It's True

Somewhat inspired by Toei animated Swan Lake from 1981. The characters are not the same, nor is the situation. Mainly the prompt in my head is, what if a villainess asked a hero for a dance? Sketched and drawn in Krita. I am a little rusty so please be gentle.

2024 Art Wrap

This was a big animation year for me. It’s really nice to do these art wraps to remind myself all the work I’ve accomplished.

See how I make room guardians on my Patreon!

Their First Villain

Secret Santa gift for @the-modern-typewriter Prompt: "Scary villain x hero in a Christmas setting of your [the writer's] choice. Could go spicy, could go whumpy, could go unexpectedly sweet!" Hope you like this! Merry Christmas!! 🎅🎁

“You recognised me,” the villain observes, his tone unnaturally flat. His face betrays no emotion.

“Kinda hard not to, with your…” – the hero tilts their head at where the villain’s magic continues to spread, coiling around their limbs and securely fixing them in place – “…snake thingies?”

The individual tendrils really do vaguely resemble snakes, although the magic in its entirety reminds them more of some writhing alien monster plant from an old Sci-fi B-movie whose title they cannot remember. It’s not a good comparison anyway. The movie hadn’t been scary at all.

They experimentally try to wrestle one of their arms free, but despite the magic’s apparent fluidity, the moment they push or pull in any direction, whatever give appeared to be there all but disappears and they can’t move a millimetre.

“Oh.” The villain’s eyes widen. “You can see it.”

“See it. Feel it. Didn’t expect it to be this hot.”

An awkward pause follows.

They are decidedly not blushing. It’s just warm. All of them is so warm now that the villain’s powers have moulded themselves around the hero like something liquid but alive. Wherever the tendrils touch bare skin – their ungloved hands and that area just above their ankles where their pants don’t quite meet the rims of their boots – the raw energy buzzes, prickles just short of stinging.

They’d been shivering just minutes ago in their much too thin poncho and the not seasonally appropriate Agency office uniform. Well, they still are shivering, just no longer from the cold.

Where the villain’s magic is fever-hot, his scrutiny runs icy.

“You can see it, but not fight it,” he muses. “How curious. The Agency must be understaffed to send their defenceless little office drones out into the field.”

The hero would be glaring if the villain weren’t underscoring the point by pulling his magic tighter with the mere flick of a finger. That small, anxious sound that escapes them in response brings a self-satisfied grin to the villain’s lips.

“It’s Christmas,” the hero says, once the magic has settled again.

The villain raises a brow.

“Most of the regulars are on holiday, Christmas being a time best spent with family … or so I’m told.”

“Yet you are working.”

“Don’t have anyone.” They aren’t technically without family just … Sometimes, family isn’t a place of refuge and welcome. Not a home to turn to for holiday celebrations or company. Some families fashion themselves exclusive clubs with strict rules that refuse or revoke memberships as they please. The hero forces some levity into their tone. “I have nowhere else to be today, so, I’m helping out here.”

The villain chuckles. “Helping is perhaps not what I would call that.”

“Hey, I did recognise you,” they say, defensively.

“And look where that got you.” His smile is sharper than before, meaner. “Am I your first villain? My heartfelt condolences.”

They don’t dignify that with an answer. But the answer is yes. The villains they watched being interrogated through one-way mirrors at HQ don't count.

“Pity,” the villain says with zero warmth, “that you couldn’t just look the other way. What is it with you people that you're always so eager to cause unnecessary conflict.”

“Reporting suspicious behaviour is kind of my job.” It comes out barely above a whisper and carries the distinct cadence of an apology.

“Ah yes, and my mere existence struck you as suspicious behaviour because …”

Admittedly, once they’d recognised the villain, they hadn’t taken the time to consider his appearance beyond the magic he’d been wearing around his shoulders like a particularly weaponizable scarf. The lack of a combat suit in favour of a sleek, dark coat over a woollen jumper and cargo joggers – either an outfit designed to blend in or just what the villain happens to like to wear when he isn’t working – hadn’t registered any more than the total absence of weaponry other than his powers. And while he could have hidden those better, it’s not like he could have simply left them at home.

