Beads Of Sweat Rolled Off Hero's Brow. She Was Struggling To Restrain Villain, And A Crowd Was Actively

Their First Villain

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An awkward pause follows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The villain raises a brow.

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

“Yet you are working.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Has anyone ever really seen them before?

Or perhaps that is the lack of oxygen speaking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, look at them now!

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

Most unexpected death has a nice ring to it.

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

They’re drifting. Until they’re not.

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t.”

That startles a short laugh out of him.

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

“That sounds ... unhealthy.”

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

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

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

They can smell gingerbread and mulled wine on his breath.

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

“Would you like me to kiss you?”

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

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

“It’s not a no either.”

“Not how consent works, darling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

First to be seduced by a supervillain.

I love the expression transition and the cute little bounce, and the secondary animation on the ascot is just *chef's kiss*

Absolutely lovely work

Paper test animation I did yesterday!

It's 25 frames, 12 fps, with a few of the frames on twos, and drawn on sticky notes!!!

This is one of my ocs/personas :D

This is also my first time animating/doing frame by frame on paper! I animated this using a mix of pose to pose and straight ahead animation, mainly straight ahead :3 I am entirely self taught when it comes to animation, and if possible I would like some critique on this! However disclaimer that I am aware that my model changes a bit XD I did this within an hour because I was crunching for time between my free block and my first class in the morning. X3

Anyways, hope you folks like it, have a nice day!

Ps: if anyone who knows my characters has any more requests for animations of them, hmu! I actually really enjoyed this and I want to do more when I'm free!!!

Too Many Beds

(Reverse Trope: Too many beds, as seen on @out-of-jams )

Context: Hero and Villain forced to work together and need a place to stay for the night

Hero had been sent back to the car to gather their things while Villain booked them rooms for the night. Refusing to use a readily available luggage cart, Hero pridefully piled several bags across their body. They held two in each hand, two more were strapped crossbody–one resting on each hip for balance–making them so wide they would have had to step through the lobby door sideways. That is, if they could open the door in the first place, considering their hands were full and this hotel was sketchy enough to be skirting the ADA.

When Villain came back outside with only one room key, Hero could only hope that there would be two beds awaiting them behind shoddy wooden door.

Image their surprise when they unlocked the door to find not one, not two, but three beds clad in all-white linens.

Villain, ignoring the gobsmacked hero, pushed all the way into the room and made a bee-line for the bathroom. In a rather fittingly-villainous move, Villain had refused to relieve Hero of any of their cumbersome stuff during the trek up to their second-story room. The hero finally gathered themselves and their bags enough to step into the room, throwing villain’s bags on the far bed, placing their own bags on the bed closest to the wall, and sitting themselves on the bed in the middle. Immediately feeling their aching joints relax, hero fell back into the plush dramatically. They contemplated the merits of stealing some of the extra pillows to transfer to their bed before a light bulb lit up over their head. After a moment’s consideration, they stood up and started pushing the center mattress towards the one on the wall.

Mega Bed. First come, first serve.

“Hey! I got that one for me,” yelled an incredulous voice behind them. Apparently, Villain was back from the bathroom, and they were very very jealous of Mega Bed.

“You don’t need two beds!”

“Neither do you!”

“Sure I do!”

To punctuation their point, hero belly-flopped dramatically onto their claimed, enlarged sleeping arrangement.

“If you wanted more room to sleep, then you should have booked a room yourself!”

“What kind of motel has rooms with three beds anyway?!” Hero’s question was muffled by the comforter as they held their ground starfished face down over the blankets.

“This one does,” stated the villain from what sounded suspiciously far from his allocated regular-sized bed on the other side of the room.

“Obvishushlee,” the hero mumbled in reply.

“…”

The hero recognized this as a dangerous silence. The silence of plotting.

