A Life of Pixels

Stories of actual and fictional lives. I have lived a thousand live yet not a single one. (Author's note) Please understand that I am not aiming to insult anyone or villainize any illnesses with my writing. I support Black Lives Matter, POC, queer people, mentally ill people, gender queer and trans people, autistic people, jewish people, muslim people. I am pro-equality and pro-choice.

[pastelpixels]

The Day the Forest Fell Silent - How Did This Happen? (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/1314254400-the-day-the-forest-fell-silent-how-did-this-happen?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_reading&wp_originator=9qgaWY6JrUFaSI5wV%2B7szgpRA6H6%2FglWESb%2FnuuqKWVajHq0pNLMcQJ%2FvwY5M%2F3Omv7ZXeTcVjlt1BKPyHa2GOFUjK3%2FzfFhEB3ic97q8fUm2rLkq7XIdezGqIORQhN9 Ren has gone from novice journalist to ambassador for previously unknown creatures of Earth. It's either that or be convicted of high treason. Will she convince them to sign the treaty so everyone can live peacefully or will the world fall into chaos?

[pastelpixels]

Did you know there were once 2 suns? They would play, chasing each other through the eternal-endless darkness lighting it briefly as they raced along. Until for a moment one sun stopped to ponder the uniqueness of their light and how only they could feel warmth and see the beauty of all things with their light. And as she thought an idea came to her "Wouldn't it be nice," she said, "if we could light up the universe so that no one would be alone, lost in the darkness and all could feel warmth and see the beauty and wonders to behold as we do."

She began to hum a sad and lovely tune her fire burning brighter than ever before when suddenly her fire exploded into millions of tiny sparks that raced and spread through the universe creating galaxies and light and warmth and love.

The sun now left alone cried for he thought his friend lost.

"Fear not," came a voice from the darkness, "I am here. I will always be by your side."

And she was.

Though now extinguished she was not forgotten nor lost. And the sun we know today shines a light on her every night that for those of us who may walk in darkness remember, though we may feel cold, lost, and alone she will always be there to lend us her light to find our way home.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hello I love your writing I was wondering if you can do a piece on villain motivations and how to recognizeyour villains motives. Also what are some examples of bad motivations.

I was about to write 1) You create the villains, so it’s not so much ‘recognising’ as ‘you can create whatever you want it to be’. Then I remembered fanfiction, in which case recognising would apply - but recognising in that can vary so much depending on the text, as it will always depend on how you choose to interpret the source materials. 

So let’s just go onto villainous motivations. Note, I am using and understood ‘villain’ and ‘villainous’ to mean the antagonist of the story, rather than a superhero definition of the word.

A list of potential motivations, which can be mixed up, but I split them into different umbrellas:

To gain power or control (for whatever reason)

because they don’t want to feel powerless again

because they have strong opinions about what should happen to the world and need sufficient power to implement any change

 because contemporary career trajectories in western society feed us the idea that we always need more money and power so they think they’re just succeeding/doing what’s natural/normal

better to be the one in control than under someone else’s

being in control/powerful has perks

because they want sufficient power to protect themselves or others etc...

Revenge

What it says on the tin, but look deeper at the undercurrent emotions, desires and values beneath the surface...

Revenge because something unfair happened and it hurts

Revenge because they have a sense of entitlement

Revenge to gain back a sense of power/agency

Revenge as a means of justice

Revenge because they tried nice, and lost everything etc. etc....

Love

Can be combined with power or revenge, because they either want to protect, avenge, or get their own back on someone they love (villain because they go way over the line of what’s acceptable, as opposed to if say a protagonist had a heartbreak, and we would judge them if they started chopping limbs)

X thing that the hero needs means someone the villain cares about dies, or is wounded in some way, or has to sacrifice themselves

Not quite love, but tangentially lust - they want the protagonist/love interest and are willing to do whatever to get them

They want to impress someone and think this is the way to do it

They are working as an antagonist for a larger antagonist in order to protect someone or something.

Fear/Desperation

Again, this works as a driving undercurrent for a lot of the above but worth noting, but...

Fear that the protagonist is dangerous and the only way to prevent something terrible from happening is to kill or otherwise control them

Fear that something bad will happen if extreme action is not taken

Fear of being perceived as weak, because they know what happens to the weak/have been taught they’re never allowed to be weak.

