#while I’m at it MORTUM AND PUPPET!

[just-a-tiny-goldfish]

We should have GOTTEN MORE PUPPET/ORTEGA

[kittlesandbugs]

Just training (AO3 link) Pairing: Some hints of complicated Chargestep Warnings: None Word Count: 1060 Prompt: from @sidestepping, POV switch: rewrite / riff on a canon scene from Rebirth or Retribution, but from the perspective of another character present rather than through Sidestep's eyes. Summary: A re-write of the scene in Rebirth where Ortega first meets the puppet, from his perspective.  Dialogue and scene flow cribbed directly from the book to match, everything else is me lol.

I can't believe my luck when I step out of the changing room for my usual session and catch a glimpse of familiar auburn curls in the corner. Familiar short, curvy form accentuated by the white belt cinching the dogi tight at her waist. 

Why is she here now? 

Making contact is something I've been chewing on for a while. Doing it at Joes is too suspicious. Can't randomly accost her on the street, that's just creepy. Especially for a woman of her stature. Training at the same dojo presented opportunity, and I’ve been building my cover as a regular member, but the opposite sessions presented a challenge: I almost never make it to the afternoon class. Just showing up there late and approaching seemed too suspicious. 

This is the chance I've been waiting for. She's the one out of the ordinary here. My curiosity over a stranger is only natural. It's a perfect cover. 

I watch quietly from the corner of the side mats as she practices forms in the mirror. Her motions are jagged, tight, frustration clear in every step, every movement. Light glances off her cheeks, is she crying? 

She is.

I almost feel bad for this. But it needs to be done. I've stalled long enough. Things are moving and I need to find out what, no one works with Mortum for fun. 

She steps off the mat, buries her face in a towel, and I take the opportunity to approach. Just a concerned stranger, that's all I am. Wait until she's calm, starting to collect herself and… 

"Are you alright, miss?"

She startles, looks up with wide bottle green eyes. This is the closest I've ever gotten to her. Even red and messy from crying, she's beautiful, soft round face, a button nose with a smattering of freckles dusted across her pale complexion. 

"I'm not sure," she says, low voice wet and uneasy. "Just stress, I think."

Something going wrong on the job? Work the angle, maybe I can get something. Put on a charming, disarming smile. 

"Are you new here? I've never seen you before," she asks, answering my smile. Dimpled cheeks, perfect straight white teeth, a tilt to her hips, she's good at working the same angles. She has to be in her line of work. 

"I'm a member."  No lying here, too easy to expose and blow me out of the water. Keep circling. "I usually attend the early sessions. Need to wake up somehow. Coffee rarely does the trick anymore."

"Ah, that's it then." Slightest tremor in her voice. Nervousness? Relief? I can't be sure. "I'm not usually here this early, but I needed to get some frustration out. Bad night."

Did something happen last night? Shit. Should've been working, but I still couldn't believe Riley—  No, focus, idiot. Turn on the charm, widen that smile, work the angle. Riley isn't here. She is. 

"Well, let's hope your bad night comes with a silver lining." I pause for effect, widen my smile, a little wink. "Or does that only work for clouds?" 

"Mixing metaphors already?" Her smile turns cold, voice hardening. "Aren't you supposed to be drunk for that?" 

Wrong move, maybe flirting wasn't the way to go. Might be something used with her too often with those looks. Better pull back. 

"I suppose you've got a point."  Let my gaze fall, show some vulnerability. I'm not a threat, not a creep, just a sympathetic stranger having a conversation. "Not that I would mind a drink. Got enough problems already."

"Oh?" A shift in her stance, green eyes widening, inviting me to open up, and damn, I can see why she's so good at her job.  Building that veneer of trust and openness. 

"It's nothing, really."

"Try talking about it. It's better than a drink this time of day, trust me."

As much as I would like to talk about my problems, talk about Riley, Chen would make a much better ear. This is definitely not the person to give any kind of ammunition to. 

I shrug. "It's just that a friend ended up in some trouble, and I'm trying to work out how to fix things."

"You one of the good guys then? To care that much about your friend?" 

Put my smile back on, don't let it show that I noticed that choice of words. Does she know who I am? It wouldn't be out of the question, I am what amounts to a celebrity in this town, but why keep the dance up? Does she suspect something? 

Turn it back on her, throw her off balance. This is no different than being on the mat or in a fight. "You don't have friends who do?" 

She scowls, bullseye. "I work too much for close relationships."

Something I can more than sympathize with. "That kind of ambition can be stressful.  Sometimes it's nice to have friends, even if it's just someone to fight who can't counter your every move." 

I flick my gaze meaningfully to the mirror behind her.  It lands and she laughs, relaxes a little. 

"Reflections do have their disadvantages, I suppose."

And there, there's my opening. 

"Want to train together, then?"  Hesitation wars with a yes in her eyes and the stark difference in our size and rank catches up with me. Not to even mention my mods, if she's aware of them.  I don't want to scare her off. "I'll be gentle."

Her eyes narrow, gaze turns challenging. Not so easy to scare off then. "Sure, if you think you're up for it."

"Wouldn't have asked otherwise." Give her a grin, challenge accepted. "I'm Ortega by the way. Ricardo Ortega." 

No flash of recognition at the name. Only anticipation, some fire in her eyes as she answers back, "Jolene." 

Ha! Flaming locks of auburn hair, eyes of emerald green. What an obvious alias. She either knows who I am already and is daring me to say something about it, or isn't aware of my identity as a Ranger at all. I'll keep the play at normalcy until she proves otherwise, if she does. Help her with training. Get her to want to come back for more. I can build on that, play the long con. 

Maybe have a little fun in the meantime, too. 

"Let me just find us a spot on the mat, then."

[glitchy-npc]

6, 14, 16 for Tegan & whomever? (Or both 👀) From the couples ask questions

How do they react to the realization that they like the other character? Is it an “oh my god I’m never going to think about this again” thing, or are they pretty comfortable with it?

With Ortega, Tegan was very very slow to realize his feelings yet very quick to deny them. Having any sort of relationship, as a trusted vigilante and later a friend, that was already so much more than he ever could have hoped for. A romantic relationship was never in the cards, and a physical/sexual relationship was beyond comprehension.

And then Ortega kissed him. I like to think post Psychopathor fight kiss he spent hours just sitting in a motel bath tub, after stitching up his leg, rubbing his lips and thinking wtf...wtf. He tried to avoid Ortega for weeks afterwards, but we all know how successful that endeavor always turns out to be. He tried to downplay it despite spending increasingly more time (and more kisses) with Ortega. I don't think he was necessarily jealous of Ortega's other dates, and in some ways hoped one of them might break the thing they had going on, this was extremely dangerous territory after all. But Ortega seemed to be hurtling in the other direction.

(cutting for length cuz this is prob going to be long)

With Mortum, he liked the good doctor right away, but assumed the much younger, more attractive Puppet was the only one Mortum would be attracted to. (That's just how humans work right?) That Mortum could ever see anything attractive in his real body was unthinkable. (Tegan did stop flirting with Mortum in the Puppet body, but they continued to be close friends).

Once all the secrets are out, he realizes he's given Mortum every single opportunity to hang him.....and they don't. And that's when he starts to realize maybe they can have something after all. (This is also after Rangers guilty reveal and his incredibly unclear break up with Ortega, and worries it just might be a rebound, but he truly does care about Mortum.)

What makes them feel loved? Would they build up the courage to ask for it?

Acceptance. True acceptance. If someone's shown up to this relationship with enough hammers and chisels to break past the walls of manipulation, lies, selfishness, trauma, violence and fear and still found something to love, well tbh his first reaction would be to not believe it (esp with Ortega because he can't be read) but given time, that's what would do it. The majority of his fear with Ortega is, oh this (random secret 152) is going to be the thing that makes him hate me and ruin everything. If he thought he could trust Ortega completely, everything would be different. But the way things work out with Mortum is a speed run of all his secrets in like one afternoon. And though Mortum asks for time, and it hurts, its far better than what his worst fears could have conjured up. On a more physical note I think small, consented touches are very meaningful to Tegan. Past!Ortega could be a bit pushy but nowadays he tried to be more aware of what Tegan is comfortable with and Mortum is hyper aware of what is and is not ok (and expects the same) Tegan and Mortum's relationship involves a lot more talking than with Ortega. (But Tegan and Ortega are more in sync, body language wise)

If they had the ability to just spend free time with their partner, what would they do? Would they go out or stay inside?

Hmm, lets say nothing earth shattering is going on and they'd have a full day to relax and not worry about all the...worrisomeness. With Ortega its mostly out. And very much a combo of work and food. Grab breakfast at a diner, scout the city for a while, street taco lunch, stake out (make out), A Situation Happens, then it's back home for a hot shower, diner and pretending to watch a movie as a prelude to sex (though half the time they are so tired they just fall asleep)

A free day with Mortum is coffee and simple breakfast in the lab (what Mortum would call lazy but even tho Tegan is very smart complex equations first thing in the morning are still a struggle), sex, shower, back to the lab, microwave pizza lunch, more lab time followed by a walk to clear the head, a nice dinner out, back to the lab home, sex again, and lying in bed talking till they fall asleep.

Thank you so much for the ask!! This was a fun one! And fic fuel.

[autistic-sidestep]

questions about suranga ! why did they pick their name / do you think it fits them ? what is their gender & sexuality ? what are their (romantic) relationships like ? what is their motivation, either in general and/or to pursue villainy ?

alright let's go!

The name ‘Suranga’ when i originally looked it up while trying to name him meant something like divine? It apparently also means orange, which is funny cos of his arrogance and daring stats lol, though he was more of a bluestep when i first made him, so yeah, oddly fitting. As for why he picked his name, I think I decided it was a name someone he almost came to see as a parental figure in his pre-vigilante days would’ve given their kid, if they’d been able to have one. In some ways, that was his way of honoring them and it was the first thing that could be his (if also something residual from farm training and people-pleasing to need someone else to pick).

he could’ve gone for something more common but then again, it wasn’t a name he was intending to share with anyone else until ortega, otherwise, he was always giving fake names. whether suranga actually believes he still deserves his name, though, honestly varies with his self-loathing levels. this guy has so many complexes lmao.

Genderwise, it’s kinda a mess? At first seeing ricardo on the news gave him some gender revelations, starting to id as a binary trans guy and staying stealth with the rangers (and it was def comforting to know there was a fellow trans man on the team, even if he and sentinel were never close) but it didn’t fully feel right? Then post second escape and through puppeting yasmin he gradually realizes oh, the whole girl thing isn’t so bad when it’s on his terms (or close enough), yoink, my gender now. As yasmin he’s a lot more confident, so he basically trials things he’d never be able to do as himself through her and post-debut, he gets a little bit bolder with his own body.

i’m ultimately imagining whatever mess in books 3 or 4 happens if ace gets their body back like this:

suranga: sorry abt the whole bodystealing thing thanks for the gender tho

ace: ???

Obv with the whole maintaining two different identities thing (without even factoring in argos post-debut), the Autism™, and never really having a stable sense of self thanks to cuckoo training (plus SO MUCH TRAUMA), it’s hard to actually pinpoint what his gender is, at best i’d say something like uh, genderqueer/genderfluid?

Sexuality is similarly a very big mess. He’s definitely aspec/some kind of aroflux, and his ongoing secret crush on ricardo is a jumble of ortega being his first real friend (and not letting anyone else close enough to have other points of reference), and being a simultaneously touch averse AND touch starved mf, and also the gender confusion triggered by ric before even meeting him (‘do i want to be him or be friends with him??’) so suranga’s whole ability to determine if it’s romantic/sexual attraction or platonic feelings is very very fucked. With ortega specifically they used to be very close (he thought the world of him tbh), but with ricardo hovering since their reunion he’s trying to keep him at arms length, because he’s very aware how well ortega can read him. He can’t help but go back to ortega in spite of his efforts to stay away, partly because he wants ortega to stop and/or help him but doesn’t know how to ask, or if he can.