“Look, we can be adults about this-“ Hero was cut off with a yelp as they were dragged by the ankle out of Mega Bed and onto the questionably-clean carpeted motel floor. Villain attempted to step over them, presumably to claim Mega Bed for themselves, but Hero caught onto their ankle in a grand feat of revenge, thus preventing Villain from crawling into the rumpled sheets.

Hero would not give up Mega Bed without a fight.

As Hero and Villain tumbled on the ground, knocking over the lamp and accidentally turning the TV to the Spanish channel in the process, a stroke of genius hit. Hero grabbed Villain by the back of the shirt, stalling their scramble for the bedpost, playground-king-of-the-hill style.

“Stop! Stop-,” Hero shouted, then added placatingly, “I have an idea.”

And thus the Super Mega Bed was born.

Villain: I'm a villain, darling. My motives hardly matter. Hero: They matter to me.

Traditional hand-drawn animation my beloved

I love the warmth of the pencil

Idk why quality is so bad 😔

How the Turns Have Tabled

Hero approached the cell with all the feet-dragging reluctance of someone who was in way over their head. They dug through their pocket for the key, mumbling something about stupidity and youth mortality under their breath. A quick glance through the small window nestled in the door revealed a form unmoving laid out in the corner.

To their minor relief, it appeared their guest was still out cold.

The hinges squeaked as Hero slowly pushed open the door. They watched closely for any movement and saw none, so they continued.

Once inside, they dropped a bundle of fabric at the feet of the sleeping figure and left a plastic bottle and an aluminum package on the ground. They were back out the door quickly and the lock clicked back into place just as fast.

Hero turned away from the door and let out a quiet breath as they moved away.

A few steps in, a creak sounded from behind them.

Shit.

Hero froze, then spoke calmly into the stale air,“The exits out back.”

Lowly, a gruff voice responded, “Not that easy.”

Hero winced.

“Worth a shot.”

By the time their hand shot to their belt and they made to spin around, Villain had already closed the distance. Their knife was knocked from their hand the second it was drawn. The villain kicked it away in the same move he used to grab the hero’s wrist. Hero used their free hand to punch him in the face, landing a hard hit before Villain used his leverage to twist, forcing their arm behind their back and shoving them face-first into the wall.

Hero groaned into the cinder block, “Fuck my life.”

They would not have even realized that they had said that aloud had it not been for the confirmation of a deep but quiet chuckle.

Fingers curled lightly into their scalp as Villain spoke, “Other hand.”

Hero squeezed their eyes shut and offered up their free hand into the borderline-painful grip behind them.

“You want to tell me where the ties are?”

Hero turned their cheek against the wall so their jaw was free to move with the words.

“Second shelf from the bottom, other wall.”

They were lifted from the concrete and pulled backwards to the opposite side of the room. A plastic tie soon zipped into place, pinning their wrists together before the villain shifted his grip to their arm to lead them forward.

“In.”

They stepped through the door into the dimly-lit cell, and Hero scowled at the lock hanging broken off the latch.

“Sit,” he ordered with a shove towards where the crumpled blanket rested on the stripped down cot.

The hero stumbled but did as they were told, settling with their back against the wall and feet planted firmly on the floor.

They watched as Villain dragged in a folding chair, flipping it around in front of him to plant a leg on either side and sit backwards, conveniently blocking the doorway.

“Kidnapping, huh?” The villain begun to question, “Is that what you do now?”

Hero leveled their eyes on the blank sheet that was the adjacent wall in lieu of a response. Villain tilted his head at the silence and leveled a disappointed glare at the hero.

“Don’t make me come over there.”

At that, Hero dragged their gaze slowly to the man in the chair.

“I don’t suppose you’ll believe you walked in here of your own free will?”

“Right,” the villain leaned forward, placing his elbows on the seat back and planting his chin on his palms. “And the lock was for decoration.”

“Obviously, given how easily it broke.”

The distaste shown on the hero’s face suggested that they would be having more than a few words with Masterlock customer service.

Villain grinned almost imperceptibly.

“I must say, this is giving my style, not yours.”

