i recently hit 1,000 followers on here which is something that's never happened to me before, on any platform ever ! ive been a pretty small artist since forever so it makes me really happy to see this milestone :) thank you so much for the support on my art!
“You hit me yesterday, and it didn’t even leave a bruise,” the villain said, and the hero stared at them, drowning in something that was too exhausted to muster up any other emotion other than tired.
“I missed,” they said, but it was a half-hearted argument, and the hero knew that. It was just some sort of flinch response–like they were supposed to be saying it, so they were.
“You didn’t miss,” the villain said slowly. “I know what it looks like when you’re trying to deck me as hard as you possibly can.”
The hero sighed, and the air burned as it went down, just like it had been for a month now. As if the moment their power had begun to leave them, whisping onto the wind, the rest of their body had begun to give up in its absence.
“Okay,” the hero said. They tried to come up with something else to say. Some confession, maybe, or something that would throw the villain’s suspicion off, and they just…couldn’t.
“You’re losing your powers,” the villain said. It didn’t even sound mean. More…observatory, but something in their tone still made the hero want to start screaming, digging their nails into the dirt, and never stop. They didn’t.
The hero looked down, and the villain continued, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
The hero shrugged one shoulder, and something twinged in their bones, some lingering ache made in absence of magic, they guessed. “I sort of thought you would kill me for it. Or kill me before you ever found out. Either way, I just–”
“You wanted me to kill you?” The villain raised a brow as if it was only faintly curious, but the side of their jaw still twitched.
The hero hesitated. “I didn’t…want you to kill me. I just thought it was inevitable.”
“So you were just going to keep fighting me, powerless, until I hit you too hard one day and it killed you?” The hero shrugged, then looked away, and the villain made a wounded noise. “Hero. Please tell me you–”
“I was,” they said, voice slightly harsher than they meant it to be. The villain went quiet. “I was just going to wait for you to either figure it out and kill me, or do it by accident. Is that what you want to hear?”
“I just don’t understand why you didn’t come to me for help–”
“Did nothing about the ‘I thought you would kill me for it’ argument stick with you? Villain, can we not–”
“No, hero, we’re doing this. Do you want to die?”
The hero stepped back. “Villain–”
“I just don’t understand–”
“I’m tired.” The hero said. Their voice broke embarrassingly, and a tremor had started up around one of their knees again. “Okay? I’m tired.”
The villain’s face, tense with something too close to distress to truly be anger, softened.
“And I am in pain,” the hero said, voice catching slightly in their throat. “Always. Every second, of every day, for the past couple of months. So. Yeah. I’m tired.”
“Hero,” the villain said, voice marginally softer. Before they could say anything else, the hero scrubbed a hand over their own face.
“Don’t say my name like that, please. There’s nothing else left for me to do about this except die. You know they won’t let me retire, so. It’s either you kill me, or someone else.”
“Nobody is killing you,” the villain countered, voice firm. “Especially not one of the Agencies. I’d never let that happen.”
The hero’s shoulders sagged. “So, what, you’re just going to keep me around to watch me suffer?”
The villain looked taken aback–slightly horrified, maybe. The hero didn’t really care, right now, not when their wrist hurt badly enough that they resorted to digging their thumb into it to try and soothe the ache. The villain watched, silently, and the hero could practically see the thoughts they were sorting through and discarding in real time.
“Do you want me to fix it?” The villain asked, finally, voice quiet.
The hero’s thumb stilled against the bones of their wrist. “Fix it?”
“Your powers,” the villain said. “Do you want them back?”
The air in the hero’s lungs fled, scattering across the wind as they gaped at the villain. Because, that–that was–
“You don’t have the ability to do that,” the hero counted, slightly less sure than they wanted to be. But if the villain was saying it, then that meant there was some sort of truth to it. The villain was many things, but a liar was not one of them. So if they said they could bring the hero’s powers back, return the magic into the weave of their bones, then that meant they could.