Desire to be free/survival instinct

See, I have been told all my life that I have to do this and I won’t, I refuse, even if that means being a bad person. E.g, why be the chosen one just to die? That’s not fair. 

See, why someone might want to accumulate power. 

I just want to be free and people keep trying to lock me up. Leave me alone or die. 

You programmed me and I will destroy you for what you made me, how dare you.

Miscellaneous

This is just my job: I’m following orders

This is what my culture/species does and my morality is simply different to the protagonist’s, so for the purposes of the story I am the villain because it’s blue and orange morality to anything human’s consider acceptable

Ignorance

Bad motivations...

To me, the only ‘bad’ motivation is ‘just because’ or ‘because they’re evil’, but that’s a personal opinion because I think that’s a boring reduction of human behaviour. People don’t do stuff ‘because they’re evil’, there’s something else going on. Sadism is a form of control, if doing something makes you happy (even if not’s socially acceptable) then you’re more likely to do it.  Depending on your story, you are not necessarily go in depth into your villain’s backstory or motivations, in which case ‘just because’ can apply simply due to lack of story space. On a similar vein - ‘because they’re mentally ill’. 

The thing about motivations is that they’re often not good or bad. Your villain’s values may not be that different to your hero’s, but they present differently in a way that we know is not acceptable or healthy behaviour. It’s something twisted toxic, or too extreme. 

The more important question is ‘does this motivation match the character?’ Do they behave in a way that logically follows on from the motivation chosen? Is it logical for them to feel that way within the universe? 

Also, is it a sexist/racist/anything phobic depiction? That is not to say people within a minority cannot be the villain, but a) they shouldn’t be the only character of that minority in your text if they are at least at our current level of cultural representation and b) the minority character should probably not be doing the bad stuff just because they’re a minority. Which leads back to X character is inherently evil, inherently worse than anyone else! X minority types are just like that!

It’s character creation in the same way you would do for your hero or your protagonist. If you know what you need them to do, but not why, try asking yourself ‘okay, well, why would someone do XYZ?’

[heywriters]

On the topic of mental illness as a stereotypically antagonistic trait, I'm watching a show right now that lightly covers this. Two powerful people on the show have mental issues based on past trauma. They each have trouble controlling their emotional, and often outwardly harmful, responses to stressful stimuli. However, they are not bad people, they both have good motives, they just have less control than a mentally healthy person does over their own actions.

Two major differences between the characters:

one man was punished by society for his harmful behavior, while the other was rewarded

the first man receives treatment and support for his problems, while the other man has not been diagnosed and even his close friends enable him

Both powerful men at different points in the show express the desire to be positive influences on society, but both also express harmful desires (e.g. they want to cause physical harm to others). The man who has been diagnosed, treated, and receives loving support remains a protagonist. The man whom no one suspects of having mental issues and therefore never receives the help he needs gradually becomes an antagonist.

It isn't "mental illness" that makes a person a villain or gives them bad motivations---though it depends heavily on the type of illness/disorder---but has everything to do with the feedback and support they receive in response to their unhealthy behavior. Yes, if your character hears voices telling them to murder people and they do it, they are now antagonists to other characters regardless of their actual motivation to kill people. But if your character hears these voices and someone helps them control their reaction to them, they remain an individual free of the label of "villain."

A true villain with a mental illness is one who knows they're doing bad things because they're mentally ill, yet has no problem with it. They use the excuse "oh i just can't control myself, doc 🤕🤥" and keep doing nasty crap because they sincerely want to.

TL;DR---Being a "Villain" is a choice, not a mental illness. A protag can become an antag due to the effects of their illness, but if they receive help and it works, they just needed help. If they receive help but keep doing crap anyway, they're probably a villain.

[savesoup]

Soup needs surgery

https://www.gofundme.com/f/save-soup?utm_source=customer&utm_medium=copy_link&utm_campaign=p_cf+share-flow-1  This is Soup’s Go fund me page. Feel free to share. We thank you for any kind thoughts, prayers, shares, reposts and/or reblogs. Soup needs surgery. Her story is on the gofundme and pinned to this blog. She is a stray we found with a broken leg and we did not have the heart to leave her starving in the cold.

