Chaotic-scraps - Blog Posts

"Hey, you're a hero, right?"

"Well, I mean--"

"I need someone strong to come clean out my garage."

"But I don't--"

"I'll pay you $5."

"..."

"I'll throw in a sandwich if you unclog my toilet."

"... ..."

The villain sprawled languid, more somber than usual, on the rooftop of a towering business building. Their head rested on the wall leading to the stairwell, legs dangling precariously over the edge. Staring down at the street with an intent that made hero's blood run cold.

"V-villain," Hero murmured with some measure of trepidation.

Villain leaned back, gazed at the hero from upside down, and smiled slow.

"Hero! How on earth did you find me?"

"I'll tell you i-if you come down," Hero said with a note of urgency.

"And why would I do that? I can hear you perfectly fine up here!"

"P-please come down."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were worried about me," the villain said, tapping them teasingly. "Scared of heights? Or think I have something up my sleeve?"

"I know you saw what the mayor said," Hero said. "I... I don't even know where to begin."

"So don't," Villain said. "After all, you agree with him, don't you? You just stood there and let him say everything. Of course you'll deny it and feign being neutral--"

"No, that's not--"

"Because that's so much less messy, isn't it?"

"I--"

"Listen, sit back, grab some popcorn, and I'll make a show of it just for you." They stood, one foot on the edge, one arm holding a pole as they dangled over the rooftop edge. "Your life will be sooo much better if I just--"

"VILLAIN!" Hero yelled. They climbed up and grabbed for their collar, but Villain dodged, spinning gracefully to the other side of the pole. Hero lost their balance, and Villain grabbed at their collar to steady them. "Careful, darling, we're high, high up. You don't want an accident, do you?"

"V-villain, please--"

"Aren't you afraid I'll push you?" Villain said. "Poor, sweet, trusting thing."

Hero sucked in a breath. Looked down below. That was a mistake.

"Villain, please, get down from here," they pleaded. "Please, I need you, please--"

Villain sneered. "You need me? What sentimental hogwash are you spewing now? You've never needed someone like me. Besides, you should worry more about yourself." Villain gripped their collar tightly, eyes wide with a hungry sort of malice. "Aren't you letting your guard down too much?"

With a yank, they swung Hero over the edge, toes barely holding the rooftop's edge.

Hero SCREAMED, panted, scrambling for as much purchase as possible.

"You're pathetic," Villain said. "Weak and trusting and SO easy to manipulate. A good little puppet for the mayor up until now."

"VILLAIN--" Hero screeched, voice cracking.

"But now I hold the strings," Villain said. "And it's time to make you dance."

They shoved Hero's feet off the edge. Kicking air. Crying. "Please please PLEASE--"

"Say it. Say I'm a monster, you COWARD. A filthy creature that needs to be eradicated--"

"V-villain--"

"An infestation on an otherwise fine society--"

"VILLAIN, NO--"

"You coward," Villain spat. "Say it to my face."

"Y-you're not."

"Liar. I'm a monster. Say it."

Tears fell from Hero's face.

"N-no. You're right. I'm a coward."

Silence.

Villain drew them back to the ledge.

"The m-mayor... Is the monster. I s-shouldn't have let it get this bad. We can't let him keep on like this."

There was that same somber look on the villain's face.

"I-I should have stood up to him," Hero sobbed. "I-if you... J-jump... It would end me." They hiccuped and buried their face in their hands. "I... I c-can't... I..."

"Hey, uh..." Villain gripped their shoulders. "Let's get down... Okay?"

"I'm a coward," Hero sobbed. "All this time... I just kept quiet... And for what? I almost lost you."

Villain patted their shoulder gently.

Hero looked up at them with watery eyes.

"I... I care about you. You're so used to being the villain you can't picture anything else."

"Heh." Villain shook their head. Put some distance between them, back turned. "You martyr. I just threatened your life."

"They're calling for your blood and disrespecting your life's work, and I stood by and let them. I betrayed you."

"It... Hurt," Villain said, hugging themselves. Head hung. "More than I care to admit."

"I'll make it right," Hero said. "Most don't see it, but your motives are good. I'll make them see it."

"I'm a villain, darling," Villain said with a sad smile. "My motives hardly matter."

Hero closed the distance and laid a gentle hand on their arm.

"They matter to me."

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

Somewhat inspired by Toei animated Swan Lake from 1981. The characters are not the same, nor is the situation. Mainly the prompt in my head is, what if a villainess asked a hero for a dance? Sketched and drawn in Krita. I am a little rusty so please be gentle.

The Green Scarf

CW: blood, head wound, hospitalization

Gerard kept a brisque pace in the snow-covered sidewalk, the frigid air colder still as the sun sank into the horizon. It was hardly the time to dawdle, but something in the air seemed not quite right, almost sinister in its unnatural silence.

It was then his eye caught the little droplets of red scattered in the snow, leading up the steps to the main school building. Probably nothing, he told himself. Best keep moving.

He heard a soft whimper.

Reluctantly Gerard ascended the steps to a small bush, behind which lay a prone figure, face-down and much too motionless.

That scarf.

He'd know that obnoxious green scarf anywhere.

"Blair?"

His heart thrummed in his chest. He gently rolled the body over. Blair. The absolute thorn in his side since day one of university.

He shook him briskly.

"Blair!"

Scoff.

"I should leave you like this after the way you embarrassed me yesterday," Gerard said aloud, mostly to himself. "Serves you right."

No response. It settled like a lead weight in his stomach.

Blair's skin was much too gray, much too dull. His breathing, much too weak.

Red... Pooling from the back of his head. He wrapped Blair's stupid scarf around the wound.

He checked his radial pulse. Faint.

Gerard groaned and glanced around for anyone to shove this responsibility onto.

No one. Of course not.

"Blair. BLAIR." He patted his cheek insistently. "Wake up. I am NOT carrying you."

Why wasn't Blair wearing gloves? Or a coat? Where'd he get that head wound?

That wasn't his business, Gerard decided. Well beyond his business.

His rival getting hypothermia, on the other hand...

He called emergency services.

"High than normal call volume. Wait time is 2 hours--"

He screamed a curse.

Moving Blair proved tricky. Not just the dead weight, but he had no way to determine if there was a neck injury on top of the head injury. The stairs would also be tricky.

He needed something to drag him with, and there was really only one thing that would do.

"You'll owe me BIG for this," he grumbled, pulling off his overcoat. He rolled Blair onto the overcoat unceremoniously and began dragging him down the stairs. The snow kept bunching into piles, slowing the forward pull. The cold made Gerard's teeth chatter, and he kept muttering curses with each merciless gust of wind.

He reached his apartment and threw open the door, snowflakes scattering across the front entry. With one final pull Blair was in, and he kicked his legs out of the way to slam the door shut.

"God, even when you're unconscious, you're still trouble," Gerard grumbled, turning on a space heater with shaking hands.

He felt Blair's pulse. Weak, but still there. He assessed the head wound. The bleeding seemed to have slowed. His hands were cold. Gerard pulled him near the space heater and bundled him in a blanket.

With little other option, he gathered first aid supplies. Antiseptic on the head wound, proper dressing.

