I am so tired of short-attention-span, trim-the-fat culture.
All writing advice these days is for how to write like Chuck Palahniuk. "Cut 'think', cut 'feel', cut 'wonder' - only action, only pushing forward, show and move and move and move." What if I could emulate this style, and still don't want to? What if I want to write like Henry James, with three paragraphs of introspective musings between each dialogue line?
The music advice is, "make it shortform, make it Tik-Tok compatible, make it punchy, hit the refrain as soon as possible." What if I want that 10-minute prog rock piece? What if I want that symphony? What if I want it slow and luxurious and lazy?
Movies. Series. Poetry. Bodies. Everything is "trimmed trimmed trimmed trimmed, stripped bare, you have three seconds to win me over, make it airport chic." I don't want to win you over, then, I guess.
I want the fat left it.
I want the pleasure and the indolence and the indulgence.
Fuck this art-advice that's always "your art needs Ozempic."
Elliot lives in a tiny coastal village which is a popular rest stop for voyagers, merchant ships, and military vessels traveling between large ports. Pirate Captain Christian Whitlock and his crew come to dock in this village where he sees Elliot working in the tavern. Elliot flirts with him, as he does with most of his patrons, and Christian instantly decides that Elliot is his to own.
Before they return to the ship for the night, Christian waits for hours outside of the tavern for Elliot's shift to end, his crew conveniently staked nearby. When Elliot finally leaves the tavern, Christian intercepts and kidnaps him, dragging him kicking and screaming—or at least, he would be, if he wasn't bound and gagged—onto Christian's ship.
Once aboard and far away from his tiny village, Elliot will become the captain's new cabin boy. He will spend his days cleaning the ship, serving the crew, and being used to keep the crew entertained on long voyages. If he's good, he will get to spend his nights in the captain's quarters. But if he's bad, his nights will be spent in the hands of the crew.
Content: kidnapping, reference to sexual harassment, reference to noncon, bound and gagged whumpee, mention of sex work, slavery whump
Elliot's feet had gone numb somewhere between hours ten and twelve of his shift at the tavern. His ears were ringing in the absence of the drunken chatter he'd grown so used to. His eyes were heavy and every part of his body ached as he plodded down the tavern's creaking stairs into the cool night air. He longed for a bath and his warm bed, but he had to make it through at least a fifteen-minute trek in order to get there.
"Hey, sweetheart," a voice called out to him.
Elliot groaned internally as he turned to face the rugged man whose presence he hadn't initially noticed. The man was leaning casually against the outer wall of the tavern, a handsome smirk on his scarred face. Elliot guessed he should've recognized him, but he'd seen hundreds of drunkards that night whose faces all seemed to blend together.
Smoke swirled around the man's head as he pulled the cigar out of his mouth and flicked a bit of ash onto the sand. "You're quite the little flirt," the man said. "Fancy getting out of here?"
Elliot eyed the man and smirked. "Nice try, mate, but the brothel is that way." He nodded in the direction opposite of where he was going.
The man followed his gesture and chuckled. "I know where the brothel is." He took another drag of his cigar and blew out the smoke in Elliot's direction. Elliot crinkled his nose but kept his flirtatious smile plastered to his face.
"It's cute that you think you're the first merchant to ask to take me home tonight. You're charming, I'll give you that, but I'm not interested," he said and continued on his path home. He must've been more sluggish than he thought, because the man was in his path before he could take more than five steps. "Excuse me," he said. "I'd like to go home now."
"Perhaps I wasn't clear," the man said, ignoring the boy's statement. "That wasn't a request. You are going to come with me, pretty thing, and you're going to do so nice and quietly."
Elliot wasn't a stranger to unwanted attention after his shifts, but he was appalled by the audacity of this man. His smile died. "Okay. I tried to be kind, but I've had a long day so let me make myself clear. Fuck off," he said as he tried to step around him, but the man caught his wrist and shoved him back a couple steps. "Get off of me!" Elliot shouted, wrenching his wrist from the man's grip. "I'm a barmaid, not an escort, do you understand? If you're that desperate to see me again, I'll be back here at one o'clock tomorrow, but only if you keep your hands to yourself. Got it?"
The man chuckled again and took a bold step closer to Elliot. "I wasn't asking," he said.
Elliot's eyes burned. He could've been home by now, fast asleep on his sorry-excuse for a bed. His patience was running extremely thin. "Look, mate," he said, jabbing a finger at the man's chest. "I just worked sixteen-hours straight. Do you know how many sleezy, drunken fucks like you I've dealt with today? Do you have any idea how many times I've been whistled at and felt up? I'm exhausted, I'm sore, and all I want to do is go home and sleep until noon. Think you can get that through your thick skull?"
The man didn't look the slightest bit intimidated. "My, you're much friendlier when you're on the clock."
"Yeah? Well, it keeps my patrons happy, my tip jar full, and my boss off my back. Now, get out of my way."
"I don't think so, pet."
Before Elliot could open his mouth to say anything else, movement in his peripheral vision stole his attention. Several ominous silhouettes materialized from the dark, crowding in around Elliot and his harasser. Elliot swiveled his head, trying to take note of every man surrounding him, but there were too many. They circled him in droves, dozens in each layer. Elliot turned his gaze back on the man in front of him, who now wore a leather tricorn atop his head and a devilish smile on his scarred face.
Elliot's heart pounded relentlessly against his ribcage as his mind caught up with his current situation. "You're not a merchant," he mumbled.
The pirate laughed, as did the crew that was slowly edging in on them. "'Fraid not, love."
Elliot's stomach was full of stones. He'd never met a pirate before, let alone a whole crew. They tended to ignore Port Iryss. It was too poor to be worth the effort of pillaging. "What do you want from me? I-I don't have much."
The pirate smirked again, using his weathered fingers to tilt the boy's head up. "Oh, I think you have plenty."
Elliot couldn't move. He wanted to shout and scream for help, fight back in any way he could, but his body was completely unresponsive. "I—All I have are my tips. It-It's not much, but you can take them. I swear, I don't h-have anything else. I'm sorry if I offended you. Just p-please don't hurt me."
The captain laughed again, a low and rumbling noise from deep within his chest. He leaned closer to Elliot's face, foreheads inches from touching. "You're cute when you beg," he whispered, inching ever closer. "A pretty little thing like you will make an excellent addition to my ship."
Elliot's eyes widened, but he didn't have much time to process that statement before he was shoved backwards into the waiting arms of the crew behind him. Hands wrapped around his wrists, forearms, and biceps, yanking his arms behind his back as coarse rope was wrapped around his torso.
"No, wait! Please!" Elliot screamed, tears blurring his view of the captain. "Let me go! Let go! Help!!" He shouted in the direction of the lively tavern. "Somebody help me, please! Hel—mmph!" His cries were smothered by a strong hand gripping his mouth shut. He tried to fight, to loosen the man's iron grip, but it was no use.
The rough ropes cemented Elliot's arms against his back. He groaned and screamed beneath the calloused hand over his mouth, but nothing but pathetically muffled cries could be heard. His legs were bound next, until he was almost completely immobile. Once he'd been sufficiently restrained, the hand over his mouth fell away. But before he had the chance to scream again, a dirty rag was stuffed into his mouth and a second was wrapped around his head to hold the first in place.
Gagged, bound, and sufficiently terrified, Elliot fell with a thump onto the ground as the crew abruptly released him. He lifted his head just in time to see the captain loom over him, hand resting menacingly on his saber. Elliot whined behind the layers of his gag as his tears finally started to spill over.
The captain smirked, but said nothing to his captive. Instead, he turned back to the crew and said, "To the ship."
A burlap sack was thrown over Elliot’s head just before he was hoisted into the air and slung over someone's broad shoulder. "MMRPHH!!" He screamed, though the bag muffled his cries even further. Despite his thrashing, the pirate seemed to have no trouble hauling him away.
When the bag was finally ripped off, Elliot was too disoriented to take in his surroundings. It was dark and the chance to adjust was stolen from him when he was roughly thrown onto the wooden floor, gasping for breath as the impact stole the air from his lungs. The wooden floor was damp and smelled of mold. Elliot twisted in his bonds in an attempt to push himself into a sitting position, trying to drown out the echoing laughter as he did so, but he halted when a blade entered his field of vision.
Elliot stared at it through his tears, eyes wide and unblinking.
"There we go," the captain said. "Eyes up here, pretty thing." Elliot followed the blade as the captain forced his attention back up. The pirate grinned and chuckled darkly. Elliot finally got the chance to take in his environment and found that he was surrounded by iron bars. There was no light, save for the torch in the captain's hand, and no sign of the crew, but heavy footsteps could be heard above his head. "Welcome to the brig," the captain said, drawing his attention back once more. "Don't worry, you won't be here for long. Just until you get your sea legs." That did nothing to ease Elliot's terror.
"Now, here's what's going to happen, treasure," the captain continued. "I am going to cut your bonds and remove your gag. If you try to fight me, attack me, or scream for help, I will run you through and toss your body into the sea. Understand?"
Elliot couldn't breathe. This couldn't be happening. What had he done to deserve this? Flirting with his patrons wasn't that great a sin, was it?
The captain positioned his saber beneath Elliot's chin and tilted the boy's head up. "I said, do you understand?" Elliot nodded and the captain got to work removing his bonds. Elliot could do nothing but watch through burning tears, helpless to save himself.
