If I Help You Learn This, You Wont Do Anything Illegal With It, Right?

“If I help you learn this, you won’t do anything illegal with it, right?”

The villain shot them a dry look.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask that question, and if it helps, you can pretend I gave a comforting answer.”

The book was soft like butter under the hero’s fingers, old and worn. There had been a lock around the cover, but that was easy enough to break off. It was a miracle the school kept any students at all out of the restricted section—but maybe that was the point.

The villain leaned over their shoulder, warm through the hero’s coat.

“You figured it out?”

“You asked me to, didn’t you?”

The villain snorted, reaching over to scoot the hero’s hand off a piece of the text.

“We’ll make a Baneswallow out of you yet.”

The use of the villain’s last name pulled a blush to the hero’s cheek, and they ducked their head. The villain’s family was—nice. Ostentatious, and well known, but they still smiled at the hero whenever the villain dragged them home for dinner. They looked at the hero like they were worth just as much as their own child, asked about their day like they were one of their own.

It was a kind of softness the hero didn’t have for themself.

“So. It’s mainly a concentration spell, which means you’ll need a conduit—“ they twisted around, and found the villain focused on them intently. “What?”

“Nothing.” They shook their head, stepping back. “I just forgot how happy you were.”

The hero’s brow furrowed. They closed the book.

“Are you okay?”

They reached for the villain, standing from their chair, and fell instead, the smell of metal permeating their nose, sharp on their tongue, down and down and down.

They slammed into wet concrete with a snap.

“Fuck,” the hero wheezed. It took them a moment to get enough breath to roll onto their back. They were dizzy, mind swirling as they tried to figure out where and when they were. The villain watched them closely. “A memory spell?” They asked as they sat up, head reeling. They massaged their temple with one hand. “Why?”

The villain shrugged one shoulder.

“I wanted answers.”

The hero swallowed, nauseous and sick with the bone deep out-of-place feeling that came with being thrown into a memory, especially one so old.

“Did you find them?”

“Yes.”

The silence was palpable, a fragile sort of thing the two of them never used to hold between them.

“How’s your family,” they tried, and the villain’s face darkened. “I haven’t seen them in a while.”

“They’re fine. They miss you,” the villain’s voice was quiet, but it was steeped with anger. “They’re proud of you, too.”

Their mouth went dry. “They’re proud of me?”

The villain scoffed. “Of course they are. Did you think they stopped caring when you stopped coming around?”

The hero didn’t have an answer for that.

“You really thought—“

“I didn’t think they’d appreciate my profession.”

The villain shrugged once more. “They don’t care too much about that. Plus, it’s you.”

It’s you? Like it was any sort of answer, like the hero was something the villain’s family held dear.

When they spoke again, the villain’s voice was hurt.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I always told you everything, you know that.”

“No,” the villain spat. “I thought I knew that. Then I found out that you—“ they broke off. “Why?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“It’s complicated,” the villain seethed. “That’s what you said. It’s complicated.”

The hero went cold.

“It is,” they rasped.

The villain turned away, hands shaking with unspent anger.

“It’s complicated is what you say when your parents don’t believe in magic. It’s complicated is when you aren’t speaking, or when they don’t accept you, or when they’re divorced. It’s complicated is not what you tell your best friend when your parents are brutally murdered.”

For a moment, they couldn’t breathe.

“Villain—“

“You could have told me.”

“I didn’t know how,” their voice was sharper than they had intended, and the villain froze. “What, you think it’s easy to tell someone, someone you love, that your parents died in the worst way possible? That you found them? You think I should have just said it over breakfast one day, like it was nothing?”

“I think you should have let us support you—“

“Shut up,” the hero hissed, and the villain did. “You still have your family at home. They’re wonderful, and they care, and they love you. I don’t have that. I haven’t had that for a long time. So stop telling me what I should have done, when you’ve never had to do it.”

