#fhr prompt

[dogueteeth-fhr]

FHR-Specific Prompts

Hi hello I'm trying to get back to being active on Tumblr again so have a lil FHR-specific prompt list. Feel free to prompt me or post this on your page to have others prompt you or prompt yourself! Tag me if you write anything from here I'd love to read it ^^

"Oh, the PR team isn't going to like this"

HG family dinner (bonus if it's a dinner with a very awkward choice of +1).

"You didn't used to be like this."

Ortega talks about Hood.

Sparring with Chen when one of his mods goes awry.

Revisiting a place from the days on the run.

Revisiting the Heartbreak site.

Talking about Regina to someone.

A visit with Finch.

Attending Mortum's Halloween party.

Babysitting Spoon for a day.

Sidestep has a nightmare but Rat King is there to save the day.

Practicing regene language with Armadillo.

Sidestep reveals an important piece of their past to someone they hate.

[glitchy-npc]

54 for whump prompts?

54: “You were right.”

Thank you @keltena for the same prompt!

Late afternoon, maybe an hour till sunset. 

The Boneyard is almost empty this time of day. Only a handful of people and their dogs, the last few stragglers trying to tire out their energetic companions before heading home for the night. 

Routine. Normal. Not that you’d know.

Is this what your life would have been like if you had been born human? A boring, safe, nine to five job and a dog to come home to? Something to care for, to guard you in return? Love, free from judgment.

It doesn’t matter, those thoughts are pointless. You’re not here for the dogs or their people, you're here to confront your tail. You don’t know who but you’ve felt someone tracking you the last few hours. Not direct thoughts but a prickle at the back of your neck, a feeling of being watched and you’ve survived too long to ignore those kinds of instincts. In an initial spike of panic you had been worried it might be the Special Directive, but waiting so long isn’t their style, they’re far too efficient. You doubt it's Ortega either, even if you can’t read him he’s never had any patience and he should be all too eager to confront you now after what you did to him. Stop thinking about Ortega, nothing good ever comes from that.

Did Hollow Ground send someone to babysit you? Watch you? Either way, maybe the presence of witnesses will keep things from getting messy.

You close your eyes and wait. 

It's not long before someone sits down heavily next to you. You don’t jump, you felt the familiar portcullis of the Marshal’s shields slam shut around his mind as soon as he entered The Boneyard, a bigger tell than even his heavy gait. His work legs you’d guess. That doesn’t bode well for you, neither does his silence.

“How long have you been following me?” Maybe letting him know you're not as easily ambushed  as the first time he met you here will level some of the playing field.

“What makes you think I’ve been following you?” Of course he answers a question with a question. Asshole. 

“Please,” you scoff. “Do you expect me to believe this is a coincidence? You're not even here with Spoon.” That thought makes you a little sad, you suppose you’ve lost your dog walking privileges now that you’re a known villain. That's a shame, Spoon is a good dog. 

The Marshal doesn’t bother to offer any other excuse. Maybe you don’t deserve one.

“So are you here to arrest me?” Might as well start with the worst possible scenario.

“No.” The admission is quick, the ‘not yet��� left unsaid. 

“Then what, just here to remind me not to fuck up?” Your laugh is dry.

“What makes you think you haven’t already fucked up?” You can feel his eyes on you but you don’t take the bait, you keep staring straight ahead. You wonder if he means your choice of career or the mess you've made of your friendship. 

“Shut up, you know what I mean. You’re fine with me off the leash for now but if I fuck up and get someone killed, that blood would be on your hands too.”

“There's already blood on my hands, for a long time” His sigh is heavy and tired. You sneak a glance as he clasps them together, mechanical fingers interlocking. “At some point you just stop trying to wipe it clean…and try to do better.”

“Do better…” You echo his words and shake your head. “Is that what this is? Honestly I’d prefer being arrested over having to sit here and listen to your platitudes.” It’s not much of a joke but it gets something between a laugh and a cough out of him. 

“Believe it or not, I’m not here to lecture you.” You're about to call bullshit before he continues. “I thought you might have questions for me.” 

“Sure, I got one, is cryptic bullshit just wired into your brain or something? You always do that.” Talking like you're supposed to know what he’s talking about, reading minds doesn’t work miracles. You roll your eyes but catch a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Maybe, but you’re smart enough to figure it out.” Ugh. Flattery? Asshole.