The warmth was bringing color back to Blair's cheeks. Gerard's eyes pricked with tears, and he picked up Blair's cold hand in his.

"You'll be okay," he muttered. "You'll be back to that obnoxiously chattery self in no time, right? I'd better enjoy the silence while I can."

He laughed at himself for that, and quickly wiped away a hot tear.

A voice in his pocket broke the silence, and he quickly dropped the hand.

"Emergency services. What is the nature and location of your emergency?"

Oh. Right. He'd been on hold. He picked up the phone and explained the situation to the best of his ability, a bit flustered.

Emergency services arrived. Gerard rode with him, because wasn't that the right thing to do?

Blair came to about an hour later.

"Blair!" Gerard started towards him.

A moment of relief cut short.

"Gerard?" Blair spat, a note of disgust.

"Oh, shut up," Gerard grumped. Sat back.

"What the hell are you doing here? And-- wait, is this the hospital?!"

"Well, it's not the morgue," Gerard snapped.

"Why the hell did you ATTACK ME?!"

"Me? ME?!" Gerard held back the urge to strangle Blair. "I just dragged your sorry ass across town, and you're blaming ME?!"

Blair felt the back of his head. "Well, SOMEONE hit my head!"

"It'll be me soon if you don't drop the attitude," Gerard growled. "I didn't do it. I hate your guts, but I would never stoop that low."

"You wouldn't?" Blair quirked his brow skeptically.

"You're so much cuter when you're concussed," Gerard grumbled.

Chattering down the hall.

"Your friends are here," Gerard said. "Maybe ask one of them who had enough of your bull."

He stood to leave, but Blair caught his wrist.

"No. Wait. You really didn't do it?" Blair searched his eyes. "What d'you mean, you dragged me across town?"

Gerard yanked at his wrist. "Let go," he said.

"You brought me here?"

He didn't want to meet Blair's eyes.

"You really brought me to the hospital?"

"You were in front of the school," Gerard didn't answer. Didn't meet his eyes. "Just... Did what anyone would do."

"Yeah. Okay." Blair let go. "...Okay."

"Get better soon, asshole," Gerard said. He stormed out just as the group of well-wishers rushed in.

Arrived home. Realized Blair's stupid green scarf was still on the floor of his apartment.

Blair would definitely come back for it.

He kicked it across the room in frustration. Then proceeded to wash it in cold water.

//AN Sorry for not posting much this last week! I've been struggling to write and not really happy with anything, but I felt I should try to post something. Anyway, I hope you're all doing all right in the New Year. Thank you so much for reading!!!

Scraps

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

The medals we earn adorn their necks

The food we prepare they rend and scrape

Their clean homes, our cracked skin

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

The spreadsheets, waivers, all-nighters

The mandatory overtime, 'voluntary' vacation

As family, friends, community becomes strangers

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

They bathe excess in bleach

Destroy 'out-of-season' and 'imperfect'

Unwanted treasure that never trickles down

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

They shrink the box and raise the price

Formula and cinnamon with lead filler

Locked away from desperate hands

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

They take your words and art

Remove the feeling and the context

But most importantly, the watermark

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

Big words not meant for us

They'll pulverize until the pain means nothing

Your screams are taken as aggression

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

Cries in the waiting room, unheard

Life is precious, they'll say to bodies

Who in neglect, turned to corpses

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

In fear, they cut us smaller

Yet they shovel mouthfuls much too quickly

The scraps will make them choke

New Year's Day

"I don't matter," the hero said, hollow.

"Of course you do. You've saved so many people," the civilian argued. "You've done so much."

"You've known me for 15 years," the hero whispered. "What day is it today?"

"New Year's?" The civilian asked, a note of confusion. The hero huffed a breath. Nodded.

"Well, I should get going," civilian said. "Chin up, okay? You look better when you smile."

The hero watched them leave. Stared at the falling snow with detached interest.

A click. The barrel of a gun brushed the back of their head.

"Well, well, well," the villain said. "You should be out celebrating, darling. Not brooding on some snow-covered bench."

"Can you get to the threats?"

"Touchy today," the villain said. "Down on the ground." "There's snow on the ground," the hero said. "Can we skip that and go straight to the kidnapping?"

"Well, fine," the villain sighed. "Since it's your birthday."

"What's that?"

"It's your birthday. Get in the van."

The hero paused and turned.

"You think these bullets are blank?" The villain pressed the barrel to their temple. "Get in."

The hero laughed. High-pitched, a little bitter.

The villain was getting angry now. "What's so funny?" They snap.

"You're the only one who knows it's my birthday," the hero said.

"It's New Years Day. How could anyone forget that?!" the villain sneered, a little flabbergasted.

The hero shook their head and got in the van. After the interrogation, after the threats and the monologue and the random tangent about Christmas commercialism, the villain brought them a cake.

An enormous cake. It was collapsing under the weight of its own hubris.

All the henchmen came out wearing party hats. They sang Happy Birthday loud and off-key.

The hero tried not to smile. Tried not to cry. Failed at both.

They sang karaoke. Danced. Played party games.

The villain patted their shoulder heavily.

"My birthday is next month, by the way. Don't forget or I'll end you."

The hero laughed.

"I'm serious," villain said. "No peppermint. I hate it."

All I Want For Christmas is You (Part 1)

Inspired by the song version Minor Key All I Want For Christmas is You - Kurt Hugo Schneider with original characters (no names, I'm allergic apparently).

CW: Kidnapping, gun violence

Red and green lights blinked through the window blinds. Christmas music echoed from the street below. Gloved and shaking hands pulled red yarn from tack to tack. Photographs, sticky notes, news articles, emails.

The detective stared. Head pounding. Swigged the cold and bitter coffee. Jittery. Cold.

A month. It'd been more than a month since the thief's last known activity.

It just didn't make sense.

"Where are you," he whispered.

It wasn't like they owed him anything. Not the little gifts they would leave after a heist, nor the postcards mocking him for being one step behind.

Not the flirtatious moments that just… Refused to leave his mind.

They'd given him a souvenir of the last heist, just before disappearing. A thick and heavy gear, uniquely shaped, wrapped in a box. He'd shoved it into his bottom drawer with the other odds and ends the thief brought them.

He scrubbed the sleep out of his eyes. It meant nothing, he tried to tell himself. No news was good news, right? The thief was lying low after kicking the hornet's nest.

It had only been a month. They'd turn up. They always do.

Yet the hours ate away at him. They'd… Promised to stop by on Christmas Eve. Rookie mistake. Never trust a con artist to follow through on their honeyed promises.

Yet…

The thief's last target had been none other than a mob boss. They'd been missing since shortly after the heist.

If… If the detective could find some sign, some single shred of evidence they were okay, that they were safe, he could sleep.

He tried not to think the worst.

He took a shaky breath.

He couldn't sleep. Couldn't focus. Couldn't function.

Time to call on an old family… 'friend'.

Hopefully she was in a good mood.

He pushed through the cold and crowded streets. He went down a much quieter alley to a door with a small and faded sign.

The door to the shop jangled.

"Hey! Look who the rat dragged in," the shopkeep rasped. She hacked a cough and limped over to him.

"C'mere, you!"

She pulled him into a back-cracking hug.