The hero shivered. The worse, more traitorous question was if the hero even wanted the villain to try. Or if they wanted the villain to succeed.
“I know people,” the villain said easily. They looked like they wanted to reach for the hero, steady the shaking that was making the corners of the hero’s vision wobble. The hero took another step back, just slightly shaky, before they could.
“I,” the hero swallowed. “I can’t–”
“You don’t want them back,” the villain said, still so soft, no hint of anything unkind. “Hey. Hey, hero, that’s okay. Okay? You don’t need to take them back if you don’t want to. I won’t make you.”
A knot loosened around the hero’s chest, one they hadn’t realized was tightening. Because it had been a very, very long existence inside of this body. To grow up with powers, doomed to never lead a civilian life. To become a fighter for a war they only sometimes believed in, to never truly know if their emotions would spill out as something tangible. The villain understood that, the hero knew they must, but still–
“I’m tired.”
“I know,” the villain soothed. “I can help.”
There were many, many pieces of the hero screaming. A part that wailed to let the villain save them; another, even now, questioning their motives. The same thoughts, over and over, ones that held weight, that meant something, if the hero would only let them out.
Instead, the hero said, “They’re going to want me dead.”
The villain nodded, just once. “So we let them think you’re dead.”
“They won’t believe a faked death, no matter how good it is.”
“Then I'll tell them I'm the one who killed you.”
The hero stared.
“You’ll…tell the agencies. That I'm dead. You would lie to them, for me?”
“I would do anything for you,” the villain said, stare burning into the hero. “Including lying to any form of authority, which I am categorically known for hating.”
“Villain,” the hero said, words unbearably sweet on their teeth. “You don’t have to do that.”
“But I want to,” the villain said, insistent. “And you’re going to let me.”
They said it with such certainty the hero had no choice but to believe them. The way the hero would have said them were they speaking to anyone else; to someone in need of rescue; to the villain.
“I don’t want my powers back,” they said again. The villain nodded in agreement. “But can we…do something about the pain, I guess. I don’t know if you can–”
“I’ll figure it out,” the villain said, and the pain in the hero’s wrist dissipated, instantly, like the very assurance of the villain’s commitment to making it go away was enough. “If the people I know don’t know, I’ll keep finding people until someone does. Alright?”
The hero blinked back a tear. “Thank you.”
This was the kind of debt the hero would spend a lifetime paying back. Saving them, lying for them, doing research to figure out how to make the pain stop–
The villain blinked, then did their best to fight back the blush rising high on their cheeks.
“You never have to thank me for anything,” the villain said sincerely, and the hero almost burst fully into tears as the solemn certainty of it.
“If they find out, they’re going to hurt you,” they said, and the villain shrugged one shoulder.
“They could certainly try.”
The hero let the villain step closer, watching as they circled gentle hands around their wrist, pulling it up to examine it. The villain hummed.
“Yeah. I know a guy who can help with this.” Examination seemingly over, the villain met their eyes again. They didn’t drop the hero’s wrist. “Now. Do you want a house–after I kill you, of course–in the mountains, or in the city somewhere–”
“Near you,” the hero blurted out. They pretended not to notice the way the villain’s fingers tightened minutely around their wrist, just for a second.
“I think that can be arranged,” the villain said a moment later, blush fighting to rise on the tops of their cheeks. A grin began to peek out of the corner of their mouth. “Very easily, in fact. First, though. We have some people we need to see.”
Letting the villain guide them away, hands gentle around theirs, was easier than anything else the hero had done in a long, long time.
(this is the first prompt of the ask, dw, im posting the other one like. now. however, @meadowofbluebells thank you so much for the ask I really loved both of them which is why it took me so long, I wanted to do them both lmao)
How I draw Snatcher from The Boxtrolls in less than 30 steps. This took me a long time to figure out, so if you feel dissatisfied, don't fret! my first drawings were definitely worse.
