Waityoure The Bridge Troll?

“Wait—you’re the bridge troll?”

The little girl fiddled with the ends of her dress, lace curling over her fingers. Her hair fell in perfect ringlets, tied with a pretty bow. The darkness turned her hair to the deepest of blacks.

She smiled, all innocence.

“Yes. I could be something more scary, if that would help?”

Seraphina blinked.

“What?”

The smile took on an edge sharper than blades. Seraphina was afraid she might reveal a second row of teeth—she hated fae, especially the ones with too many teeth to count.

“I can be anything,” the little girl stated simply, and then she rose, twisting, bones cracking, until a cloud of darkness encompassed the bridge. When she spoke again, her voice echoed with the promise of pain and the sound of thousands pleading for help. “Is this form better?”

Seraphina choked on her own tongue, spine twinging as she grabbed for her dagger.

“No, no it was fine—“

“Or maybe,” came a voice she had long since laid to rest, “you’d prefer this?”

And then the bridge troll was wearing the face of her dead lover. Seraphina forgot to breathe for a moment, caught on the edge of tears. It was a blister that hurt, it was sticking your hand into the fire, it was breaking all your ribs. Seeing that face—even if the expression was all wrong, like spelling someone’s name with a different letter—hurt.

If Seraphina couldn’t feel her own breathing, she’d assume she was dead.

“Take off their face,” she said after a long moment, and the bridge troll obliged.

“Better?” The little girl said, and Seraphina nodded mutely. “Now, for prices. Most people give up one of their favorite memories, or maybe the voice of a loved one—“

“How much,” Seraphina began, clearing her throat. She eyes the coursing river below. “How much would all of the memories of a loved one be worth.”

The little girl paused, mouth open.

“I’m sorry?”

“How much would it be worth. How many passages across the bridge would all of my memories about someone be worth.”

The little girl blinked, then drew herself up, as if she had surprised even herself in her lack of calm.

“It would pay off years worth of passages.”

Seraphina nodded.

Below, the river thrummed with empty promises.

She had loved them, and they had died. They were supposed to both make it out. And now, here Seraphina was, alone but for a bridge toll, on a bridge in the middle of nowhere.

Well. Not nowhere. She was in that place her lover had always wanted to go.

She figured maybe if she went, her lover would feel it, wherever their soul was.

Now, though, her love simply felt like an arrow between her ribs.

“I’ll pay it.”

The little girl paused again.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do. Take it. Pay off as much as you can so nobody who passes through needs to worry.”

The little girl fell silent. If she had any emotions, Seraphina hoped she would understand the enormity of the sacrifice.

Really, though, it was just a selfish need for the pain to stop.

“Alright,” the little girl said. “Give me your hand.”

Seraphina obliged. Her hand was warm in a way she hadn’t expected, and soft.

“Whose face are you wearing?” Seraphina whispered.

“Whose soul are you releasing,” the girl said back.

Seraphina looked once more at the river.

“The love of my life.”

As soon as she said it, as soon as she thought of his face, it was snatched from her mind.

No pain.

Just a neatly cut hole where something should be.

In front of her, a little girl held her hand.

She frowned, puzzled. She rubbed her eyes.

“What are you—“ when she opened them, she blinked again. The most handsome man she had ever seen was holding her hand, smiling roguishly.

“You took a bit of a fall. Are you feeling okay?” His voice sounded like home, and his face looked like it, like warm summer breezes and laughter at the hearth. For a second, something throbbed in side of her, a quiet I remember, before it whisped away.

“Yeah,” she said when she realized she had simply been staring at his face. “Yeah, sorry, i’m fine.”

His smile broadened.

“My name is Edrian, by the way.”

She blinked once more.

“Seraphina.”

The edges of his smile softened.

‘Seraphina’ he mouthed, as if testing it out.

“Can I buy you something to eat?”

Her hand was still in his. For some reason, she didn’t want to let go.

She studied his face, and was filled with such love, such longing, that she almost choked.

She felt like she had loved him for years.

“Sure.”

Edrian squeezed her hand, gently, then murmured her name once more, tugging her gently into town.

Behind them, the bridge was abandoned, and tucked between their clasped hands and traded memories, stolen love bloomed.

i just completed a full rewatch of shera with my bf (yes ironic ik) and i forget how beautiful this show is in terms of writing every time oh my god. like the call backs of promises and the “stay”s and in the failsafe episode where catra begs adora to see and realize that shadowweaver is using her “why cant you see that” as a parallel to the portal dimension when adora begs catra in the same way. these two girls are just so in love with each other and the way they mirror each other in this show is so beautiful. when catra finally admits to being in love with adora and yet again begs her to stay. when adora’s perfect future is just her, catra as her wife and her friends living happily together. i’ll never be able to get over how much they love each other and how amazingly it’s portrayed

YOU think it’s terrifying. I think the fungi would simply make us do a coordinated YMCA dance and then just vibe.