They were wearing the villain’s coat, from all those years ago. The villain’s mother had given it to them on the way out the door, tucked it around them and whispered “keep it,” one winter break. They had wanted to keep that feeling of belonging, too, but the hadn’t. They wondered if the villain recognized it.

“They love you too,” They murmured, and the hero just stared at them. “To them, you were always just another child of theirs.”

“What?”

“They ask about you,” the villain continued. “All the time. Ever since graduation. Dad keeps all your newspaper clippings. Mom hasn’t given me a moments rest ever since she found out, asks me to invite you for dinner every time she sees that we’re fighting again.”

The hero was going to vomit, or cry, or both.

“Stop it.”

“Why,” the villain challenged. “It’s true. They miss you.”

They were a breath away from the hero, and the hero didn’t know when it had happened, or when they had stood from the ground.

“I miss you,” the villain whispered, and then, the hero did cry.

“I was worried you’d never look at me the same.” It wasn’t a sob, but it was close.

“What way is that?”

“Like I’m something more than a tragedy.”

The villain smiled something soft.

“You are a tragedy. But you’ve always been my favorite.”

The hero swayed, and then they were tucked into the villain’s neck.

The villain hushed them, arms tight, and it felt like childhood.

“My parents are dead,” they murmured into the villain’s neck, and this time, they just hummed.

“Mom is making Alfredo,” they said quietly, and the hero didn’t move.

“She still makes that?”

“You told her it was the best thing you’d ever had, once.”

“I remember.”

The villain held them closer, like they were memorizing them.

“Let’s go home,” the villain breathed. “Please.”

Home. Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it? Somewhere between starting school and ending it, they had become something more than just the villain’s friend.

Somewhere between starting the academy and eating Alfredo, they had become a Baneswallow.

“Okay,” the hero whispered. “Okay.”

With a snap of magic, they were gone.

I’d say this is pretty accurate lol. Definitely a schemer, and I’m an artist but I’m not sure if it’ll heal anyone. Also I’m a tad bit too reckless so the fear thing adds up.

I have been told if I was a Pokémon I’d be a fairy type, if that means anything to anyone.

Lovingly tagging @oh-no-another-idea @imaginativemind29new @clairelsonao3

I need everyone to take this quiz right now and reblog what element they get

15 Questions (Adelie edition)

Thank you @oh-no-another-idea for the tag! This was so fun! I got like, kind of carried away…

Cat settled across from her on the rooftop, grinning, copying her to sit half crossed legged, one foot dangling off the edge. The city was a hundred stories below, and quiet under the wind.

She ran a hand through her hand. “Get on with it, then.”

He grinned wider.

Are you named after anyone?

“You don’t even know my name, she pointed out.”

He watched, expectant.

“I couldn’t tell you,” she admitted.

Cat squinted slightly. “Your mother?”

Adelie shrugged one shoulder.

“She’s not exactly capable of answering that.”

“Odd way to describe someone who’s dead.”

She shot him a look, and he raised his hands as if backing off. He pantomimed writing something a journal, nodding his head.

She was going to shove him off the roof.

When was the last time you cried?

“I don’t cry.”

Cat scoffed. “Now that’s a lie. You cried last week.”

“You stole a can of tear gas off a riot cop and threw it at me.”

“Right, but there were tears.”

She expected him to move on, but he didn’t, eyeing her expectantly.

She grimaced.

“Two days ago.”

“Training?”

“Yeah.”

He hummed, writing on air once more.

Do you have kids?

“Cat, I’m seventeen.”

“Hey now Sunshine, I don’t judge life choices.”

“I’m pretty sure you judge all of my life choices.”

“Not true. I just find the heroism boring.”

“Thanks, Cat.”

Do you use sarcasm?

“I don’t know, do you?”

Cat grinned.

“I’m asking the questions.”

“Good for you.”

“Sunshine—“

“I love you.”

He blinked at her for a moment.

“For a hero, you’re quite vicious, you know that?”

This time, she grinned. “Why do you think the media wants us to be a couple, hm?”

What's the first thing you notice about people?