"Ohh! Merry Christmas, sugar plum! I haven't seen you since, what? Last year? You look thin. Have a cookie."

The detective shook his head. "I just need some information, then I'll be out of your hair."

The shopkeep pursed her lips.

"Oh. I see. I'd hate to keep you, mister important detective man. No time to visit your auntie anymore. Not even on Christmas."

"You shot at me last time."

"Warning shots. Ought to teach you not to stick your nose where it don't belong."

"…Yeah." The detective sighed heavy. "I… Speaking of that." He withdrew a photograph and slid it to her. "Recognize this face?"

The shopkeep squinted. "Oh, yeah, that thief character. Stole my favorite mug. Little beagle on the front. Said 'You're the Doggon Best' on it."

Oh. The thief gave him that mug. He used it every day.

He shifted his gaze awkwardly, opening the door to a grandfather clock pendulum.

"Have you seen anything of them recently?" He asked.

"I heard they're not going to be a problem anymore," the shopkeep sniffed. "Quit fiddling with that old clock. You'll break it."

An old and matted cat mewled and stretched, and she scratched his head. "Does Mr. Biscuits want his num nums?" She cooed.

"What does that mean," the detective hissed, stepping between the shopkeep and her cat. "What do you mean, they're not a problem anymore?"

"You get between me and Mr. Biscuits, and we'll have ourselves a problem," the shopkeep growled, pushing past them. "Your friend messed with the wrong people. Forget about them."

"You know something," the detective demanded. "That mob boss has them, right? Where are they?"

"Dead," she rasped. "Dead, as far as you're concerned."

The detective sucked in a breath.

He leaned against the glass display for support.

No. No, they couldn't be dead. If the item the thief stole was worth their life, they wouldn't do away with them until they found said item. They were currently worth more alive.

"I don't believe it. Tell me your sources"

"I don't owe you that. Believe what you want."

"Where…" The detective pulled out a notepad. "Where is the boss's last known location?"

The shopkeep's eyes went wide, nostrils flared.

"No. You're looking for a fool's end, and I want no part in it," she said, walking by and pulling him by the sleeve.

"Take this cookie and get out, you fool boy." The shopkeep pushed a gingerbread into his hands and shoved him out the door.

The streets were colder as the night grew darker. Crowds thinned and the festive lights went out. The detective found a bench to sink into.

Something began to build in his chest. A cold, sad laugh.

He was laughing.

Crying.

God, he needed to get ahold of himself.

"Hey, uh," a voice caught his attention.

The detective hastily scrubbed away his tears.

"Heard you're looking for a friend," the gaunt figure grunted. "I can help."

Their eyes flicked to the cookie, and they swallowed. "For a price."

The detective held out the cookie for them. They blinked wide-eyed, then snatched and scarfed it down. A moan of satisfaction.

"The mob boss is hosting the Christmas party in their cabin." They smacked their lips. "That's just outside of the abandoned diner, cut right after the old winery. You'll find an unmarked path with a fork, go left. Tell em you're making a delivery."

They shoved a package in his hands. Cookies.

"I can't trust myself with 'em." The stranger grinned crookedly. "God, I've been so tempted for a nibble all day. Fresh baked this morning. A special something in the butter. God, just smell that." He sniffed the box deeply. "Tell em Ol' Shakylegs sent you if they ask."

The detective reached the address long after dark. Vehicles parked back to back all the way down the driveway and across the lawn. Anyone parked farther in was stuck. What a nightmare. He parked his motorbike close to the side.

There was a side entrance where staff went in and out. He made his way over and an event planner all but snatched the parcel away.

"You're late," they barked.

"Apologies," the detective said.

"Well? Move it! Clear out!"

"Where's the restroom?"

The planner scoffed. "Second door on your right. There's a line."

The detective nodded. Then went left, towards the party. He slipped into the crowd, eyes darting around for familiar faces.

A hand grabbed his shoulder.

"You're not supposed to be here," a hefty man grunted. "Party guests only."

"I'm a detective, and I found something of interest for your boss," the detective said. He handed a photograph of the gear the thief had left them.

"This looks like junk." The man held the photograph. Squinted. "Stay right here."

The detective peered around the room. Suspicious eyes flicked back. He recognized some. Some recognized him. He waved and forced a smile.

The man returned. "Come with me," he said. He grabbed the detective by the shoulder in an iron grip and pushed him through the murmuring crowd.

He reached a private study and shoved the detective inside. A few more men blocked the door.

"I'm told you have something of mine, detective," the mob boss said, tapping the photograph of the gear. "A Christmas gift, perhaps? This isn't extortion. You're much too smart."

"I need the whereabouts of a certain thief," the detective said. "Tell me where they are, and I'll wrap that gear in a pretty little bow for you before Santa comes to town."

The boss tapped his desk. "I need the blueprints, too."

"Only they have that information." The detective wet his lips. "I can get them to talk. Let me see them."

"Afraid that's not how this is going down." The boss made a gesture and one of the grunts pulled the detective to his knees, gun barrel digging into his temple. "You bring me the gear and the blueprints or my boy's'll make like Picasso with your brains."

Silencer. Plastic wrap on the floors and furniture. Fridge-sized gift box. He wasn't joking.

"Replicating the gear will take years," the detective said, voice stronger than he felt. "You need it now. Let's be reasonable here. Only I know where it's hidden. Blueprints won't help if you don't have all the pieces."

The boss stepped around the desk like a panther stalking for the kill. He looked down at the prone man with a bloodthirsty glint in his eye.

"Do you have family, detective?" The boss asked. "You look like a family man. You have a wife? Husband?"

The detective sucked in a breath.

"No." He looked down. "No, I have no one."

"No." The boss patted his cheek. "No, of course not. You don't know what it takes to raise a family. A happy family. What the cost is."

He gripped the detective's hair and forced him to meet his eyes.

"You get between me and my livelihood, you threaten my family. Understand? You come to me the day before Christmas and you threaten my livelihood with my family just outside--"

"Tell me they're alive," the detective pleaded. "Tell me they're alive. Give me some proof they're alive. Or…"

He took a shaking breath. "Or I won't care what you do to me."

There was a shift. The boss released his grip.

"You care for them," the boss whispered in revelation.

The detective's throat bobbed.

"You came for them… Because you have feelings for them."

"They're all I have," the detective whispered.

"That's why you have the gear," the boss said, everything clicking into place. "They care for you, too."

A pang in the detective's heart. Did they?… They never really confirmed-…

"Bag him. Take him to the basement," the boss said. "I'll deal with him later."

The detective yanked himself out of the grunt's grip and dodged a swing to the back of his head. One hit the other. The boss shot at him, missed and hit the second grunt. The detective grabbed a bottle of brandy and broke it, and held the broken glass to the mob boss's neck. A bead of blood trickled from where he pressed too hard.

"I will destroy you," the mob boss hissed. "I will destroy everything you love."

"You have MORE TO LOSE," the detective roared. "You have a family? I have one person. ONE PERSON I CARE ABOUT! WHAT ELSE CAN YOU TAKE?! TRY ME!!!"

He grabbed at the boss's wrist and bit into it until he released the gun. The boss wailed.

"YOU'RE INSANE!" He screeched.