You know, as the concept of “zombifying fungi” becomes more and more popular, I notice it still referred to everywhere as like a “brain parasite.” So I guess a lot of people overlooked or forgot how in 2019 it was discovered that cordyceps and other similar fungal parasites leave the brain and nervous system completely untouched. They only control the muscles. They use chemical signals to make the muscles flex in real time where they want to go :)

Trapped Hero

The hero slammed into the villain’s chest so hard their breath left their lungs.

The villain didn’t have the decency to look phased as the hero scrambled away.

“You can’t keep me here.”

The villain smiled, a gentle thing, like the hero was a wild animal and they were the valiant rescuer.

Trapped in this cage, the hero felt a little wild.

They were used to cages. This wasn’t the first time. And yet, with the look on the villain’s face, with the power dampeners twined around the hero’s wrists, they were more afraid than they had ever been.

“Of course I can,” the villain said simply. “How would you stop me?”

They cast a pointed look at the hero’s wrists, and they stumbled a step back.

Something twisted in their gut.

“You have no right,” the hero began, and something shuttered in the villain’s eyes.

“You’re so innocent.”

The hero paused.

Innocent? The hero had never associated themselves with that word. Not with their childhood, not with their power, not with their job.

Try to save a city, and spill blood in the process. The only who seemed to care about the spilling of criminal blood was the hero.

Good work, the agency called it.

The hero simply wore it as guilt.

“Innocent,” the villain murmured once more. When they stepped into the hero’s space, closed any distance the hero had managed to create, the hero froze.

“I’m not innocent,” the hero spat, and it felt like a confession.

“You wear the guilt beautifully, I must admit. But you shouldn’t have to.”

The villain ran a hand along the hero’s jaw, and they jerked away.

“Don’t touch me.”

Impossibly, the villain’s eyes softened. The took a step back, watching as the hero relaxed minutely.

“I’m doing this for you.”

“If you’re doing this for me, let me out. Take these damned things off, and let me out.”

“No.”

The hero reeled, and the villain watched that, too.

The city needed them, their people needed them, and they couldn’t help if they were trapped in this tower.

Behind the villain, the door remained closed.

“Please.”

The villain blew out a slow breath.

“You’re too kind for this city.”

The hero took a step forward, hand stretching towards the window.

“That’s why it needs me,” they pleaded. “Don’t take me from it.”

The villain’s eyed them with reproach.

“Does it need you,” they said gently, “or do you need it?”

The hero scoffed.

“What difference does it make—“

“I read your file,” the villain said, and the hero stiffened.

Their childhood, the pain, the hurt, the curses and uttering of freakwrongburden that they kept oh so carefully buried was laid bare in front of them.

Of course the villain had. Of course the villain knew.

The hero swallowed, and it hurt.

“You had no right—“

“They had no right to hurt you.”

The hero stopped. Across from them, the villain was closest to anger as they had ever seen them.

Their power lashed out, and the cuffs shoved it down with all the grace of a falling building.

“Your parents,” the villain began. “Your siblings. They were awful people. If they weren’t already dead, I’d kill them for you.”

The hero shuddered. That night, those deaths, the gravestones that haunted them, tattooed on their mind in ways they knew that they could never erase.

They had been too slow then. They hadn’t been that slow ever again. They made sure of it.

“I don’t need you to—“

“You will not protect yourself, so I am doing it for you.”

The hero jerked their head.

“You call this protecting?”

The tower sat silent around them.

The villain’s jaw clenched.

“This city, your precious people,” the villain grit out. “They would destroy you, if you let them. If I let them.”

The hero took another step forward, and their power hummed, furious within their veins.

Too slow, their body whispered. Danger.

The villain smiled, and this time, it wasn’t gentle, but vicious. The hair on the back of the hero’s neck rose.

“But for you, darling? I’m going to destroy it first.”

They were out the door faster than the hero could grab them.

Even when they screamed their throat raw, scratched their nails bloody on the edges of the door, the villain did not come.

Too slow.

The city burned.

Trapped Hero Pt. 2

For the lovely person who asked (you made my day!)

Pt. 1, if anyone wants it.

When the hero woke up, the villain was bandaging their hands.

For a moment, it was simply the soothing smell of numbing cream, the careful glide of fabrics around their fingers.

Their brain, lagging far too many seconds behind, jerked, and they tried to tug their hands from the villain’s grip.

The villain looked up at them, eyes betraying nothing, and continued their work.