Once he was free, Elliot tried to stand, but the incessant rocking of the ship knocked him back to the ground almost immediately. The captain laughed. A loud sob broke free from Elliot's throat. "Wh-Why are you doing this?" He asked as he stared up at the captain from the ground. "If-If you're upset that I rejected you, I'm-I'm sorry. I'll do what you want. Just please let me go."
The corner of the captain's mouth quirked upward. "I do so love it when you beg."
Tears flooded Elliot's eyes once more. "Who-Who are you?"
The captain sheathed his saber. "How rude of me. My name is Captain Christian Whitlock. Please to make your acquaintance, Elliot."
Elliot's eyes widened. "You know my name?"
"Sure do," Captain Whitlock said. "Your loyal patrons couldn't keep it out of their mouths." Elliot's face burned. He hated those drunken perverts, but at least none of them dared to cross a line with him. Not like this. "Don't look so sullen, treasure. That tavern was beneath you. Don't worry, though. I'll be sure to put your talents to good use."
"Talents?"
The captain ignored him. "In the meantime, get comfortable. And welcome aboard the Serpent's Wrath." Elliot flinched as the captain slammed the barred door closed with a loud clang and slowly sauntered out of the brig.
Elliot scrambled to his feet and threw himself against the barred door. "No, wait! Please, you can't leave me here! Let me go! Please have mercy!"
The captain paused in the doorway and chuckled. "Tell you what. The day you meet a merciful pirate is the day I let you go." With that, Captain Whitlock slammed the door shut, plunging Elliot into near total darkness.
Elliot stayed that way, frozen in place, for a few more seconds before the ship abruptly lunched forward and he was thrown back against the wall. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes, but only when he spotted the sliver of moonlight peeking between the wooden planks of the wall did they finally start to slip down his face. He crawled over to the crack and peered through it.
Through the distortion of his tears, Elliot was able to make out the image of Port Iryss growing further and further away. "No," he whispered. "No, no, no, please." He didn't know who he was talking to, nor what he was begging for. His home was disappearing and no one was there to even notice he was missing. No one would come looking for him, no one would care that he was gone. This was it. This was the last time he would ever see his home.
Elliot dissolved into heavy, broken sobs. He didn't know what the captain had planned for him, nor why he'd been taken in the first place. The only thing he knew for sure was that there was no way out of this. He had no friends that would miss him, no family to come and save him, nothing. He was well and truly alone.
-
I couldn't stop thinking about this so I just had to write it. It's probably rushed, but I don't really care. It was a lot of fun and broke through my writer's block, if only temporarily. I might continue it on my own just for fun. And maybe I'll post it, maybe I won't. We'll see. I love a good pirate au
i like to pretend i already died and asked god to send me back to earth so i can swim in lakes again and see mountains and get my heart broken and love my friends and cry so hard in the bathroom and go grocery shopping 1,000 more times. and that i promised i would never forget the miracle of being here
Civilian was trying hard not to watch the clock. It had to be the end of the work day, but glancing at the clock, they found only 10 minutes had passed. They groaned for the third time today before picking up their phone and texting their partner.
This day is never ending.
A moment later, their phone pinged. You can do hard things. 😉 Keep your eye on the prize! 🍣 love you!
Civilian smiled. They were so thankful for the quiet relationship they held. A dinner date in, and cuddles on the couch was their relationship goal. They did not crave the attention dating one of the city's hero's often brought.
They had seen how other relationships had broken under the pressure of the public eye. They refused to allow that to happen to them. If their relationship failed, it would be because they didn't fit together, not news cameras and gossip magazines.
The next time they looked at the clock was 45 minutes to the end of the workday. They started slowly packing up. Enough work still out to not catch their boss's ire but not so much they would be delayed leaving when the clock finally struck 5.
They jumped when the phone on their desk rung. The light flashed showing it was coming from the front desk. Well that can't be good.
"Hi Civilian. I wanted to let you know that your partner is downstairs waiting for you."
"Oh!"
"Sorry for the surprise. Normally, no one wants a call from me last minute on a Friday."
"It's fine. I didn't expect the call and didn't expect them to pick me up. Must be because it's date night."
"Oh how fun! Well, get off the phone with me and get going. They are waiting in the parking garage for you."
"Thanks."
Civilian didn't need to be told twice. They closed their laptop, grabbed their bag, and made their way down to the garage.
Stepping out of the elevator, they didn't immediately see their partner's car. It wasn't a flashy car. Standard grey SUV so it wasn't always easy to spot in the sea of similar cars in the garage.
"Looking for someone?"
Civilian whirled at the sudden voice. They hadn't noticed anyone in the lot when they stepped off the elevator. The individual who had spoken was off to the side.
"Yeah. My partner is here to pick me up."
Civilian did another scan of the parking lot and came up empty.
The stranger hummed. "Hero sent me to pick you up. A special date night for the happy couple."
Civilian looked back at the stranger who had stepped towards them. They took an involuntary step back when they finally recognized the Villain before them.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Civilian managed.
A van screeched forward and stopped at Civilian's back.
"Let's not pretend." The villain stalked forward. "It won't change the outcome."
Sorry for the brief hiatus. Thought I'd be able to get some writing in while on vacation, and that didn't happen.
“Medic!” Hero cried. The name echoed off of the empty buildings around them. Medic’s crumpled form was utterly, terribly still. Through the haze, Hero couldn’t even be sure they were breathing. “Medic,” they said again, quiet, desperate. “Please be alive. Please be okay.”
An awful silence filled the air as Hero stared at Medic’s body, a tear running freely down their cheek. It felt like razor-sharp talons were squeezing their heart, as if it could burst at any moment. Hero couldn’t even tap their earpiece to let the team know. How long until camp realizes Medic had been gone for far too long? Would they come looking? What if they couldn’t get them to a hospital? What if they couldn’t fix it? What if they were already gone?
“Oh, my.” From the alley across the street came a soft, familiar voice. “What have we here?”
Hero saw red, anxiety transforming instantly to rage. “Show yourself, I dare you-”
“At ease, nemesis, I beg. You’re not in a position to be making demands anyhow.” A figure emerged from the shadows dressed all in black, a matching smoke mask covering their mouth and nose. “Why, you couldn’t even protect your own favorite teammate.” They crouched down, fingers reaching for Medic’s throat.
“Villain, I swear, if you touch them, I will murder you-”
“Hush. I’m checking for a pulse, you dunce.” A tense few seconds passed. Hero leaned forward slightly, as if they could hear Medic’s heartbeat from there.
They couldn’t help themself. “Are they alive? Are they going to be okay?”
Villain glanced their way with a sly smile. “They’re alive.”
Relief broke over Hero like a sunrise, and they closed their eyes with the weight of it. Medic was alive. Alive. Thank the stars. Now they just needed to find a way to get Medic help, and everything would be fine.
They opened their eyes to catch Villain mid-motion, lifting Medic into their arms with superhuman grace. At this angle, Hero could see the blood dripping from a dark wound near their hairline. They seemed utterly still at first, but after a moment Hero could see that their chest was shallowly rising and falling. Hero was so focused on their wellbeing that it took them half a minute to notice how Villain was looking down at the healer. They wore a strange, hungry smile, like a predator who had lured its prey into a perfect trap.
Nervously, Hero wetted their dry lips. “Wh-what are you doing?”
Villain glanced at them and raised a sly brow. “Well, we don’t want the poor darling to die of smoke inhalation, do we?”
Beads of sweat were starting to run into Hero’s eyes. “No, where are you taking them, a hospital…?”
Villain laughed, a cold, spine-chilling sound. “Why, Hero, I haven’t known you to be so uncreative. No, I had something much more exciting in mind than a simple hospital.”
Panic flared in Hero’s brain, sending a sharp wave of adrenaline through their exhausted body. “No. Please, no, don’t take them, Villain, you can’t do this, please-”
“Your reaction tells me this is an even better idea than I thought,” they said, amused. “Don’t worry, I certainly won’t harm them. They’re far too valuable for that. For their power and to you, of course.”
“You don’t have to hold them hostage to get to me,” Hero pleaded. “I’ll do whatever you want if you let them go, Villain, I swear. Medic has patients that need them, people will die without them!”
Villain rolled their eyes. “Such dramatics. I don’t need anything from you except to keep holding up that building until I leave. And I’m sure the agency hospital staff can manage. You worry too much, nemesis.”
Another flare of anger surged through Hero. “You’re a supervillain, of course I’m fucking worried about you kidnapping my best friend-”
“Language, Hero,” Villain chided. “I’m flattered you think me so high a threat. But I assure you, your best friend will be perfectly fine. Now, I think your other friends will be showing up soon to relieve you, so I think we’ll be on our way.”
“Wait!” Hero shouted, but Villain had already turned away. Both them and Medic disappeared into the shadows, leaving Hero alone, trapped, tears and sweat marking slow trails over their soot-covered skin as the building over them continued to burn into the night.
@whumpages-things @chaotic-orphan @whumplicity @watermelon-random @infinitorum @ice-dragon0501 @smitten-haematite-quartz @whatwasmyprevioususername @theoverworkingwriter @seagulleater @funwithmydem0ns @jumpywhumpywriter @whumpwritinglover222 @stars-hide-our-fires @sunshineadeline
(ask to be added/removed)
Late (part 2 of the infamous ill-fated romangst arc)
Previous — Masterlist — Next
Aiden is fully prepared to suck. Hand-eye coordination is one of the slowest things to come back but he’s spent months coming to terms with it. In the grand scheme of things that could take a bite out of his pride at any given moment, the inability to aim a ball falls pretty low on the totem pole.
