#fhr flash prompt

[kittlesandbugs]

Title: Breathe dammit Pairing: Chargestep Warnings: RETRIBUTION SPOILERS.  Big fat ones for the end of the book.  Also near-death experience, but not for the POV character (Ortega).  Chucking the whole thing under a cut to be polite for people who haven’t gotten there yet lol. Word Count: 647

Prompt:  @sidestepping prompted: write the car crash or the hospital waiting from the point of view of Ortega, or, alternatively, any of the main cast dealing with your Sidestep being injured.

"She's not breathing!"

The paramedic's words freeze your blood in its veins, sick dread heavy like lead in your gut. 

no

no no no not again, not ever again, you just got her back, you can't—

Feet moving before you realize, shove the medic out of the way, only halfway done cutting through her layers. You fall to your knees beside her, finish the job. 

What is that orange…? Spiraling out of central stripes in a pattern you can't recognize. 

Not important now. 

Hand over her heart, flesh still warm but no movement, no flutter that you've wanted to feel since she came back into your life. 

no 

no 

nononono

"Sir you have to—" 

"I'm not losing her again!" You shrug the hands away, normal strength of a person no match for your modded muscles. 

Remember the training, elbows locked, thirty compressions. Eyes locked on her too-slack face for any sign of life. Tilt the chin, mouth to mouth, breathe the life back into her. 

Once. 

Twice. 

nothing

"C'mon, Ry…" 

Compressions again, harder this time. Like you can force your life into her. Should have been yours taken so many times, this is why, this is why, to bring her back again, rip her out of death's grasp again. 

"Breathe, dammit…" 

One breath. 

Two. 

She gasps, sucks air like a fish, and relief makes it easy for the paramedics to shove in again. They strap her to the gurney, mask to her face, compression bag assisting her breathing, lift her up, wheel her to the ambulance. 

You stumble to your feet, follow after them, push your way in after them before they can shut you out and leave. 

"Sir, you can't—" 

"I'm a Ranger. Charge."

Flash the badge from your pocket. Been a long time since you've had to pull that card but it shuts them up and you settle in beside her. 

You wipe sweat slick hands on your ruined sweats and gesture to the mask bag. 

"I'm sorry." You're not, but it eases the glares. "She's my…" Can't say girlfriend, she'd yell at you, and it'd be so welcome you almost do. "May I…?" 

He hands the bag over after a brief glance to the other. You follow their instructions carefully, so carefully, eyes glued to every rise and fall of her chest. 

She'll pull through right? 

She's so stubborn. 

Too stubborn to die, right? Always too stubborn. Just needed a little help to get her feet back under her. 

The ride is over too quickly and not fast enough and they take it back from you before you can move, wheel her out, you barely catch the words "respiratory failure" and "multiple complex fractures". You limp after them, your own injuries starting to catch up with you, but it doesn't matter.

All that matters is she pulls through and you have to be sure. 

You're arguing with a nurse in the hall outside the operating theater when a heavy hand falls on your shoulder. 

"Ricardo. You need to stop."

Wei. You almost wilt as you turn.

"But she almost— I can't—" 

"She's in the best hands this city has to offer. I'll stand watch now."  Hard eyes soften as he pushes you a few steps from the door, towards another nurse waiting to take you for examination. "I won't let anyone— won't let anything happen to her. I promise."

Anyone?  Hollow Ground? But he doesn't believe in… What is he… ? 

The nurse almost manhandles you into the wheelchair, interrupting your thoughts, and you spin to call back, "You'll let me know when she's out of surgery, right?" 

"Yes. Now get yourself taken care of." 

"You'll let me know if anything… if she gets…" The words die in your throat, you can't even bear to think about that now. 

"I will. You need to rest."

"I… okay."

The nurse wheels you away and you suddenly remember.

What were those orange markings? 

[valya-kingoftherats]

May be stupid

You may be stupid.

Or just stunned. That's entirely a possibility.

You have found yourself lying on your back. In the middle of tía Elena's driveway. Crutches knocked away just out of your available reach.

Fuck.

Your head hurts. More than normal. It's a stabbing, splitting pinpoint pain along your left temple. You probably hit a rock or something.

You fell. You aren't entirely sure how. Just that one minute, you had successfully made it down the ranchhouse stairs and were headed out to see Julia is the pasture. And then there's a gap. And then you were on your back staring up at the sky. Head screaming. Body protesting equally as violently.

Between your head and your knee, it's all you can do to keep the tears from pooling in the corners of your eyes.

You probably should have listened to Julia. Shouldn't have tried venturing out without her or tía to help you. But you thought you could do it. Should be able to do it.

She can't know.

With any luck, your body will calm down just enough for you to be able to more accurately roll yourself over to get your crutches. And haul yourself back up onto your feet, up the stairs, and into the kitchen where she left you.

But right now, it hurts to breathe, so that's out of the question. Just need to hope that she has a nice long visit with the horses. Very long.

"¡Mierda! ¡Valya!" Well fuck.

There's just no winning. Is there?

"Hey," you raise a hand to give her a little half wave. Hopefully, it's steadier than it looks to you. "Care to join? The view is great."

She's above you now. Broke into a sprint as soon as she realized you were flat on your back, no doubt.

"What happened? Are you alright? Can you get up?" Five hundred questions at once. Not helping your pulsating head.

'Can you get up?' Forget you. It's her that's stupid. What kind of question is that? If you could, you would have already.

But if she thinks you're down here by choice....

"Just enjoying the afternoon," you try not to wince at how rough your voice sounds. Wheezy. Strained. "The sun feels nice."

She crouches down beside you, one hand coming up to block the sun from her eyes. "Suure," she hums, "then let's see you get back u-"

You grunt as your head is harshly grabbed. Pain shooting across your face, right behind your eyes. Doesn't she know how to treat the injured?

"Dios mío, Valya, you're bleeding!" She's loud. Right in your ear, and she's yelling. That isn't good, though. For several reasons.

"It's not. Not. Don't worry, I'm fine." Fuck. You need something here. Anything. Your mind isn't exactly in top condition right now. Wandering and latching onto tía. She's in the kitchen now, putting away the drink pitcher. Gently scolding your for not doing it when you had it out. "I'm fine. That's not blood, that's....Kool-Aid. Yep."

Never mind. It's definitely you that's stupid.

Hopefully, she's more of an idiot than you.

"Kool-Aid? The drink." She does not sound impressed. Or like she believes you. At least she's mercifully released your poor skull.

"Uh-huh. Drinking laying down is hard. I spilt it." If this works, you'll need to find a way to thank tía. You have no idea what the fuck 'sharkleberry' is, but it's the right colour and that's all you care right now.

"Right. So where's the cup?"

"Huh...?"

"Your cup, Val. If you were trying to drink, while laying in the middle of the driveway, you had a cup, didn't you?" Fuck you aren't awake enough for this. She's teasing now, you're sure. Towering above you. Smug grin plastered all over her face.

At least she's blocking the sun.

"Oh yeah. It's. Gone." Today is not your day. You're supposed to be good at this. "I dropped it. Obviously. And one of the dogs picked it up and ran off. Must've been thristy." You force out a laugh. It hurts. Real fucking bad. But hopefully, it sells the definitely humorous situation you're in a bit better.