He’s honestly very clueless on the chen attraction thing. There’s the baggage from having known eachother back before, but also post-heartbreak he can better relate to chen (which includes a mutual hatred of stairs!) because of the chronic pain/fatigue problems he’s had to deal with, and spoon is also a big factor - he does prefer cats, and his own cat Fred in particular that stayed with elena after HB,, but getting to hang out with spoon is pretty good too.

As yasmin, he becomes very fond of mortum, but he’s not sure he’d call it romantic attraction, though they might’ve flirted a bit at the start. Suranga really enjoys the doctor’s company and respects her a lot, in part cos it’s so fun to nerd out over tech stuff, and there’s none of the baggage that comes with ortega. he’d rather not compromise that friendship by stringing her along, so I think he makes it clear at the gala on the feelings? i’m still working out his canon route, but for sure he tells mortum the truth in retri. 

Also his flirting as yasmin bleeds over into his argos persona when he fights with argent. he def likes playing with fire lol. Romantic relationships are a big ????

However, in general relationship terms, he’s pretty familial with rosie and his crew, in part cos the dynamic reminds him a lot of the rangers in his sidestep days, and old habits are hard to shake. 

Motivation tends to vary, but the underlying principles are that he’s very very tired and bitter and just wants to feel like he’s in some control of his life again/not powerless - the argos suit is in part a mobility aid, because it lets him do what he could as sidestep, and more. argos gives him a lot of freedom and at times euphoria, but also huge guilt, just as he does with yasmin. he's following the path of least resistance (fate motive), even if that’s driving himself (further) into a self-destructive spiral. at least it’s by his hand instead of someone else’s?

Basically he’s swinging between these two modes: 

He also does a lot of joking to deflect from when he accidentally lets slip he’s not doing well  (which is. all the time) which is probably best summarized by an excerpt from the Hoots scene:

Faulty logic aside, there’s a lot of anger at himself, especially his past self for his naivety and getting careless (as much as he tries to bury it, he’s still a hero at heart), but also at the Farm, but it’s not like he can really touch them. I have a soft spot for the outsider scar cos that’s the first one i ever got, and the whole disconnect from the rest of the world feels very very fitting, and coupling that with the suicidal scar (so suicidal from rebirth → outsider into retri), though I have tried him out with puppetmaster too, and maybe some parts from the hunger scar can work too?

idk if he'll actually remain driven enough to stick to being argos, but it sure is fun watching him be a trainwreck about it

this has been a (semi-coherent) ramble about suranga thanks for indulging me <3

[silvery-bluish]

Look at you to see myself sounds INTERESTING 👀

Ask game here!

See, you found the one that’s been the bane of MY existence for the past four years lol

Look at you to see myself is my AU where the puppet (Named Galen, for Ars) is More Awake Than Previously Thought starting at around the beginning of Retribution. This is the bane of my existence because I am deeply fond of this AU and it contains some of the first stuff I wrote for Fallen Hero BUT. it is extremely disjointed and I don’t want to just like. Rewrite Retri, y’know, but it feels eck if I’m just wildly jumping around?? I don’t know.

I am however extremely easily won over by more-or-less platonic codependent nonsense, which is what happens in this AU. Sometimes you unpack your baggage in a guy’s head when you think he’s dead and he wakes up and goes “damn you live like this?” and it’s too late to bother trying to repack your baggage. So! Snippet under the cut plus a lil more discussion. Retri spoilers, if that’s relevant to anyone.

I like you, and the impression of a frown, even if it sort of seems like Galen can’t affect his own motor control, which is horrifying to think about. I don’t think I could be as much me as I am without you, because I only started getting better when you started visiting my head. And I think you’re right about this town, even if I don’t really remember it except what we’ve done together, and it’s fun to help you set up all your webs.

Arsinoe pulls up short at that, and says, “I’m riding your body around like you’re a puppet. I know I’ve thought of you as a puppet while I’m here. And when I’m not here I’m-- I’m not human. You have to have picked that up.”

Hate to break it to you, Nonny, but everything I know about Re-Genes I know from you, and I wouldn’t be any amount of awake if you hadn’t been popping into my head, so I’ve decided you’re my favorite person and I’ve got no desire to hate you, or yell at you. Maybe make fun of you for your terrible taste in men, because you’re gone on Ortega when Mortum is right there? C’mon.

They have to laugh, a helpless sound they can’t stop. “Yeah, that’s the problem here. My taste in men.”

Some of the premise of this, when I constructed it literally four years ago holy shit, is that when Shroud got Ace, it more or less… ripped out all the memories/connections/ties between the like. Most basic core kernel of mind and his body. It only sort of makes sense. But. The presence of Arsinoe/Sidestep acting accidentally as a way to rebuild the connections between self and body, the addition memories and functionality being a Weird Brain equivalent of Physical Therapy?? Little bit of a parallel to what the regene chip does in regenes, too. It’s still a setup I’m really fond of and I only feel Vindicated by the end of Retri, if I’m gonna be honest.

[amlovelies]

30, 31 and 32 for the step ask meme!

thank you for the questions and an excuse to talk about my steps 🥰 all answers will be as of the end of the public demo

this got a little long so I'm putting it under a cut

30. what is their love life like?

in general messy yes I have five side steps and yes I have romanced Ortega with every single one of them 😬

I've played the most of the different routes with each my step's mostly because I am fascinated with the about of variation in the game and how the dynamics between characters can change. For now though the closest to their canon is:

Cynthia had a thing in the past with Ortega which they've rekindled and are now lovers.

Vesper had a secret crush on Ortega back in their sidestep days. After returning they've done everything they can to avoid Ortega and those pesky stupid feelings. "They" had been dating Mortum, but that blew up on them. Upset and seeking comfort they end up accepting Ortega's offer for dinner and one thing led to another and now those pesky stupid feelings are out in the open

Curtis had a thing in the past with Ortega, and things are complicated now, but not as complicated as these new thoughts and feelings for Chen

Romi has gotten involved with Herald, even while carrying a secret crush on Ortega which she is determined to take to her grave . . . again.

James has been dating Ortega as his puppet John. Can't decide if I want Ortega and him to have a thing in the past or for it to be a secret crush. both are very flavorful

if it isn't already clear I am very in love with Ortega.

31. what is their combat style like?

Cynthia and Vesper are both tacticians. Cynthia is more cautious and does everything she can to avoid collateral damage whereas Vesper is more daring and ruthless.

Romi, Curtis, and James are fighters. Of the three James is the most cautios. Curtis is the most daring and has gotten himself in trouble more than a few times for thinking without acting.

32. do they favor forceful mind control or subtle manipulations?

forceful: Vesper, Curtis,

pretty 50/50: Romi

Subtle: Cynthia, James

☇ sidestep ask game ☇

[wesker20]

Happy Valentine’s Day

Something I wrote for a valentine’s day exchange in the discord. My giftee, @feather-x-crown told me I could share it here so here it is. Enjoy my first soft fic. The sidestep here is called Aeris and her puppet Aurelia. M!Ortega/F!sidestep

You wake up for probably the tenth time now; the sun is out. Another night with barely any sleep. Either because of restlessness or bad dreams you couldn’t keep your eyes shut.

You don’t turn the lights on in the bathroom nor do you look at the mirror as you brush your teeth and enter the shower. You try your best to avoid looking at them, always raising your eyes and looking elsewhere while passing the soap through your body. You succeed for a couple of minutes. Until the surface of the tub and walls reflect back the light in them your eyes divert to them.

All over your body, wrapped around your arms and legs like snakes ready to squeeze the life out of you. They already have…

You shake your head out of your trance and wipe the water from your cheeks to end your morning routine.

Today is a day you made no plans for. Why would you when you have nothing to celebrate. Everyone else planned something for today. Even Mortum said something about having a bourbon for himself today. He invited Aurelia over it but you said no. You wonder why but have no answer for it; and you don’t want to find it.

One small breath, that’s all it takes, one breath and closing your eyes before you find yourself in a different body. A better body. You prepare to put Aurelia through the same routine you just went through. Only this time you turned the lights on and washed on without a care in the world. Perfect. No scars, no wrinkles…

…no tattoos to spoil her. Just perfect. You smirk for a moment then your fist closes and now your pride in this body vanishes as you realize it’s not truly your body. It never will be. It’s just a puppet, an empty doll for you use. Nothing more, nothing less. Why is she so much better? You bite your lip, your heart accelerates, and before you know it, your fist clashes with the mirror.

“Damn it!” you pull back and take a look at your hand. A bit bloody but nothing big. Guess now she has at least one thing wrong.

 Even without your telepathy to listen to others, the walk to the gym is annoying. Everywhere you go you see decorations. Hundreds of hearts strung up everywhere, in buildings, cars, even the car seats of babies are littered with the damn symbol. Red and pink dominate the color schemes everywhere and you notice dozens of people going into stores and coming out with enough boxes on their hands that they have to watch every step they take.

Couples are the worst though. They kiss and make out in the open as if nothing else in the world exists; they giggle and speak in hushed tones while laughing. You quicken your pace to the gym. You can’t get there soon enough.

You are relieved to find only one person in the gym and they seem to be finishing. You change and proceed to hit the bag.

Punch after punch come and go. The bag moves forward and backward as each punch lands harder than the last one. Your hurt hand hurts a little more but you keep going in spite of it. You stop for a moment. Just a moment. You look around to find that you are still alone. Still alone. No one in sight. You check the clock to find that you are well past the time you usually come here for. By this time the gym should be filled. Probably out there, enjoying the life. This day. Hugging their friends and families. Their loved ones. Worrying about what to buy, what to wear, will their loved ones like the gifts or not. Day to day stuff. Stuff for this day. Normal stuff… normal…

You shake your head and go back to punching the bag. Much easier to just keep punching.

You lay Aurelia to rest and back to your body. Your real body. Not five minutes later you get a call. Ortega? That’s surprising. Ortega has been out of the loop over the last month. ‘Too busy’ he said. You’ve been wondering what the hell he was up to all this time.

“What do you want Ortega?”

“Woah, a bit aggressive there, aren’t you?” you roll your eyes at that.

“It’s, what time, 7:00pm.”

“Still early.”

“Still late for me.”

“Alright, alright. Just wanted to talk to you.”

“Uhuh,” you say. What is it about?

“In person.” What?

“Why?”

“Nothing big. Just want to talk, that’s all.”

This doesn’t look good. Something must not be right. Maybe he found something in his investigation on Hollow Ground. Or maybe… maybe he found out about you? Maybe he knows you are Retribution. And if he did, he may be setting a trap. If it’s like that you have to act quick, you have to come up with a plan. Something to make sure you don’t get caught, something like-

“You still there?” his voice rips you out of your thoughts.

“Yes, Yes! I’m here. I’ll go.” What! That wasn’t what I wanted to say. Stupid Aeris.

“Great. Remember the park that was close to the old HQ? I’ll see you there.” He hangs.

 Damn it!

You put on the first clothes you find, a long sleeve shirt, a hoodie, some pants and move on.

In the walk there you keep thinking about what could possibly be happening. All the worst things come to mind over and over again. Could be a trap, could be something dangerous, could be anything bad. Why would Ortega ask you to meet at the park in the night?

