I've been avoiding Noah Kahan's new album. I have a younger sibling, and our relationship is complicated for so many reasons, including his insistence that being 18 means he has the right to do dumb shit for the sake of gaining "experience."
But Noah Kahan has been my top artist on YouTube Music for years, and it's been insisting that I listen to his new album.
I just heard 23 for the first time, and a slap in the face would have hurt less than listening to this song.
Hey! I've just read your defiant leader x confident villain story and HOLY SHIT is it good. I love the personalities that you've given the characters, and how the villain doesn't really want to hurt the leader and is trying to ignore all of their feeling. Ugh!
I would love it if you could write more of the story. I have a feeling there's a lot more twists and turns on the horizon 👀✨
Defiant Leader x Confident Villain (5)
Read part one here
Continued from here
Guys… i am so sorry to everyone who has requested more parts for this series… it has taken literally months, I am only finished now because I queued it when I discovered it again! I am very sorry, it is an active WIP again!! I hope you enjoy!
TW: NEEDLES
~*~*~*~*~*~
Leader woke to the door of his room opening. He was still sitting in the chair in the room where Supervillain left him. The last thing he remembered was staring at the wall to pass the time, limbs still tied down tightly. Sometimes, when he was feeling adventurous, he’d glare down at the hammer that mangled his hand, but even that got boring. He didn’t realise he fell to sleep until he was waking up with the click of the lock in the door.
He didn’t have time to wake up, so his mind shot alert, clearing the fog that usually came with waking suddenly. He felt his body come alive at the thoughts of Supervillain coming to destroy his other hand. His limbs were asleep but still Leader made a fist with his free hand trying to get feeling back into it just in case.
What he could do to fight against Supervillain he didn’t know, but… but who was he kidding?! Supervillain seemed to smash every bone in his good hand, his strong hand, his punching hand.
Leader wanted to cry out as he tried to make a fist with his hand on instinct, but swallowed the cry to a sharp hiss as loud, quick footsteps thundered behind Leader’s chair and they froze.
Those footsteps were unmistakable, and there was only one set. A swift slap to the back of the head and Leader let out a startled: “ow!”
“You deserve more than that, you fucking idiot!” Villain hissed, coming to stand in front of Leader, setting a doctor’s bag down on the floor in front of Leader and dropping to one knee, unzipping it. “What were you thinking, pissing Supervillain off, Leader? Do you know how difficult you are making everything for me?”
“How about you just let me go and I’ll be out of your hair.”
Villain jerked their head up, piercing gaze furious and accusing. “Would you? Be out of my hair?” Villain challenged. Leader was the first to look away, and Villain scoffed, before dipping their head again and searching through the bag beside him. “Yeah. Thought so.”
“Villain… I…” Leader began, searching for the words to express themselves, but none came, and Villain didn’t seem to be in the mood to hear them even if they did somehow miraculously find the words to defend themselves. “Look, you don’t have to keep coming to my rescue.”
“Clearly I do,” Villain ground out, accusing eyes finding Leader’s again. “If you keep riling Supervillain up, Leader, he will kill you. I’m not fucking around. He will murder you, but you won’t die quickly. It will be long, drawn out, torturous.”
Leader’s brows lowered over their eyes, hooding the sockets in shadow. “I know that, Vil.”
“I don’t think you do!”
Leader’s eyes widened at the intensity colouring Villain’s voice, the slight fear in their eyes as they spoke. It was almost… desperate, almost helpless. Villain scoffed and looked away, running a hand through their hair, pulling slightly at the end of the strands.
Leader frowned. “Villain… what’s that look?”
Villain didn’t answer right away but a million different thoughts seemed to flash across his expression— doubt, fear, disgust anxiety. Every time Villain opened their mouth to speak they seemed to pause, chew their words, search for a better way to say what they wanted to tell Leader.
Eventually a grim resolution moulded their features and they looked at Leader again instead of through them.
“Supervillain,” Villain began hesitantly not quite meeting Leader’s gaze, and instead running a nervous hand through their hair. “He didn’t exactly trust me when I wanted to join his side so he devised a sort of… test, or trial run and he gave me the job he thought I would run away scared from.”
Villain risked a glance at Leader’s expression, then let out a long sigh and pinched the bridge of their nose, rocking back on their heels.