“Generally wether or not they’re trying to kill me.”

“How boring.”

“Sorry, next time I’ll focus on their hair so they have a nice opportunity to stab me.”

Cat put a hand to his chest as if wounded.

“I only tried to stab you once.”

“How kind of you,” she said drily.

What's your eye color?

At this, she paused.

“I’m…not sure.”

Cat stilled, too.

“You don’t know what color your eyes are?”

She tipped her head, trying for nonchalance as her mouth went dry.

“Not everyone is as obsessed with themself as you are, Cat.”

He said nothing for a moment.

“Green,” his voice was rough. He pulled out his imaginary paper again, avoiding her face. “Your eyes are green.”

Scary or happy endings?

“I don’t like any endings.”

“Not even the happy ones?”

“Those aren’t real.”

He sighed. “I hate your father.”

“Well yeah, he’s a superhero, you’re a villain. That’s the whole point.”

“That’s not why.”

“Cat,” she said lowly, and once again, he dropped it.

Any special talents?

Her fingertips began to glow slightly, and she had to shake her hand to make them stop. Cat watched, amused.

“Trouble?”

“None, thanks,” she said breezily, and he laughed.

“So, the light…”

“It’s energy.”

“From…”

“My hatred for you.”

He batted his eyes.

“Awww, you’re so sweet”

“You’ve got three seconds before I push you off this roof.”

Where were you born?

“Probably here. Kind of attached to the city.”

“All work no play.”

“I find great joy in throwing you through walls, thank you.”

He winced slightly.

What are your hobbies?

“Saving people.”

“Not a hobby.”

“What are you, the hobby police?”

He shrugged. “I could be. You don’t know.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Punching you.”

“That’s also under the umbrella of saving people. What, do you not knit or something.”

“Do you think I have time for knitting?”

He nodded sagely. “There’s always time for knitting.”

She groaned. “Truce Sundays. That’s my hobby.”

“Your hobby is eating junk food once a week on top of a skyscraper where we are forbidden from murdering one another.”

“Yep.”

Have you any pets?

She looked at him, and he frowned at her.

“I don’t count.”

“Aww, but Cat—“

“I’ll throw you off this roof right now—“

“Well, now who’s the mean one—“

“Literally it’s always been me, I’m the villain—“

“Someone’s throwing a hissy fit—“

“Genuinely go get hit by a rocket launcher or something—“

“I survived the last time that happened so really—“

“I hate you.”

“Ditto,” she said, but they were both smiling.

What sports do you play/have played?

“Volleyball.”

Cat looked like he was prepared to tell her heroism wasn’t a sport, and stopped, mouth half open.

“What?”

“Volleyball,” she said with amusement.

“You play volleyball,” he repeated, slightly stunned.

“Good for the reflexes.”

“Uh huh,” his brow furrowed. “Volleyball.”

“You know, with the net—“

“I know what volleyball is Sunshine.”

How tall are you?

“Why would I know that?”

“I mean, I can tell you right now that you’re short.”

“Oh fuck you—“

“Like 5 feet 4 inches MAX.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“And according to the media, you’re dating me.”

“For fucks sake will you let that go.”

He smirked.

“Have I finally brought the cursing out of you?”

“Fuck you.”

He laughed, delighted.

Favorite subject in school?

“Fighting.”

“Not a subject.”

“English.”

“Good job, you picked a normal people school subject.”

“You say that like you weren’t also raised by a powered person.”

“Well yeah but mine isn’t a douche—“

“Cat.”

“Fine, fine.”

Dream job?

“I’m doing it.”

Cat put down his imaginary paper, face serious.

“Sunshine.”

“Cat,” she mimicked.

“This cannot be your dream job.”

“I help people,” she defended. His brow wrinkled.

“No, you almost die.”

“But I help them,” she repeated, and he shook his head.

“Being a superhero shouldn’t be anyone’s dream.”

“And being a super villain should be?”

He lowered his gaze to the city.

“I didn’t say it was.”

She paused, frowning.

