Last time Kira was here, she was in such shock and constant confused terror that all she could do was wait. This time, she needed to take action if she hoped to escape Wraith. Wraith "handling it" had only kept her involved in the hero and villain's feud.
Once she was free from Wraith, she would figure out what to do about Sentinel. Maybe she would move out of the city and back in with her mother. Get herself out of Sentinel's orbit by becoming the boring small town girl she once was. There was a reason many prey animals play dead when in danger.
It irked Kira that she had equated herself to prey and that she could see the obsession Wraith had pointed out. That what she originally saw as concern likely went beyond just wanting to take Wraith down.
Lunch got delivered at noon, or what Kira assumed was noon considering there was no clock for her to keep the time. The person who delivered it was the same as last time. A skinny guy with short cropped hair and biceps that showed under his plain black tee shirt.
Kira had some basic self defense training but she knew that guy would likely not budge. And that assumed he didn't have any abilities that would help him. With Wraith being a super, it would make sense for other members of his operations to also have powers.
He left the food on the metal chair Wraith had occupied earlier. "Mac and cheese for lunch. Dinner is going to be chicken and veggies."
Kira didn't respond. He nodded mumbled an "alright" under his breath and left. She heard the lock latch. She hadn't seen a key used.
She didn't trust that the food wasn't tampered with. Sure, last time it was fine but this was different from last time. Wraith had shown he was willing to drug her if he felt the need.
After clearing the food into the toilet, Kira moved to the metal chair by the door. It was a folding chair. She was never a huge wrestling fan but she had seen enough clips to know an improvised weapon when she saw it.
She lifted it and began practicing a swing. It was awkward to grasp, but practice would hopefully make perfect.
She practiced her breathing exercises her therapist had recommended to prevent a panic attack from creeping its way to the surface.
She leapt up from the floor by the door, chair in hand when she finally heard footsteps coming down the stairs. She positioned herself to the side of the doorway, hoping whoever dropped off her food this time wouldn't notice her immediately.
The lock clicked open and the door swung and as a voice called, "Dinner's here."
They stepped in and then looked towards the bathroom when they didn't see her on the bed. Kira took her opportunity and brought the chair crashing down on their head.
The person cried out and dropped the tray of food they were carrying. Kira didn't wait for them to recover. She was beyond the door and slamming it closed before they were able to turn back. She was thankful that the lock was a deadbolt she could twist herself.
She jumped as the person pounded their fist against the door and shouted profanities towards her. She was surprised how muffled the sound was.
Wraith had said the room was soundproof but she had thought that it was just to stop her from screaming the whole time. To find out that it was actually soundproof sent a shiver down her spine.
She turned and faced the stairs. Up those 10 steps meant some level of freedom. Climbing the stairs carefully, she peeked her head out of the opening. Dread sunk her stomach as she took in the open space. The space was open farmland, which offered few places to hide.
She was coming up out of a solitary bulkhead. Perhaps the room she was kept in was once a fall shelter or in ground wine or vegetable cellar.
A barn was across the way, and a farmhouse was a short distance away on the left. The right was a dirt road that extended into the distance where it disappeared into the tree line. The land itself was surrounded by woods.
Kira had hoped that it might be a short run from her to a road where she could flag down a passing car for help. But with this new reality before her, running was no longer a viable option. Especially while there was still light.
The pounding grew and spurred Kira into action. She ran towards the farmhouse. She might be moving closer to Wraith, but she was also, hopefully, moving closer to a phone where she could call for help.
She ducked and got herself to the side of the house. She leaned against the siding, huffing to catch her breath. By some miracle, she hadn't been spotted.
She heard voices but couldn't make out the words or specific speakers from the window above her. The pounding of her heart and quick breaths in her ear didn't help.
Deciding it wasn't worth trying to figure out what was being said, she slid along the wall until she could no longer hear the voices.
An empty back porch greeted her. She could see the light on in the room beyond the back door but she didn't see any movement. Sneaking a quick glance through the window in the door, she saw an empty kitchen.
Kitchen meant knives. Knives meant a weapon to protect herself. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
She opened the door quickly and slipped in. She thanked some higher power for not making the door squeaky. She also thanked them for having the kitchen be closed off rather than an open concept design.
She spotted the knife block on the counter and grabbed the first handle she could. It wasn't the butcher's knife but it was enough to do some damage if she needed to.
She whipped around as the door closest to her swung open.
Kira held the knife out towards the young woman who walked in. The door swung closed as she looked up from knife pointed at her to Kira. She raised her hands in the air quickly, indicating immediate surrender.
"Who are you?" Kira demanded in a harsh whisper. "What do you do for Wraith?"
The girl looked confused and shook her head.
Kira stepped towards her with the knife. The girl countered, continuing to shake her head.
"Tell me." Kira felt horrible cornering this girl by knifepoint but she had to know. She had to understand so that she could figure out her next step but what happened next froze Kira in her tracks.
The girl's hands moved frantically. Deaf, I'm deaf! I can't hear you.
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Sentir is used to talk about physical sensations (touch, smell, etc.) e.g. le gĂąteau sent bon (the cake smells good), je sens le tissu (I feel the fabric). Itâs also used to talk about perceptions e.g. je sens que cela va mal (I have a feeling this will go badly).
Se sentir is used to talk about internal feelings e.g. je me sens malade (I feel sick), elle se sent nerveuse (she feels nervous). It is followed by adjectives.
Ressentir is also used to talk about feelings, but deeper or stronger ones e.g. elle ressent une douleur intense (she feels an intense pain), elle ressent beaucoup de peur (she feels a lot of fear). It is mostly followed by nouns.
(For a more thorough explanation: this video is the best Iâve seen.)
I think a lot of people misunderstand why enemies to lovers is so popular. Itâs quickly become one of the most pervasive tropes in many novels. Is it the banter, the tension? Thatâs definitely part of it. But if that were true, then friends-to-lovers and literally any romance with good dialogue and characterization would scratch the same itch. For some, it does, but for manyâŠenemies-to-lovers just hits different.Â
My theory is that it isnât actually about love, not really. I think it fulfils a fantasy that no other trope can provide: the fantasy of being seen as an equal.Â
Think about what specifically makes someone an enemy in fiction. Itâs not just someone the MC dislikes, itâs someone who can affect them in tangible ways, maybe even have the power to ruin them, challenge their worldview, expose their weaknesses, etc. The relationship begins with conflict because the characters are fundamentally opposed in some way. It doesnât matter why, but theyâre fighting. There is a struggle for dominance.Â
I would argue that the most impactful enemies-to-lovers moments are never the romantic moments, theyâre the scenes where power shifts. They BOTH lose: theyâre forced into a position that would have horrified them at the beginning of the story. They end up needing (or wanting) each other.Â
Thatâs why I think people are often disappointed when a supposed enemies-to-lovers story turns out to be a milquetoast attempt where theyâre just kinda mean to each other for a few pages, and then immediately start making out. Whereâs the risk, the actual threat? If the characters arenât capable of genuinely affecting one another, then the relationship isnât actually transforming in a satisfying way. The appeal is in the fact that they have power over each other, because the eventual trust they build requires real surrender.