“It’s not something I’m proud of but I had to prove myself and if I didn’t do it someone else would have—”
“It’s okay, Vil,” Leader told them. Startled eyes found Leader’s and Villain’s expression softened slightly, shoulders losing tension. “Go on.”
“He made me the interrogator… or that’s what he called it, he made me his torturer,” Villain said quietly and it was as if all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. Leader stared at Villain, studying their face. Villain let out a shaky breath. “Every Hero we captured, or enemy someone brought in I would take care of them. Get information, work the confessions out of them, or just make them suffer— whatever Supervillain told me to do.”
Villain licked their lips, their eyes looking down to their hands before continuing.
“That’s not even the worst part, Leader,” Villain continued, tightening their hands into fists. They raised their head, gaze steeled and said: “The worst part was that I was good at it.”
Leader would rather Villain pick up the hammer and smash their other hand, or every single bone in their body rather than tell them this. Rather than this be true, because Villain wasn’t… Villain couldn’t— Villain… it felt like all air was robbed from their chest as they stared at Villain and for the first time since they came, Leader finally saw Villain.
They saw how much Villain changed. The little moments that were shining through of the old Villain were only that. Fleeting moments. Villain looked the same, although they had a new haircut and a crueller smirk. They carried themselves a little taller, but they looked like Leader’s Villain, but there was something now that seemed to finally let Leader see the real Villain.
The new Villain.
As if a blindfold had just been taken off Leader’s eyes.
Villain looked older, not by much but they had a less innocence in their eyes. Instead they were hard, certain kernels of experience. They didn’t just carry themselves taller, Villain had a new confidence about them as if they had finally found their calling. As if they were born to be a Villain, to be an… interrogator.
Villain’s expression softened and they turned away, letting out a shaky laugh. “You hate me now, don’t you?”
“Not even a little bit,” Leader said without hesitation. Villain let the shock show across their face as they met Leader’s eyes again.
Leader forced their resolve to show on their face, as sure as anything. “You did what you felt you had to do, Vil,” Leader continued softly. “You did what I always knew you could: you survived everything that life threw at you. How could I hate you for that?”
Villain looked so vulnerable in that moment, and Leader wished that they had seen it sooner. They wished they noticed how lost Villain was within the team, how sad they were. Always lashing out, always a little more distant and reserved.
“I should have done more, Vil,” Leader said and Villain rocked back on their heels, shaking their head side to side. They opened their mouth to reply but Leader beat them to it. “No, I should’ve, I’m sorry you felt like you had to leave the team. I’m sorry about the way things ended… I— I miss you, if I’m honest. But sometimes…”
The words were rushing out of Leader’s mouth now, all emotion. “Sometimes when we start out life presents us with opportunities and we just go along with them because, well, what other option do we have? But you… I’ve never seen you more alive, more at peace. You really seem to have found your place in the world Villain and I couldn’t be more happy for you.”
“You can’t say that, Leader,” Villain whispered.
Leader laughed. “Says who?”
Villain frowned. “We are enemies, we’re on the opposing sides. We can’t— there is no world where we’re friends.”
“Just because I don’t agree with you, Villain, doesn’t mean I don’t know you. I don’t still care for you, that the years we shared mean nothing.”
“It does,” Villain protested. “It has too.”
Leader leaned forward in their chair. “If it does, then what the hell are you here for, Villain?”
The question was like a slap of reality that stunned Villain for a moment before they sighed. They glanced down to the bag they brought in and rummaged through it, pulling out a small black case and flicking it open.
Inside was a needle and a small bottle of something. Villain reached in and grabbed the needle. Villain reached into the bag and drew out two medical gloves and slide them onto their hands, snapping the band at the end of one and grinning up at Leader.
It unnerved Leader a little as they stared down at the bottle, trying to read whatever it was Villain was so happy about showing them. Now with the knowledge that Villain was the resident torturer.
Not that it was particularly news to Leader. When rumours started circulating about Supervillain’s new vicious agony agent it was Rogue who brought the idea of Villain to Leader’s attention. Rogue ran with other people before Leader; heroes, vigilantes, villains… probably the one with the most contacts across the city.
“How certain are you?” Leader asked them.
Rogue shrugged one shoulder. “I trust contact with my life. They’re not the gossiping type.”
Leader didn’t show it then, but the thought, the very possibility that it could have been Villain terrified them. How wrong did they go with Villain to make them want to hurt people? But looking at them now, Leader couldn’t help but see the same Villain they had always known. Maybe just more grown up and sure of themselves. The way they were working so deftly with the needle and vial. Drawing some liquid into the needle and spurting it back out again to re-draw.