"Tell me where they are," the detective said. "Tell me where they are now."

"In the abandoned warehouse near the pier," the mob boss said. "But you will never--"

Grunts stormed in from outside. They trained their guns on him.

The detective aimed the gun towards the ceiling, and shot the light. He ducked and rolled in the ensuing chaos.

"He's escaping! Get him! GET HIM, YOU IDIOTS!"

The detective burst into the room filled with festivities and barreled through the back entrance.

"Grab him! SOMEONE GRAB HIM!"

The detective pushed a chocolate fountain over. The grunts skidded and fell behind him.

Shots fired. The staff hit the floor.

Glass shattered. A bullet grazed the detective's side. He ran out the back and mounted the motorbike.

Too many cars parked. The grunts scattered in panic, trying to work a car free.

Precious time lost for them. The detective chuckled. That was a lesson in crowd management.

It was well after midnight when he reached the pier. Someone must've phoned he was coming. Grunts all around the perimeter.

They didn't expect him to be so brazen.

He barreled through a crowd of grunts who dove away with a cry. He shot at the deadbolt, but it held firm. A waste of bullets, a waste of time.

Something hit the back of his head.

The detective came to with a bag over his head. Hands tied behind his back, feet tied to a chair.

"Detective? You awake?"

His heart fluttered.

The thief's voice.

"I… It's you," the detective was overcome with emotion. "I heard you were dead."

"You came looking for me anyway?" The thief huffed. "You… Why would you do that? For me?"

"No, I was just looking for my wallet," the detective said. "You stole it again, remember?"

Laughter. "Lot of trouble for a wallet," the thief said. "You know you can request new cards--"

The detective drew in a sharp breath.

"What? What is it?" The thief sounded worried. "Did they hurt you? What?"

"N-nothing," the detective said, voice rough. "I…"

Thought I'd never see you again, he couldn't say.

"Merry Christmas," he said instead.

The thief snorted. "Yeah. Merry Christmas."

A click.

"Touching reunion," the mob boss said. "You two seem close. Let's test that relationship."

"Of course," you say, as if it is the most natural thing in the world. Her demeanor shifts-- she could tell something is on your mind.

She tips your chin, and you return her gaze with a heavy heart.

"What's wrong, darling?"

"I..." Tears prick your eyes at the idea of anything happening to your beloved. Instead, you draw her close, and kiss her passionately.

A moment of protest, but she melts, her arms wrapped around you languidly.

"If only the rest of the world could disappear," she whispers.

"I want to destroy them," you hiss back. "I want to destroy them all."

She recoils at your ferocity. You try for another kiss, but she holds up her hand.

"Tell me what happened," she says.

You struggle to meet her gaze.

"I was stopped on the way here," you explain. "Do you... Do you know what they call you out there?"

The queen laughs mirthlessly. "They've been saying that since I was born," she says. "Because of my lineage, because of who I love. It is what it is."

"You don't understand." You grab her hand and draw it to your chest. You try to gather the courage to tell her.

She's patient. So patient.

"They called me the chosen one. They said I... I will bring about your end."

She stares.

Laughs. Delighted.

"Oh, you bring about my end every day," she says fondly. "Every time you leave."

She nuzzles your chin. "Don't make me share attentions with the hateful and small-minded. They are hardly worth our time."

You kiss her head and breath in her scent.

You try to forget the words they spoke to you.

Three days.

In three days, you will bring about her undoing. You are the Chosen One.

You could hardly imagine a world without her. Much less, you couldn't imagine a world you wouldn't tear apart for her.

Especially a world that calls her the "Evil Queen".

Your hands meet and intertwine.

"I love you," she whispers.

You vow to crush her enemies.

Even if it kills you.

You, the chosen one, walk into the evil queen's throne room. The queen was sitting gloomily on her throne. She sees you and lightens up. She rises from her throne and kisses you. "Sweetheart, I am so glad you are back."

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

The Beast (Part 4)

The soft hum of cooling fans and the clacking of keys were the only sound in the small and dimly lit room. A CCTV feed trained on a small kennel displayed on a screen in the far corner. The villain glanced over at the first sign of movement.

Their patient was waking up, but they would have to wait. The villain was on the verge of a discovery.

Their patient's blood had been genetically modified. Expertly, gorgeously. Though the effects seemed to be leveling out over time, their muscular growth was abnormally rapid. Any small injuries showed accelerated healing.

The growth affected their larynx, unfortunately. Given the patient was able to preserve a certain level of cognition, other organs adjusted appropriately...

Loss of speech was a... Strange side effect.

The bones and muscles were proportionately mutated, practically symmetrical. Organs matched the rapid growth of the body. Their patient grew into a theoretically sustainable form. The fact that they survived at all was a miracle.

Their patient might not be so lucky if they attempt to revert back.

Whoever was responsible did not stop at one. The mutation was much too precise and refined. This was a team and decades of research. Money.

So, who had the resources for this kind of human experimentation?

The MRI offered something of a clue. A small device, implanted at the base of the patient's skull. Whoever set this transformation into motion expected the patient to roam free. The villain extracted the device too late, well over 24 hours. It was active.

Someone would come to collect their experiment soon.

The villain best prepare for their guest.

-

The hero paced the kennel with growing panic. They had misjudged the villain's capacity for harm, clearly. They kept running their hands along the stitches on the back of their head.

Breath in. Breath out.

They needed a plan of escape.

The floor and walls were solid concrete. Thick iron bars reenforced the door. There was a small gap between the door and floor. A much larger gap between the iron bars and the ceiling. Not large enough to squeeze through.

The first rule of imprisonment, find your captor's motive. Their eyes flicked to the CCTV trained on their kennel. There wasn't enough room to escape, but their inhumanly long claws could reach the camera.

They smiled devilishly. If their captor wanted to spy, they'd have to work for it. They climbed up the iron bars and reached for the small camera. Their claws clamped around the device, and they yanked.

Wiring crackled as the connections snapped.

They threw the camera on the concrete as hard as they could. Surprisingly sturdy.

Good.

They grabbed the camera and beat it against the ground, over and over, until it cracked into was a mess of circuitry and plastic. They imagined the villain's skull.

Shouting down the hall, followed by a loud THUD.

Silence.

The hero readied themselves to lunge, but they stopped short.

Their breath caught at the unexpected figure before them.

"Hero, it's me. I've come to save you."

The hero sobbed in relief.

Superhero.

AN// Thank you so much for reading and asking to be tagged @sausages-things @whump-till-ya-jump @jumpywhumpywriter @galaxysmask !!!

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."

Missing in the Snow

Villain drove slowly on the dark, ice-covered roads, their eyes searching frantically. Hero fought with Supervillain and barely managed to escape. They had to find Hero before Supervillain.

They'd installed a tracker on Hero's phone, and this was Hero's general location, but they were nowhere to be found.

They could be lying in the snow, bleeding out, or worse.

They rolled down the windows and tried calling Hero's phone. The cold air stung their eyes. They drove back and forth until at last they heard Hero's telltale ringtone.

They leapt out of the car and dug through the snow.

Their stomach dropped.

Just the cellphone.

For the next two hours they called out for them, frantically digging through snow and circling the area for clues or footprints.