And your thoughts are suddenly invaded by other thoughts. You face palm as you realize you forgot to tune yourself out, to block your mind from other thoughts. You look around and find several couples, families, groups of friends, all of them smiling and laughing. Enjoying the day, this day that according to them is of love and friendship and some other stuff. Things you can’t have.

You shake your thoughts out and tune your mind off.

Finally you arrive at the park and you prepare for the worst. You scout it out, you reach out with your mind to sense others, you circle around, and find nothing. There’s people alright, but they are all normal people celebrating and spending time together, no problems, no ambushes, no strange looks.

“Sooo you gonna turn around anytime soon?” Ortega’s voice snap you out of your thoughts and you do as he says.

The first thing you notice is his hair and mustache are combed well. You can smell a bit of perfume and he’s dressed as if he was ready for a date or something. And he’s carrying a box shaped like a heart. Oh. Oh no…

“Happy valentine’s day. Was wondering if you wanted to celebrate it with me.” He puts on his best smile, though there’s something different about this one. It’s not forced, nor meant to lift you up. It’s…

…genuine.

And it hits you. He’s spent the last month preparing something for you. You don’t know what it is, but knowing Ortega… a lot of things. Of course he was planning something like this. How could you be so stupid Aeris.

You open you mouth to say something but nothing comes out. You can’t accept this. You are not someone who does this sort of things. This sort of things are for others, for those who are born and raised, for those who have lived their entire lives here in the world. Not in some lab with a number as your name. You are not good enough for him. You are not even a real person you are just…

…you.

And you are the one person he decided to spend his time with. He could have just invited anyone, he could have just gone with the other rangers, you know rangers used to do something together, you were present in some of those. He could have even asked Aurelia. She is, after all, better than you in every conceivable way. She’s taller, prettier, outgoing, charismatic, the center of the room, all things you are not nor ever will be. And yet…

…here he is. With his stupid smile, his combed hair, and a box of chocolates that make him look more like a teenager than an actual adult.

It must have started raining as you feel your cheeks getting wet. You can feel yourself smiling a bit as you take a step forward. Whole, fulfilled, even if it is for a moment. For a day. The rest of the world doesn’t matter right now, just you two. Just this, this moment. No thinking about the worst, no thinking about how bad things could get in the future, no thinking on how this will affect your plans or not. None of that. Just this moment. Is this what others feel? Is this how others would feel? Or are you just thinking of an ideal? Maybe you are just imagining that this is how it feels. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Right now, it’s just you and you can’t deny you want this.

“…yes,” you say and you throw yourself into his embrace, hiding your face in his chest. “Happy valentine’s day.”

[sky-scribbles]

In which my Sidestep flails in confusion over Feelings, and the Rat-King is better than any of us. nb!Sidestep x m!Ortega, ~2000 words, soft and dumb. Retribution spoilers. 

‘I was just wondering,’ Herald says. He’s fiddling with his shirt, awkwardness turning his mind fuzzy around the edges. ‘I mean, I know you and Ortega are dating, but –’

‘Wait. We’re what?’

Herald stares, and you stare back at him. Can’t he learn to shield his thoughts, even for a second? His baffled amusement is screaming out at you, and you would prefer that he didn’t do anything embarrassing, like smile. Or laugh.

‘Dating?’ he says at last. ‘I sort of assumed you were. He… cares a lot about you.’

Maybe he does. Not that you know why Ortega wastes his time doing something so stupid. And, yeah, sure, you can tell why someone would think you’re dating. You weren’t sleepwalking when you wandered down the promenade at his side, let him pull you into his arms and kiss you beside the water. Or when you let him buy you coffee afterwards, and then again the next week, and then the week after that. Or when you spent most of your visits to the Rangers in his office.

It’s just the implications of it that’s startling.

You grab your discarded hoodie, because if you don’t have something to do with your hands you might end up flailing them. ‘So, uh… you’d call it dating? What I’ve been doing with Ortega?’

Herald’s urge to smile wins out at last. ‘I mean, going places together doesn’t have to be a dating thing. But it can be.’

Shit, you need a coffee. Fast.

How the hell did you miss this? How did you not realise that you’d crossed a line into being official? Into dating? Kissing him is one thing, but dating has rules and codes. Things you’ve never quite understood but which seem to be very important to people who actually understand how romance works.

(Maybe your obliviousness shouldn’t be a surprise. Most of your experience with romance comes from reading Shakespeare, and those relationships tend to have significantly more stabbing than the real world. Or more conveniently identical twins.)

Hiding your face is an attractive concept right now, so you tug your hoodie over your head. ‘I just never thought about it that way. It’s hard to tell when these… definitions… start applying.’

Herald is now waging a furious war on his temptation to laugh. ‘Maybe you should talk to him?’

‘Definitely not. I wouldn’t even begin to know how.’

Then again, you don’t know how to date someone, either. Which you are apparently doing.

And after everything you’ve done to Ortega, everything you’re yet to do… shouldn’t you at least try to get this one thing right, while it lasts? Do some research, figure things out?

You shove your hands into your pockets, scowling at the ground. Research. Right. Into dating. That’s just bound to go smoothly.

Your first research opportunity comes three days later. Except it’s not really yours, because you’re in your puppet, a drink in your hand and Dr Mortum at your side. She’s pretending to complain about you dragging her away from her work, but for once she’s sitting back with a smile, her lab coat discarded. No tension in her shoulders, no distracted glances towards the workbenches. The sight makes contentment settle over your chest, as if a cat’s curling up to sleep there.

‘Complain all you like,’ you say, ‘but you need the break. It’s not good for you to stay here all the time. Disconnected from everything.’ You’re parroting Ortega, but it’s what Adam would tell her.

‘I recognise the voice of experience there, mon ami. Neither of us are…’ She hesitates, running a finger along the side of her glass. ‘Adept at emerging into the world.’

‘You got me there.’ Your own body’s response would have been a frown, an averted gaze, but you give a rueful little smile instead. Being Adam is a careful, if comfortable act: lines to rehearse, mannerisms to remember. 'Being around people is... so much effort. The rest of the world talks and chatters and goes on dates, and I could do that, but it’s exhausting. Finding the right people. Not driving them away. You know what I mean?’

‘Intimately. Though – really, you find it so hard to find people? If you took a seat in Joes for a few hours, and sat there looking appropriately tall and handsome…’

You snort into your glass. ‘Why tall, specifically? Are you suggesting there’s a height restriction on dating?’

You’re only half-joking. Dating is weird, you don’t know the rules, and if there is a height restriction then your real body most certainly fails it.

‘Relationships are not a theme park ride, mon ami.’

‘They’ve got just as many ups and downs.’

You remember belatedly that Adam does not mutter like this, but Dr Mortum only smiles at you. ‘You have some turbulent experiences in your past?’

You take a slow sip from your glass. Perhaps the gesture will hide Adam’s face, make sure the doctor won’t see any of your feelings, Wren’s feelings, displayed there. Won’t see any memories of Ortega’s arms pulling you from the wreckage and his lips closing around yours. His voice screaming after you as you crash through the window.

‘Something like that,’ you say, and Adam’s voice is not meant to shake like this.

Dr Mortum looks at you for a moment, her gaze even. And then she does something you did not expect: she reaches across the couch and lays a hand on your arm. Just below your shoulder. Gentle. Steadying.

‘Neither of our greatest skills are with people. And yet, here we are. Sharing a drink.’ The smallest of squeezes before she lets go. ‘I am hardly one to talk, but… I think half the difficulty is in the overthinking. Perhaps you’re not quite so bad at this as you think, mon ami.’

She doesn’t know what she’s saying. Adam might not be so bad, but Wren is.

You’re grateful, all the same.

‘What about you? What do you think?’

There’s a pause before you get a response: a brush against your mind that’s eager enough to make you smile.  ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ… :{D…???

‘Yes, him.’ You give the Rat-King’s canister a pat. ‘And I know you’ve only seen him when he was fighting me, so I guess he didn’t make the best impression. But he’s a lot nicer when he’s not being punched.’

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ… you… <3?

You bite your lip. Trust the Rat-King to get right to the heart of the matter. ‘Maybe I do. I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like. I just know I feel a lot.’

But not enough to stop you from putting him in hospital. People who date do not do this. People do not do this.

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ… :{D… <3????

‘I want to believe that he does.’ There’s a lump in your throat, so you tuck the canister into the crook of your arm. Wrap the Rat-King’s simple, uncomplicated affection around your thoughts. ‘But there’s no happy ending here. I’m not…’

You bite back the sentence, because you’re not sure the Rat-King will understand the significance of you not being human. In their minds, the only difference between you and other people is that you can talk to them. You’re more real than the rest of the world.

The thought makes you hug them tighter, because it doesn’t work like that, but oh god, how you wish it did.

‘Herald thinks I should talk to Ortega. Is that what real people do? Talk to the person they’re sporadically kissing and just… ask about how their relationship should go? There’s no universe where I don’t screw up that conversation. He’s going to think I’m an idiot.’

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ … (ง'̀-'́)ง!!!

The laugh that breaks from you is startled, and genuine. ‘I’m sure that’s not gonna be necessary, but... thanks for the support.’

You tug them even closer, cradling the little minds against your chest. Deep breaths. Remember what Herald said about Ortega caring. Remember what Mortum said about you overthinking. It’s just a conversation. It’ll be awkward and terrifying, but that goes for most conversations you have.

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ … <3 <3 <3 …

A smile tugs at your lips. When it comes from the Rat-King, you can be sure it’s true.

The Farm always considered you a good investigator. Unmatched at combing minds, gathering information, acting only once you’d put the pieces together. It’s why you were dangerous in their hands. It’s why you’re even more dangerous now, as Myriad. It’s why you feel like an utter mess knocking on the door to Ortega’s office. Being so woefully under-prepared is nauseating.

You really need a coffee.

He calls you in, and here’s another thing you weren’t prepared for: the way he smiles when he sees you. Your gut’s reaction doesn’t help, either.

‘Hey, Wren-bird.’ He’s grinning, and it’s so easy for him, isn’t it? Crack a smile, drop the old nickname as if seven years never happened, try to make you stop frowning. And it works. Every time, it works.

‘Hey.’ You try not to mumble. ‘Got a moment?’

‘For you? Hours of them.’

You roll your eyes and hop up onto his desk, trying to ignore the yawning mess of nostalgia in your stomach. You spent hours perched on his desk like this when you were Sidestep. You think you were sitting here when you told him your name.

Pushing those thoughts to the side, you look him in the face. ‘Are we dating?’

Here’s something you never expected to see: Ricardo Ortega, speechless. But it’s what you’re seeing, and you’d better make the most of it. ‘Because… I don’t know, Herald said we were, and I hadn’t thought of it like that, but yeah, I can see how we might be. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I wouldn’t know how to date someone even if I was trying to. I mean, apparently I ended up dating you without meaning to, so... if I do try to date you, I’ll probably somehow manage to end up not doing it, and –’

‘Wren.’

You stop, because your throat hurts. And apparently that’s all the opportunity Ortega needed to slip around the side of the desk, wrap a hand around your head, and kiss you. Softly, his lips curved into a smile against yours, and you want to roll your eyes again but they’re already slipping shut.

‘You can’t do this every time I start making things awkward,’ you tell him, as he draws back.

He nudges your forehead with his. ‘At least it stopped you panicking. Has it occurred to you that you might be overthinking this?’

‘Sure. I overthink everything. Including my overthinking.’

Another kiss, just barely brushing your lips. ‘You’re not supposed to do anything. If you don’t feel comfortable calling this dating, then we don’t call it that. If there are any… dating things you don’t want to do, we don’t do them. There’s no rulebook here. And if there was, I’m pretty sure you’d throw it out.’