“Yeah, well,” Hero bit their lip and averted their eyes again, “shit happens.”

They took the time to notice all the numerous cobwebs in the room before Villain opened his mouth again.

Oddly enough, he wasn’t moving his tongue to push for an explanation.

“You know, they say mimicry is the highest form of flattery.”

Hero, taken slightly aback, could only find the highly dignified words, “Fuck off.”

Instead of lashing out like the hero had predicted with muscles tensed, Villain simply pointed out, “You’re the one who brought me here. I think I might just stick around and find out why.”

With that, he stood. The chair slid across the floor and into the wall as he pushed off.

“It’s in your best interest to answer, so I’d suggest doing that.”

Hero did not dare take their eyes off his form as he approached. He towered over the low-lying cot, and Hero may or may not have forgotten to breathe as he leaned in.

“Or have you forgotten your position here, now?”

Hot breath warmed their ear and Hero bit their tongue.

“You thought you could lock me up?”

“I…made an error in judgment.” Hero spoke carefully, suppressing a shiver.

Another chuckle had Hero silently begging for a Time Machine. An arm was planted on either side of them, leaving them feeling like a bird in a cage, or an ant under a microscope.

“I sure hope the five minutes of success didn’t get to your head,” Villain spoke with faux pity, lips slightly pouted in obvious mockery.

“I think they took five years off my life, actually,” Hero admitted, figuring it was probably clear at this point how they felt about their decision to… well, abduct the villain.

“It sure sounds like you’ve learned your lesson, then.”

Hero almost cheered when Villain rose back to his full height, out of their immediate personal space. That was, until he continued.

“But really, it is best to be certain.”

“How, exactly, do you plan on being certain?” Hero inquired carefully, not that they really wanted to know the answer. Their heart beat a rapid warning inside of their chest.

Villain tapped his chin thoughtfully before a familiar grin spread slowly across his face.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got just the idea.”

Worrying did not even begin to cover the fear that sparked in the hero’s chest at that statement.

“Sit tight,” commanded the villain as he sauntered out the door, not bothering to replace the lock or even so much as close the door.

The hero was left to gawk at his abrupt departure from their place in the corner, unable to gracefully rise and follow him with arms stuck behind them as they were.

A few seconds passed, and they slumped as the adrenaline finally started to drain out of them.

They breathed out into the quiet air as the villain’s footsteps receded, “I am going to die so young.”

A very sweet and soft story

A child goes missing late one night after investigating a light emanating from their closet. The Child's teddy bear and the monster that lives under the bed must put aside their differences and form a truce in order to rescue the child.

Oh my god I am so obsessed with ‘A Man of His Word’ could you please continue it if you have time? Thank you sooo much i love your writing so much.

Happy to! Thanks for the kind words, hope you enjoy :)

Pt. 1

-

A Face with Two Hands (A Man of His Word pt. 2)

Cw: childhood parental loss, interrogation + previous warnings

“11:59,” the clock read.

It was digital, so no ticking could be heard from where it was reinforced into the wall. Civilian was just as silent where they stood in the center of the utterly empty room.

Around them, cold gray walls closed in, broken only by a thick metal door. It was painfully cliche as far as cells go, appropriate for a cold-hearted villain to stash away all their problems and inconveniences.

Like Civilian.

The quiet was peaceful, for a moment.

Silence, however, tends to beg to be broken, and Civilian’s mind was more than happy to oblige the whims of the stale air around them.

As easy as breath filled their lungs, the voices of their Mom and Dad flooded their head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Midnight,” they had promised, with eyes full of love. “You should be asleep by then.”

But Civilian wasn’t.

Instead, they were camped out in the kitchen, nest of blankets keeping them separate from the hard laminate floor. They refused to give in to the sleep that pulled relentlessly at their eyelids, gaze stubbornly locked on the little green numbers that glowed above the oven and spelled out broken promises.

They clutched a small stuffed panda in their arms, waiting for the familiar sound of the garage door opening. Their eyes watered as they rested their head against the wooden table leg.