Then a thought struck them.

Supervillain must have them.

Supervillain must have kidnapped Hero.

It was only a matter of time before they did something horrible to them. They had to act fast.

Villain nearly lost control of their vehicle in their haste to return to base.

They left the car running, dashed inside. They had to suit up, grab a weapon and some supplies--

"Whoa, whoa, hey, what's the hurry?"

The villain froze.

Hero emerged from the shower, steam rolling out behind them, wearing cozy pajamas and a towel on their head.

"Yeah, things got really bad with Supervillain. Mind if I crash here?"

Villain stared at them, wild-eyed and speechless.

"…Maybe I should've asked--"

"Why," the villain croaked, "Don't you have your cellphone on you."

The hero blinked. "Oh, shoot, that? Yeah, I had to ditch it because someone tried tracking me. Why, did you call?"

Villain stared at them a little too long, their eyes a little watery. "I, uh, got snow in my eye," they said, and brushed past them into the shower.

"O-oh, okay! I'll make you some hot cocoa!" Hero called.

Hero picked a movie for them to watch. Villain returned puffy-eyed and unusually quiet, and refused to let go of their hand the rest of the night.

Part 1 Part 2

The Beast (Part 3)

The henchmen dragged the hero out to the hall by their collar, snarling and snapping. They tried unsuccessfully to wrestle them onto a gurney, the hero's panic only matched by their raw fury. The villain watched on with a reverent fascination.

The hero glared with wild eyes as the villain calmly approached.

"Darling, you'd best behave." The villain reached to brush the hero's face. "I'd hate to muzzle such a gorgeous creature."

The hero growled in challenge.

"You want to be human again, don't you?"

An uncertain whine.

"Yes, that's right. I can help you if you stop fighting me."

This was a mistake. This was a huge mistake, the hero thought frantically. If the villain made them human, they would not let them go free.

Who else would help them, though? The Agency? Their understaffed, in-network hospital? They could be stuck like this the rest of their life. They had to trust that they would have a shot at escaping later.

The hero swallowed hard and laid back on the gurney.

"I thought so."

The henchmen exchanged glances and clamored to affix the straps. They pushed the gurney into a cold and sterile room. An exhaust fan whined in the corner. Surgical equipment laid out on a small table.

"Don't worry, darling, we're just running some tests today," the villain said, pulling out a small razor. They trimmed small patches of fur and grabbed a syringe.

The hero tried to pull away, but the straps were firm. They felt the telltale prick, and squeezed their eyes shut.

"Blood sample," the villain explained. They filled several vials.

The henchmen pulled up some kind of machine and stuck little wires all over the hero's arms and legs. The villain typed something into a laptop and the hero felt another prick.

"You'll tell me if you feel something, won't you, darling?"

A jolt shot through their arm. The hero yelped.

"Good. Very good."

Another prick. Jolt. The hero's eyes watered. This went on for a while.

"No discernible nerve damage," the villain said, very pleased. "Excellent response time."

They continued to poke and prod them for a while, looking at their teeth, shining a light in their eyes, feeling the pads of their palms.

"You're not claustrophobic, are you?"

The villain began wheeling them towards a narrow tube-shaped device. The hero began to struggle again.

The hero had been in vents and crawl spaces and tight corridors before. They'd encountered walls that closed in on them, been trapped in a sinking car, and once had to be cut out of a drainage pipe by a rescue team.

All these experiences did not do favors to their anxiety response. They began struggling despite themselves, the straps digging into their flesh.

There was a high beeping noise beside them. Their heartbeat was being monitored. When did that happen.

The villain stopped the gurney. "Sh, shhh-sh, hush now, you're safe."

The hero struggled, because no they certainly were not, half the times they were trapped in dangerous situations was thanks to the villain--

Another prick.

"Rest now," The villain said, petting them gently.

The hero awoke back in their kennel. They had no idea how much time had passed. They felt a pain in the back of their head.

Stitches.

What had villain done while they were out?

Part 4

AN// Thank you for reading and asking to be tagged @sausages-things and I hope you enjoyed! If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list, please let me know! (or if you want to be removed, please also don't hesitate to let me know!) I'm hoping to finish part 4 in the next couple of weeks!

The hero lay on the floor curled in on themselves, willing the pain to go away. The creaking and clinking from the other room told them the villain was rooting around in their stuff again.

"Ugh… Villain?" They called.

Silence.

"Villain, I know you're out there."

They groaned and tried to stand. Not a good idea.

"Villain, if you're out there, bring me my meds, will you? They're on the counter?"

A pause in the shuffling. Footsteps.

A pill bottle hit their face.

"Ow!"

The villain retreated.

Silence.

The hero shakily lifted the pills to their lips.

The villain returned with a bag of bread and a bottle of water.

The hero looked up at them questioningly.

"You're not supposed to take that on an empty stomach," the villain said simply.

"Who eats bread from the bag?" The hero grumbled, but they pulled out a piece to nibble on anyway.

"You're lucky it's not poisoned," the villain replied.

"Am I?" The hero groaned.

"Lot of pain, huh?"

"…Yeah."

The villain knelt down in front of them. "Good."

The hero glared up at them. "Any chance of giving me a break today?"

The villain snatched the half-eaten bread and bit into it greedily. "I think you forgot we're enemies."

The hero laid back down. "Yeah, okay."

Uncomfortable silence.

"So, uh, this normal for you?" The villain tried. "You look a little… Not good."

"I'm kicking your butt so hard when these pills kick in," the hero grumbled. "Can you at least get back to looting my house?"

"I mean, I could kidnap you right now," The villain said. "You're at your most vulnerable."

The hero threw the bread at them. "Just because I'm not up to fighting you doesn't mean I'm helpless."

The bag hit the villain's foot. They gave the hero a deadpan stare.

"I'll bite your ankles," the hero tried.

Then the villain kidnapped them, and they went to Urgent Care together.

The board decided to level the hospital. It wasn't profitable enough, they said. One nurse practitioner refused to leave. It was a death sentence to the town, she said. They claim they didn't know she was still inside when they began demolition.

For a long while after, it was a five hour drive to the nearest hospital. People of the town made do with what they could. Teledoc, MayoClinic, homeopathic remedies. Prayer. Nevertheless, the funeral director kept busy.

The old hospital foundation, naturally, was rumored to be haunted. Teens used to sneak up to the grounds in the dead of night for a chance to catch a glimpse of The Nurse. Adults of the town tried to discourage such behavior after a few kids went missing, but teens insisted The Nurse was only dangerous if you looked at her face.

It was late one night when one of the twins was skating on the old wheelchair ramp and fell face-first into the pavement. Their friends watched from afar as The Nurse approached. The Nurse stood over them and healed them with a radiant glow.

Naturally, the news of The Nurse spread quickly in the desperate town. They filled the old foundation with lawn chairs and handed out blindfolds to anyone who waited. Some would wait all day, even after they determined she only came out at night. The elderly of the town hosted a monthly potluck in honor of the Nurse, and a group formed to help keep the patients company as they sat blindfolded in the dark.

Then the news spread further. Tourists started coming to the old foundation in hopes of curing their ailments. The foundation became something of a tourist destination, and vendors sold paintings with a side profile of The Nurse, along with framed debris from the site.