"So you brought a drink outside. So you could enjoy the outdoors," the emphasis on 'you' feels unnecessary. You've become more acclimated to outside since you first meant. Harsh judgment. "And you spilt your drink, and the dogs made off with the cup." You do your best to nod. "And the crutches?"

"What about them?" That seems irrelevant in all this. Stupid detail for her to get stuck on. One you didn't think she'd notice.

"All the way over here. Behind you and out of reach." Fuck she's perceptive when she wants to be. When it's inconvenient for you.

"Working on being less dependent on them?" You offer weakly. That's a lie even the biggest idiot could figure out. They've been glued to you since you got them, and you're loathe to go anywhere without. Rehab be dammed. They make things nicer.

"Okay." Julia huffs. Poorly attempting to hide her laughter. You don't need this. To be patronized. The lecture about not pushing yourself in the wrong directions might even be better. "Let's get you back inside then, so you can wash all that dirt and juice off yourself."

She bends back down, and the look on her face is pure jubilation. Fuck. It's cute. You brace yourself for her to prop you back upright. Back on your unsteady feet.

You do not expect her to scoop you up like one of the barn cats.

She's got you cradled in her arms. One of them under your shoulders, the other behind your knees. Your own wrap around her on their own accord. You'd rather not fall again.

"I'll get your crutches after you're back in bed." You hate when she's playing the mind reader. She plants a gentle kiss on your forehead, "Val, try not to spill the next cup of juice." Fuck. She's definitely not letting you live this one down.

[ladyshivs]

If that prompt is open for asks then 8 for Rohid and Chen

Thank you for the prompt!

I was in a 'sidestep days' mood, and I need to iron out more exactly how they may have interacted back then

Fandom: Fallen Hero by Malin Ryden

Characters: Steel, Sidestep (Rohid Chenthilmurugan)

It happened before Sidestep could fully appreciate it. One moment there’s a wall of debris coming straight down on top of them and then next? There’s dust clogging up their mask, enough to make them retch and tug the fabric up just enough to expose. Mouth. Chin dusted with unkempt and prickly facial hair. Gasping in the. Close air. Metal. Flesh. More metal all around them and that’s when they open their eyes.

Half of their mind expected to be pinned. Crushed and trapped in some pocket under the weight of the building façade that fell in on them. Concrete and rebar and shitty decaying plywood and fake brick.

They weren’t expecting Steel. Armor making his already wide shoulders and back next to inhumanly large. Filling the pocket he had created when he shielded their body and took the brunt of the impact clean on his armored back.

A stern, even through the helmet, Rohid could tell, face glared down at them.

“You’re alright.” Not a question. An evaluation. The façade was all that had come off the building. Not a crack in Steel’s. Rohid could see glints of sunlight and the distinctive shape of Sentinel’s shadow pass by through a few breaks in the crumbled ceiling over Steel’s right shoulder.

“I’m alright,” just as blank and uncaring as Steel was. Knee jerk. Ingrained. Fuck. “You good?” because they were not going to sink to his level, they were not going to be an uncaring dick just because.

“Yes,” solid as rock. More than.

“Thanks,” be polite. Be better than him. “That was close,” shoulders starting to inch up. Elbows starting to press into earth. Pressing up. Getting closer to the helmet and...huh. There was a flicker there. Something in Steel’s head that was rapidly and violently tugged back and away into his depths.

“Don’t mention it,” helmet turning away. Of course not. Wouldn’t want anyone to think you give a fuck about me beyond another casualty prevented, eh?

They don’t bite it back in time. “Not gonna be a problem. You feel like moving any time soon, or are you hoping to wait out the fight here?”

The shift of Steel was a highly concentrated earthquake, rubble and detritus falling off his shoulders like Atlas letting the earth down. “Your mask is still up,”

Fuck.

[catastrofriend]

I posted 1,901 times in 2022

41 posts created (2%)

1,860 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@starrypawz

@ladyshivs

@dorkousloris

@aughtpunk

@amlovelies

I tagged 1,039 of my posts in 2022

Only 45% of my posts had no tags

#art - 271 posts

#fhr - 113 posts

#rdr2 - 74 posts

#critical role - 72 posts

#sidestep - 64 posts

#ortega - 52 posts

#ricardo ortega - 45 posts

#video - 45 posts

#ofmd - 43 posts

#fanfic - 37 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#(but for real so many road works here it's like they saved it all up for when the bridge is closed off bc then no one has to pass through)

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Discord flash prompts--”we’ll see each other again” kisses from here

Chargestep, vaguely sidestep days, 231 words, valentine’s fluff overload

AO3

----

"Will you be here when I'm done?"

 Ortega's doing the thing with his eyes again, the kicked puppy look. You only laugh, and he wiggles his eyebrows, thinking--oh, you don't know what he's thinking. You only know he's making it worse.

 "Will you, though?" he asks again.

 "Fuck no."

 "Hmph."

 You have exactly two seconds to enjoy your victory before he pulls you into a supply closet. Several brooms fall over, there's a bucket in the way and he's kissing you. Like his life depends on it.

 What can you do, you kiss back. Wrap your arms around his neck, and pull yourself up until he gets the hint (immediately) and lifts you up. You hook your legs around him as well and there's more stuff falling but who cares anyway?

 "You know you're not going to die out there, right? It's just the press."

 "I like to be prepared."

 You laugh. Cackle, possibly. Throw your head back and everything.

 "Oh I think we'll see each other again."

 "We better."

 You bump your nose against his, give him a last quick kiss as you let your feet drop back to the ground. You back away to the door that's all of half a foot away, and wave him off with a wink and a "just make sure they don't see you come out of the closet, or they’ll eat you alive."

28 notes - Posted February 15, 2022

#4

Based on the--I think it was screenshots from reddit about washing a loved one’s hair that were floating around a couple months to a year ago?

Chargestep, 847 words, yes it takes place in a bath but there’s no actual mention of nudity maybe they’re wearing clothes the whole time

AO3

----

It takes a while to sink in. Not physically, Ortega doesn’t seem to hesitate about climbing into the tub behind you. An arm around your waist, not trapping, but safekeeping. Other hand holding one of yours. The way you fit so snugly against his chest, his legs on either side of you. The little shifts of skin against skin with every breath.

You’re not really processing any of that. It’s happening, but it’s not you in there, it can’t be. You’re just watching it happen, a witness to be called forth in the upcoming trial. 

“Is this okay?” his voice is soft, fluid. Warm. You turn your head to the side, trying to catch the words better, and he repeats. “You okay like this?”

You almost hum in agreement, but then catch something. A hint. An underlying… thing. So you consider. What is “(like) this”? The bath? The heat of the water? The company? The way you’re sitting? Being exposed? Your personhood, your body, your lot in life? What is okay? Have you ever been truly okay or have you just been copying what okay looks like and convinced yourself it’s what you are. And he asked twice so he must want truth, but, what is the truth?

(pretend there’s a read more here just click the thingy under here to continue)

30 notes - Posted February 14, 2022

#3

how about a “God, I love you.”

okay i did a lot in this one but i think it's pretty cute if i do say so myself

AO3 link

----

Ortega’s being stupid. Again. You’re starting to think he does it on purpose. He’s got that silly smile going on (it’s so bright he is so bright what have you done he’s so happy and because of you?), and that sparkle in his eyes (up to something, no doubt-–he’s always up to something). And now he’s catching on to your staring and he’s only going to get worse. God, what a mess you’re in.

