#eden is who she was always supposed to be. sidesteps body. sidesteps life. and now shes awake she has sidesteps mind.

[sidesteppostinghours]

hello ☆~♡ *giggles cutely as i make cynthia stuck and guilty in her own body so she can watch eden come alive and realize that she was always the impostor, always the puppet, not eden*

[ortegatrash]

Second Chances

Name: Mikael Hansson | Puppet: Eden | Villain name: Thorne Cautious / anonymous / tech-savvy / tactician / anarchist Outsider scar, truth Warnings: Temporary (then corrected) misgendering/use of deadnames, self-blame

So I headcanon my sidestep Mikael as having been kidnapped from his loving family while on holiday in America as a child. Have a family reunion.

Fandom: Fallen Hero Rebirth

There is a little red house down at the end of the lane.

There is a little red house down at the end of the lane in a quiet little country town in Sweden, on the edge of a great lake.

There is a little red house with faded white timber framing and a roof that leaks when there's a particularly bad storm to the point that the iron bucket placed underneath the hole has rusted into place permanently.

The air is disconcertingly fresh, And you suppose the pastries are particularly tempting.

Maybe that's why you force yourself up the steps, feeling like you've lost control of yourself. Lost control of your own body. Your own life.

Maybe that's why you press the doorbell, knowing that its chimes are just ever so slightly out of tune and shivering despite yourself at the sense of déjà vu.

For the pastries, of course. Seems like they're having a coffee break inside, of course there's always time for fika. Time which you've just interrupted from the way the chatter inside stops at the sound of the doorbell.

"Were you expecting a visitor-?"

"I think it might be the package I ordered, I'll be right back."

Your throat goes dry.

The middle-aged woman who comes to the door looks tired. Tired, but kind, the crows feet at the edges of her eyes softening into polite confusion as she takes you in. "Oh, hello, may I help you?" Is this young man lost?

"I…" You lose all the words you had planned, dying unconceived in your throat. Because you, you weren't sure you could trust your memory, could scarcely hope to believe these strange dreamlike visions could have been anything real.

That they were real. That you, too, were once like them, human and real and happy-

"-Are you quite alright? Do you need help?" She looks slightly alarmed at the way the tears are streaming down your face and you can't help but to break into disbelieving laughter.

You swallow it down as best you can, try to compose yourself. Your voice is rusty and unsure, it's been so long since you've spoken anything other than English - but somehow the words come to you like in a dream. Like they were something you'd always known, you'd just forgotten that you knew. "Kristina, you are Kristina Hansson, yes?"

"That is me. What exactly is this about?"

She doesn't…

She doesn't even recognise you. You'd somewhat expected this, it feels like a completely different lifetime ago that you once knew her and she would not be expecting to see a man's face in the place of a little girl's.

"Did you...did you happen to have a daughter named Mia, once?"

The woman's face shutters as she draws inward. "Yes," she says, simply. "Once. But it's been more than a decade since they took my little girl. If you have nothing new to bring me on her case, I would rather not speak of it."

You wince, you hadn't meant to bring up old wounds like this. How strange to be the one putting her in this position. That just leaves you with the issue...how do you even bring up something like this delicately?

You take a deep breath in. "When I couldn't sleep, I used to beg you to stay by my side and sing me lullabies. I was so afraid of storms as a child, but you would tell me not to be afraid because it was just Thor striking his hammer."

Her brow creases, eyes wide with the implications and yet not daring to believe. "What...please, if you are planning on using my daughter's memory to con money out of me, you should know better-!"

You don't let her finish. "-And that got me into reading those marvel comics about Thor. I was fascinated, I remember. I told you I wanted to be a superhero too, raining down lightning from the sky."

You'd eventually settled on letting Ortega do the frying people and you suppose you were a hero for a few years too - so in a way, you really had managed to achieve your childhood dream.

She's trembling. "M-Mia? But- How?" She can't help but let the tentative hope and disbelief bleed through, wanting so badly to believe and being tired of being disappointed one too many times.

The shaky smile that makes its way onto your face threatens to ruin you. "I go by Mikael nowadays," you note, your attempt at a deadpan tone ruined by the lingering vulnerability that comes from being afraid. Afraid of hoping. Afraid of rejection.