You’re ready to protest, to tell him it can’t be that easy, but he speaks again before you can. ‘We’re going at your pace here, okay? The only thing you need to do is to not change a thing.’

One more kiss, to the top of your head this time, tender enough to make a drowsy, unfamiliar calm melt through your insides. It’s not safe, relaxing like this, but... you can give yourself a few moments. Because’s he’s definitely right about the rulebook. And because what you feel right now is something very like what you felt as you hugged the Rat-King: warm affection, without any complications. Simple.

This isn’t simple, and it never will be, not while you have amber brands on your skin and a suit of armour in your closet and a mess of secrets in your head. But you can pretend it’s simple. Just for a little while.

You always were a good actor.

[erintoknow]

this is nothing new

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

[Read here on AO3!]

Chapter: this is nothing new tw: death

[Same Old Blues]

You wake with a scream, tumbling off the couch, cracking your head against the edge of the coffee table with a ‘Thump!’ on your way down. Flashes of green before your eyes. Distantly aware of your heart pounding in your chest.

“Alex? Lord , Alex, are you okay?” The light flickers on as woman steps out of the bedroom, one hand shading her eyes as she winces against the light. Brushing back dirty blond hair, Chelsea tsks as she navigates the pile of clothes and library books that mark the corner of the apartment you’ve taken over.

Clutching your head, you pull yourself in. Try to make yourself as small as you can. Something… remembered something but what? It’s already gone. Doesn’t feel real, none of this does – already slipping out of your grasp, faster as you try to take hold. Why is Chelsea in Ortega’s apartment? Red and silver threads, something at your throat.

Hands find you and you strike out. Someone yells, “Ow!” the noise unheeded as panic renews; why did you do that? What are you thinking? You’re really in for it now – should know better. How many times do the same lessons need to be learned?

“Alex, Alex, it’s okay.” You tense, can feel the intention to touch incoming but it doesn’t – no hands come near you. “You’re safe. I promise you.” Notes of worry, directed towards – not you, can’t be you, has to be something else.

It’s a lie. One they love to tell. You’ll never be safe.

Have to… have to get out of here. Have to do something. Have to move. Get out. Escape. But there are hands, holding you down under white fluorescent lights, burning spots into your vision that cast of the crowd of onlookers in silhouette. Something is strapped over your head, while she looks down at you. Disappointment naked on her face, speaking with another woman’s voice. “Next time, I expect results forty-two.”

It’s the strobing flashes of red and blue that pull you out of it – a shot of adrenaline sets your hands shaking as you pull yourself out of the position you’d fallen into, laying half out of your bed.

You’re not back there , and you aren’t anywhere but here. Not Ortega’s, not Chelsea’s, not – not there. You’re in your own place. You have one of those now. An apartment. Remember?

Maybe not for long. Police lights? You clutch a hand to your aching head as you stretch out your awareness, take stock of the local minds, pick up the interlopers. Police. And… EMTs? Why? Dig deeper and your hands twist the bed sheet. Death. Someone’s dead. Footsteps in the hallway and nausea washes over you. It takes the sheer desperation of not wanting to spend a day cleaning out bedsheets, yet again , to tamper it down. Clothes stick to your skin in a cold sweat.

The apartment next door. On the left. Young man, lived with his girlfriend – her thoughts stand out, a barbed wire coil of grief. Was paying child support. Managed a convenience store. Didn’t smoke. Didn’t drink. Now he’s dead.

How? Why?

Try to press harder for the details only to immediately snap back. Shouldn’t have asked. Shouldn’t have wondered. You’ve never been good at learning that lesson, no matter how many times, you come to regret it.

Holding into the bedside table for balance, you push yourself up, vision briefly blacking out before filling back in as you stand. Give yourself a moment to adjust. To think.

The door. Check the door.

Navigating the gloom you step around the traps and check the door lock, the chain, bolt, and bar. Everything is in place. You’re still safe. Moving to the window you check that next. Shatter-resistant glass, threaded with a steel wire reinforcement. Not much for looking, but no one’s getting through it any time soon. Not without making a lot of noise.

You brush your mind against the police again. No thoughts to you. Or your apartment.

You’re not in any immediate danger.

Stomach prods you with pangs of pain. What time is it? Too early to be awake. It’s – it’s absurd, right? To think it’s your fault. His death. You weren’t even awake to do anything .

Wait–

Shit!

Jane! You were Jane and you were doing something – what? What were you doing?

“Are you sure you are alright to be out today, mon amie?” Dr. Mortum eyes Jane worriedly from the other end of the booth, fiddling with the glass of sherry in her hands. New glasses? The gold of her frames stands out against the dark tone of her skin.

“Doc, please.” Jane sighs, slumping back in her chair. No fancy looks today. Whatever is going on between Jane and Dr. Mortum now, that particular game is over. Your puppet, your mirror image, is wearing slacks and a cardigan. Plain and unfashionable. But you don’t need her to perform today. Not like that. Faded bruises still peeking out from under her shirt collar. Memory of stiffness. “It’s been weeks, I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.” The good doctor takes a sip of her drink, one hand on the table between them. Her expression grows darker, and Jane leans in too. Nerves on edge. “So it looks like your employer made quite the splash.”

“All thanks to your hard work.”

Mortum’s expression only darkens. Her eyes darting towards the side, down at Jane’s wrist. Eyes tracing something. Jane shifts her hand away, under the table. “I suppose there is a truth to that.” She sighs, looks up again to catch Jane’s eyes. “Have you… thought any more, about what I said?”

Oh. This again. Dr. Mortum’s always been happy to just take the money without questions before. Where is this sudden attack of conscience coming from?

“I can handle myself.” Jane’s smile gains an edge. “As I’m sure you remember.”

Mortum’s smile is polite, but her eyes betray amusement. “In vivid technicolor, mon amie.”

“Hah.” Jane snickers, “Don’t be such a nerd.”

Mortum keeps smiling. “Ah, but you recognized the reference. So who is the bigger nerd here?”

“Smart-ass.”

Can’t remember past that. But you just woke up so… you fell asleep, clearly. Did you fall asleep as Jane? Biting your lip you force yourself to lay down in bed, sheets still hanging half off. Close your eyes. Have to make sure you didn’t do anything stupid.

Finding Jane is getting easier and easier these days. Like there’s a cord strung between you – follow the thread and you’ll find her at the end of it.

Sink in, and it’s always touch that comes first, after that everything else fills from the outside in. As if you’re water pouring into an empty vessel. Jane sits up, blinking with bleary eyes. Only the briefest sense of vertigo before her stomach settles.

The dull soreness of healing bruises floats into awareness. It’s dark, with warm fabric drawn over her lower body… She’s home at her apartment. Safe. Everything’s fine. You worried for nothing. Jane glances at the alarm clock. 4 AM. Now that the possibility of danger is brushed aside, you’re free to be frustrated at this whole situation.

Nothing for it now. You’re not going back to sleep if you can help it. Jane’s hand finds her cellphone, checking for any messages. Nothing new; just her last exchange with Ortega, asking about when they can meet up again.

Just thinking about it is enough to make Jane smile, a lightness in her chest, even as it leaves a bitter sting in your heart. Jane is dating Ortega. Not you. That’s the way things have to be. It’s for the best. For everyone.

Ortega…

She hasn’t even been released from the hospital yet and already she’s raring to get back into the thick of things. The fool idiot never knows when to slow down. Or when to quit. She’s taking the Ranger’s defeat at your debut more personally than you had anticipated.

Honestly, you went into that night fully expecting Ortega to kill you, instead she just… slowed you down at best. A wave breaking itself against a boulder, shattering to pieces. She’s losing her touch in her middle age. She’s only to get herself hurt even worse next time. Maybe you can get Jane to talk some sense into her? Just… at least slow down for a little bit? Take better care of herself.

Somehow has to do it.

It sure isn’t going to be you.

Can still see it in your head… standing in the floodlights, a bruised and bleeding Ortega laying prone below you…

Fuck.

fucking hell

piss

Jane staggers, fighting down the wave of revulsion, swallows the bile in the back of her throat. Shit. She’s usually better insulated from your attacks then that.

Well… don’t think you’re getting back to bed any time soon. If you’re going to be up this early you might as well do something productive with all that time.

“So now, I’m the one stuck sorting out this mess.” Spinning stories about how terrible your villain alter ego is as a boss has fast become your favorite way to bond with people as Jane. There’s something liberating in being able to just go to town on her and have people actually nod in agreement.

Jane sighs, staring down at the water bottle in her hand, sloshing the contents in a slow circle. “Honestly, it’s not my fault the last deal fell through like that.” She tugs at her jacket. Should enjoy the chill while you can. Once the sun’s up, the summer heat will be back in full force.

Jane’s companion, a latina woman who has clearly never skipped leg or arm day, takes a long drag from her cigarette, her back to Jane, against the tree. The two of them have stepped off the park path for privacy.

Honestly didn’t expect Rosie to answer Jane’s call. There’s been less and less time to be able to shoot the shit with her lately. A trend you expect to continue.

Even now Jane is technically doing business. Managing your villain career, building loyalty. But Rosie has been Jane’s oldest friend – or as close to it as she can have, and you’re finding it harder for Jane to let go of her than you’d expected.

“Sounds like a capital-class serving of BS to me, yeah.” Rosie stares off into the open field, chewing on thoughts your puppet isn’t privy to. “You tried looking into some of those old buildings up in the industrial park?”

Jane blinks, staring up at the tree branches above them both. “The… industrial park, huh. Hrm.”

“Yeah, like, I know you’re hoping to get somewhere more, like, central and shit, but there’s a lot of places that cleared out when the smog started getting bad. Bet you two-to-one you can find somewhere real cheap up that way.” She goes quiet then suddenly breaks into laughter. “And hey! That boss of yours is so paranoid anyway, right? Should be happy he gets somewhere no one in their right mind is going to go.”

Jane doesn’t respond right away. It could work. A cheaper asking price means more money free to invest back into gadgets, supplies, bribes. “Yeah, okay.” Jane “I’ll give it a look around. Thanks for the tip.”

Rosie winks, thumbs up. “Hey Janey, what are friends for?”

Jane finds herself returning the thumbs up. “Nothing legal, apparently.” That gets the barking laugh you were hoping for. Rosie slaps her leg. Jane clears her throat, gives Rosie a chance to compose herself. “Speaking of friends… You ready for another job yet?”

“You know me, I can always use more sin money.” She shuffles out another cigarette from her pack, eyes shifting between Jane and the lighter. “So… suppose I am. What'd ya got?”

Jane smiles. “I think you’ll find this one interesting.”

[ortegatrash]

Stolen Time

[A follow-up to All Things Must Come to an End]

Warnings: Major character death (?), body theft

You.

You just couldn't deal with it.

Maybe it's selfish. No, it is absolutely selfish of you to have done this. Not wanting to be alone.

You promised you wouldn't ever leave me again

Maybe you're just going insane. Insane with grief. Maybe you're alone with nothing but a thought-ghost, just like… just like Anathema.

It was simply a theory you came up with, casually chatting things over with Dr Mortum. What the implications of being able to take over someone else's body was. How exactly did telepathy work? Consciousness? Questions yet to be answered that could revolutionise the face of science's understanding of existence. As nerve-wracking as it was, you finally consented to sticking your body in an MRI scanner to monitor your brain activity while you took over your puppet.

The results were...unclear. Confusing. Often contradictory, going against all known science at the time. Mortum decided to do some further research but it turned out looking into what papers were published led only to dead ends. Or worse.

You finally realised it might be a touchy subject for some right around the time Mortum got shot. Lucky that the bullet missed anything vital but Mortum took the hint and decided to go into hiding for a few years. Not having access to the labs put a damper on any further investigation on your part and by the time Mortum found the risk acceptable enough to go out in public again you'd mostly had your mind on other things. You always figured you'd have enough time to get around to it together eventually.

