Map Of Fae

Map of Fae

I go absolutely Feral for Fae so I am ever so grateful that @hojo76 included it in his prompt idea

Anyways here you go

She hadn’t even wanted to take cartology in the first place—what kind of highschool offered it as an elective anyways?

She had marked it as last on her list.

But then the school secretary lost her class request form (because Janice hated her) and the principal wouldn’t let her switch (because he wasn’t paid enough to care) and so now she was stuck, cursing her way through a forest in the middle of a downpour.

“Fuck,” she slid on a patch of mud, catching herself at the last moment. Her paper, gleefully marked with the edges of the park, waited for her to draw the trails and elevation onto it. By now, it was soggy.

She didn’t really care.

She took another step, almost tripped again, and swore to kill Janice as soon as she got back into school grounds.

Distantly, she heard her class mates yelling, voices tinged with some emotion she couldn’t identify over the rain.

The paper dissolved in her hands.

One more step.

This time, she didn’t catch herself as she fell, the ground slamming into her and sending the air rushing from her lungs.

Her class mates were still yelling, but they were louder now, and she realized the emotion in their voices was fear.

Her name.

They were screaming her name.

Below her, the ground bucked, heaving as if the earth itself was breathing, and then she was falling, fast and slow and loud and quiet and up and down and—

She was on the ground.

She blinked, sucking in a breath.

It smelled like jasmine, like childhood summer break, humid forests and old libraries.

The rain, she realized, had stopped.

A voice so melodic it hurt laughed, and she bolted into upright.

“Hello, frightened thing.”

The person in front of her was the most beautiful, terrifying thing she had ever seen. Perfection like that wasn’t supposed to exist—how was it fair, that all the moonlight and whispers and long grown forests could be contained into one being?

They smiled, like they could tell what she was thinking.

“Who—“ she stopped. “Where—“.

“I,” they began, “am fae. This is the fae realm. You took quite the fall.”

She coughed. Lovely. They were insane.

“I’m sorry,” she rose to her feet, bones aching. Around her, the forest gleamed. “Could you point me back to the park exit? I need to find my class.”

The person, the fae, was still smiling.

“Cartology,” they hummed. “Such an interesting subject. Trying to map everything, to contain the world upon paper.” They ran their finger over a branch. “It never was the best idea, now, was it?”

She swallowed. Her feet, she realized, had drawn her a step back. The person matched her, easily.

“I never told you my class was Cartology.”

They tipped their head.

“Of course you didn’t. I picked it for you.”

Her gut sank, and she let loose a slow breath. Eyes, gut, groin. She knew this, her sister had told her where to aim in situations like this. She hadn’t thought she would need to use it. Her fists clenched.

“Look, I don’t know who you think I am, or who you think you are, but I’m going to leave, and you aren’t going to follow me,” she spat. She pretended her hands were shaking from anger. Her raincoat was still damp.

Something on the persons face shifted, and they were studying her like she was the most fascinating painting.

When she stepped back, they didn’t bother to follow her. A branch snapped beneath her sneakers.

“The mouth on you,” they whispered. “So sharp. Such a smart, wicked mind.”

They smiled again.

“Pretty, too.”

They got closer, and she backed up further, and her knees hit a log.

“Back up. Now.”

They hummed.

Their hand twisted, and there was a paper in it. They tipped it forward, and there was her name, inked across the top.

Her class request form.

Her heart skipped a beat.

“Where did you get that,” she whispered. Her chest hurt.

“Janice, of course. Poor thing, so weak minded. It was easy enough, to have her switch you into Cartology. Just a little twisting, and she molded like putty.”

Their canines were sharp. Too sharp.

“Who are you.”

They laughed.

“Come now. I know you’re smarter than this; I know you. Figure it out.”

Her gut clenched. The forest, she realized, was dead silent.

When her mouth moved, she wasn’t even sure she was the one talking. “Fae.”

The Fae smiled wider.

“There you go.”

The request form burst into ashes, crumbling into nothing. She watched it with a sick sort of detachment.

“Why.”

“Why what?”

“Why Cartology?”

The Fae laughed, a musical sort of thing, sharp as knives.

“I need you to go into the woods.”

When she said nothing, they continued.

“I needed to have you.”

She glanced towards where she thought the entrance might be, and turned back to find the Fae dizzyingly close. They ran a hand along her jaw.

