-generated,” Henchman cut in.

Hero’s smile was warped by the lens but still very visible on Henchman’s monitor.

“I loveeee Chat GPT.”

“That was not a compliment,” Villain sighed, rubbing her face with her palm.

“And they call us the bad guys,” Henchman groaned simultaneously, slamming their head on their hard wood desk, narrowly avoiding spilling their theater snack.

“I told you I’m here to fight evil and you’re a villain, Villy.”

“More like a victim when you’re around.”

"Come on, you know you love me."

Henchman picked out a particularly buttery piece of popcorn to toss between their teeth.

"I have more love for Lightning McQueen than I do for you."

Henchman, suddenly feeling antagonistic, chimed in, "You have a picture of him in your emergency wallet.” They popped another piece into their mouth.

“He put that there!” Villain defended weakly.

“And you left it,” Henchman mumbled between chews.

"Awww, did you put it next to the rose petals-"

A strangled cry followed. As entertaining as this was, Henchman knew it was time to call it quits for the day. There would be plenty of time for those two to flirt fight another day.

“Ok, time to leave the hormone-on-legs. We’ve got work to do.” Henchman dumped the remaining kernels into the trash, ready to get back to business.

“Nooo Villy don’t leave. I haven’t gotten to arrest you yet. I know you like cuf-“

“What I’d like is to see you begging- no not like that!”

“You think I won’t?”

Hero dropped to his knees in the middle of the street with zero hesitation. Henchman grabbed the crab-shaped pillow sitting in an adjacent chair and pressed it to their face to muffle their scream.

“Come read ‘The Great Gatsby’ or something,” Henchman tried to convince.

“I’m fine,” Villain insisted, “I can stay out plenty longer, he’s not going to stop me-"

Yeah, right. That wasn't exactly what they were worried about.

It was time to pull out the big guns.

“I will tell him about the holy trinity,” Henchman threatened.

A pregnant pause.

“Heading back now!” Villain called cheerfully.

Hero’s protests went unheard as Henchman cut the coms and Villain scurried back to base.

[neon-kazoo]

Rage

Hero threw their weight against a heavy metal door, sending it open with the groan of rusted hinges and stumbling out with an arm tucked protectively over their ribs.

Their skin burned, but their fingers fumbled as they tried to rip their jacket off. They finally succeeded after popping a few threads and cutting the last button clean off with a knife. They extricated their arms from the sleeves and tossed the cursed thing straight into a puddle. The burning turned to an itch, a crawling under their skin they couldn’t shake no matter how much they rubbed and scratched and scraped.

“You can’t do this to me, not after all I’ve done for you,” they spoke, and for a second they believed it. They shook their head violently, sending droplets flying off their dampened hair. They slammed their fist into the side of their hip, hitting once, two, three times.

They took a few more steps with their feet dragging on the concrete. Their heart beat a thousand times faster than they moved, their lungs screaming with hunger that couldn’t be satiated.

Finally, their knees buckled, and they dropped to the street like a stone in water with two sickening cracks. Sharp pain replaced the dull and Hero breathed a shaky breath.

“You can’t!” They sobbed brokenly, tilting their head to the sky.  The rain soaked through their every layer of clothing. Water pilled on their bare arms. The cold seeped straight to their bones, but that wasn’t why they shivered.

“What did I ever do to you?” They whispered, maybe to the sky, the stars, the moon. Themselves.

Vindictively, they spit, “It was supposed to be me and you,” they paused, gasping for a moment before choking out, “together!”

They whipped their head down, facing the ground. Nausea crept up their throat and swirled around their tongue.

“How could you?” They breathed, before repeating the words again in a yell that ripped their vocal tract raw. They pounded throbbing knuckles into the asphalt beside them.

They’d never know the reason, or maybe there wasn’t one. Maybe a butterfly flapped its wings in Mexico and set this all in motion. Maybe it was engrained in their DNA from the start.

If only bodies could talk.

[neon-kazoo]

Bluff

Villain faced Hero in a darkened back room, stocked shelves and open boxes between them. Dim light crept in from the half open door behind him, but hardly any of it reached the hero that stood farther back. The hero glared and the villain watched them in turn, silent face off broken first by the former.

“I’d suggest you leave,” they called, with a tone of easy confidence that Villain generally regarded as nothing but heroic hubris.

“No,” the villain drawled as he stalked his way closer through the maze of shelving. "I don't think I will."