But he’s not wrong, it’s been almost six months after the crash and you haven’t seen any of the Rangers since – well, aside from a not so gentle reminder from Lady Argent that she’s getting impatient with your lack of progress on your little shared project, but the Marshal doesn’t need to know that. Instead you opt for something safer. Maybe you can spin this into information you can use. 

“Has Herald been keeping up with his training?” Somehow calling him Daniel feels wrong. That was a name he shared with Tegan, not Retribution. 

“I’m…not sure, he’s mostly been out on patrols.” Is that a warning? Maybe you should watch the skies more often. 

“You're just a wealth of information aren't you.” 

“To be fair, I thought you’d ask about Ricardo.” 

Fuck. As if that wasn’t the most dangerous topic between you. Maybe the Marshal will let you get on with your work so long as you toe the line, but you doubt he’ll keep letting you break his best friend's heart, not after last time. You wonder if he’d care if it's breaking yours as well. 

“Is he still mad about you keeping the photos from him?” The photos, what a quaint little term for the evidence of your torture at the hands of the Farm. Impossible to survive, maybe that makes them feel unreal. It’s a low blow shifting the blame, but then again, you are the bad guy here.

“We talked.” There's an undeniable tension in his clipped words.

“You mean you fought.” 

“I mean we talked. Yes, it got bad…and maybe he won't forgive me, but we cleared the air. It’s a start.”  

“Never would have pegged you for an optimist.”

“I‘m not but…are you?” You catch his quizzical look out of the corner of your eye.

“You have got to stop fucking doing that, I am litterally not reading your mind right now!” You curse yourself for losing your cool but it's really the most irritating thing about him. He never says what he means.

“Are you still angry? That I kept the photos from him.” He’s looking at you but you don’t dare look back, you can feel his gaze practically searing into your clenched jaw.

“When I was…recovering” A simple word for the agony that was being trapped in a medical bed in your base, helpless, hurting and all too vulnerable. “All I did was hate you.” If Ricardo had known, even suspected you were alive, maybe he would have tried to save you, maybe none of this would have had to happen. Maybe-

No. You’re long past maybes.

“And now?” There's something fragile in his question, not something you're used to hearing from him. Not fear, but something terribly adjacent to hope. 

Your sigh feels bone deep. You can only lie to yourself for so long. Even when it feels so much better than the truth. 

“No. You…you were right.” You wish it didn’t feel like pulling barbed wire from your skin to admit that. “He would have gotten himself killed looking for me…and I don't want that.” The last is said no louder than a whisper.

The Marshal nods, maybe he's made up his mind about you, or himself, you don’t know. You don’t want to. He stands up before the silence between you grows too long, looks like your interrogation is over.

“Take care, Tegan.” Your old name feels like a bruise neither of you will stop poking. 

The words slip out before you can stop yourself.

“Say hi to Spoon for me.” 

Chen hesitates, but doesn’t turn around.

“I will.”

[sidesteppostinghours]

1 for the fhr prompts? :3

prompts from here!

HI I STARTED WRITING THIS THE MINUTE I SAW THE PROMPT LIST SO. EXCELLENT TIMING HONESTLY. this was a fun little what-if scenario very much inspired by @firststrikerr nefferious incident fic, you all should go read it, it has incredibly fun argent and chen dynamics. BUT ANYWAY. herald and argent.. go!!!

(oh also, pspsps @dogueteeth-fhr since you requested it as well)

1. "Oh, the PR department isn't going to like this."

"Oh," Argent says, a slow grin creeping onto her face, teeth as sharp as her smile as she inspects the picture on the fridge. "Oh, the PR department is going to hate this."

Daniel wasn't listening to her, too busy being miserable with his face buried in his hands. He'd been stuck like this for ten minutes now, wordlessly coming to terms with the fact he was getting fired. By this point, he was beginning to make peace with the idea of retiring. He had a good career. Maybe he could come back as a vigilante some time in the future with a proper masked identity this time. It was a miracle he wasn't fired the minute he stepped foot inside Steel's office; then again, maybe it would've been a mercy. That was easily the single most awkward conversation of his life. There's not exactly a tactful way to tell your teammate to not kiss the villain that broke his leg.

"Where did he even find this? I haven't seen anything on the papers yet." Argent tugs it off the fridge, thank god, grabbing a donut before plopping herself on the table next to him.

"I don't know," he groans, the first words he's said since he found it hung up. "They were there when I got here. I haven't seen Ricardo at all today."

"I'm surprised he hasn't tore you a new one yet." She takes a bite of her snack, looking at the pictures like she was reading the morning newspaper. "Cyrus to Puppeteer is one hell of a rebound."