“Do you know how special you are?” They murmured. “So bright. How could I let them keep you?”

She swallowed, hard, and the Fae tracked the movement. Too beautiful. So beautiful it hurt.

“I am not a thing to be kept. I’m a person. I have a name. Just let me go back to my class and I’ll—“

“Darling, trust me. I know you have a name. But you’re wrong.”

“About what,” she said, and their eyes crinkled. They leaned in to whisper into her ear, breath cool as wind blowing across a lake. They smelled like salt water and moss.

“I can keep you.”

She jerked, shoved her hands against their chest. It did nothing. Her fingers gripped into their shirt hard enough it hurt, and she pushed harder, meaner, anything, please—

“I won’t let you take me, and I won’t let you keep me. I’ll escape, and I’ll hurt you, and then you’ll never see the outside of a prison again. I’m not going to be some docile thing for you—“

“I would never want you to be docile,” the Fae interrupted. “I just want you to be mine.”

“That will never happen—“ she swore, and they cut her off with a hand curled around her jaw. They tipped her head up, eyes boring into hers. Their grip tightened.

“Oh sweetheart. Of course it will. For now, though, I’ll give you some help.”

“Let go of me—“

The word they said next rolled off their tongue like the clearest note of music, like sunshine in winter, the sound of her sister’s laughter and the creak of the kitchen table.

The Fae said her name, and the world exploded into colors and sounds and shapes and voices and

The Fae laughed as she slumped into their arms, bones jelly and mind half between delirium and pure, unadulterated joy, false and sugar sweet on her tongue.

“Oh, hello you,” they murmured with amusement. Their hand stayed on her chin, and they pulled her against them, arm wrapping around her waist. They were warm, and that stupid, dazed part of her wanted to stay there forever.

She managed a weak, half muttered curse word, and they pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“God, I’m glad you’re mine. I waited so long to have you.”

She sobbed, and they shushed her, gently.

“Hush, now. I’ll make it better. Everything will be okay, you’ll see. Soon you’ll love it without any magic helping you.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and they kissed it away. They tucked her limp head into their shoulder.

“It’s okay, love.”

They said her name again.

And she was gone.

Last line game

Thank you @jay-avian for the tag!

“You always were such a clever girl. You held a knife so well when you were younger. We were all so proud of you,” her father’s smile dropped. “And then you got the silly notion of being a hero into your head, and you needed to so much correction after that.”

Melody let out a laugh that was closer to a death rattle. “Clearly I still do.”

Her father hummed, tilting his head. He watched her, and then, as if he had found something within her image that pleased him, smiled slowly.

“No,” he murmured. “You don’t, do you, little one.”

Her breath seized.

“Don’t call me that.”

His eyes darkened and that incredible violence—that wrath, surfaced. Melody looked away.

“Yes, you’d rather I call you Melody, wouldn’t you,” he spat her name like a curse. “No matter how much blood you spill, your blood is still mine. You are still mine.”

She was half her mother, too. But she was nothing more than an unmarked grave and a cut off scream.

“I was never yours.”

Her father grinned, and it was feral.

“You’ll be glorious when you’re older,” his eyes glinted. “So much bloodshed.”

“I have questions to ask you—“

“Do you still know how to hold a knife?”

She swallowed, and he watched her like he was waiting for a misstep.

“Yes.”

He leaned forward, handcuffs dragging on the table.

“You finally grew the spine to use it, didn’t you, daughter of mine.”

She stood, and her chair scraped. To hell with these questions. Her father was toying with her. He may have refused to speak to anyone other than her, but he wouldn’t ever tell her anything of use.

Just remarks, as sharp as his knives.

“I am not yours,” she said again, and then she slammed her hand into the table, dragging her father by the collar to whisper in his ear. “And I am already glorious.”

When she let go, she saw something close to bloodlust but even closer to pride in his eyes.

By the time she had exited the facility, her hands had almost stopped shaking.

Almost.

(I know it’s a bit long just roll with it lol)

Anndddd here are the people I’m tagging in!

@oh-no-another-idea @megreads22 @writeblrfantasy @writtentodeath @writingwithcolor @prettyquickpoetry

A ten, but….

I got tagged in by @jay-avian in their post here, (thank you by the way) and thought it looked fun! So here are a couple of my characters, kind of organized by what story they’re from, kind of not.