[pastelpixels]

[pastelpixels]

The Night I Died

Death is a traumatic experience. The first time I died I was 15. I was walking home late at night from my friend’s house. It was just up the road. We lived in that type of neighborhood where everyone knew each others’ names and nothing bad ever happened. Except that night, that was the night Matt, who lived in the house next to mine, broke up with his girlfriend, Angel. She was nice I’d met her and we’d hung out a couple of times on my porch while she waited for Matt to get off work. That night though she’d just gotten her heart broken, and was speeding away with tears in her eyes, like the faster she drove away the easier it would be to tell herself that she was going to be okay. I tucked my hands into the pocket of my dark gray hoodie and noticed the car speeding toward me. There were no sidewalks so I walked along the edge of the street. The car was on the opposite side, so I saw no need to worry. That is until Miss Mable, old Thomas’s cat, decided she’d like a firefly for a late night snack. The snowy white cat pounced right into the street. Angel’s car swerved. I remember the blinding headlights as I tried to jump out of the way. Then the tumbling of lights, houses, sky, and ground spinning as I was spinning through the air. Then, there was nothing but complete darkness. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. Did I have hands anymore? I could sense them. I began to sense the darkness around me thicken, suddenly there was searing pain everywhere. My entire body felt like an exposed nerve. Colors, sounds, and lights rushed back in as I realized I was surrounded by people: the paramedics and neighbors. As they carefully moved me from the street into the ambulance I sensed something else. I turned my eyes toward the street light, then, slightly past it, looking in the shadows for whatever it was that was watching me. Suddenly I saw it, there in the shadows, a thicker darker shadow lurking just out of the light. It was shaped like a woman and though it had no eyes I knew it was watching me. I squeezed my eyes closed to shut out the pain as much as to tell myself what I was seeing wasn’t real. It wasn’t real... was it?

[pastelpixels]

Falling

Have you ever wondered why its called falling in love even when you’re floating so high above everything else? I’d never given it a second thought, that is until I met you, and when you broke my heart I knew. I knew they call it falling in love because the floating doesn’t last. For those who stay in love they gradually drift back down to earth sometimes bouncing with weightless steps. Then there are those who rush back toward the ground so hard, it leaves them lying lifeless on the ground. Sooner or later though the numbness trickles out and the feelings start to leak back in. After a while they find their way again maybe step back onto a cloud somewhere down the line.  But for those like me and you, its worse, much worse. The fall drops you so hard  and so fast you slam into an ocean that crushes you on impact and leaves you gasping for air. You can’t even claw your way to the surface, you can only watch as the light fades and darkness engulfs you. Usually though its only one of the two that falls, for us it was me. But you see, I’m a fighter. And I fought. Body crushed, heart barely beating, mind sinking, gasping for air, I fought. And I won. 

[pastelpixels]

And in the confusion of jostling bodies someone will grab your hand because they've mistaken you for their friend or they think they're helping someone in shock, and you'll both realize a little too late that they've pulled you from the one you were trying to save. Someone who actually needed saving and now they're gone. They're gone and there's nothing you can do because life has never been fair and it's not about to start now...

[theliteraryarchitect-deactivate]

Hey all! I made a wee self-editing guide that you can download for FREE on my website. It’s basically a mini-mini-version of my book The Complete Guide to Self-Editing for Fiction Writers. If you’re stalled, overwhelmed, or don’t know where to start, The Pocket Guide to Self-Editing for Fiction Writers will give you a step-by-step overview of the self-editing process, beginning with the pre-editing planning stages, and moving through the story, scene, and sentence-level edit of your novel or short story.

The guide consists of 5 lil’ checklists to help you map out a revision plan and move forward with your story:

Pre-Editing Checklist Prepare yourself for the journey ahead

Story Editing Checklist Get a bird’s eye view on your plot and characters

Scene Editing Checklist Analyze and revise your scenes

Sentence Editing Checklist Polish your prose until it shines

Post-Editing Checklist Plan your next steps

Download your free self-editing pocket guide right here.

Hope this helps! xoxo

//////////////

The Literary Architect is a writing advice blog run by me, Bucket Siler. For more writing help, check out my Free Resource Library or get The Complete Guide to Self-Editing for Fiction Writers. xoxo

[pastelpixels]

You remind me of the babe.