“But you’re—“

“You’re not the interviewer, Sunshine,” he interrupted.

She pursed her lips.

“You can’t just say something like that—“

“I can and I will.”

He looked to her, and that smile was back again.

“How many news articles do you think they’ll publish this week about us dating. Superhero’s daughter and supervillain’s son, star crossed lovers!”

“If I’m lucky, none,” she said.

He stood up, and winked at her.

“The only time you get lucky is when you see my face.”

“Cat—“ she cursed, and he laughed as he vanished in a snap of shadow.

Alrighty, time for tags! (No pressure of course) @jay-avian @imaginativemind29new @clairelsonao3

The amount of times I could have been that white girl in the horror movie could honestly be a movie in itself and it’s honestly a waste that my entire life isn’t constantly recorded on film because it would be HILARIOUS

I’ve done this to people

And I enjoyed every moment

She was on that episode and a very stupid opportunity presented itself

Here's a prompt for you: write about a mask someone wears. Can be fiction, nonfiction (about yourself, an experience, people in general), maybe a poem. What kind of mask is it? What does it look like? Why are they wearing it?

“You can stop, you know.”

The villain froze for a moment, smile almost slipping, and set down their lunch tray. The hero leaned against the table next to them, knuckles white.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” they gestured to themself. “I’m reformed. I already stopped.”

The hero waived a hand. “Not that. I know that, I’m the one who helped you do it.”

The villain kept smiling, even as the edges began to crack like fine china.

“Hero,” they said as gently as they could. “Are you alright?”

The hero stared at them for a moment, as if they weren’t sure what was happening, as if the villain’s very existence confused them. They blew an angry breath out of their nose.

“I’m fine,” the hero said pointedly. “You aren’t.”

The villain ignored them at that, sitting down to stir their lunch. It was half cold and entirely unappetizing, but happy people ate the compound rations and were happy about it. And the villain was reformed, and good, and happy. So they ate.

Their bowl disappeared from in front of them, and they studied the plastic of the table for a moment. When they looked up, the hero’s eyes burned into them.

“Stop. It.”

This time, the villain was the one who sighed. “Can I have my lunch back please?”

The hero threw the bowl an unimpressed look. “What, this crap? Nobody likes this, and I can especially tell that you don’t. Your face is exactly the same as the first time you met me, and you tried to stab me directly after that. So. Stop.”

“I don’t know what you want from me,” the villain grit out. “I’m smiling, I’m contributing, I’m doing good things. No more murder, no more crimes. That’s what you wanted, right?”

“I wanted you to want that. I wanted you to have that. I never wanted this.”

“This what, hero.”

The hero gestured to their face.

“That. That smile.”

The villain gave them a dry look, even as their smile faded. “What, I can’t smile?”

The hero regarded them, fingers laced together under their chin, food abandoned. The villain picked at a hangnail and tried to look calm. This was why they had been avoiding the hero—the villain could read them like a book, but the hero could read them just as well.

Someone clattered down the hall, laughing, and then it was just the two of them again.

“You don’t have to be happy,” the hero said quietly, “to be good.”

The fine china, the mask, shattered.

The hero sighed, but it wasn’t triumphant. Relief, maybe. Or sadness.

“Why couldn’t you have left it alone,” the villain’s voice wobbled traitorously. The hero smiled, just slightly. A smile for a smile.

“Because you were drowning in there. And you don’t deserve that.”

“I’m trying to be good,” they murmured. The hero reached out and stilled their hands before they could pick them bloody.

“You are good. But you’re also hurting. You can do both. It’s okay.”

The villain shoulders loosened, as if the hero had stolen some huge burden from them.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” the villain agreed.

The hero smiled, a soft thing.

“Only smile when it doesn’t feel like a burden to do so,” the hero stood, leaning over the villain for a moment.

They left the villain in the lunch room, staring down at their hands.

Months later, when the hero told an awful joke, the villain laughed. They smiled at the hero, and it was warm. So warm.

And the hero smiled too.