Because hereâs the thing about enemies; they pay attention, and usually more attention than anyone else. They notice weaknesses because theyâre actively looking for them, they notice strengths because they need to account for them. They notice habits, blind spots, ambitions, fears.Â
They study the MC with a level of scrutiny that borders (and later crosses) intimate, but unlike friends (or supporting characters in the MCâs corner) theyâre not willing to give them the benefit of the doubt, they donât overlook flaws out of affection. Which is exactly what makes the eventual romance so satisfying. It feels earned.Â
Itâs easy to imagine being loved by someone who sees the best version of you, but itâs an entirely different thing to be loved by someone who has seen you at your worst. Thatâs why this dynamic often feels more convincing than romances where the characters are immediately into each other.
I imagine there are many who go through life feeling misunderstood, or worse, that the people who love them only love the polished, perfect version they present to the world, almost like impostor syndrome. But what if there was someone who couldnât be fooled by this carefully constructed image?Â
When someone more powerful chooses someone, maybe the fantasy is protection. When itâs someone less powerful, the fantasy might be admiration. But if thereâs someone intelligent and observant enough to see the MC as an equal, the fantasy there is the most intense and honest validation.Â
Which means enemies to lovers was never about turning hate/annoyance into love, it was about turning power into vulnerability â which is a terrifying loss of power, which THEN leads to intimacy.Â
Yeah, I agree OP. It's about power and vulnerability!
Enemies to lovers at it's best is a wonderfully versatile kind of romance, because in the good ones you get things like:
How do you navigate opposing world views? Who challenges your ideals and values to make you a better person? How do you compromise? Because, in a good enemies-to-lovers, it can't actually be that the antagonist was never right about anything or that the protagonist was perfect, or there wouldn't be that mutual respect/attraction. They affect each other. They change each other.
Sacrifice - it's easy to love your friends, it can be easy to love when it doesn't cost you anything, but loving an enemy? What would you actually give up for love? What wouldn't you? When is love enough and when isn't it?
Redemption - not in the 'sad backstory' way, but in the way that you can be forgiven and loved despite the most monstrous or shameful things you have ever done
All of these themes tie into vulnerability, our sense of self, and our power over ourselves and others.
In a good enemies-to-lovers story I don't think it can ever feel like they are just together because it's a romance story. You have to earn it.
Enemies-to-lovers interrogates what it means to love, and how we define love, in a way that I don't think other genres do as much. But I'm also hopelessly biased so!
I love exploring toxic relationships in fiction. They are my all time favourite thing. I write antagonist / protagonist stories more than I write enemies to lovers. These are often characterised by power imbalances and other questions about love and power and vulnerability that I find fascinating to explore.
However, if we are talking 'romance' in the sense of book-marketing as a useful way of talking about specific genre conventions, with enemies to lovers being one of those conventions, that's a different thing.
A romance and a love story or a story with love in it are not the same thing and conflating the two leads to disappontment for all involved.
18 for the wij prompts? (preferably unintentional..)
18 from wij is smoke. ngl, I was like...smoke? You want me to set their house on fire? Smok...ing? Not something I can picture Leo or Aiden doing but have written for Harrison (end of this & implied here).
Anyway, I'm lying in bed thinking smoke, smoke, smoke. Nothing. I start daydreaming about what I would really like to write and what I'd really like to write is Harrison & Aiden meeting up post-Leo, with Leo there(!) even, but there's this one really crucial discovery Aiden needs to make first... and, boom, up in smoke. *Might be helpful to read this for more snippets of Aiden's fragmented recalling of his first/only contract!
(If you had a more literal smoke scenario in mind, please feel free to send it in! Also, I'm posting this whenever like wij is a fluid prompt list instead of a calendar đ«)
cw: victim self-blaming, internalized ableism, past noncon, past self-harm & past suicide attempt mentioned frankly.
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Itâs just a normal trip to the store.Â
He and Leo split up to get through the list faster. Heâs just grabbed the cereal when he sees them.Â
It always seemed too theatrical, melodramatic even, when people in movies and tv shows dropped everything in a moment of shock.Â
But itâs almost reflexive. To empty your hands when everything youâve built your life around goes up in smoke. So your fingers are free to cling to the fragments. To pluck the burning, rising remnants of all meaning out of thin air.Â
The cereal box slaps against the grey industrial linoleum, followed closely by the saltines and the mayonnaise. Thank god itâs the plastic squeeze bottle because there werenât any of the glass jars they usually buy. If it werenât for the explosions of sound in the vacuum inside his head, heâd never be able to tear himself away from that face, that expression, those eyes.Â
An impossible ghost in the flesh. Not a ghost at all.Â
And to think he felt a flash of uncertainty at the substitution of a fucking condiment minutes ago. Enough to make him hesitate for a half-second before pulling it off the shelf. Itâs the same brand and we need it for dinner, he defended to himself. (And last he checked the container the mayo comes in was not on Leoâs List. The secret one Aiden keeps diligent catalog of in his head.)Â
He stumbles back, away from the groceries heâs meant to bring back to Leo and the cart. Away from the curious, judgmental, bored, prying looks of the other shoppers. Heâs not fast enough and his ruination incarnate starts to turn. Either from the noise or the sense of being near a spectacle and wanting, needing to make sure youâre not it.Â
Aiden spins and smacks right into a scowling, broad woman but doesnât stop long enough to make sense of her clucking accusation as he mechanically and clumsily rushes from the store. His skin prickles under the weight of a too-familiar glare on his back but he canât bring himself to turn and meet it, confirm he hasnât immediately been passed over as a random weirdo. He weaves around someoneâs cart at the last second, almost takes down a whole stack of Nilla Wafers and knocks shoulders with someone else in his careening retreat until finally heâs stumbling over the rubber spaghetti carpet of the entrance.Â
Blessed fresh air and sunlight blinding him and all he can feel is his heart beating so hard he thinks it will crack him open and there will be nothing at all inside because he doesnât know whatâs left. Maybe one of the bored stock workers will lend him some notes for taking inventory.Â
He ducks down the space between the grocery store and the Barnes & Noble. Itâs not the skinny alley he wishes it were but he can tuck behind the fenced off dumpster, beside a stack of empty wooden pallets, and pretend itâs the best hiding spot in the world.Â
His breath rattles through his throat, lungs like wet plastic bags caught on branches in the wind. For a second, he thinks he might pass out. His thoughts have slowed to a crawl. Glacial in grasping onto the next rung of reality, they just hang there suspended. Flight, freeze, at least he got out of there before fawn tripped along.Â
Laughter climbs out of his mouth, jolting him back to the brick of the building behind his back, the asphalt where he sits. He has to clap both hands over his wild, hysterical grin before it slices his head in half like a watermelon. What is he even made of? Instead of nothing at all, maybe itâs just liquified now, syrupy juice will run down his ears, over his nose and lips. The overturned top of his head a tiki bowl on the pavement. Just waiting for someone like Harrison to slip a straw in, stir it around and take a taste.Â