What’s unexpected is that Noah is almost as bad. A fact that he vehemently refutes even in the face of increasing evidence. By the time they run out of a twenty’s worth of quarters, Noah’s irate and Aiden’s barely holding back laughter.
“I’m having an off day,” Noah defends as they step onto the sidewalk. “I’ve slept like five hours in the last three days.”
“Next time…I’ll…stay out of, of…your way,” he says, unable to keep the grin off his face. He uses air quotes to repeat, “‘this’s mmm, between…me and me.’”
They stop at the crosswalk and Noah jams the button repeatedly as if he might recoup missed points. Digital numbers count down next to the red hand. “Look, I have certain high standards for myself.”
Aiden laughs, pulling up his hood. The sun dropped behind the buildings, leaving the shade chilly. His stomach flips. “Wait. What, what…time is it?” He fumbles for his phone but Noah beats him to the punch.
“Oh, shit.” He covers his watch with his hand like Aiden could even see it from this angle and Noah wants to save him just one more second of ignorant bliss. Aiden already knows they’re late. “It’s almost six.”
When the light changes, they both break into a jog.
It’s not until he’s sitting in the passenger seat of Noah’s car that he can pull his phone out of his pocket. A dozen missed calls and even more texts. All from Leo.
“We should be there in under thirty. I think we’re behind the worst of the traffic.” Noah glances over. “Aiden?”
He stares at his phone in his hands, letting his guilt swallow him whole.
“I’m sure you can just call and explain. It’s not like—”
“He would…have let…let me…go,” Aiden whispers, mostly to himself.
More than that, Leo would have offered to drive or pick him up. Reminded him to use his debit card and spend his paycheck on something fun for once. Leo would have been happy for him to go. Instead, he has no idea where Aiden has been for the last two hours, imagining the worst. For no fucking reason.
Hot tears prickle in his eyes as he forces his fingers through the motions to return the calls.
His hand shakes as he holds the phone to his ear.
Leo picks up on the first ring. “Aiden? Are you okay?” His voice is full of panic. “Where are you?”
“I-I—” Regret twists through him like a vice. It would have been so easy to send a quick text. He wants more than anything to just go back and take the three fucking seconds.
“Aiden?” Leo raises his voice like the connection might be bad. “Aiden, are you there?”
He nods but of course that’s fucking useless.
“Aiden? Are you…” Noah looks between him and the road. “Do you want me to talk to him?”
Leo’s still trying to get an answer out of him.
Aiden can’t seem to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. To admit that this was all his fault and start apologizing. He passes the phone to Noah and covers his face with his hands, hoping the sleeves of his sweatshirt will soak up any tears that escape.
“Hey, hi. It’s Noah…No, no, he’s fine…I’m driving him home, we should be there in half an hour. I’m sorry it’s— What? Hello?” He grimaces and hands the phone back. “He told me not to talk on the phone while driving and hung up.”
God, he must be so upset. Aiden clicks the ringer volume up as high as it will go and drops his head back into his hands.
“He knows you’re alright and that you’ll be home soon. I’m sure he’ll forgive you.”
Noah returns the stare as long as he can while driving, clearly offended by the question. Aiden looks away before Noah gets a chance to meet his eyes again. He can’t take any more guilt right now.
They ride in weighted silence for so long that Aiden has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from taking it back. He’s uncomfortably hot in his sweatshirt, adrenaline still coursing through his veins and making his hands feel shaky. But he’ll be damned if he breaches the space between them to close his side of the air vents.
Even if he wanted to answer Noah’s question, he’s not sure he could. It’s too hard to articulate how precious Leo’s trust is when trusting Leo should matter more to him. Or how this slip-up will mean weeks of hyper-vigilance on both sides. Or that he’s already spent too much of Leo’s fear and owes him a lifetime of perfect accountability. A life that—
His breath catches in his throat when Noah turns toward him.
Shoulders, neck and face, lips set in a tight line that stings like a papercut between Aiden’s ribs.
But Noah’s just checking the blind spot as he changes lanes. It only lasts a second and then he faces forward.
Aiden curls his hands into fists in his lap but Noah doesn’t look his way again. He’s not sure if it’s guilt alone gnawing at his chest. The feeling only deepens the closer they get to home. Aiden tells himself it’s anticipation, the dread of seeing Leo’s concern and broken trust in person.
Noah rolls to a slow stop at the last turn before Leo’s street.
A single streetlamp illuminates the intersection. In the bubble of light, everything else is obscured. The blue house on the corner, flanked by stonewall-skirted fields, the column of woods they drove through to get here. Aiden can’t even find the moon.
They sit there long enough that Aiden finds he’s holding his breath again. He wonders if he ever started breathing again at all.
Noah flexes his fingers around the steering wheel, grip so tight his knuckles are white.
“This was the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” he says, so softly Aiden feels like it wasn’t meant for his ears. A secret surrendered to the stop sign to pay their passage. A confession creased by so many folds its paper no longer sits flat, wedged into the stonewall where no one will ever find it. He doesn’t know what to say.
Noah makes the turn.
Minutes later, they pull into the driveway. Aiden opens his mouth, not even certain what he’ll say but knowing it has to be something. He—
Leo’s already outside.
“Fuck.”
Noah clears his throat. “Are you going to be okay?” He reaches over, hand hovering like he wants to stop Aiden from getting out of the car.
Aiden finally earns his gaze and isn’t sure what he sees there. Whoever they were an hour ago, in the arcade and even in Delia’s apartment before, might as well be characters in a movie, slowly fading in the harsh light of reality. Aiden doesn’t know who that was, who Noah was trying to be to him, what version of himself he was trying to invent or resurrect to fit the fleeting fantasy. It doesn’t matter, it’s over.
“Thanks…for, for today.”
He cuts off Noah’s reply with the car door and turns away but his feet won’t carry him to meet Leo halfway.
Just like on the phone, he’s frozen. Aware of Noah watching him stand there immobilized while Leo rushes forward, fears no less soothed by this display of paralysis.
Fuck’s the matter with you today?
Noah steps in front of Aiden before Leo can reach him. “Wait, hold on,” he says, both palms raised. Aiden didn’t even realize he got out of the car.
Leo balks at Noah. “Are you fucking kidding me?” It’s the most Boston he’s ever sounded. And that’s the extent of reaction Aiden’s brain gives him.
“We’re just a little late so maybe take it down a notch.”
Leo looks like he wants to take Noah down a few notches. He’s only a few inches shorter than Aiden but Leo could break him in half on a bad day. With one hand behind his back.
Aiden puts a hand on Noah’s shoulder. “I—”
“What the hell?” Leo’s eyes lock onto the back of Aiden’s hand but it’s Noah’s wrist he grabs. Aiden flinches. “Did you take him to a fucking club?”
Noah doesn’t even try to pull his arm back. “No, of course not,” he grits. “It was just an arcade.”
“Why was he out with you at all?”
“He can make his own decisions.”
“Watch it.” The warning in Leo’s tone makes Aiden’s heart stutter behind his ribs.
“Chill out, man.” Noah steps closer, shouldering Aiden behind him and getting in Leo’s face. “You’re worried he’s stifling but you’re the one doing all the stifling.”
“Noah.” Aiden feels it like a blow, all the air rushing out of his chest.
“You’re way out of line,” Leo growls.
Aiden hasn’t seen this side of him since he took down three guys after they pulled him out of Leo’s van that first night. Watching Leo wipe his bloodied knuckles on a handkerchief as if that kind of thing happened all the time had been a raindrop of fear in an ocean of terror that day. Tonight, it’s the sea itself and the tide is coming in.
“Try me.”
Aiden holds his breath, blood rushing from his face, his head.
He doesn’t know who will take the first swing but this is all his fault.
If anyone deserves to be hit, it’s him.
He’s shaking like it will be.
He can’t remember the last time but he’s always known how to take a punch.
It must have been Harrison.
Open hand.
No weight behind it.
Another last strike unearths itself from somewhere deep and dark and Aiden tumbles right in.
Falling?
Did he fall down the stairs again?
Coach will—
“Aiden?” Noah presses two fingers under his jaw. He lifts his phone flashlight and Aiden shrinks away from the brightness. His back hits something solid and he flinches again.
“Easy.” It’s just Leo. Holding him. Everything comes screeching back. A tilted screen being righted, the focus shifting from fuzzy to sharp.
Fuck, he’s on his knees in the driveway.
Leo and Noah—
“Can you take a deep breath for me?” Noah asks. He lowers his voice to add, “into your lungs, like we talked about.”
Aiden stares at him.
Noah’s face falls and he opens his mouth to say something but Leo helps Aiden off the ground before he gets the chance.
“I think we’re done here.” Leo doesn’t give Noah a second glance. “Let’s get you inside.” Aiden doesn’t look back either.
I've been talking about this foreverrr (iykyk). So, without further ado...
Masterlist
“Take a deep breath for me.”
Aiden focuses on the kitchen window over Noah’s shoulder. There’s a small stained glass iris hanging from the lock. On sunny days, it casts prisms all over Delia’s apartment.
“One more,” Noah instructs. “This time…into your lungs.”
“S-sorry.” He swallows, avoids looking at Noah while he’s wearing the stethoscope. It’s fine. This is fine. Aiden’s just used to Delia and hasn’t been with Noah for longer than five minutes since—
“Can I just—can I mmm, have…some water?”