There hadn’t been time to ponder. It had all happened so fast. Their eyes had met, and a moment later the hero had already been scrambling away from the crowd, past a stall selling mulled wine and into the nearest alley, where they’d scrolled through their contacts with stiff, unfeeling fingers. The villain had caught up with them before they’d managed to call for backup.

Their gaze darts to the remnants of their smashed phone, sprinkled across the muddy snow, mere metres away but entirely useless even if they could reach it.

What if the villain hadn’t had anything nefarious planned? What if the hero’s brain had naturally jumped to the most prejudiced conclusion all on its own?

Of course, it is unfair to treat his mere presence as if it is a crime. But the things he could do ...

They think about the parents with their cameras, filming their ice-skating children, the squealing toddlers on the merry-go-round, the nice old ladies selling tea out of the back of a car.

“You could be a danger to all those innocent people,” they defend their judgement.

“And you could be a danger to me,” the villain replies coolly. “Would be unwise, letting someone roam free who can pick me out of a crowd with a glance. Perhaps I should thank you for revealing yourself. Very ill-advised. But quite convenient. You were so obvious about it, too.”

He has crossed the distance between them while speaking. Close enough now to reach out and tuck an unruly strand of hair behind their ear with his cold, slender fingers. His other hand settles almost gently on their throat, atop the magic that has slivered around their neck at some point during the conversation.

The tip of a new tendril is in the process of worming its way lower, nestling into the collar of their shirt. It laps against the crook of their neck and they cringe away from the touch as much as the magic allows. It doesn’t hurt. It would be so much easier if it did. The touch is light; it kind of tickles and, given the overall direness of the situation, the hero really isn’t in the mood for that. Or, they shouldn’t be.

Unhelpfully, their traitorous mind supplies them with a thoroughly inappropriate image of what else someone who isn’t the enemy could be doing to them with magic such as this.

“Tell me,” the villain says as the power shifts upwards, tilting their chin back with the movement, so his nails can bite into the newly exposed skin below their jaw, “is there anything else troublesome about you, or is it just the eyes?”

He looks most pleased when their breath hitches despite their best efforts to remain stoic. His grip tightens. He’s studying them intently, staring at their eyes like those are priced gems he considers adding to his collection.

Maybe, underneath the mockery, he actually does consider them somewhat of a threat. If he didn’t, why would he be looking at them like that.

It’s stupid, truly and utterly stupid, to feel flattered. This is not respect, they know, just sharp, calculating consideration. His attention promises imminent danger, might turn lethal at any second. It’s not something they should revel in. Still, it feels good, too – being seen.

Has anyone ever really seen them before?

Or perhaps that is the lack of oxygen speaking.

They struggle to focus their vision but all the twinkling Christmas lights in the trees are starting to smudge into dull, red and golden blurs. Vertigo is clawing at them.

There is absolutely nothing they can do against the villain's grip. They're so pitifully out of their depth.

They think about their bland, only half-furnished two-room apartment; their first day at the Agency HQ; their nth day – no more eventful than the first – sitting at the exact same desk in the exact same office and working on the exact same old computer; their colleagues’ looks of pity when their 14th application for a transfer to field work is being denied and their boss tells them, in stern admonishment, that their skill sets just aren’t suited to solo missions. They think about her condescending smile when she finally does assign them the Christmas market job, clearly convinced the worst thing that could possibly happen here is people getting drunk enough on punch to start throwing punches.

They think of their first split-second impression of the villain as just another guy standing by the ice rink with a cup of something steaming in his hands and a mellow, unguarded smile curving his lips.

They hope this montage doesn’t count as their life flashing before their eyes. It’s way too sad a summary of their depressing lack of accomplishments.

They think, with equal parts age-old bitterness and new-found sarcastic vindication, about their colleagues’ infantile, unofficial, end-of-the-year office rankings where flashier heroes with more impressive abilities always receive titles such as most likely to hook up with a hot reporter or most epic battle or best one-liners.

Meanwhile, all the hero has to show for are three consecutive wins of least likely to die on the job.

Which might have been a reassuring sentiment if it weren’t so clearly code for “you’ll never be a real hero”. Real heroes risk their lives on the job all the time.

Well, look at them now!

Will their colleagues manage to come up with a new title for them in time, they wonder, if the villain kills them now, just a week before this year’s poll results will be released?

Most unexpected death has a nice ring to it.