Daniel grimaces, which was an appropriate reaction, but not for the reasons she thinks. Right. He broke up with Cyrus. That was bad enough for Ortega, but now he's made out with Puppeteer. Who is also Cyrus. Except Ortega doesn't know that, because Daniel kept it a secret. For Cyrus. And Puppeteer.

Ricardo was going to kill him.

"How long do you think it'll take till the press gets a hold of this?"

"Maybe... maybe PR will catch it in time?" He pulls his head up, looking at her with impossible hope.

She pauses her eating, looking over the picture to him with a single raised eyebrow. He groans again, dropping his head on the table with a thunk. He can hear her resuming her chewing.

"If it makes you feel any better, I think this is the first time Puppeteer's ever run away from you."

"Please." His suffering is still audible despite his voice being muffled by the table. "Be quiet."

It wasn't fair– what was Daniel supposed to do? They were in an abandoned building, nowhere near to any place the press should've been. He drags a hand over his face. The answer was obviously fight, but Puppeteer was taunting him. Getting riled up would've played right into his hands. He had shambled towards Herald with a stutter in his step that's so easy to connect now that he knows who's behind the mask. He thought the suit was designed to move like that, to play up the inhumanity (a terrible word choice, and it makes Daniel's mouth taste bitter).

"What would it take," he'd hummed, the vocal distorters turning it into a dissonant tune, "to finally make you face the truth?" He took a step forward, and Herald had stared him down, feet steady on the ground. "It was so easy getting what I needed out of you," he whispered. "You were so willing to be fooled." They were close enough to touch, but Puppeteer still had his hands neatly behind his back, and Herald hadn't budged. He had wondered what Cyrus could see on his face, read in his mind.

"You're nothing, Herald– to me, and to the rest of the idiots calling you heroes. Do yourself a favour, and quit before you end up embarrassing yourself again."

He was provoking him. It was clear to anybody who had any idea of the way Puppeteer operates. Part of Herald was tempted to give in– to take the first punch, and finally air out the grief he's been hiding for weeks. Was that his own sense of betrayal, or mental manipulation to goad him into acting? There was no way to be sure. The rest of him had wanted to prove him wrong.

So he did.

He finally closed the gap, quickly enough that Puppeteer didn't have a chance to register what was happening, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him into a kiss. It wasn't good, his mask isn't exactly one inviting affection, but it wasn't for long. He'd pulled away, and he could imagine the emotions going through Cyrus' face even with the mask on, hands caught halfway between any sort of movement. It was the same look he had when Daniel said he liked hanging out with him the first time they had coffee together. The same look when he admitted he was attracted to him. The same one when Daniel said he loved him.

He hadn't realized his hand had migrated from over his face to settle onto his mouth, and when he finally looks up again, Argent is staring at him, brows furrowed together. Shit.

"Listen, I don't know what's going on between you two, but-"

"You don't need to say it." There's a slight squeak to his voice as he cuts her off. "Please. Whatever you need to say, Steel already told me. I promise."

She smiles again, amused, finishing the last of her snack.

"Whatever you say," she shrugs, swinging her legs off the table to stand back up. "Have fun with Ortega," she sing-songs, turning around before she could see his face.

She throws the picture in the trash as she leaves, leaving Daniel to wallow in peace.

[aurriearts]

(image description in alt text) drops mortumstep + one velmaphne halloween puppetmortum on your lap and leaves

(silly novelty argos mug idea prompted by @silvery-bluish)

[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.

[heartbreakincident]

64 or 70 for the whump prompts?

(prompt from here)

70. Pacing.

(cw dog bite, but no animals are harmed)

steelstep, oc: eden. 1331 words.

It was always a little funny when he got hurt outside the suit. You'd think with all the daring stunts he pulled as Crux that that would be when he got hurt—and he did, sometimes. But the thing about the suit was that it was armoured and padded, with built-in airbags and all sorts of tech that minimized damage to the body inside.

A thin long-sleeved shirt and hoodie didn't quite have the same stopping power.

It's a comedy of errors, altogether. Spoon was muzzled, the other dog wasn't, and when the play fighting turned too rough, Eden's instincts had put him between the dogs with his body instead of his mind. Spoon backed off fast, but the other dog was big and disoriented and its teeth wrapped clean around Eden's forearm hard enough that he's pretty sure there was a crack.

At least he doesn't need to pretend he feels the pain. With his gate gone, the sharp gasp and panicked wrench of his arm to try to get it out of the dog's maw is all too genuine, and it takes him longer than it should to remember he's a fucking telepath. The mental shove at the dog's mind is in the shape of the words DROP IT, and the dog shies away with a whine at about the same time Chen makes it to Eden's side.