Even with the power dampeners, they should have been able to pull free. They hadn’t felt this weak since before their powers had set in. They had been young, five at most when the genetic mutation had finally kicked in. To any of the other families across the city, it would have been heralded as a blessing. To the hero’s, it was a betrayal, made by the hero on purpose.

Never mind that it was their parents DNA.

Never mind that they were a child.

The villain glanced up at them once more, scanning their face, before they softly said “I drugged you.”

The hero blinked, and their head pulsed with pain.

“Why,” their throat cracked so badly, raw and aching, that they stopped.

Why did you drug me?

Why all of this?

And dully, that final question, just a stark, why.

The villain seemed to understand anyways.

“You were hurting yourself.”

They slicked a piece of tape around the hero’s fingers. When the hero struggled to sit up, they pushed them back down with a firm hand to their chest.

A bed. They were on a bed. The loss of their memories, the absence of how they had gotten to this point, was a hole in their rib cage. They hated it. They hated drugs.

After the concoction their mother had fed them throughout their childhood, first to make them normal, then, when that hadn’t worked, to keep them docile, how could they not?

The villain knew that, too. And they had drugged them anyways.

“Stop pretending like you care.” It came out more broken than the hero had wanted it to.

The villain hummed, examining the hero’s hands. After a moment, they tucked them together, lacing a firm hand around the hero’s wrists. Their fingers were warm.

“If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t have locked you in this tower.”

The hero froze. 

The tower. The city. Their city—

The hero bolted upright, and the villain caught them. After a moment, they tucked the hero against their chest, grip tight on their wrists. 

Over the villains shoulder, the edges of the door were chipped, surface smeared with the hero’s blood.

Escape had not come easy. Really, it hadn’t come at all.

The hero shuddered, and the villain rubbed a soothing hand on their back, as if it wasn’t keeping them pinned in some awful version of a hug.

As if this wasn’t another form of a cage.

“The city,” they gasped out, and the villain traced a slow circle on their back.

“Is gone,” the villain supplied.

The hero didn’t realize they were keening until the villain hushed them, low and soothing against their ear.

“It was for your own good, can’t you see that? It was for you.”

If the villain released them, they would see the tears on the hero’s cheek.

They didn’t release them.

“They can’t hurt you any more.”

But that wasn’t true, was it?

The bruises of their parents, the cuts of their siblings and past had twisted in their nightmares for their entire life, long after they were little more than eulogies and grave markers.

They were dead, but the ghosts of them remained.

The city was gone, but the ruins of it weighed heavy on their shoulders anyways.

“You know that isn’t true. Gone doesn’t mean it stops hurting. Gone never means—“

The hero bit back a sob.

The villain carded a hand through their hair.

“No,” the agreed. “Gone does not mean it stops hurting. The ghosts of the past are vicious, aren’t they?”

Their grip tightened in the hero’s hair, to the point of pain.

“With time, I think I can fix that too.”

The hero reeled, shoving against the grip on their wrists, and the villain let them scramble backwards. They slammed into the headboard, shaking like a newborn fawn.

The villain tapped an idle finger. “You saved me, once. You didn’t know who I was, or that I was covered in someone else’s blood as much as my own—you saw me, bloody, bearing a gunshot wound, and tried to help. I could have killed you, but I didn’t. How could I ever hurt someone who radiated such kindness? That’s when I knew you were a blessing on this wretched place. That’s when I knew I was going to save you, no matter the cost. Do you remember that?”

The sickening thing was, they did remember that. They had learned later that there had been dead body ten feet behind the villain. They had learned later that the villain had an extensive record of revenge killings, dating back years. 

But in that moment, it had only been about the person in front of them, covered in blood, with a wound.

So the hero had healed them, their telekinesis rushing over them and adjusting their tousled clothes as they went, until the wound was gone and the blood was half vanished from the villain’s clothes. They hadn’t realized it had been more than the villain’s blood staining their jacket.

When they saw the villain again on the battlefield, they recognized the face, but couldn’t place why.

Now they knew.

“You’re a monster,” the hero spat, and the villain raised a brow, as if it hadn’t hurt them the way the hero wanted.

“Maybe. But at least I’m the monster who covets you.”

“You are no better than anyone who has hurt me—“

At this, the villain jerked forward, grip bruising on the hero’s chin. Their eyes burned with that quiet rage.

After a moment, they smiled, just barely.

“I am not your parents,” they said cruelly,  “drugging you until you were too much of a zombie to be special. I am not your siblings, seeing how long they had to drown you before your powers would lash out. I am not this city, covering you with blood and calling it righteous.”

The hero had stopped breathing.