The arms that fling themselves around you are an answer in themselves. "Mikael," she whispers, like she's trying it out to see how it feels on her tongue. "Mikael, Mikael, Mikael!"

It.

It's all just too much at once and you finally allow yourself to break down for the first time in a long, long time in your mother's arms.

"Mamma," you whisper. "I'm finally home."

---

Pappa sits at the coffee table, hoarding all the biscuits. "Oh! Ah. Do we have a visitor?" he mumbles with his mouth full, looking equally embarrassed and guilty before holding out the packet. "Per Hansson, I don't believe we've met. Would you like a biscuit, Mr…?" He trails off, not quite able to look you in the eye.

You take a biscuit with a fond smile. "Hansson. Mikael Hansson, and I believe you would be mistaken. We do, in fact, know each other."

He blinks before going bright red. "Oh? Ah, my memory must be going, I'm terribly sorry…"

Your dear old man. You plonk yourself down on the seat beside him and steal his tea as he's reaching for it with a wry, cheeky grin (you'd always been able to count on him backing you up on your shared hatred of coffee.) "You would have known me better as 'Mia', back then."

The shock of your rudeness at have stolen his tea from out under his nose is still taking a moment for him to process, his mouth open in a perfect circle as he blubbers at you. Begins to say something and then snaps his mouth shut again.

"I-" he begins. "What? ...How? ...What even?"

You smother the tiniest of giggles in his your teacup, regretting your decision as you cough and choke on how hot it is.

To his credit, he just shakes his head at you, eyes glassy with emotions as he reaches in to embrace you. "Oh, my little gir-, er. Little one. All grown up. Alive and well." He leans back to look at you. "Well. Alive, at least. I wouldn't want to presume about what happened to you...but I never thought…"

He's starting to lose grip of his emotions with the way he's just clutching at your clothes, as if he doesn't even think you could be real. It's...surreal.

There are so many things you want to say, so many things you want to ask that they all tumble over themselves on their way to climb out of your mouth. That's why you say nothing but: "Wait, how do you know it's really me without confirming it? I could be a paid actor, sent to con two grieving parents out of their money. Mamma thought so."

Why do you sabotage yourself like this?

But Pappa is laughing and ruffling your hair like he used to and telling you: "Silly child, as if I couldn't see the bird's nest of hair I gave you once I knew to look! As if I couldn't see the colour of your mother's eyes when I look into yours or the way you both make the strangest faces like a bewildered cat when you're confused, like you're doing now!"

What- You do *not* look like a bewildered cat!

"Oh, but you were always too much like me. With the terrible taste in facial hair…"

"There's nothing wrong with my moustache!" You're sure even the tips of your ears are bright red by now. You'd...you'd forgotten just how *embarrassing* he could be.

(It's not a bad thing.)

---

She bursts into the house with tears in her eyes and clenched fists (and years worth of things she never got to say). "Is it real? Oh my god, is my baby sister finally home after all these years?"

You stare at her, mouth full of biscuits. Then: "Baby brother now, you know. I didn't go and spend all my hard earnt money on black market hormones just to grow a moustache for fun…" It's hard work maintaining your (beautiful, dammit) moustache, no matter what they say. A moustache probably full of crumbs at the moment.

Margareta blinks at you, and oh, she still looks like a confused little deer when she does that even if those soft baby cheeks they teased her about have finally sharpened into cheekbones strong enough to cut yourself against. And then she's pulling you in for a back-breaking hug (and god isn't it so strange to find yourself taller than your big sister now?) and getting snot all over your jacket as she sobs.

It's fine, a dry-cleaning bill is nothing compared to seeing your sister again.

She has to reach up to cup your face between her hands, which gets an instant huff from you. You hadn't….you had completely forgotten she used to do that and squeeze your cheeks and tease you about how adorable you were…

But the look on her face is sorrowful. Maybe it's something in the lines of your face, the permanent shadows under your eyes  but she looks like she's the barest slip away from breaking down in front of you.

"Margit," you begin. "What's the matter?"

She covers her face. "I'm so sorry, you should hate me."