Youâre being dramatic, the Harrison in his head says flatly. As close as if he were resting his temple on Aidenâs shoulder. Watching the whole scene unfold like a movie he would never choose but will obstinately sit through to the bitter end, if only for the opportunity to heckle as proof of his superiority. You can pick next time, Aiden easily cedes. Somatic comfort in giving him exactly what he wants, folding to the familiar dynamic, because that well-worn crease is rest compared to resisting. Whatâs the point?Â
His phone buzzes in his pocket. Once. Twice. Heâs been out here long enough Leo decided heâs taking too long. Heâll make a lap or two around the whole store. Then heâd pretend finding Aiden early was serendipitous. All the while swallowing a sigh of relief, playing at nonchalance when just a second ago he was pulling out his phone in a panic. Â
But Aidenâs nowhere to be found so Leo does call. His phone pulses with the fear Leo must be feeling but Aiden canât bring himself to share in it, canât seem to move. He just waits for the second call to come a heartbeat later, buried in his hoodie. For Leo to use the Find feature to get Aidenâs phone to sing a chorus of shrill beeps, silenced or not. Sometimes he canât hear it if heâs working, if itâs across the room, or he left it on his pillow. Sorry! Heâd text back, adding a monkey emoji covering its eyes. Leo would always call him after that. Itâs okay, the first words out of his mouth. Twice, Aidenâs let the routine play out on purpose, just to have Leoâs reassurance in his ear. Squirming from the sweet guilt and the way it warmed him from the inside out. Â
He tries to see if he feels anything knowing Leo is zooming in on the little map and rushing to find him. Guilt for making him worry? Shame for losing it in public, yet again? He peels his hands off his face and presses them into the gritty pavement, tiny rocks digging into the skin of his palms, the pads of his fingers. At least he can feel that.Â
There should also be at least a tiny shred of comfort, of warmth, at the fact that Leo knows him well enough to come peering around every obstacle in the no-manâs land between the buildings to find his hiding nook. Empty handed of course because Leo would abandon anything to come to his rescue.Â
Leo kneels down, close enough to reach but leaving enough space that heâs not boxing Aiden in. Heâs not even trying to hide the fact that heâs freaked out. Face lined with worry, eyes searching and probing and Aiden knows his dead expression isnât giving him anything.Â
âAiden,â he has to ask. Heâs never gotten any better at letting Aiden suffer silently. âWhat happened? Are you alright?â
He jerks his head in a nod, drags a hand over his face to try to reset the muscles. âI saw someoneâsomeâŠtwo,â the sounds roll over his tongue, meaningless syllables. His lips twitch into a smile. She smiled. Right at him. As unreal as all the words, spoken countless times already and washed clean of all meaning they reach his lips. âTwo people.âÂ
âWhat?â Leoâs panic doubles in turn. âDid they recognize you?âÂ
He shrugs. That smile. âShe mightâve but sheâsâŠsheâs onlyâŠâ Heâs crying. âThree now.â He wipes the tears off his cheeks. âShe turned three,â he whispers to himself, grinning giddily. Testing Leoâs anxiety.Â
âAiden? What about the other person?â He looks like heâs about to throw him over his shoulder and sprint to the car.Â
âDunno.â He canât bring himself to care. Nothing else matters. She turned three. âIf he did, heâd call.â Itâs not funny but he canât help laughing. âHeâsâŠan asshole,â he laughs. âHe always hated me. Didnât stop him fucking meââ He claps both hands over his mouth but it only makes him sound more manic.Â
Leoâs jaw hangs open.Â
He tries to pull a breath through his nose, gags because he canât stop laughing. Has to release his out-of-control mouth again to choke down enough air. He flaps a hand at Leo. Itâs fine.Â
Leo shakes his head, a gentle pushback.Â
He tries harder to get a hold of himself, presses the heels of his shaking hands to his temples. Switches to covering his eyes. Pulls his hood down low over his forehead instead. Heâs still laughing. Or something close to it.Â
âI think we should leaveâŠâ Suggested with all the care of trying to balance a soap bubble on his finger tip, like Aidenâs about to detonate. (Hasnât he already?)Â
He nods, tears streaming down his face. Leo pulls him up with a strong grip around his wrist and doesnât let go of his arm. Aiden puts his head between his knees as soon as heâs buckled in, unable to remember if he did it himself or if he even opened his own door.Â
Eventually, the hysterical sounds coming out of his mouth simmer down to a silent vibration deep in his chest. A rumbling, rearranging of everything that used to hold him together.Â
Theyâre halfway home before Leo pierces the silence he let Aiden rest on for the last ten minutes. âIâm gonna need to know who you saw. Just tell me it wasnâtâŠâ He shoots a nervous glance at Aiden, testing the waters before he nevertheless throws a rock in. â...Harrison?âÂ
âNo, no.â The idea is almost enough to make him laugh all over again. Imagine. He stops himself from blurting that Harrison never touched him like that. Leo should have known already it couldnât possibly have been Harrison from that comment alone. He will have to clarify that nuance later. For some reason itâs important, a needling itch he wonât be able to leave untouched.Â
âOkayâŠâ Leo tries to give him a minute to answer on his own but heâs out of patience. Counting without Mississippis. âSo?âÂ
He leans his head against the window, watches the blur of leaves against the clouds. Theyâre already starting to turn, the first hint of fall coming in to soften the brightness of summer into shades of sepia. âMira, Mr. Park.âÂ
âWhat?âÂ
âEven after everything I did, theyâre alive.â Â
Leo blinks at him, has to brake hard when he misses the light turning yellow and itâs red by the time he looks back at the road. âYouâre serious? Aiden. Aidenââ
âLeo,â he cuts him off. Theyâve had this conversation more than once.Â
When he forced himself to confess because he couldnât bear the thought of Leo signing for legal responsibility of him without knowing. He practiced through tears night after night, condemning his reflection in the powder room mirror while Leo slept upstairs. Like a ritual of self-flagellation, punishment in equal measure for his mistakes and for still not having full faculty of his speech. A murderer, he finally articulated. What? Was it in self-defense? Leo didnât believe him. No, I killed two people. He felt his soul shake under Leoâs silence. Minutes of it, until he thought it would press the life right out of him. Did you mean to do it? Aiden shook his head. Okay. He didnât think it was right to promise he wouldnât do it again, knowing what he was capable of.Â
âIt doesnât matter now,â he tells Leoâs profile in the car. He lets himself smile again.Â
âLike fuck it doesnât matter, Aiden. You wereâŠâ Leo pulls over and stares out the windshield as the traffic streams past. He punches the steering wheel, making Aiden tense.Â
The second time, he found himself in an exhausting tunnel of nightmares about it. He couldnât see an end, thought he had to earn a reprieve. Leo caught him with a lighter, burning lines with a heated knife high on the sides of his ribcage where he thought theyâd never be seen. Heâd spelled out the entire series of events in a panicked, desperate defense, so articulate was he at last. You didnât kill anyone, youâre blameless. Leo was furious, devastated. Two people are dead because of me, because of my actions. I killed them. It was much worse than the first time. What else was a complete lie? All Aiden could do was apologize. Iâm sorry, Iâm sorry, Iâm sorry, please. Louder and louder to try to drown out Leoâs escalating desperation to find something, anything to tip the scales in his favor. Nothing was worse than letting Aiden go on believing this about himself, until it was. Did you even slit your own wrists or did Harrison come do it for you? And then he was crying too hard to get the words out and Leo surrendered, rushing in to hold him and wrap him up in a tide of his own apologies. Weâre not done with this. Heâd whispered between kisses to the crown of his head. But there was no way either of them would bring it up again.Â
It starts to rain, little drops hitting the windshield.Â