They should be trembling in terror. Might have, if the villain’s magic weren’t encasing them so – tight but soft and deceptively warm, lulling them in. The sticky heat of it leaves them squirming, stuck in a confusing limbo between gooey not-quite-discomfort and hot-bath sluggishness.

They’re drifting. Until they’re not.

It’s impossible to discern how much time has passed or when exactly the villain has released them; but their thoughts are beginning to clear and their brain catches up to the fact that there is air in their lungs again, and that the breathless, hiccuping gasps uncontrollably tumbling out of their mouth aren’t sobs. It’s laughter.

“Are you enjoying this?” The villain sounds incredulous.

They shake their head. “I don’t know,” they manage, between hysterical giggles. “Maybe. Yes?”

“How did you know I wouldn’t kill you?”

“I didn’t.”

That startles a short laugh out of him.

“I’ve never” – they pant, still struggling for air – “felt this alive before.”

“That sounds ... unhealthy.”

There is a long pause in which the villain silently stares at them while they are more or less regaining control over their breathing.

“You wouldn’t get it,” they say then, perfectly aware they must seem most unhinged. “Bet you don't even know what boredom is. Because your life is fun. Mine is not. I practically live at my stupid job, and my stupid job doesn't even pay well. No one there gives a fuck about me. And nothing exciting ever happens. So can I please just have this one damn moment without being judged?”

The villain hums, low. “And here I thought we were ruining each other’s days.” He presses a hand to their forehead. “Did the heat fry your synapses?” he asks, sounding more amused than concerned. His other hand comes up to cup the nape of their neck, as if he can’t help but reach out. Just as they can’t help but lean into the cooling touch. His gaze drops, as if drawn, to their lips. “Or, are you just naturally this unusual?”

They can smell gingerbread and mulled wine on his breath.

“Are you going to kiss me?” they ask, because yes their synapses are definitely fried and they do not care about consequences, awkwardness, or sanity anymore.

“Would you like me to kiss you?”

“I’d certainly much rather be kissed than killed. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he repeats, smirking. “But we've established I’m not about to kill you. And that wasn’t a yes.”

“It’s not a no either.”

“Not how consent works, darling.”

They scoff. “You didn’t ask for consent first when you strangled me five minutes ago.”

The villain laughs again, in genuine delight judging by how his magic ripples and purrs.

“Okay, fair enough,” he whispers, shifting so his lips almost brush theirs.

The kiss that follows is sweet, surprisingly chaste, and initiated by the hero.

“So, since you mentioned earlier you have nowhere else to be today,” the villain says, afterwards, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “Have you ever had the pleasure of being kidnapped?”

Pleasure, as it turns out over the course of the next few hours, is an understatement.

If anyone at the office were to find out what the hero has been up to during their first (and best) and possibly only solo field mission, not only are they guaranteed to get fired, their colleagues will also surely create an entirely new office ranking category in their honour:

First to be seduced by a supervillain.

Scraps

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

The medals we earn adorn their necks

The food we prepare they rend and scrape

Their clean homes, our cracked skin

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

The spreadsheets, waivers, all-nighters

The mandatory overtime, 'voluntary' vacation

As family, friends, community becomes strangers

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

They bathe excess in bleach

Destroy 'out-of-season' and 'imperfect'

Unwanted treasure that never trickles down

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

They shrink the box and raise the price

Formula and cinnamon with lead filler

Locked away from desperate hands

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

They take your words and art

Remove the feeling and the context

But most importantly, the watermark

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

Big words not meant for us

They'll pulverize until the pain means nothing

Your screams are taken as aggression

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

Cries in the waiting room, unheard

Life is precious, they'll say to bodies

Who in neglect, turned to corpses

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

In fear, they cut us smaller

Yet they shovel mouthfuls much too quickly

The scraps will make them choke

Grace glowered over the laptop. "What makes you think you earned it?"

Felicity huffed. "We need to be able to work together."

"You're obsessing over this," Grace said.

"Trust is important if we want to crack this code."

"I'm helping you find your brother," Grace said. "That's the extent of this relationship."

Felicity sucked in a breath. "Oh. Fine. Yeah. I guess then, fine." She fiddled with the notepad in front of her. "So. Uh. How's your mom."

Grace slammed the laptop down. Felicity flinched.