The Goblin King

[pastelpixels]

Remedy the Poison

Dreams are pretty; intangible things

And we all have these notions

Of what fantasies bring

Hopes and wishes for a life well meant

But often times their fibers

Can become, well, bent

And these dreams, now broken,

In our heads still stay,

Nothing more than a token

A memory of what could have been

Now twisted and dark,

And shadows then grow, 

Where once was a spark

Those once beautiful ideals

You held in your heart,

Have now become nightmares

That tear you apart

They poison your soul

Make you bitter and weak,

Let go of your nightmares. 

Find new dreams to seek

We can't control

Which way life will go

But we can dream a new dream

To light up our soul

Maybe, this new dream

Will be better than the last

And all those dreams 

We ever dreamed in the past.

[pastelpixels]

The 'right' side of history writes history.

Serafin

[ink-splotch]

ugly: in defense of pansy parkinson

"And who did [Draco] marry? It wasn't Pansy right, or was it?"

JKR: "No! God, it wasn't Pansy Parkinson. I loathe Pansy Parkinson. I don't love Draco but I really dislike her. She's every girl who ever teased me at school. She's the Anti-Hermione. I loathe her."

Let's talk about how Pansy Parkinson was a bully, how she sliced and cut with words, how she lied, cajoled, and taunted. She probably left some scars that never quite healed.

Now let's talk about James Potter.

Let's talk about James and his carefully rumpled hair and his cruel entertainments. Let's talk about how McGonagall wept for him, how Hagrid bawled, how Lily loved him and Harry stood tall in his image.

No one wept for Pansy Parkinson.

--

Tell me about a Pansy who plucked the Inquisitor's Squad badge off her chest with shaking fingers only in the cold comfort of her room or Draco's, who leaned against him and whispered under the fire's crackle, some nights, "What are we doing? Do you know what we're doing?"

They both knew the answer to that question. Some nights Draco said, "Whatever we want," or "What we have to," and some nights he said, "Surviving."

She listened to the shake in his voice and thought, with something like pride, and another something like grief, the boy's learned how to lie.

"This isn't what I thought heroics would look like," she confided, one night, when she'd fled to Draco's little single room because Millicent Bulstrode had been crying herself to sleep in hers.

"Who said we're the heroes?" said Draco, but he let her curl up on the other half of his bed, a careful three inches between their crescent-moon spines.

Tell me about the Carrows calling them into their office, telling them about all the viscera they would come to love, the sick little noises, about how good they all were, such promise, even you, Millicent, stop sniveling. 

 --

Let's talk about how Pansy and Draco grew up at different rates. One had a tattoo on his left forearm and the other had terror in her voice when she told her school to give up Harry Potter and save themselves. The ink beading Draco's skin, that was terror too, plain and simple, grasping for anything that looked like safety.

They screamed at each other, over the years, across mahogany dining tables and sticky pub booths, over words and deeds, broken hearts and old tremors. He felt guilty when she felt vulnerable. He felt redeemable when she felt dirty.

How dare you? Do you remember what they did? Do you remember what we did? Do you?

They swapped words, insults and frequencies, him shrilling in their own defense and her rumbling their own guilt. They spat and screamed and brought each other coffee on cold mornings.

"I want you to have something warm to hold onto," they didn't say, as they bumped shoulders, sighed, and swallowed the bitter liquid down.

Warmth curled in their stomachs all day long. For the first few years, panic ran the edge of it, that warmth, because they were not supposed to be warm. Pansy let her fingers freeze some mornings, like a penance, though she wasn't sure if it was for old deeds or for this morning, just this morning, taking a cup of coffee from Draco and loving the warmth.

--

You do not get to redeem forty year old stalkers on the grace of their undying obsessions and then leave young women out to rot.

Snape loved to oblivion, to delirium. He remade his Patronus in her image. Somehow, this saved him.  

There is a difference between a bully and a Death Eater. There is a difference between a teenaged girl spitting words no crueler than her Head of House's, and a professor--a teacher--an adult who terrorizes children who cannot escape him.

Snape never forgave Harry for his father's sins. Severus saved his life, but only for his eyes--not for what Harry saw with them, or what he did, or said, or saved, or loved, but because of their color. For this, for this, Snape is redeemed.