âPlease donât,â Aiden whispers, holding onto the smile even though the muscles in his cheeks are starting to tremble. Tears stinging the corners of his eyes.Â
Leo still wonât look at him. âThis is how you should have felt all along. Dead or alive, nothing that happened that day was ever your fault. You were being hurt, you were beingââ
He pulls Leoâs hand off the steering wheel. âPlease?âÂ
The most recent time, it brought itself up. A series of perfectly laid dominoes falling to pave the path to him refusing to babysit Jesseâs daughter. Leo caught on instantly and this time he was prepared. What if I had been in your position? Determined to keep his cool and find a weak spot in Aidenâs resolve. You werenât. Again and again, mapping out hypothetical situations after alternate chains of events after endless what-ifs. Would you blame me? What about Delia? Heâd just shake his head. Itâs different. There was nothing Leo could draw on from his own life, no horror heâd shared in close enough to even hold a candle to the darkness Aiden was sheltering. Please, I promise to be good, he finally said, letting tears fall from his eyes, pretending it was hard to meet Leoâs gaze. I know what youâre doing. He faked a flinch. I swear to God, Iâll spend the rest of my life trying to change your mind. He nodded solemnly, genuine in the hopelessness in his expression. Another layer of punishment to fit the crime: Leo having to share in his suffering. One more addition to the list of things heâll never repay.Â
The rain falls harder, audible on the roof of the car. Competing only with the rush of tires on the wet road outside.Â
He squeezes Leoâs hand in both of his, begging him to cede.Â
âGod.â Leo sighs, looking skyward for serenity, patience. A purer, softer kind of grace than the thorned yoke Aiden had pinned himself under. Mirroring the punishments he bore on the outside. Needless, all of it.Â
He cries from relief. Trembling in the upside down state of the world now that the smoke has cleared. Uncertain how to hold the fragile clarity that itâs within reach to deserve all the good. Maybe it wasnât smoke at all but snowfall. Everything fresh and clean, just like when Leo found him. A sob escapes his lips.Â
Leo brushes the tears from his cheeks. âComâere.âÂ
Aiden gathers fistfulls of the back of his shirt, breathing in the smell of fabric softener, of Leo, of home. He feels weightless. Cocooned in Leoâs arms and the knowledge that thereâs nothing left to forgive.Â
Hero stared at the coffee in their hands throughout the briefing, hoping it would go on just long enough for their drink to no longer be scolding hot. Theyâd only just finished their shift when the call came in, and Superhero, seeing Hero barely able to keep their eyes open, thought a quick dose of caffeine before the mission would be enough to keep them from protesting. And Hero didnât protest. Or⊠more like they couldnât. Words seemed to be a bit harder to come by now. And any arguing on Superheroâs end became impossible to retort.
Instead, Hero went through the motions, abandoning their coffee when it became evident they werenât going to drink it, and following the lead of the rest in the hopes they could maybe figure out what was going on. They blanked out a couple of times during the briefing. A couple more times during the drive over.
They had hoped the chaos of the battle would hit them with enough adrenaline to see them through, but the sight of collapsing buildings and Supervillainâs robot army seemed to make everything blue screen.
Realising this was going to be a problem, Hero gathered up a little electricity in their hand and shocked themself. The jolt pushed the fog back a little. Just enough for instinct to kick in as they fell into formation, taking out a robot that had gotten a little closer than it should have.
Robots were tricky to fight, Hero found. Too little electricity and they unintentionally power them up. Too much and they were at risk of burning out. There was a sweet spot that Hero did not have the mental faculties to calculate right now.
Too much it was.
The next three robots exploded on impact with large bolts of lightning. A bit flashier than Heroâs normal techniques but they didnât have the time or energy to care as a few more swarmed towards them.
They did the same again. Taking each of them out easily though with a high energy cost. And as the last one crumbled to the ground, they felt everything go blank. No sound, no vision, no⊠anything really. And as briefly as it started it was gone, and Superhero was there yelling in their face.
âDammit, Hero! What the hell was that?!â
âI-â
âItâs clearly quantity over quality this time, so stop wasting your energy on easy prey. I havenât got time to babysit you, so get your head in gear!â
âSorry, I-â
But Superhero didnât stay to listen to any excuses, and Hero didnât have time to call after them as Partner was starting to struggle with their own group.
Hero ran over, firing another arc of lightning, though this time trying their best to control the output. It was a success, only slightly overkill this time. They tried the same with the next few though the output wildly fluctuated. It wasnât until the last one that they messed up and instead super-charged the robot. With a sudden surge of energy, the robot flew over to Partner and landed a blow that sent them flying into a wall.
Hero cursed and fired another bolt, but the robot easily dodged and flew off, likely to launch a surprise attack on one of the others. They ran over to Partner to make sure they were alright, relieved to find them mostly just bruised.
âHero, what the fuck?!â Partner groaned, trying to sit up.
âSorry,â Hero winced as they helped them up. âI- Iâll go after them!â
They reached Superhero just as the robot knocked them into the ground, taking their normally resilient leader by surprise. Superhero took a few hits before their brain caught up and finally managed a dodge, kicking the robot back a few meters. The machine got ready for another charge but promptly burst to pieces as Hero got within range to hit it with a bolt.
Superhero turned to Hero, about to say something. Whether it was to shout a thanks or tell them off again they didnât know. The words died on Superheroâs lips as their eyes widened in horror. They opened their mouth to shout something else, but it all fell on deaf ears as Hero was hit with another fog. The darkness suddenly all-consuming and oh-so-welcoming before they came to yet again. A figure stood flush behind them, one arm around their waist whilst the other hand tilted Heroâs head up to look at them.
âBack with us, are you?â Supervillain grinned, towering over Hero in all their mechanised regalia. Hero panicked, hand going straight to Supervillainâs arm and flooded it with a significant shockwave.
âYou must really be out of it,â Supervillain cooed. âItâs been years since youâve fallen for that.â
Hero flinched, releasing their grip, but the damage had already been done. The red lights of Supervillains augmentations grew noticeably brighter as hidden empty cores suddenly found themselves at full charge.
âGod, you look awful though,â they continued, turning their gaze then to Superhero. âYou really letting your people fight in this condition?â
âLet them go, Supervillain,â Superhero demanded. âYour fightâs with me.â
âYouâre the one who brought a liability onto the battlefield. Iâm simply taking advantage,â Supervillain replied casually before returning to examine Hero. âSeriously, when was the last time you got any sleep?â
Hero tried to pull their head out of Supervillainâs grip, only for it to tighten in return.
âNone of that now, little spark,â they tutted. âI asked you a question.â
âYesterday,â Hero hissed, continuing their struggle to break free.
âTry again,â Supervillain scolded. âAnd I wouldnât come any closer if I were you, Superhero. Lest something happen to Hero here.â
Superhero stopped in their tracks, gritting their teeth as they tried to come up with a solution.
âShall I run through the calculations?â Supervillain suggested. âThe little spark just finished a twelve-hour shift. Before that, there was that emergency with Villain which took six hours to resolve. Before that was the press event which took four hours and letâs not forget those three hours you spent running errands for Partner who was stuck doing paperworkâŠâ
Hero froze in their struggles. How did they-?! They thought, mind whirring and a dread beginning to form in the pit of their stomach.