Noah steps back, draping the stethoscope around his neck with the ease of having done it a million times. “Sure.”
He leans against the table while Aiden drinks, absently fiddling with the blood pressure cuff beside him. His dark hair falls over his eyes, brushing the five o’clock shadow on his cheek before he rakes it back in one unconscious sweep.
Aiden looks down at the glass in his hands, turning it side to side, precariously balanced between his fingertips. “You don’t…have to…mmm, pretend, you know.” He glances up, just long enough to see Noah’s brows knit together.
“What do you mean?”
He slides off the stool and brings his glass to the sink, feeling Noah’s eyes on him the whole time. His heart stutters. “I know it’s…it’s a front.” There’s no weight behind the words, behind the gamble. He doesn’t even know why he’s pulling this thread.
Noah plays dumb. “A front?”
“It’s just to…get-get me out. The bus…the time. Mmm, another…safe place.”
“Oh.” Did he really not know? “Why do you play along then?”
Aiden shrugs. “Mmm, gives Leo a…break.”
“I’m sure that’s not—”
“It’s…fine—I’m fine.” He turns back to the sink, pretending to look out the window. “You don’t…have to-to…mmm, waste your…day off.”
In a second, Noah will tell him that another purpose behind these little appointments is to help him with his aversion to all things medical.
“I’ll see…Delia…next week,” he adds.
Now it does sound like he’s just trying to get out of having his vitals taken.
But Noah just says, “Okay.”
He resists the urge to watch Noah pack everything back into the bag and return it to its home in the closet. Instead, he busies his hands washing the glass. There’s a bowl and spoon in the sink so he washes those too. Can’t help but smirk remembering the time Leo went off about her apple-scented dish soap being too artificial to leave the dishes truly clean.
The clock on the wall tells him he could catch the next bus but then he’d be home too early. His usual bus isn’t for another three hours. In practice, the bus affords little opportunity for independence with its shitty schedule. Aiden’s always the youngest passenger by a good five decades because no one else bothers. Half the time the bus is so delayed, Leo ends up having a heart attack which honestly seems to defeat half of the point of sending Aiden on these weekly adventures. But it’s always been about going through the motions, an imitation of agency, more than the real thing.
Delia usually can’t stay the whole time, either rushing off to work or coming from a shift, which is another dimension of this whole program. He doesn’t hate the time alone but it’s challenging to find ways to keep himself busy that aren’t so overtly obvious he’ll get in trouble for doing housework. He makes sure to play some show on her Netflix account so she’ll see the false progress of his downtime.
Aiden jumps when he turns to find Noah behind him, leaning on the table again.
“Don’t you work with Leo? Why do you need to get out of the house if you already have a job?” He seems genuinely curious.
For some reason, Aiden imagined no secrets between him and Delia. Especially after Noah moved into her spare room a few months ago. It seems conceited, in retrospect, to think the two of them would spend their precious free time discussing the ins and outs of his progress. Exactly the type of paranoid assumption WRU hammered into them, to fear all manner of omniscience.
“Uhm…” Aiden redirects his thoughts to the question while he towels his hands. “They-they think I’m…mmm…mmm…” He swallows, takes a breath. “Stifled. That I’m…missing…mmm, autonomy.”
Noah looks at him, really looks at him, like he’s letting Aiden’s words sink in letter by letter. It makes Aiden want to squirm. He looks down at the towel in his hands, folding it against his torso into a neat rectangle. Noah still hasn’t said anything when he turns around from threading the towel through the handle of the dishwasher.
“I don’t know…” He hears himself saying just to fill the silence. “Maybe some-some people like…me are but I’m’not. I don’t feel…stifled going to-to work and…coming home. Mmm, hanging out on mmm, weekends. I don’t…need more.”
“Why don’t you just tell them?”
He should have expected that. “They won’t…get it,” he says lamely.
“It made sense to me.”
Aiden swallows, heat rising to his face. “Yeah but…you’re not—you don’t feel mmm, responsible for-for…helping…mmm, reclaim my whole…life.”
“Alright, fair.”
“And-and they’d…think it was…mmm, training. All they’d hear is…I don’t-don’t think I mmm, deserve a…real life.”
“Huh. Well, when you put it like that…”
“See?”
Noah holds up his hands. “I’m not saying I agree with that assessment. You’re entitled to want a quiet life. To be satisfied with that, everyone is. But especially someone who’s been through what you have.”
He looks away, doesn’t need to see the pity on Noah’s face when he backpedals from pointing out the elephant-sized baggage Aiden carries everywhere. But the awkward apology never comes. Aiden peeks at him from the corner of his eye but Noah’s cleaning his glasses on his sleeve. Not searching Aiden’s face for triggers, not overcompensating. His dark eyelashes are almost long enough to sweep his cheekbones. He replaces his glasses and catches Aiden’s gaze.
Aiden blurts the first thing that comes to mind: “I w-w-wanted to…mmm, move to…New-New York City before…well…before.”
The corner of Noah’s mouth lifts. “Yeah?”
Ohgod. Did he just start a whole other conversation? “For-for college…” He shoves his hands into his pockets, tries to mirror Noah’s casual posture. “Work…and take some…mmm, classes. I didn’t know…what I w-w— what to study.”
“Why New York?”
“Mmm, my town…was…boring. The…city seemed mmm, exciting. So-so many people.” Noah waits an extra beat again. “I was…kind of mmm, lonely as a…kid,” he admits, immediately regretting the confession. Something twists and flutters in his chest at the extra depths Noah’s silences seem to reach, unearthing things he thought long buried and pulling them out into the light.
Mercifully, Noah isn’t interested in dissecting his childhood. “Is there any part of you that still thinks about that dream?”
Aiden shakes his head quickly. Admitting any of this is starting to feel ungrateful. Leo’s given him so much and continues to be nothing but generous. That dream belonged to a different person, in a different life. He looks up to find Noah watching him, still waiting for a real answer.
“No…I-I just mmm, wonder…what it…would have been…like.” He’s almost whispering by the end.
“Hmm.”
“What?” He instinctively steps back, heat rushing to his face as he tries to figure out where he misspoke.
Noah’s smiling. Easy, relaxed. “Well—and feel free to say no—but maybe we kill two birds with one stone? Boston’s no New York but it’s still pretty cool.”
He laughs, a nervous imitation of Noah’s that mostly dies in his throat. “What? No. Wait. Are-are you…mmm, serious?”
“Yeah, come on. We can find somewhere to do some people-watching. Like you said, you don’t need an exam.” When Aiden just stares back blankly, he adds, “But if things take a turn for the worse, you’ll have a doctor on call,” and even winks.
Aiden balks at him.
“What do you think?”
He doesn’t. He can’t wrap his head around the idea. He doesn’t go out. Just work and home and Delia’s every Saturday. He’s only ever been to a handful of stores with Leo and basically hated every second. “What-what…about…the bus?”
“You and I both know that no one with a real life rides the bus.”
He tries to hide his smile. “I-I…don’t know…”
“We’ll take my car and I’ll drive you home after. You’ll still be on time.”
His heart races at the idea alone of going off-book like this. Of doing something different. Maybe it’s a warning as much as nervous excitement. He hears himself agree.
Aiden’s not sure exactly how Noah talked him into the arcade from sitting in his parked car sipping dive-thru root beers and watching people come and go. It’s nothing like the handful of outdated pinball games and claw machines in the corner of the bowling alley where his grade-school classmates had their birthday parties.
“Come on.” Noah catches his entry-stamped hand and tows him through the throngs of people. A group to their left erupts in cheers and rambunctious high-fives, making him jump.
For starters, it’s dark. The space is only lit by neon tube lights crisscrossing the ceiling like a messy subway map, slowly pulsating from one color to another. Strobes blur an entire corner of the space where he guesses a bar must be since they had to flash their IDs to get in. The rest of the arcade is covered with game machines, each one emitting lights and sounds, attracting its own crowd of onlookers who, in turn, add to the countless, overlapping conversations filling the air. The place is pulsing with energy, thrumming with sound. He’s so busy taking it all in that he stumbles into Noah when he stops.
“You okay?” he asks, putting a hand on his shoulder and leaning in so Aiden can hear him over the blaring music.
He swallows. His heart jackhammers against his ribs, palms damp with sweat. He pulls in a deep breath. It smells like beer, sweat and bodies, someone’s vanilla-floral perfume, a hint of nondescript fruity vape smell. His feet are only visible where they cover the neon-flecked carpet that glows up at him in the blacklights like funfetti. He exhales.
“Yeah.” The corners of his mouth twitch at the fact that he has to shout even though they’re standing so close. He nods to show he means it when Noah pulls back to see his face.
Noah grins and presses some quarters into his palm. They feed them into neighboring skeeball machines, each releasing a column of time-worn wooden balls.
If someone told him he’d be playing arcade games again one day, he wouldn’t believe it. Not at any point since his life was signed away.
Warming up to you is so good, please!! Continue it!!
Warming Up to You (Part 3)
Part 1 Part 2
Be warned: kidnapping, gun threats
It had taken two weeks for the civilian to convince their brother, the hero, that they didn’t need to be watched over every single second of the day. The civilian doubted that the villain was so invested in their capture as to stake out their home for weeks at a time once more. The civilian had been an exceedingly annoyed hostage last time. Besides, they were a grown-up, they told their brother, and they could handle themselves.
Boy, did they feel stupid now.