Melody—is a ten, but is the daughter of a serial killer and has already masterminded a plan for how your first introduction to her will go

Agent Jules—is a ten but is falling in love with a highly intelligent and slightly feral child of a serial killer

Lucy—is a ten and can rob you and kill you in under twenty seconds but her ace ass is awkwardly avoiding her best friend so he doesn’t have the chance to confess his love

Aletheia—is a ten but made a deal with a demon and then got kidnapped

Riven—is a ten but is a sassy little shit (and also a demon)

Travis—is a ten but literally ran away to Oklahoma to avoid his problems and proceeded to fall in love with a country boy and spill his secret identity

Shawn—is a ten but is also just kind of an asshole

Alex—is a ten but keeps shattering windows when he gets excited and his powers flare

Drake—is a ten but keeps getting stuck half phased through walls

Clarke—is a ten but is insane and plotting to take over the world

Briar—is a ten but got peer pressured into playing a children’s horror game and got yanked through a mirror into the reverse realm and was replaced by her reflection

Rain—is a ten but lives in an poisonous rain apocalypse and is used by the government to cause chaos so no-one questions why they haven’t found a cure (they have, it causes superpower mutations) (guess who has those)

And that’s the main ones! Or at least, the most fleshed out ones. Thanks for reading, and I’m going to tag @meadowofbluebells @ettawritesnstudies @kittensartswriting @iloveyou-writers @rehnwriter to join in the fun! (If they want)

If one more person uses the phrase “you always get A’s, stop worrying” around me, I’m going to become an episode on forensic files

Hello, I saw from your introduction that you are hoping for an ask and I think I have a prompt for you: A villain who is tasked with poisoning the hero only to realize that the hero is their little sibling. You don't have to write it if you don't want to, but it came to me while working on my introduction and I thought you might enjoy it.

Anyway, have a good rest of your day. :)

This is such an awesome prompt, thank you so much!!

(Edit: part two)

The villain was a lot of things, but they weren’t one to use poison. They planned, they sabotaged, unleashed mind games and carefully tilted domino effects—but they didn’t use poison.

But some ostentatiously rich benefactor wanted the hero to die without the mess of broken buildings and bones, so they had paid off a higher up, who paid off someone else, until an envelope filled with a packet of poison ended up tucked into the villain’s hands.

So here they were, at a party, a vial of something toxic and deadly and shimmering tucked up their sleeve.

Someone bumped into them, muttering an apology, and they straightened their suit. It took two seconds to snag a champagne glass off a waiter’s tray, one to empty the vial into it, and four, to arrive at the hero’s side, grin fixed on their face.

“Having fun yet?”

The hero turned, blinking beneath a masquerade mask—wouldn’t do to reveal their identity, now would it—and smiled, slightly.

“Absolutely loads of it.”

The villain glanced at the table the hero stood at, all but abandoned, and hummed.

“Looks like it.”

The hero did nothing more than sigh, elbows resting on the standing table. Somewhere, the mayor laughed. The hero winced.

“Why don’t you go talk to him,” the hero gestured with their head. “He organized this for us to make peace, you know?”

The villain slid a baleful look at the center of the party.

“He organized it to parade us around like dogs.”

The hero simply went back to studying the half crumpled napkins.

The villain blew out a breath.

They nudged the glass of champagne towards the hero’s hand. The hero didn’t take it.

“Peace offering,” the villain urged. The hero gave something between a grimace and a frown, eyes darting between the villains face and the glass.

“Oh. I mean, uh—thank you, but really, I can’t—” the hero went to rub the back of their neck, and stopped halfway there.

“Too much of a goody goody for alcohol?”

When the hero didn’t rise to the bait and take the glass, the villain clucked their tongue. “Come now, it’s only champagne.”

This time, they took it, fingers hesitant, as if they had never held a champagne glass before.

Too trusting, their hero, with their wide eyes and still soft face.

The villain clinked their glasses, indicating for the hero to drink. The hero downed their glass whole—which they hadn’t expected but made this a lot easier—and coughed.

“It’s champagne, not whiskey,” the villain laughed, and the hero squinted at their now empty glass. “You have to admit this is a relatively nice bottle.”

The hero coughed once more, looking a little green.