ââŠfood shop before that which took an hour and a half. Then there was all that general life admin which took four hours. Three hours visiting family, following the six hours you babysat your cousin for. And then another twelve-hour shift before that which ran seven hours overtime because a certain someone had a personal emergency,â Supervillain finished, briefly giving Superhero a pointed glance before looking back down at Hero. âDid I miss anything?â
âHow- how longâŠ?â Hero asked, horrified to hear the answer.
Supervillain only grinned in return, which Hero found far worse.
âI think we can both agree they shouldnât be out in this condition. Right, Superhero?â
Superhero said nothing, though guilt hung heavy on them like a shroud.
âItâs not their fault,â Hero protested, trying and failing to renew their struggles. âThey didnât know.â
âOf course they knew,â Supervillain said, pulling Hero tighter against them and leaning in closer to their ear. âThey all knew from just one look at you. And yet here you are regardless.â
Superhero took another step forward, and a nearby robot shot a blast at the ground just inches in front of them.
âI already said, didnât I?â Supervillain warned, and Superhero was forced to stop again.
âWhat do you want, Supervillain?â Superhero gritted. âI doubt youâre here just to critique my methods.â
âTrue,â they answered. âI might have gotten a bit distracted when I saw my little spark fumbling about instead of back home in bed. Though I will admit, it is quite fun knocking you off that high horse of yours.â
Superheroâs jaw clenched, their patience finally reaching its end. They took another step forward.
âAre you sure you want to do this?â Supervillain said. A giddy smile baring his teeth. âI still have a hostage, you know?â
âYouâre not going to kill them.â
âYou know that for certain?â Supervillain asked. Hero flinched as they leaned back into their ear, whispering frantically as Superhero sped up their advance. âYou see how they treat you? Not a care in the world for your wellbeing. Can you see it, little spark? Youâre nothing but a tool to them-!â
A robot jumped between them just as Superhero was nearly within melee, only to be knocked down instantly by Superheroâs punch. Their fist shattered the contraption in two as it crumpled into a jittering heap of sparks and machine parts. Another robot tackled them from the side, colliding into Superheroâs immovable frame. This one was grabbed by the head and flung into another advancing unit.
Before another one could get in their way, Superhero burst forward fist raised, straight towards Supervillain.
Supervillain grinned, and Hero had barely a second to get out a warning before Superheroâs fist flew⊠and met with Supervillainâs mechanised hand.
âMy turn,â said Supervillain, as the red lights on their arm brightened and crackled. Superhero hadnât recovered quick enough from the shock of getting caught before a blast of electrical discharge sent them flying backwards and into a building. Concrete walls exploding on impact as a cloud of dust obscured the air around the site.
Hero called out Superheroâs name as they tried to break out of Supervillainâs hold.
âTheyâre fine,â Supervillain chuckled, not budging in the slightest. âSomething like that isnât going to kill them outright. Which is why Iâm really glad I had some good ones in reserve.â
Several of Supervillainâs better creations landed outside the crash site, weapons charged and preparing to go in. As quickly as they could, Hero charged up and fired a bolt of lightning directly at the robot closest to the entrance. Only for Supervillain to pull Heroâs arm up just as they released it. The bolt shot through the building instead, starting a fire on the upper floors. Hero groaned as a nauseating wave of dizziness ran through them.
âWell, that was fun,â Supervillain remarked. âShall we try that again?â
âL-let go of me,â Hero cried, their vision blurring worse than it had done all day. âNeed to helpâŠâ
âI know you do, you poor little workaholic,â Supervillain sighed patronisingly, leaning their chin on Heroâs head. âTell you what, if you can stay awake for one more minute, Iâll let you join in.â
âPromise?â Hero asked, clinging onto whatever dregs of hope and adrenaline they could find.
âCross my heart. Let me know when youâre ready to start.â
Hero wasnât sure what Supervillain meant by that, but gave the affirmative as quick as they could, not wanting to waste any more time. The second they did, Supervillain placed their hand over Heroâs eyes.
âOne, two, threeâŠâ Supervillain began slowly. Their voice soft and droning against Heroâs ear. Hero tried to shake them off, but Supervillain was having none of it. âHold still now, or Iâll have to start the timer again.â Hero gritted their teeth but reluctantly stopped fighting, allowing Supervillain to continue their counting.
Supervillain stopped long before they reached sixty.
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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 screamingâor at least, he would be, if he wasn't bound and gaggedâonto 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. "IâAll 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! Helâmmph!" 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 Elliotâs 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. đ Keep your eye on the prize! đŁ 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.
âMedic!â Hero cried. The name echoed off of the empty buildings around them. Medicâs crumpled form was utterly, terribly still. Through the haze, Hero couldnât even be sure they were breathing. âMedic,â they said again, quiet, desperate. âPlease be alive. Please be okay.âÂ
An awful silence filled the air as Hero stared at Medicâs 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 couldnât 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 couldnât get them to a hospital? What if they couldnât fix it? What if they were already gone?
âOh, my.â From the alley across the street came a soft, familiar voice. âWhat have we here?âÂ
Hero saw red, anxiety transforming instantly to rage. âShow yourself, I dare you-â
âAt ease, nemesis, I beg. Youâre not in a position to be making demands anyhow.â A figure emerged from the shadows dressed all in black, a matching smoke mask covering their mouth and nose. âWhy, you couldnât even protect your own favorite teammate.â They crouched down, fingers reaching for Medicâs throat.
âVillain, I swear, if you touch them, I will murder you-â
âHush. Iâm checking for a pulse, you dunce.â A tense few seconds passed. Hero leaned forward slightly, as if they could hear Medicâs heartbeat from there.Â
They couldnât help themself. âAre they alive? Are they going to be okay?â
Villain glanced their way with a sly smile. âTheyâre alive.âÂ
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.Â
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.Â
Nervously, Hero wetted their dry lips. âWh-what are you doing?â
Villain glanced at them and raised a sly brow. âWell, we donât want the poor darling to die of smoke inhalation, do we?â
Beads of sweat were starting to run into Heroâs eyes. âNo, where are you taking them, a hospitalâŠ?â
Villain laughed, a cold, spine-chilling sound. âWhy, Hero, I havenât known you to be so uncreative. No, I had something much more exciting in mind than a simple hospital.âÂ
Panic flared in Heroâs brain, sending a sharp wave of adrenaline through their exhausted body. âNo. Please, no, donât take them, Villain, you canât do this, please-â
âYour reaction tells me this is an even better idea than I thought,â they said, amused. âDonât worry, I certainly wonât harm them. Theyâre far too valuable for that. For their power and to you, of course.â
âYou donât have to hold them hostage to get to me,â Hero pleaded. âIâll do whatever you want if you let them go, Villain, I swear. Medic has patients that need them, people will die without them!â
Villain rolled their eyes. âSuch dramatics. I donât need anything from you except to keep holding up that building until I leave. And Iâm sure the agency hospital staff can manage. You worry too much, nemesis.âÂ
Another flare of anger surged through Hero. âYouâre a supervillain, of course Iâm fucking worried about you kidnapping my best friend-â
âLanguage, Hero,â Villain chided. âIâm 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 weâll be on our way.â
âWait!â 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.Â
@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)
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Aiden is fully prepared to suck. Hand-eye coordination is one of the slowest things to come back but heâs 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.Â
Whatâs 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 twentyâs worth of quarters, Noahâs irate and Aidenâs barely holding back laughter.Â
âIâm having an off day,â Noah defends as they step onto the sidewalk. âIâve slept like five hours in the last three days.â
âNext timeâŠIâllâŠstay out of, ofâŠyour way,â he says, unable to keep the grin off his face. He uses air quotes to repeat, ââthisâs mmm, betweenâŠme and me.ââÂ
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. âLook, I have certain high standards for myself.âÂ
Aiden laughs, pulling up his hood. The sun dropped behind the buildings, leaving the shade chilly. His stomach flips. âWait. What, whatâŠtime is it?â He fumbles for his phone but Noah beats him to the punch.Â
âOh, shit.â 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 theyâre late. âItâs almost six.âÂ
When the light changes, they both break into a jog.Â
Itâs not until heâs sitting in the passenger seat of Noahâs car that he can pull his phone out of his pocket. A dozen missed calls and even more texts. All from Leo.Â
âWe should be there in under thirty. I think weâre behind the worst of the traffic.â Noah glances over. âAiden?âÂ
He stares at his phone in his hands, letting his guilt swallow him whole.Â
âIâm sure you can just call and explain. Itâs not likeââ
âHe wouldâŠhave letâŠlet meâŠgo,â Aiden whispers, mostly to himself.Â
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.Â
Hot tears prickle in his eyes as he forces his fingers through the motions to return the calls.Â
His hand shakes as he holds the phone to his ear.Â
Leo picks up on the first ring. âAiden? Are you okay?â His voice is full of panic. âWhere are you?âÂ
âI-Iââ 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.