It was the first night that their brother had left them alone in the safehouse, and it had taken a grand total of four hours for the civilian to find themselves on the other end of the villain’s gun. The pair were in the civilian’s bedroom. The civilian was in their pyjamas, sitting up under the covers. They had turned on the lamp next to their bed and put on their glasses at the sound of footsteps. The villain stood at the doorway, dressed in all black, gun in hand. It was pointed right at the civilian.
“Hi, there,” the civilian said in a croaky, sleep-soaked voice.
The villain gestured with their free hand. “You’re coming with me.”
“I had a feeling you would ask that.”
“It’s not a request.”
“You know what’s weird?” The civilian said, still not getting up. “Last time, it was your goons who did the legwork of kidnapping me. Like, did you find time in your calendar or…?”
The villain didn’t offer up an explanation for that. “Get your ass out of bed right now.”
The civilian sighed. “Fine. Now I’m going to be kidnapped and sleep-deprived. At least last time you kidnapped me during the day.”
They pulled off the covers and got to their feet. They stretched their arms out. It pulled up their pyjama shirt, and the exposed skin sent a shiver of cold down the civilian’s spine. The villain’s eyes snagged on the bare skin, as well.
“It’s winter,” the civilian said. “I’m not going out into the snow like this.”
The villain didn’t say anything. The civilian couldn’t see them very well, but they guessed their kidnapper had been taken off-guard.
“So, I’m just going to change real quick,” the civilian said.
That snapped the villain out of it. “No, you’re not.”
“I’m not letting myself get frostbite,” the civilian said.
“I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
The civilian shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
The civilian walked to the other side of the bed, where their clothes lay in a pile. They had rushed to grab things before their brother escorted them off to the safehouse several weeks prior, and had yet to unpack. They pulled thick jeans and a sweater from the multicoloured mass. The villain had trailed behind the civilian, and was now watching passively. Their eyes only dipped away when the civilian pulled their pyjama shirt over their head. The civilian took off their pyjamas and tossed them on the bed. They pulled the jeans over their waist and secured the button. Their eyes met the villain’s again. The villain was trying very hard to not let their gaze stray lower. The civilian held out their glasses, and the villain took them.
“Is this a distraction tactic?” the villain asked.
“Distraction tactic?” The civilian’s voice was laced with confusion. They pulled the sweater over their head. “It’s a my-kidnapper-won’t-leave-the-room tactic.”
They adjusted their sweater. Then they grabbed some thick socks and slipped them on their feet. They looked back up at the villain. “There we go. Glasses?”
The villain passed them back. The civilian secured them. “Alright. Ready when you are.”
“You’re so weird,” the villain said.
Their face said that they had not totally meant to say that out loud.
“You burst into my room in the middle of the night with a gun,” the civilian said. “You win.”
“Come on, hands on your head,” the villain said. “Let’s go.”
The civilian sighed. “Fine. But just so you know, my brother is not going to like this.”
The villain gave a very convincing evil laugh. It sent a shiver down the hero’s spine. “Yeah. That’s kind of the point. Now start walking.”
The pair walked to the villain’s waiting van. The civilian complied as a bag was put over their head and their hands were tied. Before their vision was blocked, though, they got a close look at the villain’s gun.
“Hey.”
The villain didn’t respond, and shoved the civilian into the back of the van.
“Hey, listen,” the hero said again.
The villain sighed. “Have you ever stopped talking?”
“No. But I thought you should know you didn’t turn the safety off on your gun.”
There was silence for a moment. The civilian felt like a clock was ticking. Then the villain leaned forward and hissed into the civilian’s ear.
“If you tell anyone, I’ll chain you to the floor of your cell.”
The hero gulped. Then the villain was gone and the door slammed shut.
“You’re so dramatic!” The civilian yelled.
“Shut up,” the villain snapped from the driver’s seat.
As an obligatory reminder, this story stems from a prompt that was given to both me and @the-modern-typewriter! She made an amazing novella out of it on her patreon!! I hope you'll enjoy my version as well :) Sorry it's taken me...literally a year to make a third part.
The gunfire was so deafening that it almost covered the screaming. Almost.
Before they’d even crossed the threshold to the outside, the shots were head-splitting enough to send Eloise scrambling to cover her ears. All she could see from their current vantage point was a sliver of the courtyard framed by blue sky.
It was too friendly a blue, too ordinary and ideal, for such an ugly day.
Someone pushed past them out into the open, wielding fists of fireballs and a battle cry. In moments, they dropped to the ground. The fire snuffed itself out as blood spilled from the hole in his head.
Whimpering, Eloise backed away from the space in the outermost wall where someone had blown open an exit, all jagged edges and crumbling concrete. It resembled a too-wide jaw; a yawning mouth cracked open and baring its teeth.
Her mind flashed to Frenzy’s mouth, stretched impossibly until it tore, and shuddered.
A hand caught the back of her neck, gently enough. Eloise still jumped. Artisan made a soothing sound. “You can do this.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
She was already shaking her head, murmuring something incoherent and horrified.
“Eloise.”
His voice, calm as it was, snatched up her attention like the crack of a whip. She stared up at him in what she could only imagine was some terrible parody of a doe-eyed fawn bathed in blinding headlights.
Artisan’s hand rose from her neck to cup the side of her jaw. Given what those hands could do, it shouldn’t have been so grounding; so reassuring.
He held her gaze. “You’re going to get us past the guns alive. And I’m going to protect you. Hey-” A gentle stroke of the cheek dragged her wandering eyes back up to his. Haunting. Beautiful. Eyes of endless depths she’d caught watching her read to him on many occasions. “You can do this. Take a deep breath.”
Eloise heaved in a clumsy breath that gusted out of her in the same second. Artisan’s lips twitched upward.
“Slowly. Match me.” Still cradling her cheek, Artisan demonstrated an exaggerated deep breath, then another. Eloise copied him as best as she could manage until she felt a little lighter. “Good.”
Eloise swallowed. “What if my power fails?”
“It won’t.” Artisan took a step closer, and it stole her breath all over again. “Close your eyes.”
Eloise gawked. “Wh-”
“Eloise.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, hugging her arms around her torso.
When he spoke again, his voice was a quiet thing, low and soft yet resonant still with all the power of, well, one of the greatest supervillains alive.
“When you are reading a book,” he said, “everything else around you slips away. You lose yourself in a world of inked pages, and nothing else exists. I’ve watched you pore over chapter after chapter, reading aloud on autopilot. Sometimes you forget that I am even in the room with you. And I’m me.”
“I-”
“Go to that place now. Focus only on your ability. We are going to walk out that door, and you’re going to camouflage our presence. They’ll look past us. We’ll walk away safely. Picture it.”
She did. Eloise allowed herself to imagine wrapping the two of them in enough influence to trick others’ eyes into skipping over them, seeing them as ordinary and belonging as the bugs in the grass. She pictured safety and steaming showers and warm blankets on her worn-but-still comfy mattress. She thought of home and books in her thrifted armchair; of pages that smell antique and crisp and make just the right sound when you turn them.
Eloise opened her eyes. The fear still buzzed in her chest, but the world felt less like it was about to collapse.
Artisan gave a slight nod at whatever he saw on her face. “Good girl. Let’s go.”
In what felt both like an instant and an eternity, they were outside. Artisan kept a hand on Eloise’s shoulder to steady her forward, murmuring encouragements and instructions beside her.
Eloise tried to narrow her focus to just the two of them, willing the landscape to swallow them up into imperceivable specks of dust. They took two strides, three.
There were bodies everywhere.
Villains, even guards clamoring for escape, were mowed down. Snipers lined the roof, the watchtowers… A glance around revealed more on every side. They continued to creep forward with bated breath, dodging carnage with every new step.
Eloise’s toe caught on the leg of a corpse, and she squeaked, jerking away.
Artisan grabbed her arm, pulling her close again. She could feel the perception barrier around them flickering.
“Relax. Focus.” He said it like it was nothing. Like they weren’t staring down a firing squad, navigating a labyrinth of corpses and blood. “Close your eyes for me.”
The thought of being blind in the belly of so much danger made an embarrassing sound catch in her throat.
“You’re distracted by what you see,” Artisan continued. “Close your eyes. Focus all of your attention on masking us. I will guide you. Eloise- I will protect you if you help me. I need your help.”
I need your help.
The plea was simple, a disguise of its own, but it settled between her ribs all the same. Her eyes pressed closed. She concentrated on blending in. On protecting them both.
They were moving again. Artisan’s hands on her arms led her forward, weaving through the devastation with surprising grace. Despite his smooth guidance, she felt clumsy and staggering. If she tripped over another body… Her stomach squeezed.
Someone screamed. Eloise’s gaze snapped to them as she found herself clinging to Artisan’s side. The source of the shouting dropped to his knees, hands behind his head–a security guard from inside–leaking red from his side. “Please, it’s Mallard! It’s Mallard! I work here, I’m on your side! Please, help me, help–”
He dropped like a stone. Blood trickled down his forehead.
Eloise choked on words that wouldn’t come. The world seemed to tilt, fuzzy at the edges.
“Eloise-” Artisan’s voice seemed very far away.
She was only distantly aware of more gunfire as Artisan pushed in front of her.
Artisan hissed through his teeth, clutching his chest. He staggered back a step, a jarring contrast to his usual bird-like elegance. Eloise stared, horrified.
“Cover us, cover us now,” he said, his tone bleeding with urgency.
“Are you-”
“Now, Eloise!”