“Everything I do, I do it to protect you. And if protecting you sometimes means hurting you, then I’ll take the weight of that.”

The villain released them, and stood.

They corners of their smiled smoothed into something pleasant. Fake, like plastic.

When the hero tried to speak, all they could manage was a strangled, “Please.”

The villain tipped their head.

“I will not give you a freedom that will bring you pain.”

“But you’ll give me captivity?”

“This is a blessing. No more pain. No more hurt. No more guilt.”

The hero scoffed, chest tight.

“A life in a cage will never be one without pain.”

The villain narrowed their eyes, but their voice remained soft.

“We’ll see.”

“I hate you.”

The villain nodded.

“Oh, love. I know.”

When the villain left, the hero curled in on themself and tried to pretend they weren’t in their mother’s darkened closet once more.

This time, the hero didn’t bother screaming.

At least the villain caged them out of love, instead of hatred.

Somehow, even with the knowledge that this was some twisted form of protection, the walls still suffocated the hero all the same. 

I hate you so much you don’t even understand the depth of it

Trapped Hero

The hero slammed into the villain’s chest so hard their breath left their lungs.

The villain didn’t have the decency to look phased as the hero scrambled away.

“You can’t keep me here.”

The villain smiled, a gentle thing, like the hero was a wild animal and they were the valiant rescuer.

Trapped in this cage, the hero felt a little wild.

They were used to cages. This wasn’t the first time. And yet, with the look on the villain’s face, with the power dampeners twined around the hero’s wrists, they were more afraid than they had ever been.

“Of course I can,” the villain said simply. “How would you stop me?”

They cast a pointed look at the hero’s wrists, and they stumbled a step back.

Something twisted in their gut.

“You have no right,” the hero began, and something shuttered in the villain’s eyes.

“You’re so innocent.”

The hero paused.

Innocent? The hero had never associated themselves with that word. Not with their childhood, not with their power, not with their job.

Try to save a city, and spill blood in the process. The only who seemed to care about the spilling of criminal blood was the hero.

Good work, the agency called it.

The hero simply wore it as guilt.

“Innocent,” the villain murmured once more. When they stepped into the hero’s space, closed any distance the hero had managed to create, the hero froze.

“I’m not innocent,” the hero spat, and it felt like a confession.

“You wear the guilt beautifully, I must admit. But you shouldn’t have to.”

The villain ran a hand along the hero’s jaw, and they jerked away.

“Don’t touch me.”

Impossibly, the villain’s eyes softened. The took a step back, watching as the hero relaxed minutely.

“I’m doing this for you.”

“If you’re doing this for me, let me out. Take these damned things off, and let me out.”

“No.”

The hero reeled, and the villain watched that, too.

The city needed them, their people needed them, and they couldn’t help if they were trapped in this tower.

Behind the villain, the door remained closed.

“Please.”

The villain blew out a slow breath.

“You’re too kind for this city.”

The hero took a step forward, hand stretching towards the window.

“That’s why it needs me,” they pleaded. “Don’t take me from it.”

The villain’s eyed them with reproach.

“Does it need you,” they said gently, “or do you need it?”

The hero scoffed.

“What difference does it make—“

“I read your file,” the villain said, and the hero stiffened.

Their childhood, the pain, the hurt, the curses and uttering of freakwrongburden that they kept oh so carefully buried was laid bare in front of them.

Of course the villain had. Of course the villain knew.

The hero swallowed, and it hurt.

“You had no right—“

“They had no right to hurt you.”

The hero stopped. Across from them, the villain was closest to anger as they had ever seen them.

Their power lashed out, and the cuffs shoved it down with all the grace of a falling building.

“Your parents,” the villain began. “Your siblings. They were awful people. If they weren’t already dead, I’d kill them for you.”

The hero shuddered. That night, those deaths, the gravestones that haunted them, tattooed on their mind in ways they knew that they could never erase.

They had been too slow then. They hadn’t been that slow ever again. They made sure of it.

“I don’t need you to—“

“You will not protect yourself, so I am doing it for you.”

The hero jerked their head.

“You call this protecting?”

The tower sat silent around them.

The villain’s jaw clenched.

“This city, your precious people,” the villain grit out. “They would destroy you, if you let them. If I let them.”

The hero took another step forward, and their power hummed, furious within their veins.

Too slow, their body whispered. Danger.

The villain smiled, and this time, it wasn’t gentle, but vicious. The hair on the back of the hero’s neck rose.

“But for you, darling? I’m going to destroy it first.”

They were out the door faster than the hero could grab them.

Even when they screamed their throat raw, scratched their nails bloody on the edges of the door, the villain did not come.

Too slow.

The city burned.