News got around to the landowner, who shut down the vendors and roped off the foundation. They began charging an entree fee to see The Nurse, a fee no one in town could afford. People of the town tried to sneak in some nights, and were arrested for trespassing.

The death toll rose again.

The landowner was rebuilding the hospital on the old foundation when he disappeared one day. No one's sure what happened, but they suspected he looked at The Nurse's face, while others speculate she held a grudge.

Nevertheless, the town regained their hospital, and The Nurse was never seen again.

They say that going to that mountain, where the now-bare foundation of a hospital sits silently, can cure any disease or injury. Simply sit in a chair on the grounds, wearing a blindfold in the dead of night, and The Nurse will arrive to cure you. But you must never look at her face…

Lively chatter and the swell of festive music warmed the cold air. The protagonist had settled into a rhythm passing out food in the soup kitchen, greeting their guests with a smile, when they locked eyes with a certain unexpected visitor.

"T-this isn't what it looks like," their rival stammered.

The protagonist stared back, because how could they not. "I thought your parents were rich," they blurted.

"T-they... They are," they said, face burning red.

"Then why are you here?"

The Faithless (Part 2)

Part 1

The hunter approached the end of a misty alley, following little red droplets that led behind a derelict building. Crawling away in the dark was the wounded vampire, tired and worn.

“Ah... My faithless little hunter,” the vampire rasped. “What circumstances to be reunited. You appear stronger since last we met."

“I am,” the hunter agreed. They closed the space between them, looming over the fallen vampire.

"It seems faith is no longer a... necessary shield," the vampire murmured. "And yet, you kept the bauble, I've noticed."

“I saw what you did." The hunter tucked the bauble away from view. “Attacking the Guild leader in plain view. Very bold.”

"Well deserved."

"A foolish target, in any case."

The vampire laughed, then coughed at the effort. “Why the... Pleasantries? Savoring your victory?”

The hunter knelt. "The entire Guild is after you."

The vampire grimaced. "It seems you shouldn't stall, then. Others may take your prey."

"They won't," the hunter said. They brought out a dagger.

The vampire stared, and a very human fear flitted across their face.

"I've reached the end of the road," the vampire conceded. "I won't claim to embrace death, but I'd rather it be you."

The hunter tilted their head. "How unlike you to give up."

"I've carried out my vengeance." The vampire tilted back their head. "Now satisfy yours."

"I had a different plan," the hunter said. They nicked the end of their thumb with the dagger's edge, and pressed it to the vampire's lips.

Wonder. Confusion. "You've truly lost me," the vampire whispered. "You're doing this... To what end?"

"Paying what is owed. Stop asking questions."

"You're playing with fire." The vampire's voice was low with hunger. "Offering your blood to one such as I. It seems you haven't shaken your wish for death."

"I've spilled more blood while training," the hunter scoffed.

"And if I forget myself?" The vampire whispered. "What then?"

"You're in no position to worry about that," the hunter said. "Drink."

With little other option, the vampire accepted the tithe of blood. Their cheeks flushed, and their wounds closed with unnatural speed.

"That should suffice." The vampire licked their lips and pulled away. "Thank--"

"I owe you nothing, and you owe me nothing." The hunter stood and backed away, eager to put distance between them. "We are not friends."

"Then, what are we?" The vampire gazed up at them, strangely vulnerable.

The hunter avoided their eyes. "Follow the path down to the ravine. If you leave now, you will reach the next town by sundown."

"Hunter--"

"If I see you again," the hunter said, "I will end you."

"Ah." The vampire stood and approached the hunter.

The hunter backed away, raw with a sudden panic. "D-didn't you hear me?"

"Your hand is still bleeding."

The hunter hit wall. "Hardly."

"Let me tend to it."

The hunter reluctantly held out their hand. They took the wounded thumb and gently bandaged it. Then, boldly, they pressed a small kiss in the small of their palm.

The hunter stared, then tore their eyes away with a blush.

Shouting sounded from the end of the alleyway. The Guild hunters.

"They're here," the hunter hissed. "Go, now."

"Till we meet again," The vampire whispered. "My faithless little hunter."

And then they disappeared into the mist.

The villain found the hero stocking cans in Big Box Store.

"Is this why I haven't seen you lately?" The villain asked disappointingly.

"Heroism doesn't pay," the hero said. "My folks want me doing something more practical with my time."

The villain leaned on a shelf. "They do if you work for the Agency."

The hero grunted and plopped a particularly enormous box down. "The Agency rejected me multiple times. I have to- ugh -earn money somehow." They sliced the box open violently. "Besides, you think those hospital visits were cheap?! Move over. You're blocking the shelf."

"Wow, someone's a little grumpy," the villain said. They shifted to block the shelves even more.

The hero slammed down a can. "I told you to MOVE OVER--"

"Hero!" Someone barked.

Hero froze. The manager.

"I am deeply sorry for their behavior," the manager hurriedly said to the villain. "Hero, you do not under any circumstances raise your voice at one of our guests. That is not Big Box Store behavior. Apologize this instant or consider this your dismissal."

"Sorry," the hero mumbled.

The manager glared expectantly.

"I'm very sorry," the hero tried again. "I should not have raised my voice. It was not a reflection of Big Box Store values, and it will not happen again."

The manager gave a satisfied nod and left.

"... You think I can get them to make you kiss my shoes?" the villain snorted.

The hero launched at them.

By the time the fight was over, half the canned foods aisle was in shambles. Needless to say, the villain had their nemesis back the next day.

However, the hero started receiving a generous stipend from an anonymous benefactor, making the job search a bit less urgent...

Part 1

The Beast (Part 2)

The hero awoke. Still disoriented, they stared at their hands.

Claws.

Last they knew... They had transformed into some kind of beast and taken refuge in the villain's warehouse. The villain then tranquilized them.

The room appeared to be some kind of kennel. Concrete floor and walls, and sturdy iron bars with a locked door. Something soft beneath them-- a bed and blanket. They rolled to stand. Something clinked, and they felt a pull on their neck. A collar chained to the concrete wall.

A beast chained to a wall.

Ironically, they were in the one place where being a beast was safer than their real form. If they managed to escape, they weren't safe outside--

Deep breaths.

They just needed to call--... Well, text someone the situation. Surely someone would come save them.

They reached down and felt only fur.

Only fur.

They couldn't focus. They couldn't breathe.

Even their breathing sounded monstrous--

Their thoughts were interrupted by the creak and scrape of the kennel door opening and closing. They scurried under a blanket.

Villain.

"Good morning, darling," the villain cooed. They were dressed head to toe in protective clothing. "How did you sleep?"

The hero grit their teeth. They wanted to demand to be let out, to scream for help. They wanted to proclaim they were a human, not some beast--

All that came out was a horrible yowl.

"Shh sh-shhh... Don't worry, I'm here now." They brushed the hero's face with their fingertips. "Are you hungry?"

The beast snapped.

"I'll take that as a yes," the villain chuckled. They pulled out a walkie-talkie. "Bring him in."

A horrible scream echoed through the corridor.

"What's going on? Where are you taking me? I'll make you regret this!!"

