Trapped Hero

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.

This story does have some of the “wake up, you’re in a dream” type plot, but it isn’t directed at the reader. Just wanted to give a warning because I know how damaging it can be.

“Beware the Ides,” someone whispered. James snapped his head around, but in the bustling market, he couldn’t locate who.

That was the seventh one today.

He cursed, and then hurried for his flat, letting the door bang open against the wall.

He locked it behind him, leaning against the door to catch his breath.

It didn’t mean anything. Just scared people who were more willing to fret about an upcoming day then actually take responsibilities for their problems.

That was all.

Somehow, James didn’t quite believe it.

From just outside his apartment door, someone viciously whispered “Beware the ides.”

When he opened it, the empty hallway stared back at him, as if mocking him.

He closed the door, and locked it.

“Hey, James,” Dahlia said, soothing a piece of his hair back. His respirator clicked in response. She swallowed.

“Your parents were supposed to be here but they—well. They couldn’t.”

His heart monitor beeped.

James whirled, but he couldn’t find the voice. Dahlia, it sounded like Dahlia, but she was dead. Years ago, in an accident.

A chair clattered over against his knees.

Dahlia felt a sob rising in her chest, and tamped it down.

“Celia wants to go to college,” she murmured, as if soothing a fussing child. “The doctors say they don’t think you’ll wake up.”

“Beware the ides,” the voice whispered, and this time, James screamed.

“Who are you?”

His flat didn’t answer him. His voice echoed off the walls.

Dahlia sucked in a breath, chest tight.

“They don’t have the money for you and Celia,” she explained. A nurse clattered by with a cart. “They didn’t want to choose, but Celia. They can still talk to her. But even after all these years, when they talk to you, you can’t respond.”

James grabbed a kitchen knife. The handle was cool to his palm, and it almost slipped with how much he shook. Something rustled in his apartment, and he bolted, slamming out his door and into the hall.

A doctor came in, and she motioned for him to continue. He nodded once, solemnly, and began to disconnect the machines.

She kissed his sleeping forehead once.

“I love you.”

A stranger slammed into him so hard, he almost didn’t feel the knife slide between his ribs.

“Beware the ides,” they hissed in his ear, and then they were gone, leaving him to slide gasping to the floor.

The heart monitor beeped one final time.

And flatlined.

Beware the ides.

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

“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.

No. The fungi don’t need robotics. Stop attempting to name drop things that are irrelevant to the fungal gods. They will lay siege on your home, your family, your mind, and I will laugh as you cry and do the YMCA unwillingly, past the point of vibes and into oblivion.

And then I will eat toast with my funky fresh fungi friends :)

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 :)

no bc the come out scene in the house of hades actually has no right to be this intense