Pansy Parkinson drifts on the page, wreathed in smug contempt.

Read More

[pastelpixels]

I hate and love this. Yes bullies are often in pain but those who are bullied and don’t become the one who is bullying knows they don’t have to be this way. Maybe its the only way they know. Still do not jump to conclusions we all handle things the best way we can be it through fear, kindness, hate, depression, projection, or regression.

[deadpoetsstuff]

"this is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but with a whimper."

~ T.S. Eliot

[pastelpixels]

At First Sight

I was probably seven the first time I met Luka. I had wandered into the forested area behind the house my family just moved to and my parents were trying to unpack. 

“Please go play, Iri.” 

There’s so much to explore when you move to a new place. All the hidden little secrets no one knows of yet. 

I hadn’t taken but five steps passed the tree line when he hopped down from a tree and stood in my way. 

“You shouldn’t be here.”

I looked at him curiously. I’d never seen someone who looked the way he did. His hands were green tinged and faded into an oak brown color at his forearms, the same color as the rest of him. His longish dark brown hair was in a million tiny braids held back by a small flowery vine except for the few shorter braids toward the front. The tips of his ears were pointed and covered with a silver guard. His eyes were golden amber and his clothes were silver and looked unlike anything made by human hands, a fine material trimmed in feathers. He had a bow and quiver hung on his back. He was half a head taller than me, maybe 10. I took him in and hand on hip pulled myself up to my full height. I gave my most withering glare, "you're not the boss of me."

He smirked then. "I didn't say you couldn't, I said you shouldn't."

I relaxed my posture. "Oh, well why not."

I saw his ears prick up, catching a sound ...or a voice I couldn't. 

"It's not safe. I have to go." He turned away taking a few steps toward whatever he was hearing.

"...but…"

He looked back and waved then dashed off through the forest.

[pastelpixels]

Run

Kel sat in a cafe a warm cup of tea in her hands staring out the window, watching.

“Hey pretty lady hope you don’t run off if I have a seat but I just had to come and talk to you.”    

“Run?” She smirked. She’d been running most of her life and it had nothing to do with her insecurities or the fact that morons like this tried to talk to her all the time. There was no hiding… and she was getting soo tired of running. So tired, she finally decided that she didn’t even care to wait for them to catch up, no she’d find them, and if she went down in the process, at least she wouldn’t have to run anymore. Plus she’d take as many as she could with her, motherfu…

“Ugh, it’s gonna rain, so ugly.”

Geez, did he know how to shut up, “Actually, I prefer the rain.”  

He looked at her as if he was confused as to why she had her own opinions. She rolled her eyes. He was one of “those”. She gently set down her cup of tea, looking into his eyes she gave him her sweetest of smiles and in her best southern accent simply said, “Why sir, I do believe it is improper for a gentlemen to converse with an unescorted young woman especially in public.”

“Huh.” He looked more bewildered than before.

 “And with an attitude like that you never will be, alone with a girl in public that is... Assho... “ She stretched her foot under the table to his chair in front of her, slid her toes under the bar that crossed the front legs, and pulled as hard and fast as she could flipping his chair backward. “You nearly made me swear, I promised myself I’d try really hard to stop.”

He began picking himself up, “Well now I get why you’re single. What a shame to waste such a pretty face.”

She hesitated for a millisecond as a thought crossed her mind. Do I really want to waste so much effort on one unbearably conceited dil-nugget? She smirked, then again it could be fun practice, although he was nothing compared to them.

[pastelpixels]

Julia

Julia sat in her room and stared at the moon through her open window. School was supposed to start tomorrow. The pandemic was no where near under control, the government wants to delay the election because they say it isn’t safe but she was supposed to go back to school tomorrow? How was it safe for her to go to school for 8 hours a day, switching class rooms while touching and sharing things other students need to use too when it isn’t even safe to stand in a line 6 feet apart for 3 hours? She was scared and she couldn’t wrap her head around it. Her mother knocked on her door and opened it slowly. Seeing her daughter still awake with tears brimming in her eyes she walked over and sat on her bed. 

“Mama I’m scared.”

Her mother kissed her head, “You aren’t going.”

“What, but they’ll take me away or put you in jail, they’ll say its negligence...”