His tone spiked fresh fear up her spine, and Eloise closed her eyes, covering her ears as she pictured the two of them fading into the landscape with the same ease as a smudge in a watercolor painting. The veil slid thinly into place, fragile, like stretched skin. Eloise trembled with effort.
At the same time, Artisan jerked her to the side as another barrage of bullets chased them.
Eloise squealed, bearing down on her focus as if sinking her teeth in.
“I’m trying!” she snapped, just in case it wasn’t obvious. Just in case the effort mattered at all.
“You can do more than you think you can,” Artisan said. “I can feel it in you. You can do more than affect just us. You can affect them. You can change what they see; how they see us. Reach out in your mind. Change their perception.”
She imagined her power stretching in all directions, each line a stream in a spider’s web. She tapped gently at the windows of each guard’s mind and left a new idea there, coaxing them to forget what they’d seen. To move past it. To completely disregard the villain and his volunteer accomplice.
The shooting slowed, then stopped. The concentration left her dizzy and wobbling, sinking her to her knees on the ground.
She only opened her eyes when Artisan scooped her into his arms.
“Don’t stop,” he murmured, walking on with her, “You’re doing beautifully.”
She stared at the hole in his chest, jumpsuit soaked through with blood. “You’re hurt- You should be dead.” Dumbly, too boldly, she pressed a hand over the wound. She’d blame the fatigue.
“Dead?” He clicked his tongue. “Not so easily done.”
She could feel the skin and muscle beneath her hand shifting, warping, weaving back together. Relief flooded her. “Oh.”
“Oh.” Artisan was smiling again. “Don’t lose your focus. We’re nearly there. You might not want to look.”
As they neared the final gate, the guards began to drop one by one. Eyes glazed over, necks twisted and wrenched out of place. Moving as if puppeteered, the last one standing buzzed open the gate, finally leaning into the fence’s barbed wire to cut through his own throat. The blood gurgling out was quiet as he, too, fell to the ground with a soft thud.
Eloise really wished she’d looked away. Her insides heaved.
The strain of keeping them unnoticed tugged at her every nerve ending with a plea for relief. She’d never pushed herself so hard before. Her vision hazed in a dark vignette.
“You didn’t have to kill them,” she said softly, closing her eyes. Her head felt cracked in two. “I wish you hadn’t.”
Just a little farther and she could let go…
Artisan stroked back her hair, carrying her through the open gate out into freedom. His voice was something silken and velvet, something wicked and monstrous. She could feel the smile there. “Oh, sweetheart, but I wanted to.”
She finally blacked out.
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Part 2 to the one where Hero gets beaten up by their mentor and decides to join villain (maybe I should start titling these things?). Took longer on this than I thought and my brain kept wanting to go in different directions with this. So if anyone's interested in the softer or harder version of this I've got most of that writ too. Just couldn't decide how villainous I wanted the villain to be or if I just wanted them to be a big ol' softy. Anyways, hope you guys like what I ended up going for xxx
Part 1
“Drink this,” Villain said, handing Hero a cup of tea.
“Thanks,” Hero mumbled, voice sore and eyes tired as they breathed in the warmth.
“Do we need to have a talk about hiding injuries?” Villain asked whilst the bath was still running.
“No,” Hero assured.
“Good. Then I’ll ask: do you have any serious injuries that need looking at before I leave you alone for however long it takes you to have a bath?” Villain gave Hero a pointed look.
“I do not.”
“Because I have a first aid kit,” Villain pressed. “And a doctor on call who’s very discreet.”
“I promise the worst that I got is probably just some heavy bruising,” Hero smiled reassuringly.
Villain was most assuredly not reassured.
“Sorry,” Hero said sheepishly. “I was aiming for light-hearted, but I guess I failed.”
“It’s hard to pull off when you look like that and sound like you’re two seconds away from crying again.”
Hero looked down at their mug, hair falling over their eyes.
“Who did this to you?” Villain asked.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Of course you don’t. But I’m sure you’d rather get this part over and done with than let it continue weighing on you.”
Hero said nothing. Continuing to avoid eye contact with Villain.
“I’ll find out either way of course,” Villain said casually, which suddenly got Hero’s attention. “But if you spare me the trouble, I may take into account your opinion on how they’re dealt with.”
“You can’t kill him.”
“Killing him will be the least of his concerns,” Villain smiled, mentally noting Hero referred to their attacker as ‘he’.
Hero tried to stand, ready to protest or argue or something they hadn’t completely thought through, but they flinched at the first movement as pain wracked their body, hot tea spilling against their hand and onto their lap.
“Don’t be silly, sit down,” Villain tutted, taking the mug from Hero and using a tea towel to dry them off. Thankfully the tea wasn’t boiling. Villain looked up and their eyes met with Hero’s bloodshot ones, still as on the verge of tears as they had been when they picked them up. Their face was fine for the most part: slight graze on the side of their forehead and a split lip. Villain could tell by how reluctant Hero was to show them that the worse wounds were where they couldn’t see. “He’d deserve it, you know.”
Hero bit their lip as they tried to think of a solution or some way to convince Villain not to seek vengeance on their account. Their mind came up annoyingly blank however as their aching body kept dragging their thoughts back to the alley.
“Can I have time to think it through?” Hero asked in a desperate attempt to stall for time until their brain finally cooperated.
Villain considered them for a moment.
“No,” they answered. “Tell me now, or I’ll find another means.”
Hero’s heart sank.
“This isn’t fair.”
“I know,” Villain answered gently. “I’m not a good person, darling. But you knew this when you called me. Just like you knew I would do everything in my power to protect you and that includes dealing with the scum that dared to lay a finger on you.”
Hero curled into themselves more and Villain knew they were pushing them, but they couldn’t stop themselves. A rage burned inside them that begged to be sated. Hero wasn’t safe- couldn’t be safe whilst there was someone out there who thought they could do this to them and get away with it. And if they did it once, they would do it again, and again, and again-
“You can’t fight him,” Hero muttered as they aggressively rubbed away tears. Their voice so quiet it was a wonder how it managed to cut through Villain’s thoughts.
Villain picked Hero up gently in their arms, shifting the two of them around so that Villain sat in the armchair with Hero curled up into their lap, holding them and rubbing their back, waiting for the sobbing to stop. In this position, Villain’s eyes landed on the small box of belongings Hero had left beside the door. It was a ridiculously small amount of things that Villain was sure couldn’t possibly be everything they owned. However, feeling Hero’s small frame hiding beneath their clothes, Villain did begin to worry that was the case.
“Do you need somewhere to stay?” Villain asked, a puzzle beginning to form and slowly solve itself in their head.
Hero nodded against Villain’s chest.
“And you’re asking me? What about friends or family?”
Hero shook their head.
“Friends kicked me out,” they muttered. “Haven’t got any family.”
“What about your team? Don’t you guys have a headquarters or something you can stay at?”
Hero stiffened, and the last of the puzzle pieces fell together. Because at the end of the day, Hero didn’t just call Villain for help. Villain asked Hero to join them, and Hero finally said yes.
“Don’t,” Hero said, fists clenching against Villain’s shirt.
“Not today,” Villain assured. “I’m not leaving you now, don’t worry.”
“Don’t fight them. Please.”
“That depends. Were all of them involved or was it just one specific person?” Villain asked, knowing the answer. Hero said nothing and Villain sighed. “Give me a name, darling. Let me focus my rage on one person and I won’t go digging to see if anyone else is worthy of it.”
“I don’t want you to hurt people because of me.”
Villain lifted Hero’s chin so they could look them in the eyes.
“Him getting hurt will be the consequence of his actions, not yours,” Villain said, desperately wanting Hero to understand. “You are not to blame for any of this.”
Hero went silent for a while and Villain let them; unsure whether Hero was thinking things over or decided to be stubborn. Either way, Villain held them close until the bath had finished filling.
They found a singular set of spare clothes amongst Hero’s things that didn’t look comfy at all and decided to grab a set of their own for them to wear. They led Hero to the bathroom and pointed out where everything was before leaving them to it.
“…Mentor,” Hero mumbled as Villain was about to shut the door. They looked back to see Hero facing away from them and towards the floor. “It was Mentor that- we had an argument and I…” Hero took a deep breath, and the weight on their shoulders seemed a little lighter. “I put myself first for once.”
Hero turned to Villain, a big grin on their tear-stained face.
“Felt good.”
Le general tagliste: Dear god, there's more of you! @whumplicity, @doctorsawyer, @stupidlypurplemist, @neon-kazoo, @elfwhump, @imgoingtobiteyounow, @chaotic-orphan, @jumpywhumpywriter, @hymnusadbacchum, @atomicduckthefirst
Le people who asked for a part deux and are not on ze above: @whumping-times, @human-123-person, @thepurpleghoul
how much do harrison and aiden actually know about each other (their lives outside the wru, each others personalities, etc)? they spend so much time together that i’m wondering if it ever comes up in conversation
I had this in the drafts ever since Toothache as an immediate follow-up and it turned out to be perfect for filling this ask.
Masterlist
cw: noncon drugging, needle mention, restraints, harrison going too far
He falls asleep wondering what Harrison did with the time freed up by leaving early. With all the hours spent on his ‘extra-curriculars’, does he have to play catch up at work or does his flagrant disregard for rules mean he’d just go home? He has to be pulling his weight at his day job, he’d never risk his basement side hustle.
It’s difficult to picture Harrison anywhere else. In kindergarten, his class mailed around Flat Stanley over the summer. Everyone took pictures of the laminated cut-out at various summer destinations. Theme parks and campgrounds, stretches of sand on the coastline. His photo was from the end of his cul-de-sac.