“Your funeral,” the hero replied, but they didn’t smirk as the villain would have. They followed his movements closely with narrowed eyes—defensive, as they often were. There was subtlety in the details, though. The way they were half hidden behind the shelf, unable to maintain the grandiose presence often expected of the heroes by standing out in the open.

Too defensive.

Villain took a step forward. Hero stood their ground. Their feet remained planted, their face and posture unchanged.

Too still.

The hero Villain knew would have met him halfway.

Still, he approached slowly. Just because he knew something was off, doesn’t mean he knew what. Hero made no noticeable move other than to turn their body to meet the angle of his approach.

When Villain navigated themselves to just a few feet in front of the hero, he stopped. Hero’s posture was all wrong, hands hidden and shoulders hunched. Their weapons should have been on display, pointed directly at the villain. A sharp remark should have been at the tip of their tongue.

It was odd, but there was one normal detail the villain found as he studied his enemy. Their face fell in shadow, but Villain could still make out that it held all the disdain he would expect from the hero.

Experimentally, he moved into range, meeting the hero right where they were at, holding his own weapons at bay for the moment. Hero kicked and landed one square in the chest, but strangely they didn’t follow through. They just watched with fierce eyes as Villain stumbled back before regaining his footing.

“Oh.” Villain smiled. “I see.” He stepped closer and the hero shrunk back, just as expected.

He advanced once again, and when Hero went for another kick he grabbed the outstretched leg before it could land. He came to stand in front of them, thigh to thigh so there was no room to utilize their knees. The villain chuckled lightly as they pressed against the hero, reaching around them to find the cold metal of the cuffs that chained them to the shelf.

“You can’t,” he confirmed lowly, far too close to their ear for comfort.

Metal scraped as Hero thrashed hard once against their bonds.

“Get off me,” they growled and he did, taking a long step back. Amusement danced in his eyes as he took in the scene in front of him.

“My my, how did this happen?” He mockingly inquired, tilting his head to watch the hero's nearly crumbling facade.

“Why don’t you come closer again and find out?” The hero spat, but the cracks in their features were leaking fear. Villain raised an eyebrow, but mercifully didn’t take the bait. Instead, he rounded around the shelf. Hero shifted uncomfortably on their feet, unable to turn completely and keep their enemy within sight.

Villain ran their thumb over the imprinted inscription they knew they'd find in the darkened metal. They were Hero's cuffs, though they were linked with a pair he didn't recognize.

How embarrassing.

He slid a nail between the metal and the skin of the hero's wrist, testing to see how tight they had been placed. Hero flinched, and from the way they stiffened up immediately afterwards, it had been completely involuntary.

This was no trick. If Hero could have slipped the restraints, they would have.

"Well isn't this amusing," he taunted while sliding up the hero's sleeves to check for any hidden tools of weapons.

"What can I say, I aim to entertain," the hero quipped, though it came out as more of a half-hearted mumble. "Care to stop staring at my back?"

Villain obliged, if only to get another read on their enemy. They stood face to face once again, the villain poised to deflect a flying foot at a moments notice, but otherwise relaxed. The screwed up look of the hero's face suggested they were trying to appear the same.

They weren't nearly as effective at it as the villain.

"Well, what should we do with you, then?" Villain questioned and Hero's breaths subtly picked up pace.

"We should pry me loose and start running before I arrest you-"

"Woah there," Villain placated, holding up his hands palms towards the hero. "That's big talk coming from someone shackled to a shelf."

Reflexively, Villain caught the shoe swinging towards him and aiming for a more vulnerable area than before. This time, he kept hold of it, forcing the hero into a sort of awkward hop to keep their balance and stay upright.

"Now, now. There's no need for that," he scolded.

Hero jerked but the villain didn't relent, tucking the foot close to his side and continuing the mostly one-sided conversation.

"Let's start simple. Where's the key at?" He questioned.

Hero scowled.

"They threw it. Somewhere over there."

A nod of their head indicated deeper into dark, somewhere in the sea of boxes and labrinth of cobwebs.

"Right. Not gonna bother myself with that," Villain replied brightly, earning himself a deeper scowl.

"You can't just leave me here," Hero protested.

"I could, actually," the villain noted, before adding before the hero's face could fall all the way into the basement, "But I won't."

Their relief was almost palpable.

For a second.

"What a waste of an opportunity that would be," the villain continued, dropping the hero's leg so he could step back and gesture largely with his arms.

"I mean, truly. A hero, fallen right into my lap." A smile with teeth so bright they almost shined lit up as he finished.

"What could be sweeter than that?"

Part two