“I don’t know, I’ve never had it before.”

“What, champagne?”

The hero shot them an unreadable look.

“Alcohol.”

The villain paused. “What are you, sixteen? You sound like my youngest sibling.”

The hero choked on a breath, face flushing slightly as they looked away.

“Strange comparison,” the hero said, voice slightly strangled, and the villain simply stared at them.

A moment later, they shoved off their elbows. “I should go, mingle or whatever—” the hero stopped, frowning, as they swayed slightly.

They made to raise a hand to their head, and simply stared at it as it shook.

The poison was fast acting, then.

“I—bathroom. I should—“ the hero’s hand dropped, and they took a stumbling step.

A moment later, the villain had an arm around their shoulders, guiding them through the crowd with an easy smile. They were light, shorter than the villain, and for that, the villain was grateful.

They were one step into the bathroom when the hero dropped like a stone, slamming into the side of a stall with violent thud.

“Shit,” the villain murmured. They clicked the lock, leaving them alone together. “They didn’t say it would be this fast.”

Really, they just wanted to make sure the hero’s power didn’t go off, decimating the entire building. The villain knew it could—and under their right mind, the hero would never let it. But while dying…

The hero let out a sob into the bathroom tile, and shadows began to trail their way across the floor, as if desperate.

Control of shadows was an expansive and brutal power, stealing thoughts, forming beasts, sending terror down spines in broad daylight. It was the one thing the hero and villain shared—the shadows, even if the hero was gentle and the villain was brutal in their usage of them.

That’s what made it so, so easy for the villain to scatter them from the hero’s grasp.

The hero shuddered, and managed to shove themselves upwards in time to vomit into the nearest toilet. The building shook around them, and the hero’s mask dissolved from their face.

“If it’s any consolation, I didn’t want you to die like this,” the villain admitted. “You deserve a valiant battle.”

The hero heaved again, and those shadows blasted outwards, as if on reflex. The villain tucked them away.

The hero managed an incredulous laugh.

“I didn’t think you would poison me.”

The villain blinked.

“You see too much good in people.”

The hero rested their head against the toilet, face still turned out of view.

“You hate poison,” they offered, and the villain hesitated.

The villain hated poison, yes, but there were very few people who knew that—one person who knew that, bearing the memory of small fingers swallowing pretty colored liquids and the number for poison control. Weeks in the hospital, their younger sibling’s hand clutched in theirs, as the villain watched them recover.

But the hero couldn’t know that; they had made sure nobody knew that.

The hero was just delirious, that was all.

“You seem to be grasping at straws.”

The hero laughed again, and it sounded like it tore something in their chest. “I forgot how much this hurts.”

The hero had been poisoned before?

“Hero—”

“It was never supposed to end like this.”

The villain took a step closer and the hero didn’t flinch, even though they undoubtedly sensed them.

“We’re on opposing sides, someone was bound to get hurt—“

“I never hurt you,” the hero shivered, and then retched once more.

“You’re a hero, you’re not supposed to.”

The villain took a step forward, until their shoes almost touched the hero’s sprawled legs, and the hero slumped further.

“I never caught you, either,” they murmured, and the villain frowned.

Something was wrong. They were missing something, a vital piece of information.

“I was supposed to keep you safe.”

The villain froze.

“Hero, what are you talking about—”

“I’m sorry,” the hero sobbed. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to make sure you didn’t get hurt. If I wasn’t your hero then someone else would be and they would hurt you and catch you, and I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t—“

The hero dragged a hand down the back of their neck, as if wiping off sweat, and their hand came away smothered with concealer.

The villain stopped breathing.

There, on the hero’s neck, half covered by foundation, was a birthmark.

A birthmark only one person carried, imprinted into every childhood memory and scrapbook photo the villain had.

The hero was still rambling, half desperate and half broken, but as soon as the villain touched them, their voice fell away.

They hauled the hero up, glancing desperately over their sweaty face, their unfocused and half delirious eyes, body shivering with pain. Those too trusting eyes latched onto the villains face, and the hero smiled. A smile the villain had been looking at for the past sixteen years. A smile that had never had a drink before. A smile that had been poisoned once, by a cleaning product under the sink. A smile the villain looked forward to seeing every day. A smile that belonged to the only person the villain had left.

“You were never supposed to poison me,” their sibling whispered—and collapsed into the villains arms.