They smiled up at Leader once they were satisfied and started rubbing Leader’s hand with cotton balls covered in rubbing alcohol. Leader hissed jerking their arm back, but Villain continued as if Leader was sitting quiet as a mouse.
“I know, but you gotta hurt to get better. No pain no gain, right?” Villain asked with a grin. Leader smothered their anxiety at that grin. Villain’s old reassuring grin, the same one they wore before they ran recklessly from the group to defend them. When they directly disobeyed Leader’s orders to intercept their enemies before it was time.
Now, it wasn’t any of that. It was reassuring and light, so Leader nodded and set their jaw into a tight line as Villain smoothed the skin on Leader’s hand. Leader clenched their teeth as their bone rubbed off bone.
“Okay, this will hurt.”
That was all the warning Leader got before Villain plunged the needle into their hand. Leader jolted forwards, swallowing a scream to a mewling whine in the back of their throat instead.
They felt the liquid being injected into their hand, it was a strange sensation but not one that was unfamiliar. Once Villain had thumbed down the plunger and injected all of the liquid they pulled it out gently. They replaced it with a cotton pad the dab the blood away.
Leader stared at Villain. “Okay. That actually wasn’t that bad,” Leader told them.
Villain grimaced. “Leader, that was the easy part.”
Leader frowned and then the pain came. It was a simmering kind of burning at first and Leader’s wide eyes shot to Villain’s.
“Vil… what is this? What is this?” They rushed out, gasping between the questions.
“It’s okay, Leader. It just resets the bones in your hand.”
“It what?” Leader shrieked, closing their eyes as they felt their bones start to move in their hand.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Leader cried as their hand ignited in agony. They gasped and shot forward as far as the ropes would allow them, their neck muscles straining as they tried to not scream but their hand was on fire.
“Hey, Leader. It’s okay, I know. I know.” Leader only very distantly heard Villain whispering assurances and comforting words to them as they writhed beneath the ropes.
“Villain!” Leader gasped, throwing their head back as a guttural scream was torn from their throat. Leader kicked out and tried to buck themselves out of the chair but the ropes just remained firm as Leader screamed louder than they ever have before. The pain ricocheted from their hand — where their bones were moving and mending under their skin — all the way to their shoulders and then deeper into their chest.
It was too much.
Stars burst behind their eyes as they felt their bones crack into place.
Villain was speaking to them. Lips moving but Leader couldn’t hear a word they said. Villain’s eyes widened as Leader let the blackness swallow them, the last thing they saw was Villain lurching from their crouch.
*~*~*~*~*
Continued here
Orphanage roll-call (tag-list, lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @nameless-beanie @aarika-merrill @criohfreeze @bandnbookbag @gala1981 @theonewithallthefixations @libellule888 @cardboardarsonist @shywhumpauthor r @written-by-jayy @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @whump-is-love-whump-is-life @icarusignite @shirtzip @honeyed-euphrates @shameless-dumbass @dutifullykrispyland @starlight-hope @thatlittlefirestarter
i really wish we had gotten a more detailed look at el's life in lenora. like yeah shit was happening that season but even in s4 it felt like there was a lot of slow pacing (russian plotline i am looking at you...) what i would have given to get to see more of her day to day and maybe a teacher or something who cared about her a little. see more of her struggle outside the bullying and rinkomania scene you know.
Title: Drive?
Summary: “I saw you in my dreams again, and it felt so real.”
WordCount: 1,000 Cross posted to AO3
The hum of Claire’s car vibrated through Leon’s bones, lulling him into a light, buzzing trance as the joint burned between his fingers. He took a slow drag, watching the streetlights flicker by like lazy fireflies. The hazy glow reflected off the windshield, painting their faces in soft amber. It was nights like this—when the darkness stretched out before them, and the world felt small, just them and the road—that he felt alive. Even in the thick of it all.
“Drive?” That’s all she ever had to say. The ring of his phone in the dead of night was enough to jolt him from sleep. Without needing to think, he’d be tugging on his boots, each movement fluid, instinctive. There was no need for words, no need for explanations. He understood her unspoken request perfectly. They both carried the heavy burden of nightmares, their shared pasts pressing like lead against their chests. So, they'd slip away from the clamor of their own minds, leaving behind the oppressive darkness. Together.