"Stop. STOP IT, FELICITY! God, you ALWAYS do this! You always draw me back into your-- your family drama time and time again, and-- what? You think I owe you SMALL TALK?" She picked up the laptop and began stuffing it into her bag when Felicity touched her arm.

"Grace, I'm sorry, you're right," Felicity whispered. "I... You're the only one who... Helps me and I..." Her lip trembled.

Grace looked up at the sky and sighed. She released a long, low growl and placed the laptop back on the table. "Don't. Don't look at me with those eyes," Grace muttered. "I just... Stop. Stop trying to draw me back in."

"I'm not," Felicity protested. "I'm just--"

"Listen, let me do what I do best, and we can go back to never talking again," Grace said, voice hard. She tapped the keys of the laptop so aggressively it seemed they should pop off.

Felicity sat in total silence, watching Grace at work. For hours Grace worked, her anger slowly replaced with total concentration. Felicity tried to focus on her end of the research, but as the hours drew on she grew tired. She left to get two coffees, and returned to find Grace sitting back and looking very satisfied with herself.

"Come here," Grace said. "I found something."

Felicity set down the two coffee cups and stood behind her.

"The coordinates your brother sent you aren't his true coordinates," Grace explained. "They're the keys to a cipher. Look at this."

She typed the coordinates into Google Maps. "See? Every time he sends you a new coordinate, it's wildly different. This place is in the middle of the ocean. Buuut if we compare it to the letters he sent you," she reached over the stack of letters Felicity brought with her, "The letter that mentions the Atlantic Ocean? That's the key for that letter. So then, if we grab this, this, and this--"

"That's only a few hours away!" Felicity finished. She pulled Grace into an enormous hug. "Grace! Thank you thank you thank--" She froze, realizing her error.

Only, Grace looked frozen too. Felicity pulled up her arms quickly.

"Grace, look, please, I'm sorry--"

Grace closed her eyes. "I... You... Keep... Hurting me, Felicity. I can't keep doing this. I can't keep coming back to... This."

"I know. I understand. I... Thank you." Felicity moved to go.

"...Wait." Grace grabbed Felicity's hand. "You're not going alone, are you?"

Felicity blinked at her. "...Yes?"

Grace closed her eyes. "...Oh, you're going to be the death of me."

She gathered her laptop and grabbed the coffee.

"Come on, I'm driving," Grace muttered.

"Wait, really?" Felicity nearly squeaked.

Grace gave her ex a long suffering look.

"But this doesn't mean we're getting back together," she said firmly.

"Do you trust me?"

"You keep asking me that."

"You keep avoiding the question."

"Of course," you say, as if it is the most natural thing in the world. Her demeanor shifts-- she could tell something is on your mind.

She tips your chin, and you return her gaze with a heavy heart.

"What's wrong, darling?"

"I..." Tears prick your eyes at the idea of anything happening to your beloved. Instead, you draw her close, and kiss her passionately.

A moment of protest, but she melts, her arms wrapped around you languidly.

"If only the rest of the world could disappear," she whispers.

"I want to destroy them," you hiss back. "I want to destroy them all."

She recoils at your ferocity. You try for another kiss, but she holds up her hand.

"Tell me what happened," she says.

You struggle to meet her gaze.

"I was stopped on the way here," you explain. "Do you... Do you know what they call you out there?"

The queen laughs mirthlessly. "They've been saying that since I was born," she says. "Because of my lineage, because of who I love. It is what it is."

"You don't understand." You grab her hand and draw it to your chest. You try to gather the courage to tell her.

She's patient. So patient.

"They called me the chosen one. They said I... I will bring about your end."

She stares.

Laughs. Delighted.

"Oh, you bring about my end every day," she says fondly. "Every time you leave."

She nuzzles your chin. "Don't make me share attentions with the hateful and small-minded. They are hardly worth our time."

You kiss her head and breath in her scent.

You try to forget the words they spoke to you.

Three days.

In three days, you will bring about her undoing. You are the Chosen One.

You could hardly imagine a world without her. Much less, you couldn't imagine a world you wouldn't tear apart for her.

Especially a world that calls her the "Evil Queen".

Your hands meet and intertwine.

"I love you," she whispers.

You vow to crush her enemies.

Even if it kills you.