Two henchmen stopped at the door holding a writhing prisoner. They wrenched a bag off his head. His indignant cries became a small whimper.

"Meet my beloved new pet." The villain threw a hand around the prisoner's shoulder. "They haven't been fed recently. Do you know how hard it is to find good, fresh meat? Do you have any pets?"

"W-what is that thing," the man stammered.

I'm human, the hero wanted to scream. I'm human, and I can help you. They pulled hard against their chains, even as the man trembled in fright.

"Gorgeous," the villain said proudly. "And very hungry."

"Fine! I'll give you the codes! Anything! J-just get me away from that thing!"

That thing.

The hero shrank back.

That thing.

They retreated to the back of the cage.

That thing.

Tears sprang from their eyes. They tried to wipe them away with furry hands.

The villain seemed to notice their struggle, and that made it all the worse.

"Take the prisoner to the drawing room," the villain said. "I'll follow in a moment."

Both the prisoner and henchmen, eager to leave, clamored out of the room.

The villain turned to the beast before them.

The hero curled into a ball, hiding their tear-streaked face.

"What's wrong, darling?"

A small, plaintive whine. The hero shook in a futile effort to contain their sorrow. They hated themselves for crying in front of the villain.

The villain laid a gentle hand on their back.

"Look at me," the villain said.

The hero turned to them with haunted eyes.

"I'm sorry, darling. I can tell that upset you deeply." The villain softly stroked their fur. "The way he yelled at you. I'll make him regret those words. I promise."

The hero shook their head vigorously.

"No?"

The villain pet them absentmindedly, deep in thought.

"Wait... You can understand me, can't you?"

The beast hesitated. Nodded.

The villain looked a bit taken aback. "Oh. I see. Oh my. I thought-- well, can you speak?"

A yowl. The hero shook their head. They pulled at the fur on their arm.

"This form is... New?"

Nod.

"You're trapped in this form." The villain gave them a look of intrigue. "Oh. Oh my. What caused this? Do you know?"

The hero shook their head.

The villain clapped their hands. "Oh, oh, very exciting, very exciting." They patted the hero's back, who snarled indignantly. "We'll get to the bottom of this, you and I. This is fascinating."

The hero had a very, very bad feeling about this.

Part 3

Plumes of smoke clouded the dark horizon. The smokey scent of a campfire wafted through the cold air. The villain pulled the hero close and kissed their head.

"What are we?" The hero asked softly.

"Cupid's a chaos goblin," the villain stated, skewering a marshmallow onto a tree branch. "I love you, in case you haven't noticed. What are you feeling?"

The hero smiled fondly. "I... feel the same."

"But?" The villain gazed at them. "Your tone tells me there's something else."

The hero paused, then nodded and hugged themselves.

"You love me now," they whispered. "But... You haven't seen my unloveable side."

"You know I have an unlovable side," the villain retorted around a mouthful of marshmallow. "Why are you so afraid of me seeing yours?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full," the hero scolded. "That's a choking hazard."

The villain rolled their eyes.

"I... Everyone just... Eventually..." The hero struggled to articulate their thoughts. "There's something everyone really, really hates about me. I don't know what it is."

"Well, you are dating a villain." The villain threw a marshmallow at the hero's face. "Plus, you could stand to lighten up. We started out fighting, so it can only get better from here."

The hero glowered. "Can't you take ANYTHING seriously?!"

"But you're so good at that!" The villain said. "Why would I take your job?"

The hero grabbed the marshmallow bag and threw a handful at them. "What is WRONG WITH YOU?!"

The villain shook off the marshmallows. "I don't know, but I'm shocked every day you put up with me."

The hero's groaned and buried their face in their hands.

The villain reached out and gently touched their shoulder. "...and it makes me want to be a better person. You make me better."

The hero's expression softened, and they kissed the hand on their shoulder. "You make me better, too."

"I'll try to get better at... This." The villain gestured between them vaguely. "Maybe... Maybe you can try to have faith I won't just walk away from you. Not without a proper conversation."

"Deal," the hero said, and rested a head on the other's shoulder.

The villain pet their head gently, then reached stealthily for a fallen marshmallow.

"You're not eating those marshmallows off the ground," the hero said, eyes closed.

"Oh, come on--"

The villain emerging from their hiding spot. "Oh. This is sad."

The hero startled, dropping a pie. The pyrex glass shattered on the floor, and they screeched in dismay.

"VILLAIN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!"

Before them was a sizable feast, lovingly and meticulously labeled and surrounded by holiday decorations. They must have been at this for hours, cutting and mixing and basting and roasting.

Villain crossed their arms. "Why aren't you at the party at Superhero's house?"

Hero stopped, hands hovering over broken glass. "There's... A..." The hero blinked. Stared. "But... Superhero said I was hosting this year."

"You're not picking up that glass with your hands," the villain said disappointingly.

"Did... Did they text me about this?" The hero pulled out their phone and scrolled with rising panic. "Look, see? See?! They ASKED me to host this year!!"

They sunk to the floor. "M-maybe I missed a follow-up text. Why would they do this? Why would they--"

They went silent, scrolling through post after post on social media. Heroes laughing, smiling, playing games. Their friends.

"They... N-no one told me the plans changed," the hero whispered.

The villain grabbed a plate.

"W-what are you doing." Hero glanced up with watery eyes.

"You're going to eat all this yourself?" The villain snorted.

"You chose a bad day to infiltrate my base," the villain says.

"Because you're planning something?" The hero demanded. "I've seen people in and out all day. What are you up to?"

"It's a holiday, Hero, in case you've forgotten," the villain sighed. "I'm just trying to survive my family."

"O-oh." The hero looked lost in thought. "I, um, forgot."

"You know what?" The villain put an arm around their shoulder. "You might as well join. Everyone else wants to poke their nose where it doesn't belong. You'll fit right in."

"Oh, no, that's okay." The hero's eyes went wide at the crowd they were being dragged to, digging their heels. "This is for family, and I really should be going--"

"I'm introducing you as my fiancee," the villain stated with a mischievous grin. "Aunt Bertha will hate you."

"You fell right into my trap," the villain said. They didn't sound gloating, or even happy. In fact, they sounded worried.

"Y-you're going to lock me up, right?" the hero said hopefully.

The villain pinched the bridge of their nose. "Listen." They sighed heavily. "How do I put this. You're... More... Incompetent than usual."

The hero froze. "W-what do you mean?" They laughed nervously. "I-I trashed your lab. I got your henchmen to fight amongst each other. I even--"

"Yes, yes, you're still a thorn in my side, don't get me wrong." The villain frowned. "It's that you've fallen into this same exact trap three times in the last month. You know this wall shoots netting if you press a certain tile, and it's like... It's like you've intentionally been pressing it!"

"You expect me to memorize ALLLLL the little traps in your base?!" The hero scoffed. "Do you realize how WEIRD you sound?!"

The villain stared, deadpan, as they allowed a detailed map of their base to unfurl. Marked in red was every trap and trigger in the building. "Care to explain this?"

"That's not mine," the hero squeaked.

"Okay. That's it." The villain threw up their hands. "I'm letting you go. My henchmen will escort you out." They stalked over to an intercom on the wall.