You turn away from him, making the conscious decision to put him out of your head, just the vague buzzing of static at the back of your neck, and look around to where he brought you for the first time.

“It’s not much,” he said when you arrived, and sure. It’s just a couple big leafy trees providing some cover in the otherwise open space of grassy, not quite flat, countryside. But you can breathe here. Properly breathe, almost feel the dust and dirt from the city leave your lungs one exhale at a time. There’s nearby sounds of birdsong, further away farm life. The skies are cloudy but even they feel freer, more open.

And you, like the idiot you are, sat down on the blanket he spread out for you both, and started looking only at fucking Ortega. Stupid fucking face. There’s grass with dew still on it to look at, there’s shapes in the clouds, there’s birds in the sky, there’s the trees. And you do love the trees.

(pretend there’s a readmore here too just click the thingy under here to continue)

33 notes - Posted April 13, 2022

#2

WIP weekday

Soooooo I got tagged a couple times again the past month by @kittlesandbugs​ and @mihqorio​ and unfortunately I still haven’t really... written much of anything since maybe half a year ago at this point? (yikes) but then I realized I can also post other WIPs. So have some cross stitching!

Been working on this since September 2021 and I might actually finish it in time for Halloween this year!

Anyway, gonna tag uhhhh @sidestepping​ @starrypawz​ @impossible-rat-babies​ @gingerbreton​ and anyone else who wants to <3

39 notes - Posted September 29, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

"I want this finished for Halloween." - me, 13 months ago. Technically I succeeded (with a little help from mom at the end) https://www.instagram.com/p/CkYo7IRNpRx/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

44 notes - Posted October 31, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[gingerbreton]

FHR flash prompt:  Soothing kisses

Pairing:  Flystep (Herald/Lila Becker)

Summary:  Lila has a little kitchen mishap with a knife.

Warning:  cw for blood, only a brief mention

Notes:  valentine’s prompt - random number selection from kiss prompt list, challenge - 400 words/30 minutes

Rating:  T  Word count:  403  [AO3 link]

---

The knife slips, and a rather undignified squeak breaks free from the back of your throat as it buries itself in your finger.  Quietly, you thought, but Daniel is all too aware of you to miss it.

“You okay?”  He glances up from the stove, pausing in his stirring.

“I’m fine.”  Daniel doesn’t believe you.  You wouldn't either.  “Do we have any spare peppers?”

Craning up to see—damn fliers, as if he didn’t already have a height advantage over you—he spots the sight of the pepper massacre.  “Why do we—oh.”

He’s quick—kitchen towel wrapped around your finger and your hand elevated above your head before you have a chance to grumble.  Doesn’t stop you grumbling after the fact.

“It’s just a cut,” you huff once the bleeding stops and Daniel takes the towel away to assess the damage.  You hiss at the sting of cold tap water, sending concern scudding across his sunshine mind like clouds on a windy day.

He worries, as though you haven’t been through worse, as though he doesn’t already know it, and hasn’t learned by heart every scar on your wretched body.  Like you weren’t soft enough to share stories about them you’ve never told anyone.

“You fuss too much.”  And you watch too adoringly when he does.

Bandaid in place (it’s blue, because of course he’d have blue ones for the kitchen), Danny still hasn’t relinquished your hand.  He likes holding it, rubbing circles with his thumb on your palm.

“So, is this why Ortega says you can’t be trusted in the kitchen?”  A big blue-eyed look that’s far too mischievous through tousled blond hair.

“That…was a fire.”  You raise your chin defiantly in the face of Danny’s affectionate chuckle, trying to find some dignity in the fact you didn’t have to call 911.  “I can’t believe I’m wounded and you’re picking on me.”

“Not very heroic of you…”  you trail off, distracted by the feather-light kisses being brushed across your fingertips by way of an apology.

“Does it still hurt?” he hums, kisses having moved to your knuckles.

“A little,” you nod, looking suitably pathetic.

Another kiss for your finger.  “Better?”  And one for your lips before you have a chance to answer.

“I ruined dinner, didn’t I?” you sigh, resting your forehead against Danny’s.

“No.”  He means it.  His definition of ruin is very different from yours.  “We can just get takeout.”

[amlovelies]

33 for Vesper please :)

thank you pd 💜 I'm trying to do half hour flash prompts for these (mostly in the hope that I'll actually finish them instead of just hording them 🤞🏻 so this is pretty rough

Send me a pairing and a number between 1-100 and I'll write a short scene based on my Spotify Top 100 playlist

duality

33. need nothing - verite

I feel you all around me, but I can't cave in I want to say I need you, but I need nothing

fandom: fhr pairing: Ricardo ortega/nb!sidestep (vesper bui) warnings: drunkness/alcohol mention words: 583

It was supposed to be one drink, maybe two. Too many feelings lately and you need to numb them, isn’t that why people drink? To forget?

What a load of horseshit. It’s making you forget the wrong things, the things that have kept you going for the last seven years. Making your heart soar when you see his familiar form saunter through the door.

No bright contagious smile on his face this time, the wrinkle in his brow making him look older reminding you it’s now not then. You need to remember that.

His eyes searching the crowd, finding you and moving with confidence through the dense crowd. There’s that smile now, and you feel your own face match it, shit. This isn’t good. You’re drunk and it’s too easy to remember the feeling of his hands.

So much for escaping all those pesky feelings, they’ve just slide onto the stool next to you.

“What are you doing here?” How the fuck did he find you?

“And here I thought you wanted me.”

“What are you talking about?” as soon as the words are out you remember. His stupid face showing up on the news playing on the tv of the bar you’ve holding yourself up in. The way his smile made your stomach flip, texting him like a dumbass to join you.

You groan running a hand down your face, “that was two drinks ago me.”

“So, I missed my window then?”

“Yeah, you did.” You grab your drink and go to slam it back. Not gin anymore, he must have switched it out with water. How did he even manage that?

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drunk in public.” He remarks casually, but you know better, know he’s digging, always digging.

“You’ve never seen me drunk.” Close sure, but you’ve always maintained at least some control. It was too dangerous not too, even back then, even worse now.

“Why now?”

“None of your fucking business, Ricardo.”

Hands up in surrender, “Fine, I won’t pry.” Liar. “At least let me get you home.”

You want to tell him to fuck off, you can find your own way, and maybe you could but somewhere between your brain and mouth you lose the words.

He takes you back to his apartment, even this drunk you have enough self-preservation to not give away the location of your base. He has to half carry you up the stairs. He’s too close and smells too good. Can’t help yourself but to brush your fingers against his side. Right over the where you know the tattoo is, the place he’s kept you all these years. The room spins, everything feeling both too close and too far away at the same time.

How is everything always two things at once.

Your enemy. Your best friend.

Lover now too, and you can feel the darkness of his bedroom like a siren song waiting to smash you on the rocks.

He’s so gentle when he guides you to the couch, a soft kiss on your temple as he helps you sit. He helps settle you in, a pillow by your head and water on the nightstand, before rising to turn off the light.

You mumble at his retreating back, “I didn’t need you to rescue me.” Not tonight anyways. You did need him to rescue you once, and he never showed up. You’ll never let yourself need him again. Now if only you could stop wanting him.

tagging: @lord-king-saint @lilyoffandoms @roses-and-roux @plotbunny-bundle

[starrypawz]

Chargestep kiss of relief in a car?