'Eventually' turned into 'someday' turned into never. You've lost more than a few friends over the long years, an inevitable side effect of the job hazards in your line of work.  People end up in the wrong place at the wrong time. They get lazy, they start slowing down. Sometimes it's just accidents. Sometimes it's just bad luck, genetics working against them.

You're no stranger to death.

You promised you wouldn't abandon me again

Wipe away your tears on the sleeve of your borrowed labcoat. Well, can you really say it's borrowed when its owner isn't around to use it anymore? The thought makes you sniff a bit. Mortum wouldn't mind, you think.

It's being put to good use. It's all being put to good use.

Mortum peers over the lab results, looking troubled.

"Something up?"

A sigh. "Tell me, do you believe in the existence of a soul?"

You blink, you hadn't expected this line of thinking. "Getting philosophical here, are we?"

"Perhaps I am," Mortum mutters. "But I would say what we are looking into would more than justify a little pensiveness."

"I would have thought you'd be excited to discover what we can about my telepathy."

"I am, it's not...it's just. How can I explain this?" Fingers pinching a dark nose bridge.  "I don't know if we have the current words to explain what we have here, at our fingertips. Not with our current scientific vocabulary."

"You think what we have here is something more similar to...a soul?"

"It's merely a possible hypothesis. I wouldn't rule out anything completely until we have evidence that directly disproves it."

You don't have much time.

[C  a r   in õ?]

Cellular death in the brain should begin kicking in soon from the lack of oxygen, you need to work quickly. Before it's too late. Before they take him away. Before decay destroys what is left of…

No, don't finish that thought.

[Pl e a se,   wh  a t …]

The thing about being a telepath is that you understand how truly vulnerable the human mind is. How malleable people's memories are. Even your own.

Especially your own.

[w  ha  t   are y ou-]

Shut up, idiot. I'm saving you.

It's so dark inside his mind, you can already feel things breaking down around you. The ever-present electrical storm that has been a constant since you met him has finally died down into the faintest buzz. It barely tingles as you pass through it easily, he trusts you with his life. With his death.

You've never done something as monumentous as this before, but you don't have the luxury of practicing or getting a second chance.

The silence almost makes you more afraid.

[I  ]

He's still barely here, hanging on by the barest thread. For you.

[I lov eyo u]

I know. I'm sorry.

[…?]

Your vital readings are normal, if a little elevated. You might be a tiiiiiny bit stressed out right now. Alright. Take a deep breath. Maybe the last one you'll have as yourself.

Shutting your eyes and diving into your own mind feels like regret. Regret that it came down to this. You only hope that the machine will finish what you've just started.

It takes but a moment to let your own body slump to the ground, accompanied only by the sudden beeping of the machines you hooked yourself up to. Only a few seconds to take over the kind nurse who sympathised with you and decided to come investigate the sudden commotion. To swallow down the lump of guilt that threatens to overwhelm you, you didn't have time to drag your puppet here. You didn't think it would come without warning...

It's too late for regrets, now. Now there's only time to hook yourself up to Mortum's final, unfinished creation…

An artificial telepath, programmed to reprogram others. Alter their own brain chemistry and memories and hopefully, alter both your mind and the nurses' to be suitable hosts. Your only hope is that the scanning technology will capture enough of Ricardo's fading mind to have anything left to work with.

It doesn't matter if your own mental transfer is interrupted or corrupted.

Everything is dark in the in-between space where you are nothing but pure mental energy. But...no. There is the smallest spark of warmth. Familiarity. Confusion. You were right, Mortum.

Come here, you.

[W  ha  t  is  th  is?]

Just follow me.

Curiosity, but also trust. [...I' m  g la d   you'r  e  h ere.] A pause. [I f thi s is heaven or w hatever co mes after dea th.]

I think it's hell if it's with you.

[Hey!] The burst of indignant warmth makes you want to cry.

You lead him to the mental impression of your prone body, feeling him lingering for a moment.

Go on. I can't go with you.

[Y ou'll be ok ay?]

...Just fine, Ricardo.

The spark disappears into your body and you feel yourself growing weaker, struggling to remember where the nurse's body was. Finding it with a twinge of sorrow, taking the moment to remember what it feels like before you mentally shut the door behind you. You’re not a telepath outside your body.

Opening her eyelids and seeing your body slowly blink awake in confusion. Struggling to heave up off the floor. Eyes widening in shock and disbelief as your own face turns to look at you.

Wistfully, you smile, tears running down from stolen eyes. "I couldn't bear to be alone."

"What...what have you done?" It's a bit strange hearing your own voice breathe it out with such dawning horror, but the expression on your face?

It's all Ricardo's.

[vegetalass]

Everything Electric

Inspired by the mess that was the spoilers nsfw discord chat and the conversation abt argent ripping out one of ur eyes… It unlocked the fact that i used to like gore…. SMH

TFW lady argent rips out one of ur eyes and then u go to dr. mortum and say thenks mather for my life

FORGIVE ME if this is shit it wasnt beta read

Villain name: Ophelia

Warning: contains Fallen Hero: Retribution spoilers, and heavy blood and gore!!! RATED R BRO!

FH:R belongs to @fallenhero-rebirth

Lady Argent/gn!Reader/f!Dr. Mortum - 2371 words

i.

Blood.

So much blood is leaking out of your mouth as the pressure on your windpipe keeps increasing.

“Argent…” you gurgle, trying to spit but ending up drooling a messy concoction of blood and spittle all over your villain suit instead.

Her claws are extended, this time longer than you’ve ever seen them, and while one hand presses into your windpipe hard enough to make you dizzy, the other is dangled in front of your nose like a toy in front of a child.

And you are not a child.

“Stop,” you plead, stuttering, even though your throat burns and eyes water in pain. But Lady Argent does not, and looking into her face lets you know that she doesn’t plan to, either. From the empty look in her eyes, you can tell that she’s lost herself in another world — one where the both of you never formed an alliance, and one where you deserve Hell and she’s the chosen one who’s going to give it to you.

Suddenly, though, as you should’ve been expecting this, she screeches something unintelligible and plunges her fingernails deep into your eye socket. Though at first you feel nothing more than an annoying pinching sensation, as the pain begins to register and become too much, you hardly notice as the pressure in your head releases in a pop so intense that the rest of your vision goes dark.

You try to scream, but end up making some kind of choked whine instead, as Argent hasn’t moved a muscle since and continues her heavy assault on your throat.

“What is it, Ophelia?” she grins, her teeth gleaming in the light of the moon, before laughing at her own stupid inside joke. “Is something wrong?”

As her fingers continue to root around inside your head, claws doing irreversible damage to your nerves, you try to use her distracted and giddy state to pull her other hand loose from around your neck. While trying to find enough space between her hands and your throat to breathe, Argent’s body shakes again in her mad state, and you are able to tear yourself away from her grasp in the hopes of collapsing on the floor and somehow getting away.

But it’s too late, as she is not so kind as to spare you, and continues holding onto the warm flesh hidden inside your eye socket. What a pitiful state you must be in, howling and moaning, as she succeeds in coming away victorious, and you are left seeing and tasting red from sudden lack of an eyeball.

Breathe, dry heave, rinse, and repeat. You don’t even register the pain when you press your dirty palms against what’s now a hole in your head and try not to hyperventilate.

You look up at her, missing eye covered, good eye blurry, and see her victory pose, smiling above you and holding the bloodied piece of you-meat like a trophy. Though instantly at your recognition, she throws the slimy meatball over her shoulder and uses her fist to slug you in the jaw.

“You didn’t even need that,” she says while laughing, before gazing into what’s left of your eyes and deciding to walk away.

Blood is still leaking from your mouth… and Argent doesn’t look back as she leaves you to sob on the concrete.

ii.

You look nothing like the weeping animal she left in the alley. And you look nothing like the weeping human she was expecting to see at your next meeting, either. Your face is not sunken in, bruised, or malformed. You’re not in an eyepatch or mask, and your face seems to look almost brand new.

A new face, almost… a new eye.

The realization hits her like a train, and she snarls, upset at the smug smile you pointedly send her way when you realize that she has it all figured out.

A replacement. The beautiful, black aperture Dr. Mortum installed in place of an eye.

And Lady Argent can see every wire, every miniscrew, and every bit of fiberglass that was used to create a weapon more fluid and powerful than any of the tech she’s seen installed in any of the Rangers.

And it makes her mad, fingers flexing and claws cutting into her palms as she makes plans to take a swipe at your face at the next chance she gets just to peel back your skin.

You smile at her, the angry thoughts like water off a duck’s back.

“So, you noticed,” you say, full of pride and a sense of smug satisfaction, “how do I look?”

Argent snarls, though she does pause to admire the lovely handiwork that was done to your face as you wait for a reply.

While your skin might look the same on the surface to any normal passerby, there’s no hiding the internal metal plating that’s been fused to your skull permanently, or the black sclera that whirs softly unlike normal white flesh. One has to wonder what kind of twisted procedure you put yourself through just to get better, because it was only an eye that she managed to take and now you’re practically a cyborg.

But saying you were completely healed would be unfair, as you haven’t fully gotten used to the implant yet. The way that things blur in high definition and in a spectrum brighter than anything you could ever image.

Chrome. Thermal. Electromagnetic. Something you can’t even name.

Like Lady Argent’s eyesight, from what you remember of possessing her, though you can’t see any wires or pipes through walls or anything. But this isn’t so bad, you think, not that you’d ever want lose an eye again. You’re just thankful her claws didn’t manage to clip into your brain.

Before the operation, the Good Doctor did require you to keep your remaining organic eye, and all the leftover tissue that was still in the damaged socket, but as expected, her technology was flawless. You find it’s often quite easy to forget you even have anything fake implanted in your head at all as the gradient technology she installed first was the easiest thing to get used to.

High tech and lightweight Medi-Polymer in place of a real cornea and iris, fitted with a sleepless microcomputer and accurate analytics, all grafted to your optic nerve in a painful surgery that had you out of commision for weeks.

Despite the lasting, striped scars that Dr. Mortum couldn’t be bothered to fix, she did let you choose the flashing colors it displays to the world, even if so far you have left the bandages on in public. It does help hide your face, though, and that’s always a bonus.

So, you’d say it was worth it, despite being forced to tell Ortega when he wouldn’t stop fretting at the sight of your head wrapped in tape and gauze that it was some unexplainable and permanent head trauma. You left the part where Lady Argent mauled you out, as it’s a secret that’s to be left between the two of you (and Dr. Mortum, of course).

It was the one thing you could be sure of, Lady Argent wanting to spare herself from the news by not getting reported by another Ranger.

Though still lost in thought, it’s easy to detect the waves on rage that now pour from Lady Argent’s mind into yours at your silence, as suddenly, she breaks your reminiscing by lunging at you. Her fingers quickly extended into sharp-pointed knives as she reaches for your face, but instead of simply waiting to be scratched, you catch her wrist in your hand easily, and twist her body away from yours to slam it against the waiting brick wall behind the two of you.

It’s like you didn’t even need to see her move.

“What?” you ask, feigning confusion at her shocked face, as she is now on her knees below you with some kind of crooked neck.

You don’t start to choke her. You don’t even mention her eyes. And even if she hates you, you can still read the recognition in her mind of the fact that you didn’t kick her down just to get revenge.

Because for once, she feels helpless and knows that you know it.