"Wait, okay, fine!" The hero relented. They worried their lip. "I... The Agency... The Agency..." Their voice cracked a little. "F-fired... me..."

The villain stopped, hand hovering over the intercom button. "They what?!"

"They just..." Tears sprung in the hero's eyes. "Told all the other heroes I was compromised. They think I'm helping you."

"Why do they think that?" The villain snorted. "You're the bane of my existence. I can't have a moment's peace without you wrecking something."

"Yeah." The hero smiled, sadly. "Yeah, I am. But... They won't even talk to me."

The villain blinked. "Sooo... You're trying to... Prove yourself by being bad at your job?"

The hero flushed in utter shame. "Uh. No. I... " They laughed, high-pitched and strained. "It's warm in here. The cot in your cell is really comfortable. The food's not bad, either."

The villain's face pinched. "I give you stale bread and gruel."

"Yeah." The hero chuckled fondly. "It's filling, though." They curled into themselves. "They froze my bank account, evicted me, cut off my phone access. Can't even call my friends."

They shrugged. "Though, most of them work for the agency and have direct orders to not interact with me. So, there's that."

"You have nowhere else to go." The revelation was like a punch in the villain's gut. "You're homeless."

The hero bristled at that. "I'm just between homes," they stated defensively. "I'm working something out. It's temporary. I just need to get a new job--"

"You're hired." The villain set to work freeing them from the net. "Room and board in exchange for your work."

"...What?" The hero shrank back in disbelief. "No, I don't want your-- wait, really?"

The villain peered down at them. "This is not out of pity. You know better than anyone the weaknesses in my defenses, and you've seen my henchmen."

The hero cracked a genuine smile at that. "How do you know I won't betray you?"

The villain dabbed a tear from the hero's cheek. "... I have a hunch," they said fondly. "Besides, just having you out of my hair will save me so much on insurance."

You're an average citizen who tried cosplaying once and was mistaken for a hero. A villain captures you and you realize a few things about yourself. Now you've become a hero in hopes of being captured by them again.

(or the reverse)

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

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

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

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

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

The thief grabbed them first.

"Give those back," the detective demanded.

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

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

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

The thief blushed and stared intently.

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

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

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

Then they were gone.

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

Their hand was warm in yours. The night was still, the moonlight sprinkled through the canopy of trees. You lay there and wish the rest of the world could disappear.

"I love you," they whispered softly.

You brought their hand to your lips. "I love you too."

Wind rustled through the trees. Something wet hit your cheek. The soft rumble of thunder tore you from the moment.

You both stood. They opened an umbrella and pulled you close.

"My place isn't far," they said.

You gently placed a kiss on their cheek. They smiled.

"Lead the way," you said.

"P-please don't kill me," Hero whispered.

Villain recoiled. "Who said anything about killing you?"

"You did. Multiple times. You have a knife to my throat."

"That-- THAT WAS FLIRTING!" Villain shouted in exasperation.

"WHO FLIRTS LIKE THAT?!" Hero screamed.

"Ugh. This is all wrong." Villain cut Hero's ropes and put away the knife. "Listen, I completely misread the situation. Just... Just go."

"Wait, no, we need to talk about--"

"There's nothing to talk about," Villain said quickly.

"Yes, we do! Clearly we need to communicate!"

"No. Let me die of embarrassment alone," Villain grumbled. They moved to leave, but something slapped their wrist. A handcuff.

"You're not going anywhere," Hero said, tightening the other cuff to their own wrist.

"Did you just CUFF ME?" Villain screeched.

"We're going out and having a proper date WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT."

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

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

They reached for your hand, but you pulled back.

"I have to go," you said.

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

The Beast (Part 1)

The crowd screamed and ran at the sight of Hero's monstrous transformation. Hero roared, a pained and animalistic sound. Their shaking hands grew to long and sharp claws. Their teeth, jagged and pointed.

Hero cautiously approached a mirror mounted on the wall, terrified by what they might find. They recoiled at the beast that stared back.

They fled, out the doors and into the crowded streets. More people screamed. Someone threw a can, and they yelped. Shots rang out.

"The beast is getting away!" Someone cried.

They darted down an alleyway, and they kept running until they felt well and truly alone.

Or, so they thought.

"Ah, so you're the one they're after," said a voice in the shadows.

Hero bristled. They knew that voice.

"Oh. Oh my," Villain whispered reverently, stepping into the light. "You're marvelous."

"It went this way!" A voice cried.

"You're not safe here," Villain said. They threw open the doors to an abandoned warehouse. "Quick, inside."

Hero scrambled into the warehouse doors, up the wall and into the ceiling rafters.

The Villain shouted, "It went the other way!"

The angry voices receded, and Hero momentarily relaxed.

Villain closed the doors and all looked around. "Well, that's not ideal."

Hero shrank back into the shadows. Villain couldn't see them.

Villain ran to an intercom mounted near the doors.

"Listen up," Villain called over the intercom. "My pet is loose somewhere in this warehouse. Whoever brings them to me unharmed receives a little bonus."

Their lackeys sprung into action, running back and forth along rows of shelving and in and out of the various shipping containers littering the warehouse. A few ran into each other in their haste.

"Where did you go?" Villain muttered, scanning the ceiling.

They locked eyes with Hero, who bristled.

"They're on the ceiling nearest the compactor," Villain announced over the intercom.

Hero jumped down and scampered across the concrete flooring. Two lackeys tried to head them off, and they ran towards a set of stairs. Two more lackeys blocked their path, and they jumped off the stairs and darted over the shelving, toppling boxes in their wake.

"Boss, they're too fast!" One of the lackeys complained.

"Get the tranqs," Villain said.

Darts whizzed by as Hero tried to shake their pursuers. They cursed themselves for seeking asylum from a villain of all people.

They dove down to a set of doors and launched at them, but they wouldn't budge. They looked for some kind of lock or obstruction, but too late.

Something hit their shoulder. They tried to wrench it out, much too late.

They snarled as Villain approached them.

"Sorry, darling, but I can't have you tearing apart my warehouse," Villain said.

Hero realized they were laying down. They tried to get up, but they suddenly felt so, so weak. Villain knelt down and pet them gently, peering into their terrified eyes. They tried to nip at the Villain's hand, but that didn't seem to deter them.

"Rest now," Villain said.

Hero whined and went limp.

Part 2

Potential

"It's so much faster," they said. "It cuts out the grunt work."

"That's not the point," you seethed. "That was never the point. You're exploiting others for your own convenience."

"I'm just ahead of the curve."

"No, you're avoiding the messiness of self expression. You can't be bothered to live."

"I'm so sick of your personal attacks," they snap. "Everyone does this. EVERYONE. You're just living in the past."

"No, I want to live in the future. I want life to be worth living in the future. Where does the need for growth and efficiency stop?"

"So you want to live without modern conveniences?"

"No. No. I just want the growth and efficiency to translate to rest, play, and creativity. It isn't. We've lost so, so much. And for what? An endless stream of banality drowning out the passion that made it possible?"

"You're not being realistic. That's not the world we live in."

"I have to be unrealistic. I can't forget the potential of the world. I know what the world could be and I'm so tired of settling for less."