A Kissing Prompt List

This is actually a reworking of a very old FHR fic of mine where on looking at it the bones were there but it needed a bit more flesh on it.

Prince Charming doesn’t live in Los Diablos

And the city has many things but dragons are not one of them.

(Dragons would probably be easier to cope with)

Ronan sits in the passenger seat of a car that’s far too nice for this end of town. Intermittently bathed in neon from a flashing sign somewhere nearby.

In a brief moment, Ronan is bathed in abstract, rain slicked shadows as another car rolls past, the rumble of the engine and the grind of rubber on asphalt cuts through the silence between the two of them.

Ronan would hardly class themself a fair maiden

But Ronan called (Well texted) and he came, true to his word

Ricardo didn’t say anything when he pulled up, or when Ronan got into the car. And Ronan didn’t say anything, either, even if they did wonder briefly if they’d woken him or if he just happened to be out anyway.

(Not that it really matters probably)

The silence between them is underscored by the rumble of an idling engine, the steady tick of the indicators and the occasional squeak of the wipers.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move to turn the key.

Ronan chews their lip, tries to think,

No don’t think, you’ve done enough of that, it hurts to think.

Familiar static brushes the edge of Ronan’s mind and it’s soothing in it’s own way. Feels like the weird static fuzz of clothes fresh from a drier, like the slightly abrasive surface of a scour pad, like Ronan could rub their brain against it and gently rub off the surface level grime to get some relief.

Ronan moves first, goes for his hand which rests on his knee and squeezes weakly, Ricardo blinks, swallows and turns his head, opens his mouth to say something but for once Ronan gets there first, fingertips shakily grip into his knee and he almost doesn’t notice the sting against an almost healed bruise as they do the best to kiss him from their seat.

And he’s doing his best to kiss back as he cradles the back of their head.

And it’s everything Ronan needs right now, it doesn’t fix everything but it does something to soothe the jagged edges at least.

(The corners of their eyes grow damp but they can pass it off as rain if he notices)

Prince Charming doesn’t live in Los Diablos

And the city has many things but dragons are not one of them.

(Dragons would probably be easier to cope with)

And Ronan would hardly class themself a fair maiden

But Marshal Charge is close enough.

[kittlesandbugs]

FHR Flash Prompt: Left behind Pairing: Sidestep & Chen Warnings: TW dissociation, PSTD Word Count: 728 Prompt: write your Sidestep through a scene / variable / tag you're excited about but that they do not get in their canon run.  (Went with the Chen date after the auction.)

"I obtained… pictures." Chen lets out a sigh, rubbing his face. "Classified. Highly classified. I assumed they were from the autopsy." 

The autopsy? He can't… he can't mean… Your hand slides to your belly, to the Y-shaped scar that no one outside the Farm should know about. You can feel it through the layers of fabric if you press hard enough. Not an autopsy though, open surgery. But it probably looked like one. 

"Your autopsy."

You feel his eyes on you but it's distant over your pulse drumming in your ears. The shallow breaths coming faster and faster as your vision browns out. 

"My…" You swallow, tongue dry cotton in your mouth. He can't mean…

But he does, it's there in his dark eyes. At the forefront of his thoughts. Regret. Sadness. You feel his failure, failure to save a person, but you aren't one and he knows it. 

He's talking but it's like you're dunked in a frigid ocean, cold, paralyzed, water in your ears and nothing makes sense, least of all him. He saw pictures. He knows what you are. He knows and he said nothing and did nothing. Of course he wouldn’t. Why risk your human skin for a thing you hate? 

You bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to bleed. Pain brings clarity, brings the world back into focus. Drains the water. Lets you breathe again. Lets you think.

Why the guilt then? Why the inaction? Was it easier to leave you be all these years than live up to the lofty ideals of a hero? No. You can see it in his thoughts plain as day. He really believed you were dead. How could he think otherwise after seeing you gutted and pinned open on an operating table like a dissected frog. What good could come from pursuing a corpse? Especially after… 

"Your arm."

He stops mid-sentence, confused. "My arm?"

"It was because you were looking for me, wasn't it?" you ask quietly. 

"I can't think of any other alternative. Especially after my contact had an 'unfortunate accident,'" he replies, just as quietly. "I'm sorry."

The restaurant has gone silent around you. Waitresses, patrons, all of them, staring, not at you, but nothing. What…? Did you…? You pick up the shards in your mind, click them back into place, clamp your shields tighter with a grimace, and the people start moving again, slow, confused, like waking from a drugged up dream. You did. Fuck. 

Chen sees the same thing. But he doesn't comment on it. Instead he puts money on the table and nods towards the door. "I need to go pick up Spoon."

You stand and shove your hands in your pockets with a stiff nod and follow him out. The restaurant comes fully back to life as you pass the threshold.  Leaking.  Messy.  You’re better than this.  You need to lock it down, and you do. You trail him down the street, tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife.  He turns down an alley. Shortcut?

He stops so suddenly you almost crash into his broad back.  He turns, dark eyes narrow and hard as they meet yours. “You need to stop.”

Your blood runs cold at the quiet certainty in his voice.  He knows.  He knows it's you.  Has he told Ortega?  No.  Ortega wouldn’t have let you leave his sight if he knew.  But you aren’t revealing any cards, not yet, especially not after this.

“You need to mind your own business,” you retort instead, meeting his gaze evenly.  Don’t give an inch.  He takes miles.

“This isn’t going to end well,” he insists, his voice softening, pleading.

“It was never meant to,” you hiss and take two steps back from him.  

He wisely makes no move to follow, but his eyes track every movement. He's tense. Ready. "Why? Why are you doing this?" 

"Maybe if you'd kept digging, you'd know." A huffed not-laugh as he flinches. 

"What did they do to you?" he asks quietly, hands twitching by his sides as you back out of the alley. 

“You should worry about yourself. Your team. I won’t be responsible if you keep digging into things you shouldn’t. Next time, they won’t miss.” You turn the corner and break into a run. Not fleeing. Just retreating for now. 

"Owens, wait!" 

You don't look back. 

You can't.

[valya-kingoftherats]

We're Together

"This is okay?" You fiddle with the cuff of your shirt. Nervous. So unbelievably nervous. And not just because of the button-up dress shirt.

You're going out for dinner. With your partner and your girlfriend. It's the first time all three of you have gone out together.

Anathema squeezes your hand, "Relax, Val. It's just a dinner date. Don't get all stressed out about it."

Easier said than done. While it's been long enough that you're sure the farm isn't looking for you, you're still on edge in public. Especially with two of the Rangers. Especially when ones the Marshal. And on top of that, the last time you were in a fancy place like this was with your Handler. Not something you'd like to revisit.

Too many factors that could make this go horribly.

You just want things to go nicely. Make sure you come off as normal and well adjusted. People know Anathema and Charge, you don't want to negatively affect them somehow.

Julia slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. Pressed right into her side. "It'll be fun! Good food, couple of drinks," she turns and winks, "great company."

That makes your heart skip a beat. If she's anything, it's endlessly charming. And reckless. And an idiot. But charming. And very pretty.

You turn your head away to fight the blush that's taking over your face, but it's out of the pot and into the fire for you. You immediately lock eyes with Themmy, and their smile is enough that you feel like you may combust.

You're done for as soon as Anathema leans over and kisses your cheek. Ready to melt then and there. They're both right. You're overthinking. You've walked up to the restaurant now, all you have to do is go inside and get your table.

