I Hate You So Much You Dont Even Understand The Depth Of It

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.

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.

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

“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.

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. 

“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.