Youd Be Nothing Without Me, She Snapped. Hailey Stopped In The Middle Of Slicking On Her Trademark Red

“You’d be nothing without me,” she snapped. Hailey stopped in the middle of slicking on her trademark red lipstick.

In the mirror, she raised one prom, perfect, brow.

“I’m sorry, have I not been giving you enough attention?” Her tone dripped with condescension.

“I’m not a dog,” Leah said, and Hailey pursed her lips.

“Then don’t act like one.”

Leah scoffed.

“For someone loved by millions, you certainly are hard to be around.”

Hailey stood, pulling herself to a stop in front of Leah. She hooked two fingers into Leah’s waistband, and tugged her flush against her front.

Leah’s face went red.

“Oh, darling, I know. They love me because I sing about being hopelessly in love. And who writes those songs.”

“I do,” Leah said, indignation warm in her chest.

Hailey hummed.

“Mmm. And who are you in love with? I certainly haven’t seen anyone holding your hand. No, your life revolves around me,” she grinned, teasingly. “Like a planet to a star.”

Leah spluttered, face going even warmer.

“I am not in love with you—“

Hailey tipped her head so their lips almost brushed, and Leah froze, chest caught between a breath.

Hailey smiled, and Leah swore she felt it against her mouth.

“Thought so.” Hailey stepped away, slinging her jacket off the back of a chair and onto her shoulder. She strode for the door, and stopped halfway across the room.

“Oh, and love? Write me another love song, and next time, maybe I’ll bring you out onstage. Introduce you as my pretty little girlfriend, my wonderful mastermind.”

Leah choked.

“I am not your girlfriend—“

Hailey simply smiled that red lipstick smile, and sauntered out the door into the middle of her screaming fans.

Leah touched her still hot cheek with one finger, absently.

Girlfriend.

She smiled, slightly.

She kind of liked it.

like to reblog ratio

Reblogs require so much DEDICATION and willpower, like, you love that post so much that you wanna show everyone else how fucking awesome it is, That is a lot of energy, that is a lot of raw power. a like, thats just like a little guy waving at u from across the street, or he says something like " I like your shoes" but he's across the street so u barely hear him.

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.

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 :)

May I ask for super sick hero, please?

It was nearly ridiculous. The villain knew their hero could be dramatic but this was a new high.

Turning in the villain’s bed, their nemesis was whining as if they were being gutted.

“It’s a cold.” The villain wrung out the cold cloth they put on the hero’s hellishly hot forehead seconds later. “Nothing more.”

“What’s life anyway? Nothing but suffering,” the hero groaned, frowning as the wet cloth found their head. “It’s a walking shadow! A poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage…”

“Stop quoting Shakespeare. I’m gonna get a headache because of it,” the villain hissed. “You’re so exhausting, you know? Why can’t you just sleep? I gave you pain killers twenty minutes ago. Why do you have to be sick? Why do I have to take care of you?”

“You’re so mean,” the hero whined, grabbing the villain’s arm and squeezing it until it was uncomfortable. “Don’t you understand? I’m dying. Dying. A sea of troubles. A heartache. Thousand natural shocks.”

“I said stop quoting Shakespeare.” The truth was that, yes, this was a cold. A cold with a fever that had been going on for three days now.

The villain was getting impatient. They were getting worried.

And that scared the living shit out of them.

“Write on my gravestone some Shakespeare, will you?” the hero slurred.

“Oh, fuck no,” the villain answered. “You’re not going to die, you little shit. You still owe me.”

“…owe? Just let me die, really, I’d appreciate a stab to the heart, nice and clean…” Sometimes, the villain wanted to slap the hero.

This was such a moment. The hero didn’t even know how annoying they were. It made the villain’s face burn, their voice stutter, the palms of their hands sweat.

The feeling wasn’t hatred, it was something much stronger but the villain couldn’t name it. There was something about their dramatic personality that made the villain’s mouth go dry at an instant.

It was a reluctant feeling, a stinging one.

“You owe me a kiss, you dumbass.”

“Kiss?” The hero’s eyes were closed but the villain had the suspicious feeling that the hero was listening very intensely.

“Yes.” The villain ground their teeth. “The gala two weeks ago. We had a bet. On the mayor.”

“The mayor! Yes. I remember,” the hero said. “Maybe your kiss will heal my wounds, my terrible wounds!” The hero’s voice was more quiet, weak. The villain suspected they were close to drifting off to sleep.

“You have no wounds, it’s a cold,” the villain reminded them. “But sure. Worth a shot.”

The villain leaned down and kissed the hero’s nose. Their own face was probably just as hot as the hero’s and they were nervous about it. Though, it wasn’t unreasonable to think that the hero was delirious enough to not even register it.

Maybe that way, the villain couldn’t be teased with this. Maybe, they could get away. Maybe the hero would forget about it.

“Already feel better,” the hero slurred before they fell asleep peacefully.

A week later, when the villain was sick, the hero kissed their nose too.

Funnily, it helped.

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.