You've got this.

You stand up a little straighter, "I'll go check the reservation. See if they're ready for us." You smile and release their hands. Brush down the front of your shirt. "Be right back," and you leave them in the lobby to go check the front desk.

The waiter at the front is dressed nicer than you. Blue dress shirt, black vest, and tie. Immaculate. You immediately feel more out of place than you already did.

And despite being around the same height, he's looking down on you. "Sorry, I'm afraid we aren't taking walk-ins tonight. We are all booked for this evening." He speaks with a clearly fake French accent. This isn't a French restaurant. His shoulders are squared back, and his eyes are narrowed at you.

"I have a reservation, actually." You puff out your chest. You can be big too. "For me and my partners, table for three." You gesture back to where Julia and Anathema are standing for emphasis.

"You," he crosses his arms, "and them?" You don't like that look. Arrogant. Ghostly familiar.

"That's correct." At times like these, your training comes in handy. Small and polite. No need to escalate, even if you desperately want to.

"Not a chance. That's Charge and Anathema, and there is no way someone like you is with them." He flicks his hand as he speaks. Shooing you away. Out.

"Someone like me?" Keep your temper. Remember your training. You can't make a scene or then you will be in trouble.

"Yes, someone like you." The accent is gone. Replaced by something deeper. Snarky. "Dull. Homely. They are heroes of Los Diablos. You are the scruffy barista that makes my coffee on Tuesday mornings." Oh. Fuck, yeah you do recognize the bastard. Comes in like clockwork with a stupid complicated order. And doesn't tip. "There is simply no way you would be accompanying them, much less in any sort of relationship. Now I suggest you leave quietly before I call security on you for stalking and harassment."

"I haven't done anything." You take a deep breath and grit your teeth. Behave yourself. You will not make a scene. That would only make him more right than he already is. Nobody speaks it out loud, but your boost let's you hear them nonetheless. You don't belong with them. Don't fit in. No one assumes you're all dating. Friends at best. Indulging a fan at worst. "I'd like for me and my partners to be taken to our table. Please."

"And I won't ask you again. Do leave before you make an even bigger fool of yourself." The thoughts you pick up from him are enough to make you want to jump the desk at him.

They're also enough to make you take a few steps back before turning around and bolting out the door.

You choose not to hear the shouts from Themmy and Julia. Doesn't matter. This was a stupid idea.

Just who exactly do you think you are? That you could do this? Be one of them? With them?

There's a park a little ways down the street, far enough that you aren't worried about being disturbed. Hopefully, they'll give up and go enjoy dinner themselves.

You've sat yourself down behind the big water fountain in the center of the area. The babbling is relaxing. Unlike the constant ringing of your phone. Hasn't stopped. Messages from one, calls from the other. Nonstop. For fucks sake they need to take the hint. This is NOT helping your headache. You rub your temples, a futile attempt to make it hurt less. It never works.

Nothing does.

You turn and grab your phone from beside you. And pitch it into the pool of the fountain.

Finally. Silence.

"Valya!"

Fuck.

Fuck! Stupid hero instincts are going to be the death of you. No. You wouldn't be that lucky right now.

For a brief moment, you contemplate running again. But you aren't stupid enough to think you could outrun Charge.

And just to further prove that point, Julia is kneeling on the ground in front of you before you know it. Lips pressed against yours. Hasty. Firm. Her hands are on either side of your head, fingers interlocked at the back.

You just sit there like an idiot. Cursing yourself for not being more competent at this.

You're both out of breath when she finally breaks away. Still holdIng your head. Soft brown eyes refusing to look anywhere but at your own.

"I gave that camarero de mierda an earful." Julia huffs as she slides down beside you. "Why didn't you answer your phone?"

Before you can answer, Themmy plops down on your other side. They don't say anything. They just take your hand between their own and hold it. Waiting for you to answer, you'd think.

"I got rid of it." A simple admission. Not entirely deceptive. "It was loud. Headache." You pull away from Anathema. Tuck your knees up to your chest and push your face into them until you're seeing stars.

"Where?" Even without looking, you know Julia's trying to puzzle out where the hell you put the infernal device. You felt her braid whip against your head as she swung her head.

Themmy spots it first. "You're supposed to toss change in their you know." You brace yourself as they lean against you. "Though maybe bigger offerings means bigger wishes?"

"I don't...?" Julia must still be looking around. The braid hits the front of you this time. "Oh!" There she goes. "Valya! You threw it in the pond!"

"Technically, it's a pool, not a pond." At least you can laugh about this. Expensive a stress response as it was. It's better than the running away from dinner thing. Maybe they won't bring that one up.

They both laugh at that. "So you tossed your phone in the drink." Themmy snickers. "Any other property destruction you wanna get out of your system before we go eat?"

You release your legs. Sit back up and lean your head back on the edge of the fountain. "I'm sure I can find plenty around here to eradicate while you two are gone."

"While we're gone?" Julia's face pokes into your vision as she leans over you. Not an unwelcome intrusion. Curious. Worried. Pretty.

"No. I'm uh. I'll wait here." You can't do anything about it, but you will the both of them to just get up and leave. "You guys go eat," you force a smile, "bring me some take-out or something."

"Absolutely not." Anathema is up now. Standing in front of you. Standing on your toes to be more accurate. Hands stretched out towards you, hoping to haul you up to join them. "We're all going, and there's no reason otherwise."

"I. Am. Not. Going." You spring up to your feet, sidestepping around Anathema. "I didn't think - I can't. I just. This was a stupid decision." You try to drag a hand through your hair, it's long enough at the top to do that now. But Julia excitedly dragged you along with her today, and the lady put so much gel in it that you may as well be wearing a helmet.

You wish you brought your cigarettes with you. Badly.

"I don't belong in there. Probably never will." It's fine. You are fine. "Go. Have a good time. I'm going to grab a pack of smokes at a gas station or something. I'll see you at home," you nod at Themmy. "And I'll see you tomorrow or something." To Julia this time.

"Valya, wait!" In a flash, Julia's in front of you. You hop up on the edge of the fountain to go around her. You don't feel like doing this right now. "Seriously, are you really just going to let one waiter ruin the whole night?"

You turn on her so fast that she has to take a step back. "It isn't just one waiter! You don't get it! You can't! Neither of you! You don't know what it's like to be. To be -" You gesture to your head. "This. You can't hear them. I can. I don't fit in. Not with you both. Or even one of you."

What are you thinking? Running head first into destroying the best thing ever happened to you.

Just rushing along the inevitable.

No time like the present. All dreams end when you wake up.

"We hold hands, and people think I'm a friend or a relative. We can't be together. Not like that. They think I need to quit before I humiliate myself. Don't shoot my shot. There isn't a chance." Even when looking at the three of you together in public, no one believes it. You get those thoughts and opinions first hand. Regular people don't worry about projecting. "And you're both very public figures. And you're smart, funny, charming, and -" Your head is turned away, but you try to sneak a look at them before smartening up. "Beautiful. I just. I don't want to fuck with your image. Public perception. It can't be good, being seen with someone so...." Final nail in your own coffin. Your chest is clenched so tight you think you may stop breathing. "Homely. I'm just some scruffy barista. I'm out of my league here."

"Are you done?" Anathema's voice breaks though the pounding in your head. You nod.

And then they're both hugging you. Tight. Warm.