The streets were empty, the city quiet, but the possibilities felt endless. They drove without purpose, without destination—just two people chasing the feeling of being young, of being free, of finding some kind of solace in the middle of their chaos. The air coming through the open window was cool against his face, tangling his hair, carrying with it the smell of wet asphalt and cigarette smoke. He passed her the joint, watching as she took a long pull, her eyes squinting against the glow of the passing streetlamps.
"Where to, Redfield?" he teased, his voice lazy, drawn out by the fog of the herbs.
She shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. “Anywhere but here.”
They never talked much on these drives. Words weren’t necessary. It was just them, the road, the smoke curling lazily between them. He'd steal a glance at her every now and then, wondering how they'd both managed to stay tethered to each other after everything. It was like fate—or maybe something more fragile. But eventually, life caught up with them. The world got loud again.
It was the chip, the one he couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—give her. The one thing that sat between them, heavier than all the other secrets. And after that, their night drives stopped. He stopped picking up the phone, stopped getting out of bed when she called. And, just like that, their easy rhythm faded into the noise of missions and missed chances.
The nights got longer after that, the roads lonelier. He still drove—smoke curling from his lips as he drifted down endless highways—but it wasn’t the same. Without her there, the silence was deafening. His fingers itched to turn on their mix CD, but he never did. It felt wrong. As if without her, the music had no meaning.
Years passed like that. His world spiraled, missions bled into one another, and before long, he forgot what it felt like to be young, to feel weightless. Until Alcatraz.
The near-death experience had a way of resetting things—reminding you what mattered. They were in quarantine now, confined to a small room with Chris, Jill, and Rebecca. But it was Claire he watched, her presence grounding him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed. They hadn't talked much, but the air between them hummed with something unspoken. Something familiar.
Late into the night, when everyone else was asleep, Claire caught his eye. That familiar smirk played on her lips, and she leaned closer, her voice a whisper in the quiet.
"Drive?"
He blinked, a lazy grin pulling at his mouth as if they were still those kids cruising through the night. Without a word, they were on their feet, tiptoeing through the room like teenagers sneaking out of their parents' house. Claire nudged Chris’s arm as they passed him, muttering something about needing to check the perimeter, but it was clear he was too out of it to care. Jill mumbled something in her sleep, and Rebecca stirred, but neither woke.
They were outside in moments, the cool night air washing over them, and Leon felt something loosen in his chest, something that had been coiled tight for years. His bike was parked just beyond the building, waiting like an old friend. They hopped on, Claire’s arms instinctively wrapping around his waist, and it felt like no time had passed at all.
The engine roared to life beneath them, and they tore down the road, the world blurring around them. Wind whipped through his hair, tugging at his jacket, and Claire's laughter echoed in his ear, high and free. He couldn’t help but laugh too. It felt like freedom, like youth, like they’d stolen time back for a little while.
"Where are we even going?" she yelled over the engine, her voice half-drowned by the wind.
"Does it matter?" he shouted back, a grin splitting his face.
She dug her fingers into his sides, teasing him. "Just don’t get us killed again, Kennedy."
"No promises."
They weaved through the streets, no direction, just motion, just them. Claire’s warmth pressed against his back, the weight of her familiar and grounding. They weren’t young anymore, not really, but tonight—racing through the city with nothing but the stars above and the open road ahead—it felt like they were. It felt like they’d found that space again, the one where time didn’t touch them, and they were just two souls in a world too big to hold them down.
And for the first time in years, Leon felt safe. He felt home.
I am so proud of this revision/revamping of my 2006 story Pi Day.
“Rodney considered the math of whipped cream. 100 gallons on a 1200 square meter surface meant everyone slipping and sliding all about. He watched in wonder at the ubiquity of the parabolic arcs as pies made their way from assailants to victims.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
[WP] "Due to unpaid rent, your water, electricity, and oxygen will be shut off at midnight."
Felix looks to the speaker embedded in the side of the wall. The continuous television streaming from the screen in the wall, constantly running commercials, and the Colony's updates. It could never be turned off, only turned down to a lower volume. The doors of his sparsely decorated living quarters had been locked two weeks ago. He had been waiting for this.
This was what he had wanted, no?