“And its not if I send you to school knowing it isn’t safe?”

“You and I both know we always have a choice. Sometimes those choices don’t seem like we win one way or another but I won’t risk losing you.”

“And what do we do when they come?”

“The only thing we can do. We fight.”

[writing-prompt-s]

You work as the minor villain every new hero has to beat for their first battle.

[elidyce]

She had always been something of a figure of fun. Obscurata, with her melodramatic latin name and power to make darkness, who robbed banks and liquor stores and could be foiled by a teenager in a home-made costume. 

Tank had encountered her years ago, when he was a teenager in a homemade costume, and foiled her on his second attempt. It was almost a rite of passage - if you could take on Obscurata, you were ready for the life. Anyone who couldn’t take her down in five or six attempts tended to quit. 

It had been a surprise to see that rippling dark cape here, and a disappointment. He had... not a fondness, exactly, but a soft spot for Obscurata. She wasn’t one of the really bad ones. Older heroes steered the young ones towards her, knowing that they’d come out of a fight with her bruised but whole. She never killed. She never even seriously harmed. He hated to see her working with the Claw, who did. 

He tried not to let it distract him. Claw had taken a girl - Lily, one of a trio of new-minted girl heroes - in Tank’s city. He’d been keeping an eye on the girls, and he’d dropped everything to go in pursuit when he realized it was Claw who had Lily. Obscurata might have bruised and frightened her a little, but Claw’s captives usually wound up dead... or worse. 

He was strong, that was his thing, so he’d been able to come into Claw’s fortress by breaking through a wall. He skulked as quietly as he could through the corridors, which was not his thing but he’d had to learn to do it. He just had to find Lily and break out. He’d fight Claw if he had to, but honestly, a quick escape would be better. He’d left Rose and Ivy Green behind - flower names were unusual but clever - but dealing with one complete newbie was going to be bad enough and he’d rather not have her present for a major battle. They did stupid shit, when they were that young. 

When he heard the screaming, he abandoned stealth and ran. He didn’t have super speed, not like some, but being very strong and almost invulnerable meant you could go a lot faster than a regular person. The screams were horrible, gargling and choking, and he wasn’t going to let that kid die, not on his watch, not... 

But it wasn’t Lily screaming.

He saw her first, pressed into a corner, her eyes huge and her hands clamped over her mouth. She was a little bruised and bloodied, but not really hurt as far as he could tell. She seemed to glow, for a moment, until he realized that it wasn’t that she was glowing, it was just that the room was full of shadows... moving, unnatural shadows that filled the room like inky fog except for that one small corner and one small teenage girl. And from the other side of the room, where the darkness was deepest, came the terrible screams. And other, softer noises. Wet, horrible noises that made his gorge rise. That sounded like... 

He had to get to her. Bracing himself, he lunged into the thin screen of shadows between the door and that corner, only to find that they melted away when he approached, avoiding him the same way they avoided the girl. Obscurata commanded shadows, but he’d never seen her do anything like this.

Lily was whimpering very quietly behind her hand, and it seemed to take her a moment to recognize him, but then she dived at him, burrowing into his side when he put his arm protectively around her. Poor kid, she looked scared to death. Newbies weren’t supposed to meet something like Claw... or hear whatever this was.

The screams stopped with an abrupt crunch. The rippling, roiling shadows retreated, like those films of smoke in reverse, until they were sucked back into the rippling darkness of Obscurata’s cloak.

Obscurata had not been working with Claw. Not judging by the mangled, dismembered remains lying in a puddle of blood and still showing the remains of his black and silver costume. Obscuratus turned slowly to face them, the smooth mask as impassive as always. Tank had always wondered what was under it. Now, looking at the chewed pieces of Claw, he desperately did not want to find out. 

For some reason it startled him when her voice sounded as smooth and pleasant as it always had. “Is the child hurt?” 

He looked down at Lily. “You okay, kid?” 

She nodded jerkily. “Just regular fight stuff. He...” Her lip trembled. “He said he was going to... to hurt me. And then it went dark and...” She hid her face against Tank’s side. 

“They all know,” Obscurata said, still soft and calm as ever. “They all know they may not touch the new ones until I permit them. Now and then, one defies me.” The pointed toe of a boot prodded a leg which had rolled a little away from the body. “Then, I remind them why they obey me.” 