"Sorry you have to put up with all that," Anathema speaks quietly, tightening their grip on you. "But you know that doesn't reflect our thoughts, right? C'mon Val, give us some credit here."

Julia nods. Kisses your cheek. "If anyone wants to say anything, you can just send them my way." Another kiss on the corner of your mouth. You can't help but smile. "I'll show them exactly what Charge thinks of their assumptions."

Themmy props themself up on their toes to kiss you this time. "You aren't holding anyone back or bring us down." They drop back down and take a step away, still holding your hand. Big grin plastered on their face. "And you're handsome as fuck, Valya. Give yourself some credit too."

"Thanks." What else can you say? You aren't. Aren't good at this. Learned behaviour you hope. But everything feels warm and safe and much nicer than five minutes prior. You can feel your entire body heating up as you blush.

"So," Julia steps away now, doing a little spin on her heal, showing off the skirt of her dress. "I'm starving, and it would be a shame to waste this," she fingers at the navy blue fabric. "So how about we head back?" Bright smile. No a trace of smugness.

"Sounds like a plan, Valya?" Themmy holds out their free hand to make a sweeping gesture back towards the road. Smiling. All of you. Just like that.

It's easy around them.

"Yeah. Ready." You link your arms with them both. Happy to be here. Nervous. Still unbearably nervous. But it's a work on progress, you suppose.

They make it worth the effort.

[valya-kingoftherats]

Fair Fight

Your back hits the mat with a muffled thud, and you swear for a second you can't breathe. Doesn't matter. You are back on your feet quicker than any human would have any right to be. Stand up. Square your shoulders. Feet apart but not too much. Ready for her.

"Again." You growl. Chest heaving with every breath. You aren't giving up. You can't.

She doesn't understand that when you fight her, you're fighting for your life.

"As much as I'd love to keep kicking your ass," stupid smug smile. This time, you are going to wipe it clean off her face. "Maybe it's time you took a break?"

The only reason she's doing any better off than you is because she's won every round today. Every. Single. One. Unacceptable. Pathetic. You need to do better. Have to do better.

You can't read her. Stupid static head that feels no different from them once it gets to trading blows. You need to be able to take her in a fair fight. Then maybe you'll stand a chance if the worst really does happen.

"Sounds like someone's looking for excuses to call it a day." You grin as you taunt her. She won't say no, she won't quit either. "Starting to show your age, Marshal? Thinking about retirement?"

"Given the current score, I'd say I'm not the one who should be looking into retirement." Got her. She's back on the mat and back in position. This time, you won't mess up.

"Esta vez vas a caer, idiota." You think you have got to have the advantage this time. Just because you've lost doesn't mean you never landed any good hits. Unlike you, she must be hurting some.

It's an unfair advantage, but for now, you'll take it.

You may have taught yourself how to fight, but you did a damn good job of it as far as you're concerned. Focus. Stay on the defensive initially. Figure out the normal way how she moves and what her tells for attacks are. It's simple. You can do that.

You dodge the first punch, and you're pretty sure she isn't putting in as much force with her right side. Good. That you can work with. Spin around quicker than she can regain herself and deliver a kick to the back of her shins. She doesn't fall.

Dammit.

She isn't talking anymore. No quips. No teasing. Both of you are solely focused on the fight. Blow for blow. Dodging and countering. When it gets like this, you don't, can't, see her. Just static that's no different from back at the Farm. Can't tell her from them. Spar from genuine fight. It gets hard to sort out the difference and still stay focused enough to remember where you are.

She's back around, and you take a swing only for her to seize your arm and yank you forward. Not so fast. Dead weight. You allow it, and the lack of resistance sends her off balance. The jab to her shoulder lands without a hitch.

See? You are capable. No doubt. Show them who's the weak one. Good for nothing but sitting all dolled up in some stuffy room gathering intel. Fuck that.

They never saw your potential.

You almost miss how her weight shifts. Right foot coming forward, oh so subtly. Not for you, though. You catch the kick coming a mile away and make yourself scarce. You can't keep from smiling. You finally did it.

This round is yours.

You know to lead with your non-dominant foot. Not to telegraph your every move. Just one kick. One to her chest is all you need, you can feel it. You'll have won. Beaten the horrible static, no powers needed.

And it lands. Beautifully. You relish the 'huff' that comes out of her as it connects. Finally. It's all you. No one can touch you. You'll stop them all. Never ag—

"¡Mierda!" Wind rushes by you. She's still quicker than you'd given her credit for. More agile. She took you by the leg and took you down with her. No, not just that. She used you to break her fall. Wind knocked out of you, you try to beat back the surge of panic because you can't breathe for real this time.

"Guess this means I won again." And she's right. She has you pinned. Again.

"Fuck!! Why can't I beat you!? ¡¿Qué carajo me pasa?!" You don't get it? Are you that reliant on being one step ahead? Reading your opponent's every move? Crutches. Too dependant. You need to do better.

You have enough strength to less then gently shove Julia off of you. Back on your feet. Nails digging deep into your palms to beat back the pinpricks of tears starting up in the corners of your eyes. Insult to injury. Pathetic.

"Valya, you good? It's just a sparing match." She's up on her feet and only a few paces behind. "No te tomes las cosas tan en serio."

Hands on you, and you flinch away from invisible touches before you realize you shouldn't do that. Breaths going from exhausted ragged to fearful rapid all too quickly.

She's going to question you about that later. You're sure of it. But she feels like them, and you can't help but react accordingly. Self-preservation. Learned responses.

More hands, but these ones have a presence to them. Tugging you off the mat and away from Julia. "Call it a day. I don't feel like dragging the two of you idiots to the infirmary." Themmy snickers, but you know they're serious.

More quietly, they add, "Hey, you're okay. Whoever you thought you were fighting, they aren't here." They sit down on the bench, and you slump down on the floor between their legs. Relax as they lazily drape themself over you, chin on your head and arms around your shoulders. This is okay. Safe.

You watch as Julia comes to sit on the floor a little ways in front of you. As she takes a pull from her bottle of whatever sports drink she's currently endorsing. That she swears up and down is good, but you're well aware of the way her eyes keep darting to your own bottle of regular water.

You know she'll drink it all in one go, so you down a little more than you really need to before tossing the bottle at her. Maybe with a little more force than needed, but you're still sore from the repeated training failures.

She gulps it down far too fast for someone whose own drink is 'refreshing' and 'good for you.'

You ease up more as Julia and Themmy bicker back and forth about if it's the winner or loser of the day that buys the drinks tonight. Themmy is still a warm presence on top of you, Julia's smile is bright and warm, and she's talking to them, but her eyes are on you.

You can relax. This is your life now. Has been for years. You're okay and need to remember that. Enjoy spending time with your friends.

And you know for certain that next time you'll win the training match.

[valya-kingoftherats]

Bills would've been better

Mia brings Jane the letters. All from the fanclub you've somehow amalgamated. The one that you wish didn't exist.

And being the idiot that you are, you read them.

You're lying on the floor in your base, cold concrete doing wonders for your migraine. Sprawled out on your back with a little stack of loose papers beside you. One held up above your face.

They're more or less all the same. Glorified thank you notes. But reading them doesn't fill you with any sense or pride. They just make you feel hollow. More than before.

