I Just Had A Possibly Good Or Really Stupid Idea But - Basically Either Hero Or Villain Has Some Mild

I just had a possibly good or really stupid idea but - basically either hero or villain has some mild super speed power. they can’t outpace a car but maybe a moderately fast horse. Then someone ends up giving them caffeine and they just go hecking wild. Full on vibrating and talking at 80mph and is just completely hyper and the other needs to calm them down because the former is acting like a hyperactive puppy who just drank a full liter of Red Bull

“Hey. Hey,” the villain said, shouted almost, as the hero rushed by, letting the villain’s hair blow into a different direction.

This was beyond scary. This was ludicrous.

The hero was no potential threat, they had always been a background hero, conventionally annoying and distracting but not something the villain couldn’t handle.

But by all means, they couldn’t handle this.

When the hero eventually stopped in front of them, their hands on their hips, their elbows to the sides, they didn’t seem remotely tired. The villain took a step forward and tried to grab them but the hero just moved faster than usual, faster than possible, and gave a huge smile.

“What did you do?” the villain asked carefully. The hero always had sunshine for a smile, was always one of those who would talk to the villain before fighting, who would joke when the villain threw a car at them.

If the hero had participated in some kind of experiment, if they had done anything to themselves…

“The seething sea ceaseth and thus the seething sea sufficeth us,” the hero said as if it was an answer. They repeated the tongue twister, faster this time. And then again.

The words were already nonexistent in the villain’s ears, they couldn’t distinguish when one ended nor when a new one began. But the hero was saying it over and over again, flawless each time. The villain wasn’t able to keep up with them.

“Ey, what did you do?” the villain asked again. They noticed how large the hero’s pupils were and they were almost one hundred percent sure the hero had done some very funky drugs. Which was worrying.

The hero’s foot was tapping on the ground, going up and down and up and down.

“You look good today, have I told you that?” The hero was slightly jumping by now. Though the villain was always on edge, they lowered the weapon, too afraid the hero would lose control and start running into them at any given point.

“Don’t tell me a man in a trench coat came up to you and offered you some funny stuff,” the villain said. They swore they would defenestrate themselves if it was true. They would probably defenestrate the man in the trench coat, too. If there was a man.

“Now that you mention it, yeah. Yeah, there was a man in a trench coat. He was very charismatic.” The villain’s head shot up, probably jerkier than the hero’s movements.

“What?!” They felt how their pulse was going up, how they were ready to track that person down, to hunt them if necessary.

“Kidding! I was kidding,” the hero said, a laugh coming out of them. Now, they were looking around and started jumping higher as if to test their limits. The villain however was relieved, more than that.

“I just had a coffee or two, I don’t really know. So, are you gonna stand there and stare at me or are we going to start fighting now?”

The villain thought their fight had already ended.

But it didn’t matter. The hero kicked their ass that day and the villain wasn’t even mad about it.

“Hey,” the hero panted. “At least I’ll make a pretty dead body?”

The villain hissed at them beneath their breath.

“I don’t want this. You know that, right?”

The hero stilled. The chanting of the crowd grew louder.

“I know.”

The villain looked down over the edge of the stage, eyes cold and calculating as ever.

Their eyes caught on something.

When they turned to the hero, they smiled.

“Hold your breath.”

The square erupted in smoke, and everything was lost to the blur of unconsciousness.

“You’re an idiot.”

The hero blinked, half asleep.

“What?”

The villain made a low noise of irritation, and behind them, someone laughed.

“I told you not to breathe.”

The hero half smiled, vision blurry.

“Next time, say something sooner.”

“God, why did I save you—“

The hero shifted to laugh, and felt bandages wrapping around their wrists. They frowned, pulling it up to their face.

The villain watched them, carefully.

“Bandages?”

The villain nodded.

“You were bleeding.”

“I don’t remember—“

“Suppressants affect the ability to feel pain. A mercy, if you were to be executed, but a curse if you get wounded.”

The hero made to unwrap one, see the damage, and the villains cool fingers closed around their wrist.

“Stop it.”

“You didn’t tell me they were reckless,” the same laughing voice as before said, and the hero snapped their gaze to them.

They grinned.

“Hello, there.”

The hero’s power sputtered to life, as if pushing past the final dregs of the suppressors, and slammed out into the room, exploring every nook and cranny. It slid along the skin of the newcomer, testing, as if figuring out what power they held.

A moment later, the hero gagged, retching.

The villain simply watched them, unconcerned, hand still on their wrist, but the newcomer frowned.

“Are you—“

“I hate fire wielders,” the hero gasped, covering their mouth. “You taste like smoke and feel like suffocation.”

The newcomer stilled, and their power told them with no shortage of glee that their name was Alex, and it the hero wanted the flames wreathed within their skin, they could have them.

Alex glanced to the villain. “How did they…”

The villain examined the hero’s hand, before pressing a nail into their skin.

The hero’s power practically purred, sliding back into their skin. When the villain smiled, it was feral.

“Their power is a loathsome little thing. Just too far on this side of sentient. A curious thief and magic rolled into one.”