âAiden?â Leo raises his voice like the connection might be bad. âAiden, are you there?âÂ
He nods but of course thatâs fucking useless.Â
âAiden? Are youâŠâ Noah looks between him and the road. âDo you want me to talk to him?âÂ
Leoâs still trying to get an answer out of him.Â
Aiden canât 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.Â
âHey, hi. Itâs NoahâŠNo, no, heâs fineâŠIâm driving him home, we should be there in half an hour. Iâm sorry itâsâ What? Hello?â He grimaces and hands the phone back. âHe told me not to talk on the phone while driving and hung up.âÂ
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.Â
âHe knows youâre alright and that youâll be home soon. Iâm sure heâll forgive you.âÂ
Aiden glares at him. âWhy? Why do youâŠcare?âÂ
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 canât take any more guilt right now.Â
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. Heâs uncomfortably hot in his sweatshirt, adrenaline still coursing through his veins and making his hands feel shaky. But heâll be damned if he breaches the space between them to close his side of the air vents.Â
Even if he wanted to answer Noahâs question, heâs not sure he could. Itâs too hard to articulate how precious Leoâs 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 heâs already spent too much of Leoâs fear and owes him a lifetime of perfect accountability. A life thatâÂ
His breath catches in his throat when Noah turns toward him.Â
Shoulders, neck and face, lips set in a tight line that stings like a papercut between Aidenâs ribs.Â
But Noahâs 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 doesnât look his way again. Heâs not sure if itâs guilt alone gnawing at his chest. The feeling only deepens the closer they get to home. Aiden tells himself itâs anticipation, the dread of seeing Leoâs concern and broken trust in person.Â
Noah rolls to a slow stop at the last turn before Leoâs street.Â
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 canât even find the moon.Â
They sit there long enough that Aiden finds heâs holding his breath again. He wonders if he ever started breathing again at all.Â
Noah flexes his fingers around the steering wheel, grip so tight his knuckles are white.Â
âThis was the most fun Iâve had in a long time,â he says, so softly Aiden feels like it wasnât 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 doesnât know what to say.Â
Noah makes the turn.Â
Minutes later, they pull into the driveway. Aiden opens his mouth, not even certain what heâll say but knowing it has to be something. Heâ
Leoâs already outside.Â
âFuck.â
Noah clears his throat. âAre you going to be okay?â He reaches over, hand hovering like he wants to stop Aiden from getting out of the car.Â
Aiden finally earns his gaze and isnât sure what he sees there. Whoever they were an hour ago, in the arcade and even in Deliaâs apartment before, might as well be characters in a movie, slowly fading in the harsh light of reality. Aiden doesnât 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 doesnât matter, itâs over.Â
âThanksâŠfor, for today.âÂ
He cuts off Noahâs reply with the car door and turns away but his feet wonât carry him to meet Leo halfway.Â
Just like on the phone, heâs frozen. Aware of Noah watching him stand there immobilized while Leo rushes forward, fears no less soothed by this display of paralysis.
Fuckâs the matter with you today? Â
Noah steps in front of Aiden before Leo can reach him. âWait, hold on,â he says, both palms raised. Aiden didnât even realize he got out of the car.Â
Leo balks at Noah. âAre you fucking kidding me?â Itâs the most Boston heâs ever sounded. And thatâs the extent of reaction Aidenâs brain gives him.Â
âWeâre just a little late so maybe take it down a notch.âÂ
Leo looks like he wants to take Noah down a few notches. Heâs only a few inches shorter than Aiden but Leo could break him in half on a bad day. With one hand behind his back.Â
Aiden puts a hand on Noahâs shoulder. âIââÂ
âWhat the hell?â Leoâs eyes lock onto the back of Aidenâs hand but itâs Noahâs wrist he grabs. Aiden flinches. âDid you take him to a fucking club?âÂ
Noah doesnât even try to pull his arm back. âNo, of course not,â he grits. âIt was just an arcade.âÂ
âWhy was he out with you at all?âÂ
âHe can make his own decisions.âÂ
âWatch it.â The warning in Leoâs tone makes Aidenâs heart stutter behind his ribs.Â
âChill out, man.â Noah steps closer, shouldering Aiden behind him and getting in Leoâs face. âYouâre worried heâs stifling but youâre the one doing all the stifling.âÂ
âNoah.â Aiden feels it like a blow, all the air rushing out of his chest.
âYouâre way out of line,â Leo growls.Â
Aiden hasnât seen this side of him since he took down three guys after they pulled him out of Leoâs 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, itâs the sea itself and the tide is coming in.Â
âTry me.âÂ
Aiden holds his breath, blood rushing from his face, his head.Â
He doesnât know who will take the first swing but this is all his fault.Â
If anyone deserves to be hit, itâs him.Â
Heâs shaking like it will be.Â
He canât remember the last time but heâs always known how to take a punch.Â
It must have been Harrison.Â
Open hand.Â
No weight behind it.Â
Another last strike unearths itself from somewhere deep and dark and Aiden tumbles right in.Â
Falling?Â
Did he fall down the stairs again?
Coach willâ
âAiden?â 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.
âEasy.â Itâs just Leo. Holding him. Everything comes screeching back. A tilted screen being righted, the focus shifting from fuzzy to sharp.Â
Fuck, heâs on his knees in the driveway.Â
Leo and Noahâ
âCan you take a deep breath for me?â Noah asks. He lowers his voice to add, âinto your lungs, like we talked about.âÂ
Aiden stares at him.
Noahâs face falls and he opens his mouth to say something but Leo helps Aiden off the ground before he gets the chance. Â
âI think weâre done here.â Leo doesnât give Noah a second glance. âLetâs get you inside.â Aiden doesnât look back either.Â
I've been talking about this foreverrr (iykyk). So, without further ado...