You are a pathetic excuse of a villain for one. What exactly have you done so far? Had a temper tantrum about an exhibit about your past at a museum. Stood at some protests and fought the LDPD to keep them back and put them in their place. Harassed government officials to improve the living standards in low-income communities. Picked away at removing corrupt politicians from power. Which will never work. There will always be another to replace. An endless cycle you are ultimately powerless against.

Worthless.

Why did you ever think you could stand a chance against the farm? It's completely unobtainable. Out of your league. Pathetic. What's one stupid telepathic regene with power armour versus an entire establishment? You are a fool if you ever really thought you stood a chance.

The next letter is from a kid. Pink glittery pen scrawl that hurts your eyes in the low light. You don't want to move so straining your eyes to read it is.

Another thank you note. For how Entropy mysteriously got the construction company to leave his neighbourhood alone. The project terminated and the houses and families that live in them safe and undisplaced. The CEO paid off everyone's mortgage as consolation for the stress and an apology for thinking them so easy to toss aside. Entropy is his hero.

Hero. That's not what you are. Aren't supposed to be. Never was.

None of them know what they're idolizing. You are nobody's hero. You're done with that. Ended horribly. But no matter what you try, you seem to be bound to fail time and time again at playing the villain. All you've done is hurt Julia.

Maybe that's enough to make you the bad guy. It feels like it.

The next five letters are from employees from a local grocery store. They're unionized now. Thanks to Entropy.

Fucking hell, you hardly even pass for anything more then a glorified crosswalk guard. Holding people's hands and leading them from point A to point B.

They would've got there eventually, with or without you. You're sure of it.

If any of them knew the truth about what you are, they wouldn't be quick to attach themselves to you. How many would turn you in? Send you back?

The good life is only meant for real people. Which — you yank the sleeve of your hoodie back up over your wrists — you are more than well aware that you aren't.

Two more letters. More of the same. Work you don't need armour for. You could've done that with street clothing and sunglasses. Show up, adjust some minds, problem solved. Anonymous neighbourhood watchdog.

Four official letters from the charities you last hit up. Donated thousands, stolen from real villains. They're grateful. One of them wants to meet in person. Thank you. It isn't happening. You are not something to be shown off.

Too many people looking up to you. It makes you feel sick. You are the last person who deserves that. Nobody's hero. You couldn't save people you cared about when it counted.

You can't even find reason to even attempt to save yourself.

Look at you. Reading a dozen painfully heartfelt letters, and what does that make you feel? Like everyone would be better if you never came back from the dead. Were never here at all.

Maybe that makes you the villain. Because you must truly be awful to think the things you do. To do the things to yourself that you do in response. Because nobody in their right mind would want to kill themselves after hearing about how beloved they are. How many lives they've changed.

Selfish and pathetic.

A successful failed career. You switched sides only to do more good than you ever did as a hero. And none of it is even remotely useful to achieve your goals.

Not goals. Pipedream. Because there really is no way you can take down the farm. Not continuing on like this.

Right now, not continuing on sounds like the best course of action.

You let the last letter fall from your grasp. Watch it flutter down and land beside you. You don't know what it says. It doesn't matter. More false admiration for someone who doesn't deserve it. Someone who only tangentially exists.

Jane needs to get rid of the letters next time Mia hands them to you. And Entropy needs to toughen up and be the fucking bad guy. And Valya needs to take down that stupid fanclub website.

But none of that will get done. Because it's so much easier to construct new and creative ways to hurt yourself. Even just mentally. Remind you of what you are. Of how you will never be one of them. Never fit in. Never be truly deserving of being the hero everyone writes letters to thank.

You're more likely to actually take down the farm than to become a person deserving of that.

[ladyshivs]

Piggy back rides for the characters of your choice? 👀

Thank you for the prompt! Still in my sidestep days piece of mind, so here's some Lydia and Ric:

Fandom: Fallen Hero by Malin Ryden

Characters: Ricardo Ortega, Lydia Becerra

43. Giving them a piggy back ride. Any pairing.

Lydia gave him a look that could have withered the rainforest. “You want to give me a piggy back ride?”

“Since you seem so convinced that being carried in my arms will destroy your dignity,” holding the gaze. Just as dry. Ortega crossed his arms over his chest and Lydia forced herself not to cringe. Even the idea of his arms being around her like that was. Too much to bear. Even the fantasy of it, as sweet as it was for fleeting moment, quickly made her stomach turn. In shame? Or something that tasted like it at least. “Look. Don’t think of it like that,” he gestured down to where she was stuck on the ground, ankle fully dislocated, the toe of her shoe pointing the wrong direction. “You absolutely cannot walk. And trying to limp is just going to make that injury worse,”

“And bouncing on you is going to be better for it?” out before she could stop it and thank god for the mask. He wouldn’t be able to see how red her face got at that choice of words. But Ortega didn’t wear a mask and she could see the twitch of delight in the corner of his mouth, eyebrows raising.

“Better for some things than others,” but thankfully, mercifully, he left it at that. “But we have to get moving, and there’s nothing here to make a splint out of,” tone going back to firm, back to. “So its either in my arms or on my back,”

Lydia’s stomach twisted. “Okay. Just. Fuck, give me a second to get my other foot under me,”

There was a precise moment where Lydia knew she had fucked up.

It was the exact moment of contact between his back and her abdomen. Alright. Her belly. Lower belly. Okay, her crotch, are you happy? It was when her cotch was pressed snugly to his back and he was so fucking hot against her inner thighs. And her chest smooshed against his upper back and god, she could feel the muscles under his skin suit shifting and. The pain gate denied her the out of focusing on her ankle. Arms tightening around him, taking all her strength not to press her cheek against the dip of his neck. Why did he smell good? Fuck, that was unfair.

Hands. Under her thighs. Christ this was a bad idea. She should have just let him carry her in his arms. He could probably feel her heartbeat through her chest. Ortega turned his head and she could feel his breath against her cheek.

“I’ve got you, Lyds,”

Ha! More than he could guess. “R-right. Just get going old man, you’re gonna give yourself a hernia,”

[kittlesandbugs]

FHR: Early education Pairing: None, we're deep in freshly decanted Farm territory Warnings: Canon-typical Farm dehumanization, self depersonalization? or something lol, mild physical abuse Word Count: 454 Prompt: from @sidestepping to write a character when they were young with a focus on how that youth affects their POV, under 500 words

Seated at a table, spine straight, eyes forward. Focus on the man in front. This is the third time with a white coat man with a stack of cards with shapes. The man is different this time. Old and wrinkled. Sharp gaze that makes the stomach twist uncomfortably. The old man's eyes flick past, behind and up, to the handler. The hand on the shoulder tightens. Warm, but sharp. A warning of beginning. The old man's gaze returns and then lowers to the drawn card. The card is known. 

"Square."

"Good." The old man nods approval. 

Discard. New card.

"Triangle."

"Good."

Discard. New card. Again and again, same as before. 

Until it is not. 

The circle that appears in the old man's mind warps and blurs. Elongates into points. This has not happened before. The image is always clear. Hesitation. The hand tightens harder on the shoulder. Warning. The handler doesn't like hesitation. 

"What do you see?" the old man prompts, sharp gaze focused and uncomfortable. 

"D… Diamond?" 

The old man's mouth twists and curls upward, wrinkled eyes crinkling more. The expected blow to the back of the skull snaps the head forward with a gasp. 

"Wrong." The old man sounds pleased. Why punishment? "State the objective."

"Name the shape on the card." Understanding. Straighten again. Pain lingers. Focus on the old man. "Circle."