You, the chosen one, walk into the evil queen's throne room. The queen was sitting gloomily on her throne. She sees you and lightens up. She rises from her throne and kisses you. "Sweetheart, I am so glad you are back."

New Year's Day

"I don't matter," the hero said, hollow.

"Of course you do. You've saved so many people," the civilian argued. "You've done so much."

"You've known me for 15 years," the hero whispered. "What day is it today?"

"New Year's?" The civilian asked, a note of confusion. The hero huffed a breath. Nodded.

"Well, I should get going," civilian said. "Chin up, okay? You look better when you smile."

The hero watched them leave. Stared at the falling snow with detached interest.

A click. The barrel of a gun brushed the back of their head.

"Well, well, well," the villain said. "You should be out celebrating, darling. Not brooding on some snow-covered bench."

"Can you get to the threats?"

"Touchy today," the villain said. "Down on the ground." "There's snow on the ground," the hero said. "Can we skip that and go straight to the kidnapping?"

"Well, fine," the villain sighed. "Since it's your birthday."

"What's that?"

"It's your birthday. Get in the van."

The hero paused and turned.

"You think these bullets are blank?" The villain pressed the barrel to their temple. "Get in."

The hero laughed. High-pitched, a little bitter.

The villain was getting angry now. "What's so funny?" They snap.

"You're the only one who knows it's my birthday," the hero said.

"It's New Years Day. How could anyone forget that?!" the villain sneered, a little flabbergasted.

The hero shook their head and got in the van. After the interrogation, after the threats and the monologue and the random tangent about Christmas commercialism, the villain brought them a cake.

An enormous cake. It was collapsing under the weight of its own hubris.

All the henchmen came out wearing party hats. They sang Happy Birthday loud and off-key.

The hero tried not to smile. Tried not to cry. Failed at both.

They sang karaoke. Danced. Played party games.

The villain patted their shoulder heavily.

"My birthday is next month, by the way. Don't forget or I'll end you."

The hero laughed.

"I'm serious," villain said. "No peppermint. I hate it."

Christmas with the snarky, morally gray anti-hero notoriously known as Shadow!

Warnings: none

I know a LOT of people take the days near Christmas off from writing or doing anything, but I literally have zero friends in real life to hang out with for the holiday or do fun stuff with so I just decided to write instead 😭 (wallowing in self-pity because I'm such a dislikable weirdo I guess LOL-- on the sorta bright side at least I'm making new friends on Tumblr?? Even though most of them are anons at least I kind of feel appreciated I suppose--)

This is a short story about Shadow learning about the human holiday called "Christmas" -- and getting an unexpected surprise in the process.

Shadow glided down and elegantly landed in front of the lab's front doors, shaking snow from her wings. She’d originally wanted to go on a short flight around the city to stretch her wings, but it was snowing so hard it was hard to see anything, and she didn’t want to accidentally crash. There had to be at least four inches deep already piled up on the ground.

Shadow walked into the main room of the lab and was hit with a blast of bright colors. She halted and stared dumbly, trying to process all the colorful lights draped around and a... literal tree in the corner? Who cuts down a whole tree just to stuff it indoors?!?

And in front of the tree was Thomas, hanging little round balls on the evergreen branches.

Shadow quietly approached from behind, head tilted to the side in confusion as she watched the human work, tying strings to decorations to the branches. She curiously reached out and flicked an ornament experimentally with a finger, making a quiet clink sound.

"What in the entire universe are you up to, Thomas?" She asked warily. It looked like a unicorn had puked random decorations all over the place in a general theme of red and greens.

"ACK!" Thomas jumped in surprise, instantly dropping the ornament he'd been fiddling with as he startled.

Shadow snatched it in a hand before it could hit the floor, raising a questioning eyebrow at it. "Why are you putting these things everywhere?"

Thomas's face turned red with embarrassment. "Can you NOT sneak up on me like that?!?" He squeaked. "You're like a literal ghost -- you're everywhere!"

"I'm not sure whether to be offended or complimented by that statement." Shadow wrinkled her nose, carelessly tossing the ornament in the box with the other Thomas had been taking out. "Mind explaining why it looks like a hurricane of colors tore through this place?"

"It's uh, a human holiday." Thomas rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "You decorate trees and houses and cookies and eat a ton of sugar and stuff. And some people host large gatherings and prepare giant feasts. There's also making gingerbread houses."