"Hate you?" That takes you aback. "Whatever for? Are you not happy to see me?"

"Of course I am!" Her reply is so strong and full of conviction at your words you can't do anything but blink. Blink at the way she uncovers her face in the moment and you see just how distraughtly she looks at you.

"Then...what?"

Her eyes train themselves furiously on the floor. "...I failed you. Oh, god, I'm so sorry, I failed you so badly, I didn't mean to take my eyes off you in that moment…" She's beginning to hyperventilate.

Pappa is by her side looking concerned and mamma's footsteps are hurrying your way at the commotion.

"Hey, steady now. Don't tell me you blame yourself for what happened?" You were just a kid, a kid more interested in lingering near the toy store than listening to his annoying older sister prattle on with her friends. You were tired and grumpy and too annoyed to listen when she told you to keep up.

You didn't mean to linger behind…

"It was!" Margareta says it with such miserable sincerity that you understand in this very moment that she's indeed been blaming herself for your kidnapping all these years. "I was responsible for you and everything that happened to you and I...I really fucked up. I thought I got you murdered, you have to understand. I thought I had sent you to a painful, horrific death and the last thing I had said to you was how much I hated you for being so annoying."

You take a deep breath. "I won't lie. My life has...not exactly been easy, since. But…" She's looking at you with the most wretched resignation in her eyes, accepting of whatever verdict you pass upon her. "But it's not your fault. You were just a kid then, too. None of us could have known what would happen…"

"He's right," Pappa murmurs. "I don't think anyone could have prepared for the heartbreak that would occur."

You just about manage to hide your wince at his phrasing.

"Things might not ever be the same," -Mamma's voice floats over to the three of you huddled in an impromptu family hug- "But we have a second chance we never thought we'd get. I'm not going to waste the chance to try and build something new together."

A second chance.

Maybe…

Maybe you really have been lingering too much in the past.

Maybe you really should give second chances a go.

"What are you smiling about, Mikke?"

You wipe the tears from your face with a wry expression. "...There's someone I'd like you to meet." ---

You can't see Ricardo's face over the phone but you can certainly imagine his expression.

"Wait, did I hear that right? You want to bring me to meet your family?"

"Yes?"

"It's been a long time coming." He sounds so immeasurably smug. "But since when did you...I didn't even know you had a family anymore?"

You blink. "Did you think I popped out of a tank fully formed?"

"...Maybe?" Okay, that's fair. That's what they told you as well and you're not really certain if it's completely a lie, either. It's possible the other Re-Genes were grown in artificial wombs like they said.

"Well, they're alive and well. And they want to meet whoever's 'got me blushing so hard,' in their words." You are NOT blushing at the memory. Absolutely not.

"You know of course I'd be honoured to. To be honest, I just figured you didn't have a good relationship with them when you told me you didn't have a family all those years ago…"

You smile despite your sigh. "Yeah...I do have a bad habit of saying things that aren't technically lies but might be a bit misleading, don't I?"

"Mikael…" His voice is reproaching. Reproaching, but fond. "We have time to work on that. Unraveling all the secrets between us. This is our second chance, remember?"

You're certain he can hear the smile in your voice.

"Yes. I'd like that." Like to finally be yourself and surrounded by the people you love. "...Our own second chance."

[chaniters]

SUPERSIZE ME

Ortega has developed a plan to finally free Sidestep from the farm... And it’s initial stage involves facing some of his worst nightmares come true. 

This is a follow up to the “Sick” fic. 

Hope you enjoy it!

WARNING, heavy Chargestep included. Also included, fluff.

SUPERSIZE ME

"No. No way. Fuck it.  No, I can't do this Ricardo. I can't let's turn back."

"We're almost there! Come on!" he insists.

"I just can't... it's too..."

"Too what?"

"Too risky! What if it doesn't work? I don't want to go back!"

"You won't go back. We already have all the support we need"

"But you don't know these people! You don't know what they can do!"

"I know that when the Panama thing exploded the evidence against them was a million times smaller and a president almost gets impeached. We've got all the safeguards."

"I'm... I'm fucking afraid Ricardo."

"Look, I get it. But what's the option? Getting back into your suit that NO ONE can fix and go on bombing stuff until we both get killed?"