"I'm so fucking sorry," the other dog's owner is saying. "He's a good boy, he doesn't usually—"

"I won't press charges," Eden mumbles, mostly because he can't and partially because it's his fault, not that the owner would know that. He was the idiot who forgot he had access to a magic stop button in a dog's brain.

He's a little dizzy and he can feel the blood dripping down his numb wrist, so he hugs his arm close to his chest and lets Chen haul him to his feet.

"You look pale, let me call you an ambulance," they say, and Eden is shaking his head before they even finish getting the words out.

"I just need to go home," Eden says, more to Chen than to them. "No ambulance."

"No ambulance," he agrees, though he doesn't exactly seem pleased at the prospect, if the way he glances down at Eden's arm is any indication. "My place is close," he adds, and Eden knows it to mean I'm not letting you go home by yourself, so he lets himself be tugged along.

Spoon whines and nudges his nose into Eden's hip the whole way to Chen's apartment, and as soon as they're through the door Eden sprints to the bathroom, locking himself in and throwing drawers open until he can find the first aid kit.

"Eden," Chen calls through the door. "Let me in."

"I've got it," Eden insists, unzipping the red bag of medical supplies with one hand. Of course Chen had the good stuff—this was the sort of kit a paramedic might carry, and it was surprisingly similar to the bag Eden had at home. Though this one had seen a lot less use. Most of the supplies had been untouched, which was to Eden's benefit right now.

The door handle jiggles, and then there's a soft thud before footsteps start traveling back and forth in front of the door. He's resorted to pacing, heavy footsteps creating a steady rhythm.

"You shouldn't have to deal with it yourself," he says as Eden shrugs his hoodie off his shoulder and gingerly removes it, dropping it on the floor next to him.

"I'm used to it," he replies, before hissing as he tries to push the mangled sleeve of his shirt up. Not happening. The fibres are dried into the shallower punctures that have already started clotting. He grabs the little pair of scissors in the kit and cuts the sleeve open from wrist to elbow, before running his arm under lukewarm water and gingerly peeling the fabric away. He stays awkwardly leaned over the sink as he cuts the soaked fabric off and leaves it in the basin, before he sits back down on the edge of the tub to poke through the kit again.

"It's nothing I haven't seen," Chen says through the door, his voice carrying oddly as he paces back and forth in the hallway, closer at the start of his sentence and then further away by the end. Thump thump thump. His footsteps are quick but even, like a forward march.

And he's right. He has seen it before. Both the bloody punctures and ripped flesh of Eden's arm and the bright orange tattoos that curl around his elbow. The secret is out, at least to him—the whole reason behind this song and dance is already null and void. If there is anybody on earth Eden could get help from right now, it's the very worried man on the other side of the door, wearing down his floorboards with his back and forth.

But the thing is, these sorts of habits die hard, and Eden is used to licking his wounds in private. Hide the pain until he could crawl back to his den and take care of it. Shrug off the lingering worry the next time he saw anyone. Grin and bear it, but without the grin, because Eden didn't smile terribly easy, anyway. It was safer. Easier, too.

So he plucks the fibres still stuck in his bloody arm out by himself, and the door stays locked. And when it's as good as he's going to get it, he goes back to the sink to wash the whole thing off. God bless Chen and his boring ass, because the hand soap he has on the counter is unscented and gentle enough that he can use it to wash these cuts out without resorting to the bottle of alcohol in the med kit.

With most of the blood off, he's finally able to do a proper assessment. The dog had latched on unevenly, with the punctures deeper the further up his arm they went. Near the wrist they were shallower and already clotting nicely on their own, but something definitely compressed a nerve because his hand felt weirdly tingly and numb. Not good. It wasn't broken though, he could tell that much. Maybe cracked, but he'd dealt with worse than that before.

The deeper punctures were still bleeding enough that it was concerning. He bandages the lower half of the bite and then wraps the rest with a preliminary layer of gauze, applying pressure to the worst of it as he uses his numb hand to poke around the kit. "You don't have sutures," he comments.

The pacing stops abruptly. "Do you need stitches?"

Good question. Does he need them? He looks up at the ceiling, weighing his options. There's hemostatic bandages in there. If pressure slows down the bleeding, then he can probably get away without them.

"Probably not," he answers, thinking that's a nice, diplomatic answer.