With each minute that ticked by, Civilian’s heart dropped a little lower.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Looking at the clock now, Civilian couldn’t help but feel the same sense of dread.

They shook off the memory, coming back into the present with a disorienting blink.

It was three hours till the next switch check in. As far as Civilian could tell, Villain wouldn’t be back until then.

Plenty of time to take inventory.

Physically, Civilian had little more than the clothes on their back.

The cuts Villain had inflected still laid open and untreated. Clearly, he didn’t plan on them living long enough for infection to become a problem.

They tried to tear strips out of their jacket in hopes of maybe tying some fabric around their wound but quickly deemed the weave too thick. Out of necessity, they moved onto the thinner cotton of their T-shirt, tearing off the hem with a degree of difficulty and gripping it with their teeth to tie as tightly as they could manage.

They really did miss having Friend’s extra hands and muscles around.

Mentally, they were about at the same level, except there was no shirt bandage that would stop the echoing in their mind.

Prisoner.

The word sat like cold iron wrapped around their heart, the weight like a death and betrayal all in one.

Civilian didn’t know how they could ever forget a feeling like that.

They were painfully aware that there was nothing but an awkwardly blurted secret and three days of planning keeping an old friend from spilling their blood across the unforgiving concrete of what they could only assume to be some kind of basement.

They took a deep breath and glanced at the clock again.

Well, two days now.

Unexpectedly, a sharp wave of anger crashed over them. Did their friendship truly mean nothing? They were so, incredibly, irrevocably stupid! Now they were probably going to die, stuck in this stupid place he brought them to (because of course he had a place-!)

The door opened with no warning, the loud clicking and snapping of the lock sending a sudden jolt through their heart and taking several more years off their life.

The man that entered seemed nothing but cold and distant.

He wasted no time stepping towards them, and in turn Civilian wasted no time falling flat on their ass trying to back away from him.

“What was your plan?” He questioned without preamble, freezing his movements and allowing Civilian a precious second to think.

Unfortunately, even with the immediate threat paused, they still lacked the clear-headedness to answer.

What was Villain talking about? He was the one with a plan to take down Hero. Civilian just needed to help work out one little kink-

“What?” They asked the stone-faced villain.

“After ten seconds.”

Oh, that plan.

“Hope for the best?” They squeaked.

Civilian’s attempt at a self-loathing chuckle ended in nothing but a weak cough.

Once upon a time, Friend would have laughed heartily with them, bent over, one hand holding his stomach. Villain did no such thing. Eyes that could never have belonged to Friend cut them a dangerous glare.

“Okay, then. We’ll start with the harder questions,” he spoke level, but Civilian knew a dangerous tone when they heard one. Slowly, they started crawling back, but it didn’t matter.

Villain descended and Civilian shrunk with the knowledge that his hands were not empty.

“How the fuck did you figure out who I am?”

As much as Civilian tried to ignore it, the way he spit the pronoun stung.

Civilian was not unfamiliar with pain, nor were they unfamiliar with those close to them inflicting it upon them. What they felt now, however, was a level far beyond anything they had felt before.

They supposed he, of all people, would be an expert in inflicting pain.

In a matter of seconds, Civilian was sure they didn’t have nearly enough shirt left to bandage everything. Their tongue loosened with the stinging. They had no question this was intended by the man holding the sharpened knife.

“Die,” they blurted as a result, in that oh-so elegant manner that Villain had a habit of bringing out in them.

“Excuse me?” Villain challenged, eyebrows raised and hand poised to continue cutting.

“My plan,” Civilian grit hard through their teeth, “was to die.” They clarified, rolling over to groan. “I made peace with it.”

Villain considered them for a moment, rising to his full height and staring down at them with a confusing mix of condescension and possibly pity. Or perhaps he was just smug. Civilian certainly didn’t trust their ability to read him anymore.