Harrison feels almost the same. He can only picture him in his scrubs and lab coat, which just looks ridiculous superimposed into a grocery store. Pushing a cart full of…what? He’s never seen him eat. Coffee is the only certainty. Can’t picture him at a gas station pumping gas. What kind of car does he drive? He must have awful road rage. Does he keep his gloves on to pump gas? It all looks wrong. Beyond that, it gets even harder. How does he talk to other people? Can strangers tell there’s something off about him? Is Harrison’s apartment also sterile and impersonal? Is he just humanizing the monster that cuts him open every day?
For the first time in as long as he can remember, he wakes up on his own. And not just because he’s trying not to be caught off guard like in the beginning. No Harrison slapping him or accosting him with an exam in place of an alarm.
The head of the bed is still raised in a gentle recline. Harrison must have given him extra time to sleep, there’s no other explanation for how well-rested he feels. Harrison certainly has little, if any, life outside this place. That’s the only way he could hold down what must be a full-time job and manage to sneak down here for hours at a time. Did Harrison treat himself to a long breakfast? He can’t imagine Harrison sleeping in. Or sleeping at all for that matter. Is Harrison a perfunctory-only cook? He certainly has the precision to follow a recipe but there’s nothing creative about him. His Myers-Briggs is robot.
(He’s doing it again, humanizing him.)
There was only one other time, at least that he can remember, when Harrison left him alone for what must have been days at a time. He actually started to worry the saline would run out. No explanation when Harrison returned and he was too afraid to ask in case it was a punishment. For all he knows, Harrison leaves him sedated for days or weeks at a time. The heart monitor picks up its pace at the thought and his palms start to sweat.
By the time Harrison deigns to show up, he’s practically shaking. He pointedly ignores the opaque plastic bag Harrison drops between his bound ankles and tries to play his mounting nerves off as chills.
Harrison wastes no time pulling on a pair of gloves to stick a thermometer in his ear. “Finally,” he mutters, when it beeps that it’s finished without the added tones signaling a high temperature.
“What did you have for breakfast?” he blurts, if only to distract himself.
Harrison snorts. “What kind of question is that?”
His face heats but he tries to get off the back foot. “You don’t want to tell me?”
“Open.”
He swallows and obeys. Harrison clicks on his penlight and runs a gloved fingertip along his gumline until he finds the sore spot. It still hurts. The pressure makes him inhale sharply, but it’s not nearly as bad as yesterday.
Satisfied, Harrison releases him and pockets the light. “I don’t care,” Harrison says, stepping back, out of his line of sight. “Eggs.”
“Oh.” He’s not sure what he expects to get out of this. He eyes the bag at the foot of the bed and tries to hear what Harrison is preparing behind him. His heart starts to stutter. “What kind?”
Silence. Then, “What are you doing?”
“What? Nothing.” His panic makes him sound like he is guilty of something. He clears his throat. “You’re awfully defensive about your breakfast.”
“Do you hear how ridiculous you sound?”
“Right back at you.”
Harrison returns, pulling the instrument tray along with him. He cranes the millimeter of leeway he has to check that all it holds is a surgical basin and the nozzled water bottle. “We’re not doing this,” Harrison says flatly.
“Doing what? I just asked how you eat your eggs.”
“You cannot possibly be that bored.”
“Try me.”
Harrison rolls his eyes and lowers the head of the bed so he’s lying flat. He reaches for the plastic bag. “This should entertain you plenty.” He pulls out a brand new toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste.
“You’re kidding.”
Harrison tears open the toothbrush.
“No. No way.” He wishes he could shake his head, turn away. He balls his hands into fists and pulls at the restraints out of habit.
“I promise I’ll be gentle,” Harrison mocks, unscrewing the toothpaste.
His stomach twists. “Harrison.”
“You’re acting like I’m trying to put a scalpel in your mouth. Look—” He turns the tube of toothpaste so he can see. “I even got mint for you.”
“What? That’s the most universal flavor. Everyone uses mint.”
“Exactly, I could have gotten you something disgusting, like children’s blue raspberry that’s safe to swallow, but I decided to be nice.”
“Your sainthood must be in the mail.”
Harrison snorts a laugh. “Alright, stop stalling.” He squeezes a line of green paste onto the pristine white brush.
“Wait, wait.” The heart monitor blares and he pulls uselessly against the restraints.
“Jesus,” Harrison says, eyes flicking to the screen. “There’s no way it still hurts that much and this is more for your other teeth anyway. Pretend you’re at the dentist.”
“It doesn’t,” he agrees frantically. “Please, it’s just—”
He sits back on the stool. At least he’s not standing over him. “What?”
“Please?” Tears well in his eyes.
Harrison raises his eyebrows.
He doesn’t say anything. He feels hot and sticky, his heart still racing. He wants to squirm, wrap his arms around himself, hold a hand out in defense.
Time’s up. Harrison stands and reaches for his chin.
“Please, I don’t—I can’t—” Harrison pauses above him, gloved hand midair. He swallows a sob, forces himself to take a deep breath. “Please, Harrison. Please let me do this by myself.”
“Seriously?”
He wishes he could nod instead of having to speak. “Yeah.” His voice cracks.
“Why this?”
“It’s just—” His mind unhelpfully recalls the sponge bath debacle. The heart monitor ticks up again. “I don’t know.”
Harrison clicks his tongue. “Well try because I already don’t give a shit.”
He bites his lip. It’s a risk but he’s pretty sure his chances of changing his fate are scalpel-thin anyway. “I don’t think that’s true at all.”
Harrison does not look amused.
“Just admit it,” he rushes to say before Harrison tries to garrote him with the toothbrush.
“I’m not the focus here,” Harrison says flatly.
“You were worried yesterday. Genuinely worried.”
“Only about losing someone who can actually handle this.” Harrison keeps his tone level but he shifts his weight between his feet.
He stifles a smirk. “It’s more than that, you could sedate me way more than you do.”
“It’s not about your personality.”
“Prove it,” he challenges, maybe a little too confidently.
Harrison thinks for a minute, a crease appearing between his blond brows. He wants to slap the smug look off his face the minute Harrison starts grinning. “I never named you.”
He feels it like a sucker punch but scrambles to recover. “Yeah but you know all my names.”
“That doesn’t count. Those are past lives. I know those people as well as any other stranger on the street.”
He can’t quite fill his lungs.
Harrison waits a minute to see if he’s done. “Honestly, I give it a B minus for effort. You’re capable of more.” Harrison pulls the overhead light into position and clicks it on. “Open up.”
He swallows, blinking through tears. Even though he’s mostly just blinded, he tries to plead with his eyes.
“God, you’re being so dramatic.”
Harrison brushes one tooth at a time. Top, inside, outside, moving methodically from back to front.
He locks every muscle, pulls against each restraint, grounding himself with anything other than the feeling of Harrison’s gloved finger holding his cheek to the side and…brushing his fucking teeth for him. He tries not to think about how few things he has left that make him feel like a person.
“Are you going to cry the entire time?” Harrison groans. “Is it because of your unrequited dream to hold a toothbrush again or are you still upset about being nameless?”
Harrison doesn’t stop brushing his teeth, so he must not expect an answer.
“Don’t waste your tears on the last one, it’s not like we’re on a first-name basis anyway.”
He forgets about the light and opens his eyes but of course he can’t see shit. He bites the toothbrush.
“Hey, watch it,” Harrison warns.
“What do you mean,” he grits through his locked jaw.
Harrison pulls at the toothbrush. “Open your mouth.”
He doesn’t like defying him when he can’t see his face but he does it anyway. “Answer the question.”
Harrison sighs long-sufferingly. “I’m a doctor,” he says, like it answers everything.
He doesn’t let go of the brush .
“Dr. Harrison.” He clicks his tongue, irritated. “Harrison is my last name. I’m not going around introducing myself like some fucking pediatrician or Dr. Phil.”
Dr. Harrison.
“Can we finish this now?”
Harrison grips the toothbrush again and he lets him have it, jaw a little slack anyway as he tries to wrap his head around the fact that he really doesn’t know the first thing about him.
“Spit.”
“What?”
Harrison taps the basin against his chin. “Spit.”
He’s sitting up again. He does as he’s told. Harrison gives him a mouthful of water from the nozzle of the bottle, has him swish it around and spit again. Harrison disappears, the sound of the sink following. He doesn’t even care that he didn’t get an actual drink of water.
He waits for the sink to shut off. “I can’t believe you’ve been lying to me this whole time, even after all your pious bullshit.”
Harrison sighs behind him. “I’m not.”
“Fine, lying by omission. Whatever.”
Harrison rolls into view on the stool, pocketing his phone. “Are you going to be like this all day?”
“Fuck you.”
Harrison rolls his eyes. “Why do you care so much about my name? It’s not like we’re fucking, as you incessantly remind me.”
The back of his neck prickles hotly. “Yeah, you’re just cutting me open and rearranging my nerves.”
“Exactly. It’s completely different.”
“Oh, get fucked.” He looks up, blinking away angry tears.
“What?” Harrison asks, with all the trimmings of someone writing an AITA? post.
“You’ve had your hands inside my skull.”
“So?” Harrison matches his volume. “That doesn’t entitle you to anything. This isn’t a partnership. I owe you nothing.”