"And why must you bring a tree indoors to decorate it?"

"Not everyone does it, in fact a lot more people go and put lights on the trees in their yard -- but it's a human tradition to cut down an evergreen to light up a room. And then we put these cool things on it--" Thomas bent down and grabbed an ornament from his box, shoving it eagerly into Shadow's hands. "Go ahead and try it! It's fun."

"I think your definition of 'fun' is vastly different from my own," Shadow grumbled. But she humored him and hesitantly hung the ornament's string on the tree, adding to the dazzling sparkle. It was kind of pretty, she had to admit. But she'd never say it out loud.

"Oh! And there's one more part of the tradition, it's the most important one--" Thomas darted off and returned holding a small yet colorful box with a fancy bow on top. "Humans buy awesome gifts to give to each other! So here's to your first human Christmas!" He held it out, and Shadow cautiously took it with a puzzled frown.

"I don't know whether to be relieved or disappointed that it's so small," she said gruffly.

Thomas rolled his eyes with a chipper laugh. "Lighten up, Shadow. Just open it!"

Shadow raised a skeptical eyebrow at the gift. "If this is one of those pop-up-scare things I've heard so much about, I'm going to seriously kill someone," she growled.

Thomas paled, reaching to take it back. "Sheesh, I didn’t realize you were so sensitive! Fine, I'll keep it!"

"Ah-ah!" Shadow raised the box above Thomas's head where he couldn't grab it, holding it just out of reach. "No taking it back. You gave me something, and you'll live with the consequences of your choices like a responsible kid."

"I'm 19 years old," Thomas scowled pointedly.

"And I'm 312 years old. Your point?" Shadow rolled her eyes dramatically, bringing the box back down so she could open it.

Thomas made another determined grab for it, but Shadow spun and swatted him like a fly with one of her white feathered wings, using it as a shield to block and keep him from snatching it.

"Shadow, come on, cut it out!" Thomas snapped, trying to reach over her wing instead -- with no luck.

"You first," Shadow growled back. She found it amusing how fast the human was trying to backpedal his gift after her threat -- which meant it was definitely one of those pop-up-scare things. Her threat had been a bluff, of course -- she wasn't actually going to kill anyone over a Christmas gift -- but Thomas wouldn't assume that, considering how morally-gray she was in general. He fully believed it to be a real possibility, which was perfectly in line with her past actions.

And Shadow couldn't help having some harmless fun with him, watching him sputter and panic uselessly in terror, believing her every word like the idiot he was. Well, mostly harmless fun -- the human might suffer an actual heart attack with how much adrenaline was rushing through him right now.

"Hmm, interesting," Shadow chuckled as she shook the box lightly, listening to the contents rattling around. She barely bit back a cruelly delighted laugh as she watched Thomas turn a few shades paler. The human was right, Christmas was fun.

"Whatever did you get me, human?" She purred teasingly. It was all a game to her -- but not for poor Thomas, whose heart was practically jack-knifing out of his chest. After all, Shadow was known to be violent and aggressive at times -- he had no way of telling she was in a relatively good mood today.

Shadow slowly untied the bow, taking her sweet time and using her wing to keep Thomas at bay. She held the lid on tight to keep it from springing open on her as she let the ribbon fall to the floor.

A mischievous smirk twisted her lips, and in a swift movement she aimed the top of the box at Thomas and let go of the lid.

Her intuition was right: it was one of those pop-up-scare-things. A coiled up plastic snake came shooting out of the box and smacked the human straight in the face, startling him.

Thomas yelped in surprise and flinched backward hard enough to trip and end up sprawled on the floor, a cartoonishly shocked expression on his face.

Shadow burst out laughing. She rarely ever laughed, unless it was sarcastic. But this was a genuine laugh for once, at his expense. Her wings shook with the force of it as she cackled evilly, clutching her ribs. "Oh, I think I DO like your gift!" She laughed between breaths. "That was priceless.”

"That was mean," Thomas sputtered indignantly, face flushing red with embarrassment.

"No meaner than trying to jump-scare the most lethal person in existence!" Shadow retorted, still laughing her head off. "You humans have the weirdest holidays!”

Thomas smiled sheepishly as he got back to his feet. “It’s a time of happiness and family gatherings. There’s nothing weird about that.”