Tank felt almost as shaken as the girl trembling under his arm. Obscurata was... she was a baby-fight, not powerful or evil enough to do the kids any real harm. They’d all believed that. But Claw had been strong, one of the really scary bad guys, and Obscurata had destroyed and eaten him in a couple of minutes.

He had to swallow a couple of times before he was sure he could speak without his voice shaking. “I guess you’re tougher than we all thought,” he said slowly. 

She chuckled, a pleasant little chuckle made horrible by the blank mask hiding her face and the broken body at her feet. “Oh, yes,” she said softly. “I am very strong, and very old, and very much not to be crossed, though I would be grateful if you kept that to yourself. Those who need to know it, know. Those who don’t...” She gestured to Lily. “They need not fear me.” 

Tank shook his head. “You’re... you have to know what people think of you. That you’re one of the lowest level supervillains out there. Teenagers beat you all the time...” He trailed off. “Or... they think they do. When I hit you with that beam when I was sixteen...” 

“I actually felt it,” she said, sounding amused. “Not much, it’s true, but I felt it. Most don’t even manage that much.” 

“But you let them think they do. Why?” 

She shrugged. “It is.... a hobby, perhaps. A little amusement, in my retirement, to steal a little and let the young ones try their teeth on me.” 

“Retirement?” Tank blinked. She looked how she’d always looked - tall and thin, body largely obscured by shadows, only her mask showing above and an occasional hand or foot emerging then disappearing again. But Gecko, who’d been going grey when he was a teenager, had said he’d fought Obscurata as a kid. Fought her as a baby-fight, a beginner’s obstacle. “How old are you?”

The mask cocked. “Old,” she said softly. “Very old. When I was young, heroes came for me with swords and the new pistols, with their powder smoke and solid balls of metal. Oh, I was fearsome then. I ruled by terror, and my hoard was as great as any dragon’s.” She lifted a long finger - was it in a black glove, or was she far less human than they’d all assumed? - and tapped the mask’s chin. “It probably still is. I really should check on it.” 

“Then why.... why your hobby? I don’t understand.” Tank wasn’t sure either of them was getting out of here alive, and yet even now it was difficult to be afraid of Obscurata, who didn’t hurt the youngsters even when they hit her with beams.

“Because when I was young, they were men. And a few women, though not many.” Obscurata’s head lowered a little, and she looked down at her hand. “But as I grew older, they grew younger. They began wearing masks and fantastical costumes, so I couldn’t see their faces. And one day, I found that I had killed a child. A boy of fourteen or fifteen, with a child’s face and a child’s courage.” She sighed. “I was the terror of princes, the nightmare of generals.... but I had never hurt a child. We all have our lines that we do not cross, Tank, and that was mine. But I crossed it all unknowing, and I did not realize it until too late.” 

Tank looked at the mangled body. “Did you - “

“Yes.” The beautiful voice was sorrowful. “And I could not undo it. So I retired, for a time, but I realized that the young ones would still come. So I made a new name for myself and emerged again, seeking out the young and testing them, allowing them to beat me when they were proficient enough, and I made sure that the others like me did not touch them until I had judged them ready to fight.” 

“Who made you the judge?” It was Lily, and somehow she’d managed to go from terrified to annoyed in the sudden way teenagers did. “Why do you get to decide when we’re old enough to be real heroes?”

Obscurata pushed the dissevered leg towards her with one foot, and Lily squeaked in alarm. “Would you rather men like Claw chose for you?” she asked, a little stern now. “You and your sisters would be dead now, if not for me, flowers plucked untimely by men with unseemly appetites. You, and all the other young ones who are so brave and so unprepared. Be glad I shield you, and that I came for you when I heard you were taken, ungrateful child.”

Lily cowered. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Thank you.”

“Better.” Obscurata nodded to Tank. “Take her back, and teach them to do more than pose and monologue.”

“I will.” Tank rubbed his head, remembering how Obscurata had broken him of monologuing by smacking him with a chair. “And thank you. Really. It’s... good to know someone’s looking out for the kids.” 

“Indeed.” And then she was gone, fading into the shadows the way she always had. For much longer than he’d known, apparently. 

It was a simultaneously reassuring and frightening thought.