(Part two)

Breaking into Villain’s warehouse certainly wasn’t easy, but Hero prided themself on getting things done. Villain was out, taking care of a gang apparently encroaching on the territory considered ‘theirs’, and Hero needed to know what Villain’s base of operations looked like. Needed to know what was going on inside, because anyone they found who might know anything was as hard to pry open as that plastic cup that Hero had accidentally wedged inside another cup the week before. 

They didn’t have time to focus on inconsequential side gigs- people were disappearing, and then reappearing weeks later, fished out of the river, their bodies ripped and torn and sewn and dissected. Hero needed to know who was taking them, where they were going, how they were being taken, and why. They were pretty certain they could answer the first question. 

That’s what tonight was for. 

Hero dropped to the ground, dead silent. The guards had passed on their rounds a full minute before, leaving Hero a cool fifteen minutes to get from their initial opening deeper into the building. 

It wasn’t smart to go in so blindly. They knew that. They also knew how many people were disappearing on average- two a week- and knew that if it was Villain, there wouldn’t be any floor plans to speak of for the building. There was nothing. 

At least they were able to search the whole hallway before getting caught. 

One hand was on a doorknob to slide into the next room, the other on their throwing knives in case they were about to interrupt something, when someone behind them chuckled. 

“Would you like a tour?” Villain asked. “I’m happy to give you one. I’ve been looking for a second pair of eyes.”  They were standing in the darkened hallway behind Hero, leaning on the wall in a way that should have looked careless but came off as calculating. It was the same with their tone- flippant words that somehow felt ill-fitted to the person saying them. 

“You’re the one who’s been running around the city asking about me,” Villain said. “If you wanted to know something, you should have asked.” 

“You’re the one who’s been kidnapping all those people,” Hero shot back. They tried to spit the words, but the venom died on their tongue. 

“Is that a statement or a question?” Villain said. They smiled, then, and Hero’s chest filled up with warmth. They smiled back. “Would you like to see them?” 

Hero nodded, stepping forwards. They slipped their knife back into their pocket. They didn’t need it. 

That wasn’t right. 

Hero stopped. Blinked. What were they thinking?  

“Stop it,” they said out loud.” 

Villain turned, an eyebrow raised. They smiled again, sharp teeth flashing, and Hero’s chest remained resolutely cold. Good. 

“You’re right. That was unfair of me.” 

The rumors were right. Very little was known for certain about Villain- how long they had been in town, how far their plans extended, what their ultimate goals were- but there were rumors that they could control thoughts. 

“You can control minds,” Hero stated. 

“No,” Villain said. “I control everything.” 

“Really. Can you control someone’s will?” 

“All a will is is someone’s ability to control their emotions, their urges, their body’s responses. I control bodies. Every chemical you release, every signal your nerves sense. I control your will.” They leaned in. “Want me to make you beg?”

They were going to have to try a lot harder if they wanted a reaction out of Hero. “You seem awfully fine with me breaking into your base,” they observed. 

“Even the best of us still want someone to witness,” Villain said, leaning back. “And you’re better than the others. Your fear is different.” 

“Vigilantism has its perks.” 

Villain chuckled at that. “Before we go down,” they said, “you have a higher threshold for fear than others, but even you aren’t immune.” Their eyes flicked over Hero’s body, clinical, fascinated. “So I’m going to give you a gift.” 

“You don’t-” 

“Shh,” Villain said, and Hero shut their mouth. “There’s an old bible story,” they began, “where God tells Pharaoh to free his slaves ‘or else’. Are you familiar?” 

“Of course you were raised catholic,” Hero said before they could stop themself. 

Villain ignored them. “The ten plagues. Famine, death, rivers of blood. But you see, there’s a very interesting part where God hardens Pharaoh’s heart, so that Pharaoh continues to refuse him. Do you know why?” They paused, as though waiting for an answer. 

“I must have missed that day.” 

“Fear makes us do things we wouldn’t normally do. There is no choice when we’re afraid, we’ll do anything to get rid of it. When faced with the wrath of God, there is no real decision- unless, of course, you do not fear.” 

Villain tilted their head ever so slightly, eyes fixed on Hero. “I don’t want you to react out of fear. I want everything you do to be yours.” 

“So, what?” Hero scoffed. “You’re god?” 