"Eden." There's that thump on the door again. "Please let me in."

He glances around. Chen's formerly pristine bathroom is now a mess of water, little drips of blood, bandage wrappers, and scattered supplies. Peeking under the gauze, he can see the bleeding has slowed down enough that he's willing to tentatively say he could try to get away with not doing stitches, but his arm was still numb and applying the sticky bandage with only one hand would be annoying.

"If I unlock the door," Eden starts. "You're not allowed to say anything stupid like you need to see a doctor or this is really bad. You're just going to come in here and help me bandage it, and that'll be it."

A slight pause. "Is it really bad?"

"I've had worse."

And because he knows this is the best deal he's going to get, Chen doesn't even counter-offer. "Fine. Please just let me help."

Eden leans over and flicks open the lock.

[mercuryisfronting]

constrained writing prompt

cyrus whump prompt! without any use of the letter 'e'.

533 words

trigger warning for the immediate aftermath of heartbreak.

A body falls. Your body.

This is your body, isn’t it?

A man you know wails but cannot follow. You faintly know him as Ricardo. Slowly, as you fall away from that vicious building, your mind crawls back into your skull. 

His hands grasp at air but his companion is holding him back, firm and unmoving. Both sob but only Ricardo’s slips past lips, only Ricardo wants to jump, only Ricardo wants to catch you still. His companion has lost too many and is too cowardly to allow additional loss. Ricardo will fault his hands for moving too slowly. His companion will fault his cracking mind for slowing Ricardo down. 

But it is nobody’s fault four is now two. 

This was your own doing. Your own mind. Falling is what you want. This is what you want.

It’s not, though.

It’s not. This is wrong. You thrash as you fall but your body won’t stop.

Glass has burst into a tornado around you, providing you two last human comforts, pain and tranquility. Shards cut into your skin, and warm blood spills out. Your body falls swiftly against asphalt with a loud crack that hurts so badly you almost pass out. You wish you had. It shouldn’t hurt this bad, should it? You don’t think so. 

Ricardo’s sobbing is so crippingly loud in your mind that you think your brain is glitching. His wails drum in your mind, too loud for actuality. You hold onto it anyway. A dying comfort. Comfort. Human. Ricardo. So many things from your past don’t hold any import now. You will succumb to this pain and your anguish for humanity will vanish along with your soul. 

It will all work out.

This is okay.

(It’s not. It’s not!)

Hands grab ahold of you. Not kind hands, harsh hands. Hands that grab and pull and hurt. You sob and try to fight but you can’t. You know what this is. Doctors. Doctors and hospitals. You fight as hard as you can, thrash until your body almost succumbs to this awful, suffocating agony. It hurts so bad. You can’t think.

You can’t think about anything but how badly you want to run away. Jumping was stupid. This was stupid. This was not your plan. You don’t want Ricardo to find out from a doctor. It will ruin him. It will ruin you both. 

“Is this it?”

“Without a doubt.”

You almost miss what is said in your thrashing. Almost. It. A word not for you but about you. Your blood stills. Too dilatory do you find out what’s going on, do you find out who has you. Not doctors. Not humans who want to fix you and hand you back to Ricardo. Farm staff. Humans who want you rip you apart and hand you back to-

No.

Not that woman. You can’t go back to that woman.

“Stop,” your throat constricts. Talking hurts. Nobody stops. “Stop!” You say it again, so loud that you cough up blood. You think your lung has burst. Your body is thrown into a van with flashing lights and you sob. Thrash again. Thrash as hard as you can. 

A prick in your arm stills you. You don’t stop trying to flail but now your body won’t stir.

A surgical razor glints in a blinding light. 

[disastersteps]

#3 for the ask prompts? :D

Take place between Rebirth and Retribution! Just one of their many to come talks.

"You didn't used to be like this."

When they heard Ortega says it, Anita looks away.

"What makes you say it?" They say, moving their arm over to join the other arm that was leaning on the railing. Elbow almost close to Julia's elbow.

Julia hums and looks out the view of the ocean, and the sky turning orange.

"I... You were so chatty."

It was such a laugh that comes out of Anita, as they removed their mask. They look at Julia with a toothy grin as they begun to tell her everything that happened in the mission together with her.

"Huh, that's..." Anita looks out, "True... It is.. bad to miss that?"

Anita doesn't look at her, their eyes are now staring at the horizon of the ocean. But they feel Ortega looks at them.

"Huh! No! No, no, you... it's nice."

"How nice?" Anita turns to face Julia.