Masterlist
âTake a deep breath for me.âÂ
Aiden focuses on the kitchen window over Noahâs shoulder. Thereâs a small stained glass iris hanging from the lock. On sunny days, it casts prisms all over Deliaâs apartment.Â
âOne more,â Noah instructs. âThis timeâŠinto your lungs.âÂ
âS-sorry.â He swallows, avoids looking at Noah while heâs wearing the stethoscope. Itâs fine. This is fine. Aidenâs just used to Delia and hasnât been with Noah for longer than five minutes sinceâ
âCan I justâcan I mmm, haveâŠsome water?âÂ
Noah steps back, draping the stethoscope around his neck with the ease of having done it a million times. âSure.âÂ
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 oâclock 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. âYou donâtâŠhave toâŠmmm, pretend, you know.â He glances up, just long enough to see Noahâs brows knit together.Â
âWhat do you mean?â
He slides off the stool and brings his glass to the sink, feeling Noahâs eyes on him the whole time. His heart stutters. âI know itâsâŠitâs a front.â Thereâs no weight behind the words, behind the gamble. He doesnât even know why heâs pulling this thread.Â
Noah plays dumb. âA front?âÂ
âItâs just toâŠget-get me out. The busâŠthe time. Mmm, anotherâŠsafe place.âÂ
âOh.â Did he really not know? âWhy do you play along then?âÂ
Aiden shrugs. âMmm, gives Leo aâŠbreak.âÂ
âIâm sure thatâs notââÂ
âItâsâŠfineâIâm fine.â He turns back to the sink, pretending to look out the window. âYou donâtâŠhave to-toâŠmmm, waste yourâŠday off.âÂ
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.Â
âIâll seeâŠDeliaâŠnext week,â he adds.Â
Now it does sound like heâs just trying to get out of having his vitals taken.Â
But Noah just says, âOkay.âÂ
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. Thereâs a bowl and spoon in the sink so he washes those too. Canât 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 heâd be home too early. His usual bus isnât for another three hours. In practice, the bus affords little opportunity for independence with its shitty schedule. Aidenâs 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 itâs always been about going through the motions, an imitation of agency, more than the real thing. Â
Delia usually canât stay the whole time, either rushing off to work or coming from a shift, which is another dimension of this whole program. He doesnât hate the time alone but itâs challenging to find ways to keep himself busy that arenât so overtly obvious heâll get in trouble for doing housework. He makes sure to play some show on her Netflix account so sheâll see the false progress of his downtime. Â
Aiden jumps when he turns to find Noah behind him, leaning on the table again.Â
âDonât you work with Leo? Why do you need to get out of the house if you already have a job?â He seems genuinely curious.Â
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.Â
âUhmâŠâ Aiden redirects his thoughts to the question while he towels his hands. âThey-they think IâmâŠmmmâŠmmmâŠâ He swallows, takes a breath. âStifled. That IâmâŠmissingâŠmmm, autonomy.âÂ
Noah looks at him, really looks at him, like heâs letting Aidenâs 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 hasnât said anything when he turns around from threading the towel through the handle of the dishwasher.Â
âI donât knowâŠâ He hears himself saying just to fill the silence. âMaybe some-some people likeâŠme are but Iâmânot. I donât feelâŠstifled going to-to work andâŠcoming home. Mmm, hanging out on mmm, weekends. I donâtâŠneed more.â
âWhy donât you just tell them?âÂ
He should have expected that. âThey wonâtâŠget it,â he says lamely. Â
âIt made sense to me.â
Aiden swallows, heat rising to his face. âYeah butâŠyouâre notâyou donât feel mmm, responsible for-forâŠhelpingâŠmmm, reclaim my wholeâŠlife.âÂ
âAlright, fair.âÂ
âAnd-and theyâdâŠthink it wasâŠmmm, training. All theyâd hear isâŠI donât-donât think I mmm, deserve aâŠreal life.âÂ
âHuh. Well, when you put it like thatâŠâÂ
âSee?âÂ
Noah holds up his hands. âIâm not saying I agree with that assessment. Youâre entitled to want a quiet life. To be satisfied with that, everyone is. But especially someone whoâs been through what you have.âÂ
He looks away, doesnât need to see the pity on Noahâs 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 Noahâs cleaning his glasses on his sleeve. Not searching Aidenâs face for triggers, not overcompensating. His dark eyelashes are almost long enough to sweep his cheekbones. He replaces his glasses and catches Aidenâs gaze.
Aiden blurts the first thing that comes to mind: âI w-w-wanted toâŠmmm, move toâŠNew-New York City beforeâŠwellâŠbefore.âÂ
The corner of Noahâs mouth lifts. âYeah?âÂ
Ohgod. Did he just start a whole other conversation? âFor-for collegeâŠâ He shoves his hands into his pockets, tries to mirror Noahâs casual posture. âWorkâŠand take someâŠmmm, classes. I didnât knowâŠwhat I w-wâ what to study.âÂ
âWhy New York?âÂ
âMmm, my townâŠwasâŠboring. TheâŠcity seemed mmm, exciting. So-so many people.â Noah waits an extra beat again. âI wasâŠkind of mmm, lonely as aâŠkid,â he admits, immediately regretting the confession. Something twists and flutters in his chest at the extra depths Noahâs silences seem to reach, unearthing things he thought long buried and pulling them out into the light.  Â
Mercifully, Noah isnât interested in dissecting his childhood. âIs there any part of you that still thinks about that dream?âÂ
Aiden shakes his head quickly. Admitting any of this is starting to feel ungrateful. Leoâs 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.Â
âNoâŠI-I just mmm, wonderâŠwhat itâŠwould have beenâŠlike.â Heâs almost whispering by the end.Â
âHmm.â
âWhat?â He instinctively steps back, heat rushing to his face as he tries to figure out where he misspoke.Â
Noahâs smiling. Easy, relaxed. âWellâand feel free to say noâbut maybe we kill two birds with one stone? Bostonâs no New York but itâs still pretty cool.âÂ
He laughs, a nervous imitation of Noahâs that mostly dies in his throat. âWhat? No. Wait. Are-are youâŠmmm, serious?âÂ
âYeah, come on. We can find somewhere to do some people-watching. Like you said, you donât need an exam.â When Aiden just stares back blankly, he adds, âBut if things take a turn for the worse, youâll have a doctor on call,â and even winks. Â
Aiden balks at him.Â
âWhat do you think?âÂ
He doesnât. He canât wrap his head around the idea. He doesnât go out. Just work and home and Deliaâs every Saturday. Heâs only ever been to a handful of stores with Leo and basically hated every second. âWhat-whatâŠaboutâŠthe bus?âÂ
âYou and I both know that no one with a real life rides the bus.âÂ
He tries to hide his smile. âI-IâŠdonât knowâŠâÂ
âWeâll take my car and Iâll drive you home after. Youâll still be on time.âÂ
His heart races at the idea alone of going off-book like this. Of doing something different. Maybe itâs a warning as much as nervous excitement. He hears himself agree.Â
Aidenâs 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. Itâs 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.Â
âCome on.â 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.Â
For starters, itâs 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. Heâs so busy taking it all in that he stumbles into Noah when he stops.