He tilted his head slowly, only adding to Civilian’s confusion as he smirked.

“Did you make peace with this?”

To that, Civilian said nothing.

His face evened out again, and Civilian recognized the masked anger, familiar as the taste of blood, as he reached down. Villain pulled them up by the collar, wrestling their arms roughly behind their back as he leaned over their shoulder.

“That was not your best plan,” he whispered, before pulling them out the door.

The rain is coming down hard and unrelenting. The roads are muddy and slick, unlit and miserably cold. You are aimlessly seeking shelter when none but your nemesis stops beside you.

"Come to gloat?" you shout over the rain.

"Always," they call back with a smile. "Looks like you need a ride."

Your teeth are chattering. Your head is pounding. Your clothes are sopped.

"No, thanks. I love it out here," you snap.

Their smile drops. "Get in. We need to talk."

The Empty Envelope

A blank white envelope lay at Hero's doorstep.

They turned it over in their hands. "To Hero," written with flourish. No return address, but it was unmistakably Villain's handwriting. Inside was a slip of blank paper.

Probably a secret message, Hero decided. They brought their paper in for testing.

Nothing showed under a UV lamp. No discernible indentations to uncover. No heat-revealing ink.

Carefully the hero unfolded the envelope to check the inside for some kind of clue, cipher, anything.

Wait, a white flag -- a sign of surrender. Was Villain surrendering? That didn't sound right. Maybe they were waging a war on... The paper industry?...

Confused, Hero dialed the Villain's number.

"Yes, hello?" Villain answered distractedly.

"Villain, I'm going to need you to explain what this note means, because the blank page is a little vague."

"Oh, right, the note. I meant to fill it out before I left it, must have forgotten. Yes yes, I have your little friend, they're in danger, blah blah blah-- NOT important right now."

"You have my-- Villain, you kidnapped my friend?!"

"Well, yes, at first--"

"Hero," their friend called over the speaker. "I need to see you! You would not believe what happened--"

Hero seethed. "You let them go, or I'll--"

"Yes, yes, anyway--" The Villain quickly hung up.

Hero, of course, broke into Villain's base immediately. They heard chattering through the vents, and crawled towards the sound.

"... No. You're so much better off without them. They do not deserve you," they heard from the room below them.

"We've been together for a few years, but--"

Hero jumped down from then vent. "Back off! I'm here to save my friend!"

They found themselves in a circle of several henchmen, villain, and their friend, all wearing comfy clothes. Takeout and chocolate wrappers littered the ground. Someone was painting their friend's nails. They looked as if they'd been talking for a while.

"Oh, hi, Hero!" The friend waved cheerfully.

"Uh, hi?..." Hero stared down at a cluster of bottles. One of the sobbing henchmen patted the seat beside them. The hero hesitated, but Villain shot them a threatening glare and they took the offered seat.

"Thank you all so much," Friend gushed. "You all have been so... SO supportive-- I think I'm going to do it. I'm going to break up with my S/O."

"You're breaking up with your S/O?" Hero interjected.

"Yes, keep up, Hero," Villain snapped. "Your friend's S/O threatened them for allowing themselves to be kidnapped by me and--"

Hero's eyes lit up. "Wait, no, for real? You're breaking up? FINALLY?! Oh thank GOD--"

"RIGHT?!"

"I know, I know!" Friend waved their hands. "I should've left after they stole my credit card to sabotage my college funds--"

"They did WHAT--" Villain screeched.

"They didn't want me to leave." Friend explained. "It was... Sweet."

"They RUINED YOUR CREDIT SCORE!" Hero yelled, "INTENTIONALLY! While you were in the HOSPITAL!"

"Friend, listen, you're not just breaking up." Villain clasped Friend's shoulder. "We need to teach your ex a lesson. A permanent lesson."

They all looked at Hero as if expecting a retort.

"Are you kidding?" The hero smiled with a bloodthirsty glint in their eye. "You have no idea how long I've waited for this. I have so, so many ideas."