"It's nice that I get to tell you so much instead." Julia smiles.

And Anita looks at her, their face slightly warm with blush and they look away, into the sky. Into the oranges and blues and.

Do I really miss this?

[extreme-neutral]

Sorry @goldfish-fhr , Oro is the only Step I, personally, know who got that ending...

And that ending was the first association I got when I saw this prompt on @draw-the-squad-like-this and I couldn't help myself.

[capricule]

another dastardly sidestep brought to justice (exhibit a: why ortega always insists on driving instead of cyrus)

@lazyvoyager posed a Very Fun prompt that just tickled my brain the right way

[dogueteeth-fhr]

Eheh 10 for your Fhr prompts? 🧡

10. Attending Mortum's Halloween party.

"Are you sure this isn't tacky?" Caesar asks, grimace malformed with the plastic fangs in his mouth. It's an uncomfortable, familiar feeling, one that makes him a little nauseous to think about, but he doesn't complain. If making up to Mortum, even a little bit, means swallowing his nerves and a bit of plastic in his mouth, then he'll do it. It's the least he can do. "Oh no, monsieur, it's certainly tacky," Mortum says with a smirk, crossing his arms with a pleased look behind the cracked glasses. "But it suits you well."

"You look good, too," Caesar murmurs, hiding a smile of his own.

Brutus didn't know that Mortum likes Halloween so much.

Maybe it's stupid, greedy, to be jealous of himself, but it feels like something special to know something about Mortum that he didn't know about him under the facade of Brutus. Maybe it's a little hopeless that he finds himself breathless even though Mortum's costume is also a little cheesy, if well done; his usual lab coat, white, pristine, overlaid with monochrome gray and black shirt and pants, streaks of leave-on dye painting stripes of his hair in mad scientist gray. Would he enjoy if Caesar brought up the book? Does he appreciate the classic tales? Does he enjoy talking philosophy, would he be interested or unimpressed at the age-old question of Frankenstein and his supposed monster?

Everything still feels so new. So fragile in the wake of Caesar's exposure, since the night in the lab, staring over his own unconscious body, confessing everything to Mortum. Crying with him. Asking for a new start together, whatever that meant, at Mortum's pace. Mortum agreeing. The terror of watching his body awaken without him. Wondering if he'd ever return to his own body. Wondering if he even wanted to. Wondering if Mortum would want him to. Wondering who Mortum would prefer.

Shaky, dangerous thoughts.

"Are you alright, mamours?" Mortum asks, his warm hand cupping Caesar's cheek beneath the masquerade mask. Not enough to make Caesar's paranoia at being revealed to the guests ease, but between Mortum's assurances of the integrity and secrecy of the guests, and the wig and face paint (not that he really needed it, not even the Los Diablos sun had ever managed to rip the pallid dead hue from his skin, and he doesn't think it ever will) it's enough to put his worst fears at ease. For Mortum, he reminds himself. He can do this. He can try. He can try doing this. Doing... whatever this is. Them. Mortum's hand, soft and scarred with soldering burns, that Caesar hesitates to lay his hand on-- hesitates to believe he can, that it would be okay, after everything-- and his smile, as thin and uncertain as Mortum's own. Awkward. New. Born again. Terrifying. Exciting.

"I'm alright," Caesar says, placing a ginger kiss to Mortum's palm, allowing the doctor to entwine their fingers together, licking his lips and his eyes flickering from their hands to the door. "Do you want to head out first?"

"No," Mortum says, his hand gripping Caesar's tighter. "Let's go together."

"Together? Won't it be odd for people to see us walk in at the same time-"

"Yes, together." Mortum's smile is soft, and uncertain, and his hand fits so awkwardly in Caesar's. Nothing at all like Brutus' hand, big, strong, wiry, meant to hold Mortum's with a firm, assured grip. Caesar's skeletal hand feels so warm in Mortum's.

There are no tears in Caesar's eyes beneath the mask.

"Okay, together."

[glitchy-npc]

8 👁👄👁 for tegan and ricardo if you like, or anyone else if you're inspired!

8...In Secrecy. [AO3] Sidestep era days, 830 words.

Tegan’s not sure he’ll ever get used to how big the sky is. He can see it in the city, of course, but it's all broken up, contained, wrangled in by skyscrapers or obscured by smog. Not that most people bother looking up, Los Diablos is the kind of city that forces people’s heads down. 

But out here at the ranch, it’s different. The sky is wild and unrestrained, the vast blue broken only by the occasional wispy white cloud. 