"Yes...?" you say causing him to glare at you "... ok no... but... are you sure there's no other way?"

"I'm sure it's the only way we can stop them." He groans “And you agreed if i recall”

“Yes, but I know jack shit. I mean I’m no model of sanity!”

You stay silent for a few moments, pondering the options.

He takes your hands with his and places them over his chest looking at you with the puppy eyes. 

“We have to do this”

Fuck. You're supposed to be the telepath not him.

You inhale profoundly and finally answer.

Leap of faith it is.

And so you step into the men's salon with him.

Every single customer steps outside as you enter and the hair stylists don't question it as their clients leave. They all think they left something on the fire at home, even the ones who don't own a kitchen.

Ricardo nudges you from behind. "Did you...just...?"

"Yes. Big time. No way I'm going to wait in here" you state matter-of-factly. He seems about to protest but decides not to fight this battle.

Ricardo goes through a magazine showing different hairstyles. You can't really focus on it. All the guys in there look really attractive. You are just... whatever.

"This isn't going to work," you say looking away. "You just pick whichever you want, it'll be fine by me." They can't fix you with some scissors. You know that.

He seems a bit taken back, but he simply tells the barber to inflict one of the pictures onto you.

Your mind races back to the Farm... they would just shave your hair with a machine back there. It was fast. You remember they shaved you when they recaptured you. It wasn't even a choice they made to punish you. You were going to surgery and they needed the hair out of the way to fix you.

This is different. He cuts so slowly... and he touches your head... positions it to the side.. to the other side... forward... back...

You feel the panic levels rising. You need to make it stop ...

He nudges you slightly. The contact of the cold scissors... makes you tremble.

It has to stop...

Ortega's hand presses on your shoulder. You look at the mirror and he's giving you a "Mind your manners"  look. You notice the Barber has frozen and his left eye is twitching.

Fuck.

You relax and let the barber's mind free. You weren't even doing it on purpose.

Ricardo sits by your side. Maybe to give you moral support. Maybe to stop you from breaking the barber's brain.  

And then it's done. He brushes you excess hair off your clothes, sprinkles some water all over and then finishes with a shot of the hairdryer while combing your hair.

You always simply cut your hair yourself. And now you're afraid to look at the mirror.

"What do you think?" Ricardo asks.

You take a brief look and mumble that yes, you do like it.

Whatever.

He's afraid of you not liking your haircut. Maybe he doesn't believe you when you tell him you're terrified of your own body, or it's reflection. Mirrors. You hate them.

And then the torture continues.

Off to get you some clothing.

You remember the first time you picked your own clothes... the colored mountainwear ensemble. Ortega's never stopped joking about it...

You liked it so much. And It was just so hideous. You could dress up Eden as fancy as you wanted, but you just can't do the same with yourself. The farm issued your clothing when they needed you to look presentable... And even among other regenes, when left to your own devices, you were clueless. Perhaps you'll rely on Ricardo's sense of fashion this time.

He guides you to the store. They sell tailor-made fancy suits and men's clothing. You have avoided these places like the plague since ever. Hoodies don't generally need to be tried on as long as you pick the right size, and can come off the rack.

You walk in, and service is fast because you're with Charge, hero of the Rangers.

You make a quick scan of the room and set off a small barrier that will make any other customers coming in think the place reeks and stinks of dead skunks. You don't want anybody else in here either. If you need to suffer this, you will do it alone.

When they take your measurements you smile nervously to Ricardo, trying to pretend you're not about to explode and erase everyone's memories in a one-mile radius. The nightmare goes on and on, as they finish touching your body over your clothing.

And then they have you try several models of suits and other clothing. You've never put these things on before. You're not familiar with buttoning and unbuttoning. The shoes hurt. The socks are too thin. The shirt and pants are too fit. You have to expose your tattoos to try some on some things and you just can't.

Finally, Ortega comes with you inside the dresser to help you. Even if you've become used to physical touch with him, this is extremely uncomfortable. You don't like him seeing your tattoos at all. And there are mirrors on 3 walls and only a thin curtain separating you from the shop assistants. Nightmare accomplished.