“It's probably not weird to you because you live in the ‘world of weird’ on a daily basis – this stuff is normal for you,” Shadow chuckled. “I’ll admit though, you’ve piqued my curiosity. What else do you humans do to celebrate Christmas?”

“Oooooh you’re really going to like this one!” Thomas chirped. “Let's go outside!”

Shadow raised an eyebrow, but followed him to the front of the lab, watching as he bundled up in warm jackets and donned a hat and gloves. She didn’t bother copying him; she was naturally extra hot-blooded due to being a Falkry. The cold didn’t get to her as bad.

Soon the two of them were walking down the street to the local park, snow crunching underfoot. It was cold enough that their breath came out in foggy puffs.

“Okay, so have you ever heard of making snow angels?” Thomas turned to his white-winged Falkry friend excitedly.

“Ah, the age-old tradition of getting frostbite. I’m familiar,” Shadow answered sarcastically. “But I think I’ll sit this one out. Don’t want to damage my feathers.”

“Pfft, buzzkill,” Thomas snickered. “Then try this instead–” He bent down and suddenl;y scoffed up a handful of snow, flinging it at Shadow.

“Hey!” Shadow nimbly sprung out of range. “Oh, you will pay for that!”

Thomas blinked, and she was gone. “What the–Oomph!" His voice choked off when he was suddenly flattened beneath a massive wave of freezing snow that crashed down on him from above. He quickly scrambled out of the aftermath and shook the frozen flakes from his hair, dancing a little as he tried to reach the stuff that had fallen down the back of his shirt. "Ack! Cold! Very cold!"

Once he had finally rid himself from the last of it, he looked up in confusion to see where it had come from, and spotted Shadow perched on a bobbing tree limb directly above him, laughing hysterically. The limb was devoid of any snow, and it was clear that she had intentionally jumped on the branch to knock the snow down on him.

"Seriously?" Thomas huffed, scowling up at her. "Was that really necessary?"

Shadow raised her hands innocently, still laughing. "Sorry, sorry, I just had to. You make yourself such an easy target. I couldn't resist. You should've seen your face!"

Thomas wordlessly bent down and scooped up a large handful of snow, packing it tightly together.

"Wait, what are you—?!" Shadow’s voice cut off sharply as he chucked the newly made snowball up at her with all his strength, and she yelped in surprise as it clocked her in the face with a pfft sound, knocking her out of the tree. Her wings flailed wildly for a moment until they caught the air, halting her descent.

"What was that?!" She shouted from above with a shocked expression on her face, hovering in the air and sputtering from the snow that had gotten in her mouth.

"It's called a snowball. We humans use it to start snowball fights," Thomas called back.

"Snowball fights? So it's like... a non-lethal war with packed snow?" Shadow asked.

"Basically. But emphasis on non-lethal!!" Thomas leaned down and scooped up two more handfuls of snow and launched another round at her, which narrowly missed her face again as she smartly dodged to the side.

"Oh, it is so on human! Prepare to be destroyed!" Shadow let out a war cry and swooped down towards him, sharply pulling up at the last second so that her wings flung up a powerful gust of snow that covered Thomas head to toe. But he was not so easily beaten, and he revealed a hidden snowball he was hiding behind his back. Shadow was close enough that there was no way he could miss.

Her eyes widened for a moment in realization before the snowball hit her square in the chest, making her stumble back. It was all the opening Thomas needed to launch a barrage of snowballs at her, his arms becoming a blur as he threw one after the other, madly scooping handfuls from the ground, not allowing a moment's reprieve. Shadow used one of her wings as a shield against the attack, ducking her head behind it as she scooped up a snowball of her own.

Then, she moved her wing aside and threw her handful at Thomas as hard as she could with Falkry strength. It hit him in the stomach hard enough to knock him back into another pile of fluffy snow. She wound up for a second throw as he scrambled to his feet, and let it fly, this time smacking him square in the face in an explosion of white fluff.

Yeah, maybe Shadow was enjoying this whole ‘Christmas’ thing after all.

Main Masterlist

Masterlist featuring Shadow and Thomas-related stories

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You, the villain, faked your death and started over years ago. But you never expected the hero to stumble into your new favorite bar, laughing with their friends.