It's beautiful, and intimidating. All that space. All that freedom. He’s not used to it. Trying not to think about the Farm only makes him think of it more. The four concrete walls of his sleeping cell. The training room. The labs. The showers and the mess hall. That had been the totality of his world until his first mission. The sky had been overcast then. People died. He followed their orders. Stay in one place. Play the piano, pick up the thoughts, relay them to his handler. What they did with that information wasn’t hard to guess. Blackmail, extortion, “accidents”. No, call it what it was. Murder. Tegan knows that If he wants to be a person instead of a tool, he needs to take responsibility like one. Don’t blame the bullet, blame the one who pulls the trigger. The one whose information set it up. He could have lied. But he didn’t. And people died for it. At least waking, conscious thoughts are better than the nightmares. More control. He can stop thinking about it when he wants to. If he wants to.

His thoughts are interrupted by a warm arm pressing against his where they rest against a wooden fence.

“Head in the clouds?” Ricardo's smile is smug but his eyes are soft. He’s different when he’s at his mother’s ranch. Different in a way Tegan finds hard to name. Relaxed, maybe. At home. Another unfamiliar concept.

“What?” Tegan blinks, head still foggy from memories.

“It's a saying.”

“About what?”

“Daydreaming, mostly.” 

“I wasn’t.” And it's the truth. Memories of the Farm are closer to hauntings than daydreams. Ghosts that refuse to leave. Maybe they can’t.

“Well, I was.” Ricardo’s smile teases wider and Tegan knows it’s bait but bites anyway. It’s not like Ricardo wouldn’t have pressed on regardless, silence never stopped him.

“About what?” 

“About kissing you again.” Not even the slightest hesitation. Asshole.

“Don’t be an idiot.” It was one of Tegan’s best tactics, hiding flustered embarrassment behind insults. There was no sidestepping that one, he walked right into it. Maybe he was the idiot. “Besides, we’re not exactly alone.”

“Oh I don’t think the horses gossip much.” Ricardo chuckles a little at his own joke. 

“Not the horses.” Tegan groaned. “The ranch hands.” He had already forgotten their names which was frustrating but people rarely think about their own names. It was hard to remember his own sometimes. That this one stuck when so many others had slipped away. 

“Not to mention your mom.” That was who the secret of their…whatever this was, was really being kept from. 

“Then let's go somewhere more private.” Ricardo suggests, voice dropping an octave that does strange things to Tegan’s stomach. Butterflies. Humans call it butterflies. 

Another obvious trap but Tegan doesn’t even flinch when Ricardo grabs his hand and pulls him along. He really was the idiot. 

The trip isn’t long and it ends at the barn. The barn smells of horses and old hay. And Ricardo. His cologne, a bit of sweat. So close as he pressed his lips against Tegans, backed up against the wooden barn door with its peeling paint. The kiss is different from the one they shared on the battlefield. No blood, for one, but still the same adrenaline. Would kissing Ricardo always feel like this? Exciting. Dangerous. 

A risk. Tegan can’t help but feel a nagging sense of dread even as Ricardo's tongue slides into his mouth, pressed closer against the old wood as the kiss deepens. 

No, not dread, someone’s approaching, thoughts intent on the barn and the sound of footsteps confirm it. Ortega must have heard them too since he pulls away just as one of the farm hands round the corner. Juan. His name was Juan.

“Oh, hey Ricky, your mamá was looking for you, foods ready.” Juan says. If he had any suspicions about what the two of them were up to, they aren't in any forethoughts Tegan can read. 

“Just giving Tegan the tour, we’ll be right in.” Ricardo lies with confidence. Juan simply nods as he leaves. 

“Come on, let's go eat.” Ricardo claps Tegan on the shoulder. As if nothing had happened. As if Tegan’s whole reality didn’t shift its axis every time he touched him. No, that's dramatic but Tegan doesn’t have any other words for that feeling so he sighs and follows Ricardo out of the barn and towards the house. 

The sky settles into the soft pink of sunset.

[silvery-bluish]

27 or 35 for the touching prompts, please. Whichever one speaks to you more

this has been sitting in my inbox AND my wips for far too long. whoops. but hey, I did both of them! they have ENTIRELY different moods.

Wordcount: 452 + 375

Contents: 27- post-reveal, mid-some sort of Catfiend fight. Flystep adjacent, but not resolved. Don't worry about the context I don't know what it is.

35- Chargeflystep. Nebulous don't worry about it future. Soft and sleepy. Just scars no bruises but I think it still counts.