No one in the staff says anything. This is a very exclusive place. What you gather from their minds is that they've and they've seen everything. They are just glad you're not on drugs or drunk and throwing up as some superstars have before. Good to know the bar is low enough to allow you in some places.

Ortega keeps bringing new clothing... going in and out. It takes an eternity. Finally, when you think you're about to lose it he puts a hand on your shoulder. This is quickly starting to become his "Keep your shit together Cyrus" gesture.

"I think this is it"

"Great, can we get out of here please?"

"Hey! Take a look first at least?"

"Fiiiiine" you go on.  

Just a peek. Odd. You feel nothing when you look at your reflection.

Because that isn't your reflection.

That's someone else. He's someone confident. Someone you could never be around. It's a man who knows what he wants. And he looks fucking handsome. And Sexy... and...

You look away.

"I can't... I can't wear this!"

"Hm? You are doing it right now Cyrus"

"But... but that's not me!"

"You do know how mirrors work, right?"

"Look... I don't... I don't look like... THAT!" you say waving your hands at the mirror.

The sexy fucker in the reflection, he waves his hands back at you, making the absurdity of your words sinks in even harder.

Ricardo tries not to laugh.

You blush and look away.

"Do you like it?"

"I... " you blush, looking away "Is this really necessary?"

"Yup"

Fuck. You haven't been so confused in a long time.

"Ok then... If you... say so"

"Perfect! Let's pay up!"

Ortega wants to buy the clothes you're wearing, along with a suit he thinks fits you well enough and a host of other things... And even a Tailor-made suit that'll be delivered next week. It's a whole new wardrobe.

He seems about to pay.

"No, let me," you say.

"But i ..."

You simply hand over your credit card to the cashier.

The savage thoughts assault you as she takes the card.

Her thoughts about you aren't dim and off as usual, but she's getting a very positive reaction instead. She will remember you.

Fuck. You take the credit card back, trying not to look at her.

“So... I’ll put back my own clothes and hand these over so they can...”

“I threw them away” Ricardo states.

“You what?”

“These are your clothes now.”

Speechless you end up following him to the exit.

"I could have paid," Ortega says changing the subject "I've got a discount here"

"I can handle it... I robbed all those banks, remember?" you say feeling a bit grumpy about your old clothes. You feel as if you were using a halloween costume.

"Oh," he says remembering the fact.

"I'll return the money... to charity or something else," you say in the end.

"Good," he says relieved.

“I just can’t believe you did that” you say in the end. 

“It’s a change for the better. You’ll see.”

He locks his arm with yours as you walk off together. The two of you are clearly drawing stares now, and you're sure you're face is red as a strawberry by now. If that mirror was showing anything resembling the truth, you are the sexy fucker right now, and Ortega is one of the hottest men on Los Diablos according to that magazine you keep under your pillow back at your lair.

You are a cuckoo. All your life you've been trained to avoid people's attention. Not to provoke it.

You push their stares away with your mind. All of them.

Ortega chuckles as people look away from you two.

"You know you can't keep doing that forever"

"You just watch me" you answer. And then you cling closer to him.

This is the first part of his plan...

The easy part.

You just hope to outlive it.

---------------------------a few minutes later---------------

He stops in his tracks. 

“Something wrong?” you ask

“I just remembered... do you recall that night before the ... before you died?”

“Hmm? That... that was a long time ago” 

“Yes, but do you remember it?”

“Yes... we ... we were training? By the beach right?”

“At the park, I think”

“Oh... right. It was some time after the... Nanosurge”

“Yeah. Do you... recall what you told me?”

“I... “ You have to make a mental effort. “Oh.” You say in the end. You remember. You told him you were going to accept a dinner invitation... that he had made even before that time. You were going to tell him everything. But you never could. You died instead.

“Do you remember?”

“Yes”

“Does it still stand?” he asks.

You nod slowly. 

“Good... because you are looking hot tonight. And I know a place”

“I..” you don’t even know how to respond to that. How could anyone respond to that?

And then he leans in. And you kiss. 

And time turns back it’s course for a few minutes. 

Just for the two of you. 

______________________________________

My Fanfiction: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero    

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.