âYou okay?â he asks, putting a hand on his shoulder and leaning in so Aiden can hear him over the blaring music.Â
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, someoneâs 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.Â
âYeah.â The corners of his mouth twitch at the fact that he has to shout even though theyâre standing so close. He nods to show he means it when Noah pulls back to see his face.Â
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.Â
If someone told him heâd be playing arcade games again one day, he wouldnât believe it. Not at any point since his life was signed away.Â
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 didnât 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 villainâs gun. The pair were in the civilianâs 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.
âHi, there,â the civilian said in a croaky, sleep-soaked voice.
The villain gestured with their free hand. âYouâre coming with me.â
âI had a feeling you would ask that.â
âItâs not a request.â
âYou know whatâs weird?â The civilian said, still not getting up. âLast time, it was your goons who did the legwork of kidnapping me. Like, did you find time in your calendar orâŠ?â
The villain didnât offer up an explanation for that. âGet your ass out of bed right now.â
The civilian sighed. âFine. Now Iâm going to be kidnapped and sleep-deprived. At least last time you kidnapped me during the day.â
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 civilianâs spine. The villainâs eyes snagged on the bare skin, as well.Â
âItâs winter,â the civilian said. âIâm not going out into the snow like this.â
The villain didnât say anything. The civilian couldnât see them very well, but they guessed their kidnapper had been taken off-guard.
âSo, Iâm just going to change real quick,â the civilian said.
That snapped the villain out of it. âNo, youâre not.â
âIâm not letting myself get frostbite,â the civilian said.
âIâm not letting you out of my sight.âÂ
The civilian shrugged. âSuit yourself.â
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 villainâs 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.
âIs this a distraction tactic?â the villain asked.
âDistraction tactic?â The civilianâs voice was laced with confusion. They pulled the sweater over their head. âItâs a my-kidnapper-wonât-leave-the-room tactic.â
They adjusted their sweater. Then they grabbed some thick socks and slipped them on their feet. They looked back up at the villain. âThere we go. Glasses?â
The villain passed them back. The civilian secured them. âAlright. Ready when you are.â
âYouâre so weird,â the villain said.
Their face said that they had not totally meant to say that out loud.
âYou burst into my room in the middle of the night with a gun,â the civilian said. âYou win.â
âCome on, hands on your head,â the villain said. âLetâs go.â
The civilian sighed. âFine. But just so you know, my brother is not going to like this.â
The villain gave a very convincing evil laugh. It sent a shiver down the heroâs spine. âYeah. Thatâs kind of the point. Now start walking.â
The pair walked to the villainâs 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 villainâs gun.
âHey.â
The villain didnât respond, and shoved the civilian into the back of the van.Â
âHey, listen,â the hero said again.
The villain sighed. âHave you ever stopped talking?â
âNo. But I thought you should know you didnât turn the safety off on your gun.â
There was silence for a moment. The civilian felt like a clock was ticking. Then the villain leaned forward and hissed into the civilianâs ear.
âIf you tell anyone, Iâll chain you to the floor of your cell.â
The hero gulped. Then the villain was gone and the door slammed shut.
âYouâre so dramatic!â The civilian yelled.
âShut up,â the villain snapped from the driverâs 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 theyâd 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.Â
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 Frenzyâs 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. âYou can do this.â
âI canât.â
âYou can.â
She was already shaking her head, murmuring something incoherent and horrified.
âEloise.âÂ
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.
Artisanâs hand rose from her neck to cup the side of her jaw. Given what those hands could do, it shouldnât have been so grounding; so reassuring.Â
He held her gaze. âYouâre going to get us past the guns alive. And Iâm going to protect you. Hey-â A gentle stroke of the cheek dragged her wandering eyes back up to his. Haunting. Beautiful. Eyes of endless depths sheâd caught watching her read to him on many occasions. âYou can do this. Take a deep breath.â
Eloise heaved in a clumsy breath that gusted out of her in the same second. Artisanâs lips twitched upward.
âSlowly. Match me.â 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. âGood.â
Eloise swallowed. âWhat if my power fails?â
âIt wonât.â Artisan took a step closer, and it stole her breath all over again. âClose your eyes.â
Eloise gawked. âWh-â
âEloise.â
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.
âWhen you are reading a book,â he said, âeverything else around you slips away. You lose yourself in a world of inked pages, and nothing else exists. Iâve watched you pore over chapter after chapter, reading aloud on autopilot. Sometimes you forget that I am even in the room with you. And Iâm me.â
âI-â
âGo to that place now. Focus only on your ability. We are going to walk out that door, and youâre going to camouflage our presence. Theyâll look past us. Weâll walk away safely. Picture it.â
She did. Eloise allowed herself to imagine wrapping the two of them in enough influence to trick othersâ 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.Â
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. âGood girl. Letâs go.â
In what felt both like an instant and an eternity, they were outside. Artisan kept a hand on Eloiseâs 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.
Eloiseâs toe caught on the leg of a corpse, and she squeaked, jerking away.Â
Artisan grabbed her arm, pulling her close again. She could feel the perception barrier around them flickering.Â
âRelax. Focus.â He said it like it was nothing. Like they werenât staring down a firing squad, navigating a labyrinth of corpses and blood. âClose your eyes for me.â
The thought of being blind in the belly of so much danger made an embarrassing sound catch in her throat.Â
âYouâre distracted by what you see,â Artisan continued. âClose 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.â
I need your help.Â
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. Artisanâs 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. Eloiseâs gaze snapped to them as she found herself clinging to Artisanâs side. The source of the shouting dropped to his knees, hands behind his headâa security guard from insideâleaking red from his side. âPlease, itâs Mallard! Itâs Mallard! I work here, Iâm on your side! Please, help me, helpââ
He dropped like a stone. Blood trickled down his forehead.
Eloise choked on words that wouldnât come. The world seemed to tilt, fuzzy at the edges.
âEloise-â Artisanâs 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.Â
âCover us, cover us now,â he said, his tone bleeding with urgency.
âAre you-â
âNow, Eloise!â
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.
âIâm trying!â she snapped, just in case it wasnât obvious. Just in case the effort mattered at all.
âYou can do more than you think you can,â Artisan said. âI 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.â
She imagined her power stretching in all directions, each line a stream in a spiderâs web. She tapped gently at the windows of each guardâs mind and left a new idea there, coaxing them to forget what theyâd 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.
âDonât stop,â he murmured, walking on with her, âYouâre doing beautifully.â
She stared at the hole in his chest, jumpsuit soaked through with blood. âYouâre hurt- You should be dead.â Dumbly, too boldly, she pressed a hand over the wound. Sheâd blame the fatigue.
âDead?â He clicked his tongue. âNot so easily done.â
She could feel the skin and muscle beneath her hand shifting, warping, weaving back together. Relief flooded her. âOh.â
âOh.â Artisan was smiling again. âDonât lose your focus. Weâre nearly there. You might not want to look.â
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 fenceâs 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 sheâd looked away. Her insides heaved.
The strain of keeping them unnoticed tugged at her every nerve ending with a plea for relief. Sheâd never pushed herself so hard before. Her vision hazed in a dark vignette.
âYou didnât have to kill them,â she said softly, closing her eyes. Her head felt cracked in two. âI wish you hadnât.â
Just a little farther and she could let goâŠ
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. âOh, sweetheart, but I wanted to.â
She finally blacked out.
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