27. pulling the other one towards them

It’s impulse, reaction, motion without thought and you never move without thought except--

Okay. One thought. One fallback. No— and grab for Daniel’s arm and yank, pull him directly into you for lack of anywhere else to go, claws and limbs and mind too-caustic too-sticky to get a good bead on, but you can see the edges of it and the way it’s headed, and it turns too quick for Daniel to read so--

Armor’s not the kindest thing to collide with, but it’s less sharp than the Catastrofiend’s blades. He winces, flinches back from you, more muscle spasm than actually fleeing but only because he caught the impulse and that feels like a blade, too. Slipped right between your ribs, deserved and welcome. 

You fire your jumpjets at the same time, he’s light in your hands, no real extra weight for the jumpjets, and you can’t afford to think about the fear-terror-anger that blares against your mind like a goddamned klaxon.

Blades catch the edge of your cape, slice through fabric like butter— too sharp, unnatural, Mortum doesn’t go in for cheap polyester— but you’re clear, for a few seconds. Balanced on a knife’s edge less literal than the Catastrofiend’s. 

Because as convenient as the jumpjets are for getting away, they’re not built to maintain altitude. A split second of free fall before Daniel — Herald he’s Herald remember that — catches the both of you. Hero reflexes, even now. Even with you. 

He doesn’t drop you. Arms flailing, briefly, to get a good grip, but gravity doesn’t yank you back. You’re torn between being-- so relieved that he didn’t drop you and so, so scared that he’s still trying to save you.

You still trying to save him was never even a question, to you. He’s got every reason to let you drop right back into those glinting blades, and you’ve never stopped caring for anything truly important in your life. At least you’re aware of how stupid your loyalty is, even if he deserves it. Even if he deserves so much fucking more than it.

No time for that now. You’ve got more immediate problems that need your full attention. 

“Going down,” he warns you, aloud, and you brace for the intensifying of the freefall drop, but it’s— measured, still, no stone’s fall to the ground here. 

There still no time for niceties, even if he wanted them, your face obscured by your helmet and his by his goggles, both of you persona and not person except Herald’s part of him in a different way than Anathema is a part of you. 

You refuse to let yourself hang onto him. He doesn’t let you go until you’re both on the ground. 

35. kissing their bruises and scars

There’s pressure to the side of your nose, warm, the sensation of something fuzzy brushing the space between your eyebrows. Open your eyes, find Ricardo on the exit, and you sigh, eyelids heavy but you want to see. 

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, voice hushed, and Daniel’s shifting now too, bleary blinking sleep out of his eyes where he’s curled around your arm. It’s too early, you think, and a vague glance towards the alarm clock says-- yeah, too early. Early enough the resident morning person is just as asleep as you.

You catch Ricardo’s hand, bring it to your face, sleep-hazy press of it to your lips. You know where the scars there are, where his mods meet skin, as well as he knows where to find your scars in the dark. “You’re up early.”

“Things to do, people to see,” vague, annoyingly so, but you’re not awake enough to want to push right now. “Go back to sleep, Ars.” Daniel’s already taken the cue— or, not quite, but he’s shut his eyes again and is just listening. 

“Don’t get yourself hurt, idiot,” you say, but you can’t muster any of the bite you want in the tone. He laughs, steps closer again to kiss your lips and drops one to Daniel’s forehead, in convenient reach.

“No promises.” 

“Don’t end up in the hospital again,” Daniel, chiming in and on your side, even if he’s still groggy, too. 

“I’m just meeting a contact. She keeps weird hours, it’s fine, both of you.” Exasperated now, but fond. 

You start pulling yourself more awake, moving as if to untangle yourself from Daniel, “Do you want—“

“I want you to go back to sleep,” Ricardo says, laughing, pulling the blanket further around your shoulders and pressing another kiss to your cheek. Along the scar under your eye. “Ars, really. It’s fine. I’ll be back for breakfast.”

“You’d better be,” muttered, and he laughs. You’re sure you aren’t very— intimidating right now, sleep-mussed and disgruntled, but that’s alright. 

Ricardo doesn’t close the door all the way behind him, leaving a thin slice of hallway light falling into the room. Daniel tucks his cheek closer into your shoulder to block his eyes, and you settle back in. 

[diogenes-blorbos]

So basically I just realised that Fall Out Boy’s song The Last of the Real Ones is the most Chargestep of all time and oh boy oh boy owie

[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.

[my-god606]

hopping onto the mugshot train I've seen floating around here

from the wonderful @lazyvoyager 's prompt on mugshots