“Fuck you.” He’s crying now but he pushes on anyway. “This is a two way street and you know it. You rely on me not to croak just as much as I rely on you not to fucking kill me.”
“And?”
“Unbelieveable.”
Harrison fiddles with the collar of his lab coat. “This is just work. You’re confused if you think my investment in not having to start from scratch has anything to do with you personally.”
He laughs bitterly. “You’re blinded by your God complex.”
Harrison seethes. For a split second he feels afraid. “And you clearly haven’t overcome all of your brainwashing if you’ve…imprinted on me like this.”
“Do you even hear yourself?” He scoffs. “How ridiculous you sound?”
“Hey—”
“You refuse to see it. You’re not just lying to me, you’re lying to yourself.”
“I’m leaving.” Harrison spins on his heel.
“Yeah, run away. That’ll prove me wrong.”
Harrison keeps walking.
“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
“You’re impossible,” Harrison mutters.
“You’re a fucking liar,” he shouts.
“Enough.” He turns back and halves the distance between them in a blink, gloved finger raised in warning.
He tries to catch his breath, searching Harrison’s face. Harrison waits, unblinking, his own chest rising and falling faster than usual.
Maybe it’s knowing Harrison could have killed him yesterday and didn’t that spurs him on. Or maybe he has a death wish afterall.
“Or. What.”
Harrison’s expression darkens.
Every muscle in his body tenses as Harrison steps closer. He holds his breath and bites his tongue to stop himself from taking it back. But Harrison passes to the cabinets behind him. He hears the snap of a glass bottle being set down on the metal countertop and his heart stops.
When he sees the needle, the tears come on their own but he still doesn’t back down. Second chances don’t exist in Harrison’s world anyway.
Harrison injects it into his neck because he knows exactly how much he hates it.
Because it is personal.
He meets Harrison’s glare and waits for something, anything. Pain, hallucinations, hives all over his body until his throat closes, hours of vomiting. There’s no way Harrison would pick the euphoria one again but he wouldn’t put anything past him.
It’s a sedative.
The sound of the heart monitor grows distant, as does his awareness of his breath. He thinks a sob slips from his lips but he can’t hear it.
Harrison doesn’t blink, doesn’t yield.
“You’re still running away,” he slurs.
Everything goes black.
***
He’s face down on the table when he comes to. Of course he is. The awareness of how he secured his most recent medically-induced coma hits him like a train.
“Can you read that?” Harrison sticks his phone into his eyeline. It’s the lock screen, the time and date over an abstract swirl of colors. “October 12th. I put you out three days ago.” Harrison pulls his phone back and sticks another needle into his neck.
“You’re proving me right.” He’s not sure it comes out as words at all.
Back to darkness.
***
Face down, again. Or still. His head aches but he remembers. Unfortunately.
Harrison holds out his phone for him to see. “October 17th,” he reads.
His heart stutters.
“That’s five more days, in case you can’t do the math.”
“Is that the stock background?” he grits, his throat dry. “A liar and a psycho.”
Pinch.
Gone.
***
The phone is blurred by his tears the third time.
“October 26th.” Harrison’s voice sounds far away. “Nine more days.” Harrison pauses, clears his throat. “Seventeen in total.”
He doesn’t want this, he wants to apologize.
Harrison doesn’t give him the chance.
The darkness chokes him into silence. He didn’t even feel it this time.
***
Something is different.
He’s on his back and the head of the bed is raised. There are scans on the light box that weren’t there before.
“We’re testing a new set of electrodes today,” Harrison says quietly, looking down as he types something on the tablet.
He can’t see Harrison’s face to know how to respond. He doesn’t have it in him to keep fighting, not if it means being exiled into a coma again. If Harrison’s still furious, silence might be better than an apology. He waits.
A handful of minutes pass. Harrison puts away the tablet and comes to stand at his side. He just looks tired. From his expression to his eyes and the way he carries himself, hands hanging limp at his sides.
“Okay?” Harrison asks softly.
He tries to nod until the restraint reminds him he can’t. He swallows. “Okay.” It comes out a whisper. Fitting for how precarious and fragile everything feels.
Here are the 2024 vaccine recommendation schedules. They’ve already been wiped from the cdc site. Save them and share widely, especially to your friends with kids.
The invisible force holding the door open grew and forced the door wide. Kira didn't wait for what would happen next. She turned and ran.
She was just past the threshold of her kitchen when her body was forced to a stop. It felt like she had been enveloped by an invisible blanket. She had put herself in a blanket burrito before to help soothe her anxiety. This time it provided no comfort.
"No no no no." She sputtered before realizing she still had her voice. "HEL-"
Wraith's hand covered her mouth, silencing her before she could fully release the cry.
"Shhh," he cooed as he stroked her hair. "Shhh. I'm not here to hurt you."
Kira didn't believe them. Why else would he be here? What other reason would he have to attack her in her home?
"Hey, hey." Wraith moved his hand from her mouth and stroked the tears from her cheeks.
"I did what you said. I didn't tell Sentinel anything. I didn't tell anyone." She shook her head, trying to get his hands off of her. It wasn't comforting. It just increased the trapped feeling. A worm on a string that he could do what he wanted with.
"I know." Wraith smiled. "You did wonderfully."
"Then why? Why are you here?"
The smile left Wraith's face and returned to the professionally stern look Kira had seen often during her time with him. "Let's talk."
He dropped his hand from Kira's face and started moving towards the living room.
Wraith seemed comfortable in the space. Like he knew its layout from visiting previously. Kira realized with growing horror that he probably had.
Kira yelped when she was suddenly moved forward. The invisible blanket stayed around her as it moved her deeper into her apartment and towards her couch.
Once she was seated, the invisible blanket released her, but it didn’t fully abate. She could feel its pressure hovering just above her skin. A sensation that lead her to believe that if she tried to move, it would smoother her into the couch in return.
Wraith took a seat on the coffee table across from her.
"I'm sorry that your involvement in," he looked around briefly, "all of this, did not end when you returned as I promised. Sentinel did not loose interest as I expected him to. I suspect he enjoys being needed by you."
Kira shook her head. "I don't need him."
Well, maybe she did in this moment. Maybe she was looking for the opportunity to summon him with the press of her emergency button. Being home today, with what she thought would be no risk to her safety, she had left it on her nightstand. She could feel its absence burning a hole in her pocket.
But that didn't mean that, in general, she needed him.
Wraith's eyebrows rose as if he knew exactly what Kira was thinking.
"He comes here regularly to check in on you. He showed up that day at the store." Wraith looked Kira over. "I see that you don't have the emergency button on you at the moment. Noted."
Kira ignored his comment on the distress signal. "He comes because he's hoping I'll have more information to share with him."
Wraith hummed. "And it couldn't be a 'good guy' hoping to get his in?"
That threw Kira. She had no interest in Sentinel, as a friend or romantically. She was polite to him because she needed to be. She entertained his visits because she had to. So she could convince him she didn't know anything. She called him that day because in her panic that was the only option to get out.
"He's a hero doing his job."
"I didn't realize stalking was part of the hero job description."
"What are you talking about?"
"He's been following you. Since the moment you were returned. Every time you have left your apartment he has followed you. Far enough that you don't spot him but he's been there. That's how he was there that day at the store."
"No." Kira responded without thinking. "I pushed the emergency button that day. Fight or flight kicked in."
"Is that what he told you? Do you remember actually using that button?"
She... she must have. The distress signal brought him to the store. Why else would he... what reason would he have to lie?
If he was actually stalking you and didn't want you to know, a voice in Kira's head quipped.
She shushed that voice with a point of her own. "It sounds to me like you are the stalker."
"My men have been keeping tabs on Sentinel, which resulted in me keeping tabs on you as well. Outside of the first week after your release, my men weren't tasked with following you."
Kira studied Wraith. She obviously knew that he was a villain. Villains needed to be good liars by nature. For whatever reason, Kira's gut told her that he was being honest.
"What's your problem with Sentinel?" Wraith's eyes zeroed in on her.
Kira continued quickly, "I mean besides you two being arch enemies?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
"I'm not stupid. I know you two have some sort of history."
"You're a smart woman, Kira. You and I know that knowledge would come at a steep price." He studied her for a moment before continuing. "Are you interested in paying that price?"
Also to be clear if you put the new Harry Potter show on my dashboard I will be unfollowing and probably blocking you. JK Rowling is responsible for the death and pain of too many trans people to count in my country and I cannot tolerate her new way of trying to gain cultural and financial power in any way shape or form.
I don't even want to see critiques of it. I don't want to see hatewatch reviews about how bad or dumb or racist or transphobic parts of it are like people did for the fantastic beasts movies of the hogwarts video game. You are part of the problem. Do not feed the machine. Let it die. You do not need to consume media you don't like just to show off to everyone else how much you don't like it. It's especially heinous if you say something like "I'm donating the cost of a movie ticket or a month's streaming subscription to a trans charity," because that doesn't balance the scales, it doesn't negate the evil, it just shows you are willing to support both sides, making you a spineless coward.
Just fucking ignore it and understand that it's going to be recationary on purpose. It's going to be full of bait. Warner Bros is counting on there being a ton of controversy to boost the numbers because there's no such thing as bad publicity.
DO NOT ENGAGE. Let it come and go, and maybe the numbers will be bad enough that it gets canceled before it gets to book 7. Probably not, though. This is a tentpole for WB, they're putting all their eggs in this basket, it's not gonna bomb like Morbius. They're gonna push it through to the end no matter what, so just do your part by not playing along.
