Trapped Hero Pt. 2

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. 

hi there! pls reblog this if you write or read fiction because i would most certainly love to check out your blog! i’m coming back to my own writing after nearly six months on hiatus, so i’d love to meet some new faces!

also feel free to tell me about what you write about in the tags-!

:)

Hello! I was wondering if you could relink your post about 'shrugs'? I glimpsed it a while back, and I couldn't seem to discover it again. Also, if it's older/out of date, could you potentially update it? (though I can't imagine there could suddenly be new meanings to shrugs lol) Keep posting <3 I love your work :3

It's this one!

I don't really have an update to it. @s-b-york added a good comment in the reblogs about neurodivergence!

“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.

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.

“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.