Youre Drunk, The Villain Said, Voice Tinted With Surprise.

“You’re drunk,” the villain said, voice tinted with surprise.

The hero hiccuped.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No—wait, why are you here?”

The villain laughed.

“Someone told me a party was going on, and that I should crash it. I didn’t expect it to be yours.”

The hero blinked back a sudden onslaught of tears.

“Not really mine any more. So if you had any reservations about crashing…”

The villain arched a brow, and sat down on the slightly damp grass across from the hero.

“Are you saying you want me to crash your party?”

“Not my party.”

The villain tugged out a piece of grass.

“Why isn’t it your party anymore.”

“It just isn’t,” the hero said around a sob.

The villain studied them, too observant, too seeing.

“Does this have anything to do with you being drunk?”

The hero hiccuped again. “No.”

The villain hummed.

“I thought you had a problem with alcohol. Because of your—“

The hero stuck their hand out, pressing a finger to the villain’s lips.

“Can we not?”

The villain had the audacity to smile.

“Stop smiling.”

The villain obliged.

“Did you…did you want to get drunk?”

The hero didn’t answer, and the villain stiffened. Their eye caught on the empty solo cup, abandoned on the grass beside them.

“Please—and I mean this in every sense of the word—tell me that those ‘friends’ of yours did not spike your drink.”

The hero shrugged, noncommittally.

“They just wanted me to relax. Have fun. It isn’t their fault.”

When they looked up again, the villain was seething.

“They drugged you.”

“That sounds so bad—“

“Did you give consent?” The villain’s face was carved from stone.

“I—they wanted me to relax.”

“That’s a no.” The villain grabbed the hero’s chin. “If it isn’t an enthusiastic yes, it’s a no.”

The hero moved their head from the villain’s hand.

“It’s fine.”

“It isn’t.”

The hero looked back at the villain. The villain sighed.

“You’re even more stubborn when you’re drunk.”

Ridiculously, the hero smiled.

A moment later, the villain held out their hand.

“Come on. Let’s go get you some better friends—these ones are trash.”

The hero blinked uncertainly. They shot a glance back at the house, humming with music, and laughter, and light. The hero doubted their friends—their ex friends—had even noticed they were gone.

They took the villain’s hand.

“As long as they aren’t douchebags.”

The villain laughed. God, they had a nice laugh, and led the hero away, down the street, and kept holding their hand the whole time.

The only friend the hero ended up making that night was the villain.

And in the end, they were the only friend that mattered.

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.

reblog if you want a whump ask in your inbox

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

What's a niche/uncommon whump thing you love? (Could be a trope, whump for a specific character, a setting, anything)

I’m not sure if any of these count as uncommon, but:

Any form of mind control. Compulsion, glamour, magic, etc. I have a special appreciation for fae glamour/compulsion specifically.

The fae world, in general, as a setting.

Delirium, in any form, really. Fever, sleep deprivation, etc.

Sensory deprivation.

And I know this one is definitely not niche, but kidnapping is just AHHH

My childhood is actively coming for me these days I’m like a small feral animal being chased through the woods by my past (my owner who I ran away from who loves me dearly)

I see a consensus has been reached