“Call me sometime, okay?” you taunt, laughing in her face the way she did at the eyeless and crying you, before leaning down to wipe her bleeding nose with your cape. She knows the gesture is not meant to be kind, and as her mind replays the swift way you were able to knock her off her feet, she is suddenly aware of how much powerful you really have gotten.

All because of an eye. The one that she took.

You straighten up, still looking down at her with your teeth bared in a smile. One eye cruel, and the other a mean, unblinking blue and orange. Both intense and focused.

iii.

You moan in pain as she peels back the bandages, blood vessels in your closed eye socket pounding against the heat of what you can only assume to be your brain overheated with the nasty fever you’ve been sporting since the incident itself. You grit your teeth as the dirty cloth is removed, now damp and warm from sweat, and the fact that you haven’t changed it in a few days. “Now, what did you do this time, Ophelia?” Dr. Mortum’s voice is neutral, though you know from your game of charades that she only starts to wonder aloud when she’s getting really curious and the probability of you actually responding is close to zero.

“Lady Argent,” you mutter, trying to be amused by Mortum’s long ‘ah’ at the confession. You’re not doing a great job at resisting the urge you have to reach up and press your knuckles into your head and relieve some of the pressure.

“I’m flattered that you chose to trust me, though it’s not recommended for any clients of mine,” Mortum continues, having wandered off after taking one good look at your ruined eye socket and deciding to search for one of her many stored medical kits, “but your assistant, I presume, is so sweet.”

You know who she’s referring to, but you’re just glad that everything worked out.

It took all of your remaining energy just to enter your puppet’s head one last time to give her a call. Begging her to come pick up your aching body and drive you away in the back of her car to replace the half of your face that Lady Argent destroyed, as this was something you couldn’t do yourself.

It took a couple days for her to find you, but she did, and it was a relief to see her, even if you were neither in your puppet or pretending. It’s funny how things work out.

All those self-stitched scars. For nothing.

“I assume we’re going with a full replacement?” she voices, having returned and seated herself at your side to begin the cleaning, soaking and opening process.

You cannot help the eager nod that escapes you, even though the saline solution Dr. Mortum starts applying to your face has you leaking red tears instantly.

“It will take a few weeks, and then more to recover…” she hesitates, exhaling, and you can tell she’s scanning you for any signs of danger, “but you can stay here.”

You know what she’s thinking, that even in your weak state you could be a danger to her practice. But from the way you look in the image of you in her head, you can tell there’s not much danger to even be had. You look so frail, sick, and destroyed. Not the mention, from the way she glances up and down your form, it’s almost as if you weren’t someone she was expecting to be the Ophelia.

But you are never what people expect.

And with that, she decides that due to your sickly state, you are not a liability. You are not about to jump up and destroy her or her lab. If you tried, you know it would be quite easy to stun you into submission and take out your remaining eye as punishment, too. She doesn’t have to think it to know it.

Because she pulled a gun on you once before.

But her thoughts have changed directions, almost easily, naturally, and you can tell now that what she’s thinking is kind. Suddenly, her thoughts of you are as an ally. No, a friend, and for all intents and purposes, you are dying of a high fever she know that in the hands of anyone else, could leave you as a pitiful, sightless corpse.

But Dr. Mortum isn’t cruel. She never has been, and you are glad when she responds to you in kind at the thought of the mutual understanding and benefits you could share if she does decide to help you. You do your best to push the thought her way instead of speaking.

She smiles finally, then, at least you hope that’s what she’s doing, and runs her cool knuckles across your bloody and sweat-stained forehead in a form of soothing reassurance that makes you feel like a child.

And you are not a child.

Though, you are glad that you’ve always been quite generous to her, and that it’s easy to look human in your sticky, skin tight pajamas.

Not there’s much you could really say if (or rather, when) she were to find out the truth, because existing can’t get much worse than this.

And if you were that someone else, anyone else, you’d love to respond to her contact. Her sweetness. Her power.

But you’re not, and it’s always been your puppet who she’s preferred, anyways.

But right now, you let yourself be sick. You let her touch you and welcome you into her waiting arms. Because she might not welcome you again.

“You’re lucky I’m a doctor, Mon Cherie,” she whispers finally, voice kind, body warm. And as you sink yourself into her and try to smile with closed eyes, you hope that it doesn’t look like an ugly, toothy grimace.

Because you know you are really, very lucky.

[jedimasteramell]

A/N: So Im an absolute mess thanks to the snippits of the post-auction convo. hey @queerspeculativefiction you totally ruined me and Im going to live in the hopeful delusion that everything will work out without hurting everybody. 

Fallen Hero //  Puppet/Mortum // Post-Auction // SFW

With a M!Mortum, and an M!Puppet, using my canon’s names. Spoilers obviously. 

------

This was never going to be easy. But you had to make it harder.

And you're going to pay that higher price.

You invited Dr. Mortum out, not to Joes, but another private (and admittedly quieter) hole-in-the-wall. Besides, there were too many memories at Joes. Too many fond and painful memories.

Maybe it was as security, taking him out to a semi-public space. Maybe it was respect, giving you both the chance to step away without the added bitterness of watching the other leave a trusted place. Maybe… maybe it was to make the distinction, the separation, the truth, unmuddled and new.

You should have never fallen in love with him.

Abel had always been your refuge, but right now you wished more than anything he were also a telepath. Stuck in the quiet claustrophobic space of your own brain, the only voice is your guilt screaming and screaming at you.

Fiddling with the napkin, you brush off the waitress that asks for the 3rd time if you wanted a refill on your drink. You just shake your head, watching the ice slowly melt and wish you could do the same. She hesitates, stuck somewhere between the ingrained training of her job and the human instinct to ask of you’re alright. With no response, she steps away. You're glad, well, thankful at least. You couldn’t take that kind of empathy right now, even head-blind.

The good doctor arrives precisely on time. His sharp eyes narrowing affectionately as he catches sight of you in a shadowed booth. You can’t help the way your heart flutters and the ghost of a smile that breaks your facade at the sight of him. He chose to dress up slightly today, a bright turtleneck instead of a tee shirt, though he’d be wont to leave off his lab coat. You both have joked about that, never shedding the skin of scientist, and the memory forms a lump you can't swallow. The knot in your throat only tightens when he sits, taking your hand in his to kiss your knuckles.

“Ma cherie.” His eyes twinkle in greeting, slowly sobering at the deadened expression you wear. “Not your usual tastes.” He spares a second to study the restaurants pallid interior then shifts back to you, unmasked concern growing in his dark eyes.

You suddenly can't look at them.

“What’s wrong Abel?” His words are a murmur, full of an emotion you never dared give name; your name, your lie, a cold cruel knife to the gut. “Is it your employer?”

How right he is, as always. Your fingers feel heavy as lead, heavy as your heart, still wrapped in his, wrapped up in him.

You were never supposed to fall in love, and especially not with someone at the end of the day you barely know. Not about the important things anyway, not his real name, or his past, or where he studied. Just the soft stuff, like the specific temperature he takes his coffee at, the way his brow knits when he encounters a particularly frustrating problem, where to touch him to elicit a laugh, and how his expression, at once both masked and heart-baringly open, shifts when emotion and clinical logic fight for focus on his face.

Just like he’s looking at you now.

You manage a nod, swallowing down the stone in your throat. “It is.” The weight settles back uncomfortably in your stomach.

He waits for you to continue, always the concerned partner, and you will your voice a semblance of steadiness. “I… I want… no I need, to tell you the truth. About them, about me.”

Concern and curiosity in equal measure knit his brow. “I’m listening ma cherie.”

“Remember, months ago, back at the gala? In the hospital I told you I’d been in a coma? I was in it for a long long time.” You’ve been dropping hints a long while, maybe a part of you wanted him to figure it out before it came to this.

He nods shortly, dark eyes never leaving your face.

“And even before, when I told you I called the Special Directive on Psychopathor and that I wanted the best?”

Another sharp nod.

“Its connected see. My boss. Napoleon. I….. We, we’re the same person.” There, you said it. If truth was supposed to set you free, then why did you feel like you’d be sick? You tried for a smile; it failed miserably. Instead your heart pounds in your ears and you imagine every ounce of despair shows etched on the face that's become more real than your own.

He’s silent for a long time. Then finally, quietly, “You're not a telepath ma cherie.” His fingers twitch around yours.

You swallow. Hard. “No, I'm not.”

You can see all the pieces finally coming together for him, and it's almost worse that you lacked the courage to say it out loud. To admit this body had always been a shell, a pretty puppet, no matter how real you’ve felt in it..

Mortum sets your hand down on the table.

The lack of contact never hurt so much.

He laces his own fingers together resting them against his nose, obscuring half his expression. What is left on display is a conflict behind his eyes that scares you. There is an icy edge to the anger there, the betrayal, and you're instantly reminded the man before you had once been a true villain.

It hurts and it's both raw and new and distant and familiar. That level of disapproval, of distrust and disrespect, it reminds you of the Farm, and it breaks what's left of your heart.

“I’m glad that’s finally out in the open, Napoleon.” The name is laced with venom coming from him, the same viciousness you saw the night of the gala as he carried Abel’s empty form to safety. “Who knows how long I’d have let you continue to use me.”

“Mortum, I-”

“No.” He doesn't have to hold up a finger to shut you down. The withering glare did that by itself. “We’re done, I'm not hearing any more lies.”

“Just let me explain.” You cry, reaching for him before he’s the chance to move beyond the table as he stands. You catch his sleeve in trembling fingers, the speed of reflexes from years in aikido. “Please.”

Maybe it was the sound of your -Abel’s- voice, maybe it was an acknowledgement of all the months you’d shared together, but he stopped. No words came with the frigid look. Out of respect for what you’d had, he was sparing a final moment.

Better make it good.

“I’ve always been honest with you.” Not that that has much credibility now. “And Abel- I-” You shiver, there's another secret that you've never shared, not even to Ortega, but you know he’ll understand. “I’ve always been more me in this body,” Your whisper shakes along with your shoulders, the only thing holding back inevitable tears the impossible sound of your admittance. You became Cain, you christened yourself as you should have been, but there was always more than just your tattoos that made you feel wrong. “How I’m supposed to be. How I'm not in Napoleon’s. This body is right.” You stress the last word, hoping, praying.

You can’t breathe.

Something imperceptible shifts in his face. The anger is still there, the hurt, but there’s also an understanding, one deep and visceral, and impossibly close to home for him as well. A fragment of tension leaves his shoulders as he extracts the cuff of his coat from your grasp. You feel the cloying still weight of the confrontation drop into unease and anxiety. The good doctor draws several steadying breaths. But when he opens his eyes, it's not acceptance you see, instead the anger has tempered into dark mistrust, edged with something reminiscent of sympathy.

“Just because I understand does not negate the truth.” His voice is far more even than yours, low and brittle. “I can’t see you now.” He doesn't specify if its in this moment or for the rest of your shared time in Los Diablos. “Good night…” There a lingering, a goodbye unfinished in the wake of not knowing how to address you. He doesn’t wait for you to reply. Not that you deserve him to.

You’re alone at the table. Just as you always have been. Just as you deserve for daring, for breaking his heart.

The ice in your glass is long turned to water when the waitress returns. She says nothing, you share nothing. You're just left with a devastating emptiness,

and the bill.

[princepronk]

May as well post more details on my kid while I’m on a roll. Her real name’s Dallas Accorso, but she prefers to go by Hijack, thanks.

Her puppet’s currently dating (conning?) Dr. Mortum, she’s won “City’s Best Long-Term Planner, Coffee-Drinker, and Scathing Remark-Maker” two years in a row, and one day she’ll eat Los Diablos alive while all her closest enemies watch. Hot!

[chaniters]

Phantom

Awan Cormac, post Rebirth, meeting Ortega once more at the Rangers HQ! 