"Good. Why did you say diamond?" 

Finger point to the old man's head. "The shape changed."

The old man chuckles, deepening to a laugh. A mark is made on the clipboard. Notes taken. "Oh, this one is promising." 

The hand on the shoulder returns, a soft and open pat. Praise. 

"Again." There's a square before the old man even draws. It flashes briefly as he views the card, then back to square. 

"Triangle."

"Good."

The game continues through the deck. Sometimes the old man conceals. Sometimes the answer is open. By the time the last card is drawn, the vision is blurred. The mind burns, like a muscle worked too hard. 

"Very good…" The old man rises from the table, looking past to the handler. "Have this one brought to my lab weekly, for further testing and evaluation. There is a very valuable mind tucked away in that little skull. We need to nurture it. Find a different way to reprimand it." 

"Yes sir," the handler says. A soft hand on the back of the skull this time. Praise. A faint warmth inside. The handler is pleased. 

The old man approaches. A finger tilts the chin up, eyes meeting. The urge to flinch away from the hard prying gaze is strong. 

"You're going to accomplish amazing things some day, little Re-Gene."

It is a relief when the old man leaves. 

[kittlesandbugs]

FHR Flash Prompt: Old enough Pairing: Sidestep & Chen Warnings: Just assholes being antagonistic Word Count: 309 Prompt: write an interaction between Steel and your Sidestep pre-HB, and keep it to 300 words or LESS.

"Are you even old enough to drink that?" 

The dry drawled question makes you choke on the rum and coke Ortega had fetched from the bar for you. Alcohol burns your sinuses as you glare daggers at Steel. 

"What if I'm not?" you hiss, wiping your face roughly with a napkin. "You gonna arrest me?" 

His left eyebrow inches up as he sips his own drink, and the quiet judgment makes your teeth grind. Ever since you dared reveal your face to the Rangers, his respect and mild curiosity about you has devolved into nitpicking and prying that reminds you far too much of the handlers at the Farm, circling for perceived weakness like sharks scenting chum. 

"I just don't want you to get Ortega in trouble," he says with false innocence. "Seeing as you don't seem capable of buying your own drink."

You know it isn't a dig at your financial situation, that's beneath even him. He's trying to goad you into showing an ID you don't have. 

"I'm old enough," you grind out between clenched teeth. 

An unexpected hand touches your shoulder and you just barely manage to not leap out of your seat. "She is," Ortega says and settles in beside you as you scoot deeper into the booth. He winks at Steel, a smug I-know-more-than-you grin on his face. "Trust me."

That grin rankles you almost as much as Steel's suspicion, but you bite your tongue as Anathema makes him trade places so she's sitting across from you. A perverse joke about your decanting age itches the back of your mind, and you smother it with the urge to show them all just how wrong they are about you. 

You still can't decide if it was worth it to show your face to them. But it must be because you keep coming back for more. 

[kittlesandbugs]

FHR Flash Prompt: Nightmares (Argent POV) Pairing: Argentstep Warnings: TW for death, suicide, blood, violence, kinda cannibalism Word Count: 381 Prompt: Write a nightmare… from the perspective of your Sidestep’s RO, that includes Sidestep somehow–can be Sidestep as the villain, or some HB-esque dream hellscapes, so on and so forth.

Are you… you? 

The silver mirror reflects only silver back. The features that are yours, but they aren't your own. Or are they? You don't know anymore. A child grown to adulthood with no reflection. Imagining what you could be. 

You had your father's nose. Your mother's eyes. That's what they said right? 

You have no nose. No eyes. Not anymore. Just them. 

Not you. 

You look down at your hand. No flesh. Just silver. It melts, fingers merge and reshape into a blade, glinting reflected light off its terribly sharp edge. 

Not you. 

Just them.

You could cut anything. Anyone. 

Except yourself. They won't let you. 

You try anyway. As deep as you can, you slice through skin and muscle and viscera. You watch in the mirror. Muscles reseal. Skin reforms. Not even a drop of red. 

Nothing of you. Nothing of any human. 

Just silver.

Just them. 

And not you. 

Are you even really you inside? Or just… 

Them?

They're hungry. 

A face appears in the mirror, approaching from behind you. Tawny skin, eyes as silver as your own, a tired smirk on inviting lips. You could cut her so easily. Spill her blood. Nothing would stop it. You could eat. 

You don't want to. 

They do. 

Your bladed hand rises but it's not you. 

Not you not you not you 

Get back! Your mouth won't work. No words escape. It's not you. 

It's only them. 

And they're hungry. 

And she's meat. 

And she goes down when you (not you) turn and strike. 

Red paints silver and it's gone in an instant. 

She's gone. 

And they feast. 

You feast. 

But it's not you. 

Was it ever? 

You lurch upright. Gag. Nothing comes up, not even bile to wash away the taste of iron in your mouth. 

Iron? 

No. You haven't left home. You haven't hurt anyone. 

You haven't hurt her. 

It's all in your head with them and they want to, they're hungry and it aches down to your bones. At least that much is you. 

A wave of your hand activates the voice system. "Text the project manager: rain check for today."

A moment later your phone buzzes. "everything okay?" 

The empty vase on your bedside stand says no, definitely not.  "Text her: it's not a good day."

[kittlesandbugs]

Title: Electric touch Pairing: Chargestep (Sidestep Days) Warnings: Suggestive but nothing near explicit, just drunk handsy idiots Word Count: 386 Prompt:  @sidestepping​ prompted for something short (<400 words) and horny (it’s about the anticipation). Challenge: no use of hands, mouth, blush.

You're drunk. You need to go home. 

The empty rum and coke bottles sit on the table behind you. His arms tighten around you, lips trailing along your jaw until they meet yours. Warm like your insides, warm like him, is there any place you've felt more at home than right here on his couch with him? 

Fuck. You really are drunk. You really do need to go home. 

Instead your lips part when his tongue teases for entry, head tilts to the side to avoid crashing noses as you let him in deeper. 

Wandering fingers tease at the hem of your shirts. Liquid courage in your veins stops you from pulling away. You swallow down the lump in your throat and instead capture his face between your palms and kiss him deeper. He can't see if you keep him occupied, right?

Warm skin and cold metal dip in at your tacit assent, curls around your hip and slides up your vertebrae. You shiver at the cold, the boldness, yours and his and fuck, you shouldn't be doing this. And yet here you are settling deeper into his lap and he's getting warmer. He's getting—

A painful jolt up your spine and through your pelvis, and you yelp and shove away and land hard on your ass. 

"Ow, fuck!"

The edge of the coffee table digs into your back, bottles tipping and scattering to the floor at your impact. You're lucky you didn't catch your skull on the corner. 

"Mierda, Riley! I'm sorry, are you okay?" 

He reaches to help you and you shy away, spell broken. You stumble to your feet and back up, shaking your head. 

"Fine! I'm fine!" 

Fine and sobering quickly, what the fuck is wrong with you? You're so stupid. He makes you so stupid. You need to get out of here. You grab your jacket from where it was tossed over the armchair. 

"Hey? Did I go too—? I'm an idiot, I'm sorry, please don't—" 

"It's fine," you blurt, and it is and it isn't and you wish… you can't. You need to go. "I just. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" 

You don't wait for an answer, you dart out the door and let out the breath you didn't know you'd been holding. 

What the fuck is wrong with you?