The hero made to yank their hand away, and their power protested.

The hero left their wrist in the villains grasp.

Alex’s eyebrows pinched. “So why aren’t you affecting them?”

The villain’s smile, if anything, grew sharper.

“Could be the gas, from when we saved their life,” With their free hand, the tipped the hero’s chin up to examine their eyes. “Or, could be that they like me, and their power likes me too.”

The hero flushed.

“It does not—“

The villain swiped a finger on their forearm, and the hero’s power glowed at the contact.

They didn’t even realize they’d copied the villain’s powers until they tasted the stardust and wind that came with telepathy and teleportation.

Right. Suppressors.

If the hero hadn’t been so hopped up on suppressors earlier, teleportation would have gotten them out much easier than gas. From the look on the villain’s face, they knew that too.

People had learned the hard way not to teleport those who have been suppressed. Magic didn’t like it.

The villain snorted.

“You’re an asshole,” the hero bit out, and their power curled around their newfound toy like a baby dragon, hoarding it in their chest. Alex’s thoughts were unimaginably load.

“God, how can you be around anyone, ever?”

The villain cocked their head. It wasn’t the first time the hero had asked that question.

Behind them, Alex left. Blessedly, it got quiet.

“Practice,” the villain admitted. “A lot of it.”

The hero wanted to shove the telepathy out of them, but their power simply held on tighter.

“It won’t let go.”

“Mm. Quite the noxious creature.”

“I’m the one living with it.”

The villain hummed, hand tracing along the edges of the bandages.

“I would never have let you die.”

The hero simply thought, I know.

The villain smiled.

I love you, the villain’s eyes bore into them, thought flung across the void between their brain and the hero’s.

The hero took their hand. The villain let them. “I know.”

In their chest, their power finally, finally settled, as if it had been waiting for this all along.

The door creaked open, golden light spilling from within.

It looked like heaven—as if a slice of something glorious had been tucked away.

Mythria reached a hand for it, but Ella got there first, swinging the door open with a grin.

“After you, m’lady.”

The room was warm when she stepped into it, Ella’s boots echoing after hers, and the pedestal in the center beckoned.

She gasped.

“It’s real.”

Beside her, Ella looked close to tears.

“It’s beautiful.”

And it was—the leather bound book was bracketed by a delicate over cover, twisting leaves and furling branches stretching across its length.

They stopped in front of it, climbing the pedestal.

Mythria wanted so badly to hold it, but couldn’t bear to touch it.

Hello, it seemed to say. I’ve been waiting.

Ella sniffled, and wiped a tear.

“You should do the honors.”

Mythria blinked at her as Ella wiped tears from her cheeks.

“Are you sure?”

Ella nodded, and Mythria turned back to the book.

It was so pretty. She hadn’t known anything could be this pretty—and after all of these years of searching, all the pain, she realized it was worth it.

Her fingers closed upon the book, and she cracked it open.

As soon as her eyes read the first line, her body seized, crumpling to the floor.

She shook, pain lancing through her, iron twisting along her bones.

Above her, Ella simply watched curiously.

She took a handkerchief out of her pocket, wrapping it around her hand in order to pick up the book.

Mythria let out a keen, panting, before she was able to push herself up.

“You knew that would happen.”

Ella raised a brow.

“Of course. I’ve done my research.”

“So then why—“

“I’m honestly surprised you’re still alive,” she continued, as if Mythria hadn’t said anything. “I thought it would kill you.”

Mythria snarled, legs too shaky to stand.

“Traitor.”

Ella hummed.

“I did tell you I was from the Golden Ones. You just assumed I had renounced them.”

“What? So you’re stealing priceless artifacts for some unknown gods? Ella, please—“

“We are the gods,” she corrected, and with the light shining down and the book clutched against her side, she looked like one.

Mythria pulled her knees to her chest as something warm stirred within her.

Ella made for the door.

“One day,” Mythria called, “I will come for you. And you will rethink your own godhood.”

Ella stopped at the threshold.

She grinned.

“I look forward to it.”

Inside her, the power of the book thrummed.

You are the god now.

Mythria smiled, and after a long moment, stood.

She hated traitors.

“If I am a god,” she said to herself, “then it is time for a reckoning.”

The vault trembled, as if it could sense the power growing in her, and delighted in the empty book being stolen away, now simply a book and not a power container.

Mythria was the power container now.

And she was going to show them exactly what a god looked like.

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

“I just—I don’t think I love you anymore.”

It hurt—like a thousand suns burning in his core, a million white lies, a rockslide in his gut.

He swallowed, and tears threatened to spring to his eyes.

“What do you mean, you don’t love me. I made myself for you. Is the witty humor not enough anymore? The undying devotion? The kindness, all of it, I did it for you.”

Lila bit her lip.

“I’m sorry.”

“Tell me, did I not change quick enough, or did you change too fast?”

His voice was bitter, a winters cold bite, even to his own ears.

“Matt—“

“It’s Matthew.”

Lila paused.

His scoffed, angrily.