To pass quietly into the night, asphyxiating and dying in the dark. Over the past few weeks, he had given up, feeling nothing but despondency. He had used up all his social credits doing nothing and wandering around the thirty-by-thirty foot space. He looks around the white room, everything so glaringly white. A white treadmill for exercising, which they were expected to do thirty minutes every day. It would give him time on his rent clock if he did it.
The white drawers that housed his white clothing, and the hamper which removed them. The white sheets and comforter of his bed, that could entirely be pulled into the wall to give the illusion of space. While within the wall, it would be changed by unseen hands, or perhaps only mechanical ones now. He rarely paid any attention to what had become his prison.
The small white kitchenette which took his dirty dishes and dispensed new food. If he ate, he was given social credits. A white scale, and a white toilet, all of which calculated his weight and did an analysis of his excrement and urine to give him the appropriate food to keep him healthy and fit. A small shower partially encased in frosted glass. Nothing but the illusion of privacy. After he had entered his room, the loud beep signaled he had arrived as the door opened; the lights and the television had come on.
And then, he had made his choice.
When the doors had locked with a note of finality two weeks ago, he had known he was making a choice he could not return from. He was no longer allowed to leave unless he did his expected actions. Eat. Exercise. Even doing that would hold over his planned execution by upping his social credits, but the lethargy of no longer giving a fuck had settled in. As many before him had done, they simply let themselves 'time out' as it was called. He hadn't always felt this way.
He had been talking most days with Simone-Nine-Two and had found himself wanting to get closer. But they weren't permitted to even touch. The Guardians wouldn't allow it. Only sanctioned breeding was permitted, and any physical contact of any kind was forbidden. No hand-holding. Much less press their foreheads together and whisper conspiratorially as they often expressed quietly that they had wanted to. She had always been a light in his quiet days of drone work. Until one day, she had disappeared.
Others said she had willfully 'timed out'. Felix had simply nodded, and carried on with his day. Showing emotion was frowned upon, and they often hid their smiles or any show of sadness under strict masks of nonchalance. But the eyes, they could say so much without the rest of the face. And he had seen her eyes getting sadder. The last day he had seen her, they had been bright with intensity, a sort of madness, and now he knew why.
He had counted down the days in his head. Wondering if like himself, her social credits only left her with three weeks. And on the twenty-first day, he had excused himself from his drone work, saying he felt unwell. He was excused, and that was the last day he had left his apartment. After a week, the doors had locked, and he had remained. Pacing his cage, and refusing to do anything to keep himself alive.
As the minutes tick down, he stares at the white walls and smiles. First, the lights dim in a warning. Half an hour left. He still had time to go to his treadmill. To eat something. To weigh himself. To change his soiled clothes. To shower. All would give him social credits. At least long enough for him to live until morning when could do it all over again and start to regain their trust. Their trust. The Colony's trust. That he was a good worker bee and would behave. Show them this was all a misunderstanding. A mere moment of hesitancy, and simply a brief period of malaise.
But he refuses. Simply laying back on his bed, ready for his demise and looking forward to it.
A soft beeping begins when there are only five minutes left, and a clock with frighteningly red numbers appears on the television screen. It was the only time in his entire life he had seen the commercials and updates interrupted. It was the last warning of those who were desperate enough to step back from the edge of timing out. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply. Simply enjoying his last minutes of oxygen and life. He hoped it wouldn't be too painful, but he was too far deep to try and stop it now anyway.
Two minutes. He thinks of Simone-Nine-Two, and those mischievous eyes. He thinks of how he was escaping the tyranny in the only way he knew how. He thinks of how he is escaping. How people would whisper that he timed out before he became forgotten amongst the other names of those who timed out.
One minute. He takes another deep breath, fear tingling up the back of his scalp as he faces the unknown of death. He expects darkness. Brief torture, and then… Release. He would be free of this place.
Thirty seconds. He takes another deep breath and feels a lone tear track down the side of his face. Staring at the ceiling, he prepares himself mentally. And then, a loud beep signals someone opening the door. Sitting up, he looks at the open doorway in shock.
Standing in the doorway is Simone-Nine-Two. The timer is still counting down, and the lights flicker but return to their glaring brightness. He blinks against the sudden harsh whiteness, and in confusion. She holds out her hand, offering it to him,
"Get up. We have to go. Now."
EDIT: If there are spacing and font issues , I'm sorry, transferring from Word really does a number on these posts. My apologies in advance!P.S. Inspiration was gathered from "The Island" and "Running Man".