Introducing his villain persona, PHANTOM. Thanks, @kruk-art for lending me your character again! :D

Enjoy! 

________________________________________

PHANTOM

________________________________________

Looking around for a clean cup, you find plenty, though they are all new and impersonal. There's no trace of the old ones, chipped and personal, and in Ortega's case, the one that you had given him. Did someone throw them out when they moved?

It's been 7 years. Of course, they've moved on. The thought brings a mixture of sadness and relief.

"If you want some Coffee, it's going to cost you!" he says beaming a smile

"I'll pass... you know I'm cheap," you say keeping a straight face.

"Oh believe me I do... come over already!" he motions for you to follow.

You go through the corridors behind him. This is so wrong! Being back at their new place. Why... why did you ever return? You're not one of them and you never will...You should run. Tell him you had something bad to eat and leave. You should…-

"Here!" he stops and opens a door for you.

His office. You're still in time... you could just...

"Take a seat man!" he says pointing at a small sofa... there's a tray with some pastries... and two mugs with hot chocolate.

No... you shouldn't be doing this... you shouldn't...

And there are churros.

“I got some churros, I know you like them and…”

But you’ve already walked past him, sat down. You are completely focused on dipping your churro in thick chocolate. He chuckles shaking his head and takes a seat as well.

"You know, I never understood how you kept in shape back then" he comments. He has that fond half-smile. "You eat like there's two of you"

"Neither do I... maybe all the running from psychos with laser guns and evil robots had something to do with it" You speak between bites... it's exquisite... This is the best you've had since that mission in Spain when you stopped at the bar in Madrid. You were fresh off your training and full of questions and your handler told you to order whatever you wanted just to get you off her hair for a few minutes. Then she had to basically drag you out of the cafe.

He takes a sip of chocolate... and your gaze freezes on him.

It's the very same cup. Crap... your

"Y... you kept it," you say, stuttering

“Wha…?” he asks

You point at the cup. He puts it down and looks at you.

“Of course I did… Sidestep gave it to me.”

He extends a hand, taking yours. You let the churro inside the chocolate as he presses your fingers slightly.

“I gave it to you. Sidestep is dead”

“I still see him,” he says letting go. “He’s just grumpy, as he always was”

“That’s… not… “ you can’t finish that sentence. You realize not everyone’ has moved on. He hasn’t. You can see memorabilia of your past self all across the office. There’s even a shelf behind a glass… full of relics... It’s like he’s living the past.

Shit. There are a few seconds of silence… more than enough to be awkward.

And then he changes the subject. He was always better than you at these things. Soon enough you are devouring the churros and pastries along. He laughs. He talks about the past, without mentioning Sidestep again. Makes you laugh too. You say he looks good, that you’re happy to be here with him, sharing some sweets once more. He takes it as a flirt and escalates by comparing the churros to something else and makes you blush and wish the earth swallowed you. You deflect, but it leaves both of you longing for more, like always.

He planned the whole evening. You go to the cinema, watch a new movie. Animated, about a hero who encounters different realities and versions of himself. You don’t need that. There are already too many versions of you lose in this reality alone. You own regene self. Your puppet, walking around in your name. Your villain persona. Your past self, engraved in everyone’s mind. Especially his.

Again the superhero theme in the movie he chose. He hasn’t moved on past your death at all. He wants you to  become your old self again. And you can’t… you can’t turn back time and erase your scars. You are heading towards mutually assured destruction. What will he think once he figures it all out? You’re not one of them…

He won’t want anything to do with you. You are the black and white, dissonant in a colored world. Perhaps It was better when he didn’t know you were alive… You were meant to protect humans. Your disguise was never meant for you to believe yourself one of them. That is where you failed.  

You’ve certainly not protected Ortega. He’s been tortured all these years by the death of a friend that doesn’t even really exist. And he wants to be much more than your friend. And you…

You want it too, more than anything.

You suppress the contradicting thoughts.

Whatever finally happens between you, you’ll help him move on.

It’s the least you can do.

………………………………………..

Mortum was dead right on design...

The extensible nanomesh cloak swirls theatrically as you reach the window, leaving a trail of fog behind you through its small smoke machines.

With the addition of the silent thrusters, you appear to glide in the night. Phantom is really a sight to behold. And you’ll play the part literally tonight.

The window is open, so it only takes a simple push to create an opening, and you hop inside.  You’ve been here before, so you know your way around. The hallway… the guest room… You are careful not to step where you know the boards will creak, revealing your presence.

You glide through the last part, opening the door with the utmost scare.

Your target’s asleep, as you expected.

Good.

Without a single sound, you take the magnetic cuff from your inner pockets.  

“Once it hits the target, it automatically binds them with titanium grade bindings” Mortum explained. You hope he’s right, or this will be a very awkward encounter.

The thing is shaped like a small disc, with a pair of buttons.

He stirs in his sleep, his chest facing up. Good, it’s almost as if he’s asking for you to do this.

You place the disk atop his chest. It sticks to his skin, with a small hiss of air suction.

He opens his eyes, groggily at first...  And then they fix on you, with a sudden moment of terror, followed by recognition.

And you press the button.

He attempts to incorporate, his senses warning him about the danger...

“SSCHCLACK!”

Metal tendrils extend everywhere from the circular device stuck to his chest, binding his arms and legs. It looks awfully uncomfortable, you’re glad they didn’t have any of these terror devices back at the farm.

“What in the hell…” He fights it, but the metal tendrils extend everywhere, and finally pull his arms together, behind his back, and his legs end up bound to each other.

Defeated, he falls on the bed struggling like a fish out of water. He glares at you.

You stand unmovable, your cloak swirling in the air, and fog filling the room. You must look ghostly and terrifying right now…

“Good evening Charge. Is this a bad moment?” You let out a few laughs, which isn’t hard because this is actually funny in a very twisted kind of way. And, hey, that’s you these days. Twisted.

You turn off the for generators with a flick of your wrist. Enough smoke already.

“Phantom! How did you…”

“I disabled your security systems Charge. It wasn’t difficult. I wonder how do you expect to stop me when your own house is such an easy target” Really. You could have just walked in and killed him. Not fun at all.

He lets out a powerful discharge. It doesn’t break the bindings but reminds you this won’t stop him indefinitely.

“Hijo de puta! Get this thing off me! What the fuck do you want?”

“I want what’s in your safe. The one behind that painting” you state. Better to go all about the business and not prolong this unnecessarily.

“What? Why? THere’s not even that much money in there! Do you think I’m rich pinche pendejo? I’m still paying debts, idiot!”

“Really? Because I know there’s something there that could be worth a small fortune” There are so many ways you could have found out, you should be safe from suspicion back as Awan.

He looks puzzled for a moment. And then he understands.

“No! No way!”

“Yes, way!. Tell me the access code. It will make this whole thing faster”

“Never! Go to hell! Vete a la chingada!!”

You laugh.

“You honestly think your old safe is going to stop me when I’ve robbed banks?”

He spits on you. “¡Púdrete!” he adds finally.

“I expected you to be a better loser” you sigh, clearing the spit from your mask. “Whatever, I’ll open it myself.”

You turn and remove the painting, some old picture of a farm. You hate farms. And then you begin working on the safe, connecting it to your wrist computer. All the while Ortega keeps yelling profanities from the bed.

“CLACK”

The door opens.

And there it is. You pull it out.

Your old gun. Sidestep’s old gun.

You turn to him showing him your prize.

“Put that back you fucker! You’ve got a problem with me you take it out on me! THat’s…”

“You know, you say you’re paying debts, and you keep a lot of memorabilia that could be worth so much all around this place. I’ve studied it well…”

“THat’s mine you psycho! It’s part of my fucking life! What the hell would you know about that?!”

“I know I could have killed you for the safe codes. You should put your priorities in order ranger. Sidestep is dead, after all” you say tapping his hair with the gun as you leave. He screams and yells, and you hear a loud thud as he falls from the bed trying to slither his way to you.

You glide away, trough the streets.

……………………………………………..

You hurry to the elevator. It’s on the news already, and you’re really worried.

Did you overdo it? Of course, you did, as usual. You should have left things as they were.

You get off the elevator and walk to his office passing the kitchen. Steel is there.

“He’s at his office,” He tells you, from the opposite end of the corridor. “And he’s completely out of it, see if you can talk to him”

“Will do. Thanks!” you stride through the corridors, and knock once you reach his door.

“Go Away” he yells.

You open it anyways and come through

“I said go awa...! ” he stops, as he sees you.

“Hey, it’s me… Are are you ok?” you say. It feels odd. To be the one asking. This isn’t how it always goes.

He’s teared up. And he’s got a remote control on his hand. The TV is on, and you can see Mia Ochoa reporting on how Phantom stole and sold Sidestep’s original gun on the Dark Web to an unknown collector for 1.5 million dollars, mocking the Rangers once more.  

The remote sparkles in his hands, his electrical power acting up under stress.

You approach, hesitantly… and hug him. You wonder if you’ll get a jolt… but he seems to calm down and hugs you back.

“I couldn’t… couldn’t stop Phantom” his arms hold you tight, his voice trembling. Fuck you definitely overdid it. He’s already traumatized by your death and now you pull this... You are hopeless trying to understand humans. You should just... “I’m sorry... He took… he took it…”

“It’s just a gun,” you say

“It’s not… It’s… It’s your gun. The real one!”

“That’s not mine Ricardo. Sidestep is dead. I buried him”

“No, he isn’t! You’re here!”

“I WAS Sidestep. Not anymore. I choose to be myself. Not him.”

“But…”

“I’m alive. I survived. Isn’t that what counts? He’s just a memory… let it go”

It takes a few moments before he physically lets go of you.

“Mierda… I… I guess you’re right.”

“I am?” you ask surprised. Is this actually working?

“Yes, pendejo. I’m thinking I got too attached to your old stuff… when you were...”

“... you don’t have to say it”

“You get me”

“Yep… “ when you were dead.

He plops down on the sofa.

“Thanks,” he says leaning back. “I’m still pissed. That money should have gone to you“ he says pointing at the TV which is showing a cash icon for the sale for 1.5 million “

It takes all of your acting skills to keep a straight face. “Well… yeah, it could have helped, but … Just let it go Ricardo, ok? It’s a stupid gadget. And I don’t need it.”

He rubs his face, then looks at you. “Since when are you the grown up?”

“I don’t know Ricardo, and it's fucking scary… so please let’s not do it anymore?”

You manage to make him crack a smile this time. “Alright, deal then.”

“Also, talking about scary… You should get rid of all this!” you point at a lot of your old stuff all around his office. “It’s hella creepy” you add as you fall on the sofa by his side.

“Shutup,” he says jokingly, punching your arm.

“Ow… I mean it You know, I could help you sell it. I think I remember what most of this shit is… Is that a piece of Quasar’s positronic brain?”

“You bet… “ he sighs “I’ll think about it… “.

And then he holds your hand… and you made the mistake of being too close, and he kisses you…

It takes longer than you’d want to regain control, but you make do, manufacturing an excuse to leave… but before that...

“Hey, I’ve got something for your office!” you say

“Huh? Really?”

“Yep! Here!” you hand him a small box.

He opens it… there’s another cup there. Just like the one you gave him back then. You had to pay 300 dollars to get the exact same, but you did.

“What the… “ He smiles, surprised “Is it my birthday or something?”

“No asshole. That’s for me to use the next time you have churros and chocolate, obviously!” you say closing the door behind you.

______________________________________

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

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

[thunderingstormsart]

@fallenhero-rebirth

I finished these somewhat recently and I’m really not liking them, but I guess they’ll be my first post on my empty ass art blog. I can’t draw humans and there’s so many anatomy issues 😭but hey, I’m trying to learn so that’s something.