“Haven’t I made my own creations?” 

The bodies in the river.

“You didn’t make anything,” Hero spat. “And I don’t appreciate anyone controlling my brain.” 

Villain shrugged, a half shouldered thing that felt entirely out of place on them. “That’s unavoidable. Something’s going to, and you should be happy I’m keeping the fear out of your brain rather than, say, taking some of those nerve clusters and squeezing.” 

The threat felt empty. No, that wasn’t it. Hero knew Villain had that ability, and that they could kill them, but the usual trickle of ice that usually accompanied true threats simply didn’t appear. Hero couldn’t find it within themselves to tense up for a fight. 

“Fear can be useful,” Hero said. “Prepares you to do what needs to be done.” 

“Useful? Really?” Villain said. “You would trust your body not to betray you.” 

“Yeah, I think I’d trust my body with itself more than I’d trust you.” Hero crossed their arms. 

Something glinted in Villain’s eye, and they turned. “Let’s go somewhere more private,” they said, and began walking deeper into the complex. 

Hero stared. Villain had turned their back on them. Was walking away, even. Hero wasn’t restrained, wasn’t even disarmed, they were just… loose. And Villain just turned their back to them. 

They went for their knives. The moment they touched the blades, pain lanced up their arm. 

Down the hallway, Villain sighed, turning to walk back. Their right hand was outstretched, palm up. “I suppose we can do it now.”

Hero didn’t move.

“I’m holding onto your secondary nervous system,” Villain said, voice light, like they were having afternoon tea. “Pulling out your freeze response. Feel that?” 

Hero stood, staring, heart hammering, air frozen in their lungs. The muscles in their neck started to tense and untense, trying to pull in air.

“You don’t feel fear like this often,” Villain said. “It’s what makes you so much better.” They flicked their fingers. 

Air rushed back in, and Hero took a step back. “I’m- that can’t possibly be the reason I’m better. I feel fear. Other people stay calm- that can’t possibly be the reason.” 

“Other people don’t consistently face off against people like me.” 

“You admit there are other people like you?” Hero said, more to distract Villain for a moment and regain their composure than anything.

Villain laughed. “I’m not the only one with my power.” 

Hero felt the urge to stiffen- but it passed. “Others?” 

“There’s no need for you to worry. If there are a thousand like me, then maybe ten are even aware they have powers- and of those, only I possess my refinement. It’s an art, you know. Teasing out responses- pulling on one chemical, pushing on another. It takes time to figure out. First poor souls I worked on-” Villain spared a glance to the side, remembering- “well, as it happens, too much of one chemical flooding your brain can trigger some unfortunate side effects. But that was years ago.” 

Morbid fascination made Hero want to know exactly what happened and how, but they pushed that to the side. “How would someone not realize they could- control people? Control bodies?”  

“At very low levels, it might simply be unconsciously done. They might be an exceptionally good doctor, or maybe assume they are just very persuasive. It’s easy to be charming when everyone gets a dopamine hit just by seeing you.” 

They were directly in front of Hero now. “Your freeze response is a bit boring, no? Let’s try another.” 

Hero grit their teeth. They needed to stop Villain- they needed Villain happy with them. Villain was angry, angry enough to hurt Hero, and Hero could- Hero could ask, they should ask, they should plead, they should- not ask forgiveness, not that, they shouldn’t ask for anything, but they could ask what they could do to help, they should apologize for breaking in, Villain, they should get on their knees right now and beg- 

A shudder shook through them. 

“Come on now,” Villain said. Their foot tapped on the ground, arms crossed, shoulders tight, jaw set- 

“Sorry,” Hero said, the word bursting out. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough. “I-” They clamped their lips shut. 

Blood in the water. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry! Villain- please, I- I’m sorry, please please, I didn’t mean- I can do anything, I’ll do anything, I swear, I’m so sorry, please-” Hero’s eyes pricked with tears. 

And then they didn’t. Hero blinked, still breathing hard. They studied Villain, suddenly uncaring about their stance or the slight curve at the edge of their mouth, but didn’t say anything. They didn’t know what would come out if they opened their mouth. 

“You still think fear is a good thing?” Villain teased. 

Hero wasn’t one to admit defeat. They needed more information on Villain, and Villain was… 

They followed Villain deeper into the compound.