“You don’t love me anymore. I became Matt for you—I created myself around you, built myself upon you. I became the picture you painted in your mind. You can’t say you don’t want it and have it the same.”

A flush rose to her cheeks.

“You’re being ridiculous—“

“You stopped loving me!” He shouted, and after a moment, softer, “how could you not love me?”

A tear slipped down Lila’s cheek.

“You’re perfect. I just—I’m sorry. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t enough. How could it ever be enough? He had taken classes to be with her because she didn’t like to be alone, had started the track to become a vet because she loved animals and wanted to work with the love of her life, hd cut his hair, and changed his posture, had gotten superpowers, had been sexy and cute and smart and kind and wholesome and dorky and funny and yet—

He was perfect. And still, she had stopped loving him.

Somewhere between Matt—Matthew—he had remade himself in the negative space around her, and somehow, as he changed himself, she had changed too.

“I still love you,” he offered weakly, and she turned her head, as if slapped. “I could change—“

“Stop.”

A tear dropped off the end of his chin.

“I’d do it well—“

“Matthew.”

His name, a plea. No more Matt.

Lila had killed him.

Lila sniffed, as if steeling herself, then drew herself up.

She looked him directly in the eye.

“You need to stop changing for others.”

“You liked it when I changed for you,” he murmured, voice raw.

She swallowed.

“That was different.”

“How, Lila. Different because it was you? Because me changing was romantic, not sad, when it was you? God.”

“Matthew—“

“You didn’t love me for me,” he threw an arm out. “You don’t love Matt, and you don’t love whoever I am now.”

Lila closed her eyes.

“I said I was sorry—“

“I became a new person for you, and you relished it, and now you’re sorry?”

She pursed her lips.

“It’s not like that.”

“You know it is.”

And whatever was left of his heart broke.

A match lit itself inside his chest.

Lila opened her mouth, and he cut her off.

“No. Just—stop. Stop apologizing when you aren’t sorry. I am going to go out, and I am going to find someone who loves me, not for Matt, not for Matthew, but for me. And when I do, I am going to love them harder than I have ever loved anyone else. Even you.”

Lila looked like she didn’t know what to say, as if she had expected the collapse but hadn’t expected him to bare his teeth.

“Go.”

When she left, she slammed the door behind her.

Eight months later, he met a girl named Kaylie in a coffee shop.

They ruled the world, together, five years later.

“Do you really think that she would want this? Lu—“

The villain cut them off with a sharp hand to their chest.

They heaved a breathe, eyes gleaming and shoulders just on the edge of shaking.

“Don’t say her name. You don’t get to say her name.”

The hero’s mouth went dry.

“She was my sister too, you know,” they said quietly.

It was the wrong thing to say.

The villain grabbed the front of their jacket and hauled them against the wall, gritting their teeth as angry tears flushed their eyes.

“And yet you killed her anyways.”

The hero spluttered.

“I would never have hurt her, you know that—“

“You let her die.”

The hero fell silent.

The villain dropped them as if they could no longer bear to touch the hero, could no longer bear to touch their youngest sibling.

“You drew her into all your chosen one bullshit, and then when she needed you, you weren’t there.”

Anger, hot and heavy like a summers day,

sprung to life in the hero’s gut.

The villain regarded them, then shook their head in disgust. “Selfish.”

“I was taking care of your henchman,” the hero spat, and the villain stopped dead.

It took them three tries, in all their elegance and poise, to get the word out.

“What.”

The hero took a shuddering step, hand outreached, so angry and so lonely.

“I was taking care of the henchman you set loose in the lower quadrant. She said she could handle it—I thought it was you. I thought she would find you at the other end of the SOS call, and you would be gentle.”

The villain’s face went oh so pale.

“You thought—“

“I thought it was you,” the hero confirmed, voice shaking. “If I had known it was Nightshade—if I had known, I never would have let her go.”

The villain opened their mouth, but had nothing to say. Car alarms blared in the distance.

The villain gestured with their head.

“Aren’t you supposed to get that.”

The hero shrugged.

“Yeah.”

Neither of them moved.

“We ruined this family, didn’t we?” The villain looked like they were trying very hard not to cry. “Always trying to one up each other, always trying to be the prettiest star. Burned so bright we burned everyone around us.”

“Until there was no one left to burn for,” the hero said softly.

Somehow, they had sunk onto the ground of the damp alley.

The hero wasn’t sure who reached first, but then they were tangled in each others arms, sobbing violently, snot dripping onto each others shirts.

“I’m sorry,” the hero retched. “I didn’t mean it.”

The villain loosed a shuddering breath.

“It’s okay. We’re okay.”

The hero only clutched them tighter, because this was their family, the last of their bloodline besides themself.

The villain pressed an apology into their back with trembling hands.

I’m sorry, they murmured together, until it was no longer two words but something akin to a keen.

Lucy, I’m sorry.

When their tears had dried along with the pavement, and the emergency vehicles had once more begun to sing, they had stood there awkwardly, for one moment, as if memorizing each others faces, before they hurtled into the city, opposite directions.

They never spoke of it again.

But the villain stopped trying to kill them.

So there was that.