This is my Sidestep Dimitri Sol and his puppet Eden Moriah. Dimitri looks grumpy here but he’s actually a very playful jokester. Also, Dimitri’s face is entirely based on Liam Samuels but I might not have done a great job of replicating that ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Fallen Hero: Rebirth is my favorite Choice of Games book (my favorite piece of written fiction, in fact) and I’m deeply in love with the universe surrounding the story. I’ve followed it since it was first introduced on the COG WIP forum I think three years ago, and it has remained close to my heart since then. Dimitri has been such a dear character to me since I first played the demo for Rebirth.

Under the cut is a ridiculously long info dump about Dimitri. Warnings: Spoilers for Rebirth and the Retribution demo. Brief mentions of self-harm and panic attacks.

General:

Dimitri is a mixed race gay trans man. He’s charismatic and humorous, though how he presents himself depends on if he’s around people he trusts or not. Around strangers, he’s reserved, talks less, and tends to observe and watch everything and everyone around him. He’s a bit flighty around strangers as he honestly expects them to turn on him at any moment, whether in a violent way or not. Around people he trusts, he’s rather high-spirited and playful. He likes to tease people and get under their skin in a friendly way (even though some people, like Chen, don’t see this as friendly). He is an unintentional flirt with everyone and doesn’t even notice (which makes him a massive hypocrite because he gets extremely jealous and petty when Ortega does the same exact thing). However, someone expressing legitimate love and affection to him would completely fluster him. He turns into such an embarrassed mess. When he’s hurt or angry he attempts to use humor to mask it but sometimes the anger can lead to him making cruel and rude jokes in an attempt to hurt the person that hurt him. When he’s truly upset or has a panic attack he tends to curl up and hide himself away. Being in a small, hidden corner somewhere puts him at ease, especially if someone he trusts is with him and is holding him and helping calm him down.

As a tactician, he prefers to leave the front-line fighting to others. He’s more of a thinker and planner than a fighter.

He’s good with technology. He’s very creative and loves to tinker with tech. He’s a massive fucking nerd someone please beat him up.

He has the sugar vice and as such has a massive sweet tooth and finds sweet food very comforting. If he wasn’t poor and was actually willing to spend money on his own happiness he’d constantly buy sweets non-stop.

He agreed with Ortega that he should see a therapist and desperately hopes she can really help him. Even though he doesn’t have the suicidal Heartbreak scar and isn’t suicidal, he has self-harmed in the time after Heartbreak as a form of punishment, though this habit lessened after Ortega found him. He tends to forget to care for himself, such as not eating enough or sleeping adequately (though that particularly is more of a very conscious attempt to avoid his constant nightmares). Since meeting Ortega again, he has gotten somewhat better about taking care of himself. He’s poor and refuses to spend more than the bare minimum on himself, preferring to keep what money he has for Eden or his goals. This results in him neglecting himself.

He doesn’t understand why anyone would, or could, fall in love with him since he sees himself as unworthy of love. He views himself as a broken mess and a poor knock-off of a real human. It just confuses him how anyone can care about him in any positive way, friend or lover. Regardless, he is quite greedy and craves love and affection, affection-starved disaster that he is. Despite being paranoid about people touching him and finding out about his tattoos, he is BIG on physical contact. He’s incredibly tactile when he’s with someone he trusts (he and Ortega are two peas in a pod).

Relationships:

Ortega and Anathema were very close friends with Dimitri. The three were troublemakers and constantly terrorized the rest of the Rangers with their antics. Anathema’s death really hurt him and is the subject of many of his nightmares. He also blames himself for Anathema’s death. He viewed him like a big brother.

His close friendship with Ortega quickly turned into a romantic relationship. The two pick back up in Rebirth. Ortega sappily calls him “Mi Sol” (ironically, someone in the Fallen Hero Discord apparently also has a Sidestep that Ortega calls that because of their name). He will deny it to himself, but Ortega is the most important thing in his life and he can’t stop himself from loving him. He accidentally love triangled himself with Eden by being too much like his flirty self around Ortega whenever he’s Eden.

Since coming back, he has tried to get closer to Chen and really tries to help Chen get a better understanding of him. He does like to tease him, though (God help Chen when he discovers that he’s had a big crush on Ortega, the teasing will never end). He will end up in a polyamorous relationship with Ortega and Chen, once he and Chen stop being dumbass gay disasters with each other. Ortega is already done with their inability to communicate like functioning humans.

Dimitri respects Argent as a powerful and intelligent fighter. She may not think much of him yet but they can probably bond in their love of sweet food and their habit of stealing everyone else’s food. His flirty nature got Argent to crush on his villain persona, which confused his gay ass.

The way Herald treats him confuses him, particularly his genuinely nice disposition towards him and his admiration for him, not to mention poor Herald’s crush. He trains him to be a better hero (honestly Herald, you are embarrassingly easy to beat up) and he is finding himself actually liking the kid. He has like a hundred nicknames for Herald (Barold is probably his favorite) and loves to fluster him. It’s amusing to see how embarrassed he can make him.

He and Dr. Mortum have a close relationship and Dimitri considers him a close friend. Around Mortum, he’s much more natural and true to himself, which shocks him as he didn’t expect to like Mortum this much. He loves to nerd out with Mortum in his lab.

Yes, he has flirted with all of the Rangers and Dr. Mortum (and will flirt with any other characters if it’s an option). Please stop him, he doesn’t even mean to do it most of the time.

He does his best to be respectful of Eden’s body as he still sees him as a person, albeit one that won’t wake up, as opposed to an empty shell or a tool. Eden’s body simultaneously relieves his dysphoria and worsens it. While it makes him feel good to be in a body that isn’t branded as nonhuman and better fits how he sees himself, it also reminds him that he can’t ever really be like that. That he can’t ever get rid of his tattoos and likely won’t get an opportunity to surgically transition. Regardless, he does like the freedom that Eden’s body gives him that he just doesn’t have in his own body. As Eden, he more often than not is exactly like he usually is as Dimitri but with much more confidence and without the self-hatred, anxiety, and paranoia. How he is as Eden is essentially how he’d be if the Farm didn’t fuck his mental health.

Villainy:

Dimitri sees his fall into villainy as inevitable and uncontrollable. He has convinced himself that his friends would only try to stop him and that being a villain is the only way he can accomplish his goals. Additionally, he hates that he can’t stop himself yet he continues down the path of villainy as a form of subconscious self-punishment.

He named his villain persona Revenant as he has come back from the dead, in the eyes of his friends but also since he escaped the Farm, which he views as a real Hell on Earth. The Farm may have tried to kill who he is but he still clawed his way back out. I chose the name Revenant because of that and because the “Re” prefix fits the naming scheme of the series and cause he’s a Re-Gene. We hoard all the “Re”s in this household.

He chose the mysterious armor style and has the speed and telepathy upgrades. He’s very a speedy and sneaky fighter. Since Dimitri loves the drama of a cape, he chose to have a hooded cape.

He’s not a particularly good villain as he won’t kill people, excluding anyone associated with the Farm, and actually enjoys helping and saving people. Still, he couldn’t do what needs to be done as a hero or a vigilante so being a villain is his only option.

Ortega is suspicious of Revenant because he fought him like he personally knew him and was hesitant to finish him off or severely hurt him.

He’s on the anarchist path and aims to destroy the power structure of the corrupted government.

Dimitri has the revenge Heartbreak scar and will do anything to destroy the Farm. As stated before, he will eagerly break his no kill/harm rule to get back at anyone associated with the Farm. He would be incredibly violent and draw out their pain, taking a sick pleasure in torturing them. Deep down, that sadistic side of him would honestly terrify him but he would try to convince himself that anyone that helps the Farm deserves it.

On a lighter note, Dimitri sees his fellow Re-Genes as his siblings and family. He wants them to be able to have the freedom to be individuals and people. If he had to choose between helping his fellow Re-Genes or getting revenge on the Farm, he would instantly save his siblings, as much as it would crush him to not get back at the Farm.

Fun facts:

Dimitri has a guitar pick on a leather cord that he wears around his neck. The pick was a gift from Ortega sometime after they started dating. Ortega gave the pick to him for Valentines Day after playing a song for him and said “I pick you,” which flustered the hell out of Dimitri but touched him nonetheless. He left the necklace behind in Ortega’s home with the rest of his non-mission stuff during the Heartbreak fiasco. Ortega kept it and wore it after Dimitri’s “death”. It was a major comfort item for him. He gave it back to Dimitri when he came back.

He’s 6′ 1″. Ortega teases him since he’s one inch shorter than him and it absolutely bothers him enough to make him wear heeled boots so he can be taller. Eden is 5′ even and it absolutely drives Dimitri mad. Being so short hurts his brain. His villain suit makes him much taller at 6′ 9″, seeing the taller Rangers being so short makes him extremely happy.

He really liked Anathema’s piercings and was always curious about them when he first met him. After he expressed an interest in getting pierced, Anathema went with him to get pierced and he got a helix piercing in his right ear, a lobe piercing in his left ear, and a tongue piercing. After he gets top surgery he’ll get a ring piercing in his right nipple. 

Eventually, he’ll get a blue lightning bolt tattooed on the back of his neck for Ortega. If Ortega can finally commit to a tattoo, he might get a sun for Dimitri on the back of his neck. Who needs wedding rings when you can have ink beneath your skin dedicated to your significant other? Chen doesn’t seem the type to get tattooed and I can’t figure out anything to represent him so he’s left out of this headcanon for now >:T

Blue is his favorite color. It’s the color he chose for his suit as Sidestep, is the color Ortega and the Rangers use (blue being associated with his friends), and is the opposite color of his tattoos. It’s a color that brought him a lot of happiness. On the other hand, orange is his least favorite color. He hates it. It’s a bad reminder of his tattoos. As such, he’s grown to instinctively hate the color.

[amlovelies]

Watch me ask questions for everybody (separated into two asks because I'm a lot mwahahaha)

for Serena: 44. Why might someone love them?

for Cynthia: 7. Which of their relationships have impacted them most positively?

for Emma: 85. What kind of personalities do they find attractive?

for Riley: 60. What is something that they’re sure to laugh at?

Please and thank you lovely!! But of course no pressure as usual. 😊💜

thank you Roo! I’m always so happy to see you in my inbox! 

44. Why might someone love them?

If you asked Serena she probably wouldn’t be able to come up with a reason 😂. Serena has a quick wit, she’s funny and observant. She’s also a good listener and will do lots of small quiet things to make people feel better without being overly showy in her affection. She pays attention to people and can usually guess what they want/need (this sometimes backfires on her because she is so sure she already knows and doesn’t bother to ask/communicate but that’s beside the point)

7. Which of their relationships have impacted them most positively?

For Cynthia it would have to be Ortega and Dr. Mortum. Even before heartbreak, Ortega was the first person Cynthia ever let herself get close to. it might have something to do with them being the only people that she can’t read (mortum because she only sees her in her puppet’s body) so she actually has to build trust/rapport with them like a normal person. From the jump she has to be more vulnerable with them and that forces her to grow and build something closer to actual human connection. 

85. What kind of personalities do they find attractive?

Emma is very attracted to kindness and respect. She can sometimes let people run all over her/take advantage of her, so finding someone who actively checks in with her/her needs is a big deal for her. She doesn’t like loud or abrasive personalities. 

60. What is something that they’re sure to laugh at?

Riley is a fan of irony and clever word play. She’s a fan of bad puns and will laugh very hard at her own while everyone else groans

thank you again for the ask darling! I’ll see you in part two 🥰

100 OC questions