#fallen hero fanfic

[ladyshivs]

Falling asleep to your partner's heartbeat, for a Step of your choice?

Total Word Count: 351

Fandom: Fallen Hero by Malin Ryden

Pairing: Steelstep (Rohid Chenthilmurugan/Wei Chen)

Time elapsed: 19 minutes

Physical Intimacy Prompts

Rohid took in as small a breath as they could manage, feeling Chen's arm tighten slightly around them. Reflexive movements and tiny shifts in the musculature that their head was resting on. Plate tectonics. And beneath, the steady rumble of the earth's core.

Chen's heartbeat, ticking away as he slept, as sure and strong as magma held down by the mantle.

Heat.

And pressure.

And motion.

Easy to fall into pace with. To keep the time and movement in sync. Feeling the world drop out from under them with his every exhale. Only to rise again with a slow rumble and beneath it all, the plodding beat.

Whatever had woken Rohid up was nowhere to be seen or heard, not over the steady percussion mainlining into their ear. They shifted, moving so that their head was placed directly over the hidden muscle.

Wanting to hear it better. Wanting to feel its echo in their skull, drowning out whatever was lurking in the recesses of their mind.

It did the trick.

In only a moment, the only sound they could register was Chen's pulse. So relaxed and firm and real. Real and alive and under them. Real and alive in all the ways Rohid could never be on their own. Not like Chen could be.

Chen didn't have to wonder if he was alive, did he? Never had to watch his own face in the mirror to see if his mind was going to slip away into some other reality.

The temptation was too great to resist, even if Rohid didn't know they were giving into it.

Matching their breathing to his. Hoping to match the rhythm of their own...Was their heart beating? It must have been. Must have. Even if it wasn't, would that be so bad? To take Chen's rhythm and make it their own? Breathing in as he did, beating out as he did.

Blood and oxygen and sleep and life and. It didn't take much more effort than blowing out a candle, sliding into that space. Sinking deeper and deeper into sleep with Chen's heart beating for them.

#thank you! #fhr #fallen hero fanfic #steelstep #flash fiction #rohid chenthilmurugan #wei chen

[vagabond-art]

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Julia Ortega/Sidestep, Julia Ortega & Sidestep Characters: Julia Ortega, Sidestep Additional Tags: Talking, Flirting, Pre-Heartbreak Incident, Friendship/Love, Heavy Angst, Moral Dilemmas, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Pre-Relationship, Introspection

Series: Part 2 of SUBJECT: Zeshawni C. B. aka "Sidestep"

Summary:

Almost a year after the Nanosurge, and things in Los Diablos are finally returning to normal. But Sidestep is confronted with the realization that things are far worse than they thought. And with the changes to their powers comes a new moral dilemma.

#sidestep #julia ortega #ortega fh #fallen hero #fhr #fallen hero series #chargestep #sidestep x ortega #ortega x sidestep #ao3 #fallen hero fanfic #fanfic link #zeshawni cree broker

[ardellian]

Baby Step makes a big decision and slips from the clutches of the Farm.

In honor of release day, I wrote a little something! Whoop!

#fallen hero #fhr #my fhr stuff #fallen hero fanfic #it's been a long time but if it was going to be any day it was going to be today

[chaniters]

Running out of lies

Found by Anathema, Cyrus has to face reality again, and it hurts. -----------------

“Leave me alone!” The words are hushed coming out of your mouth as you try to repack all of your supplies.

“Not until I get some answers”

“You’re drawing attention” you protest because there already are some looks turning your way. 

“Then calm down if that’s what bothers you. Also, let me carry that,” They say, taking hold of the easel you rescued from the garbage. 

“I don’t need help” 

“You’re limping, I have eyes”

You choose silence because you’re not in the mood to explain how you got grazed by a bullet on a sewer, saying nothing more as they walk with you for the next blocks heading towards the bus stop that is your only escape route. 

They don’t share in the silence.

“Out with it. What happened?” 

“There we go again.”

“I’m not gonna stop”

“Told you, I don’t want to talk about it” you reply almost immediately.  -------------

“Dr. Elderidge got her PharmaCore research back in an envelope under her door the day you banished. That’s the only clue I had that you were alive and I couldn’t tell the others. Do you realize they’re still looking for you? How worried they are?”

“Well, now you found me so they can stop. Besides, there’s no reason to be worried, not like I’m part of the team anyways. I’m just a nobody.”

“You’re not some nobody! What the fuck man?”

“I don’t need your help, or your concern, or whatever you’re trying to do! I’m gonna be an artist now, don’t you see??!” you make a point to tap the easel he’s carrying. “I just sell the shit I do and buy stuff with it. Like everyone else does” 

That gives them some pause. Enough for you to snatch the easel from them and start walking away. Not that it stops them from following after the initial shock.

“You’re going to quit?! Why?” 

“None of your business. The only reason I haven’t returned the suit is that I’m trying to wash it myself. Once I get the sewer stench from it, I’ll return i’ll mail it to your HQ” 

“What happened down there?”

“Nothing happened.”

“Would it kill you to just talk to me? You’re not making sense, you did everything you could to be a hero and now you’re throwing it all away? There has to be a reason… and what’s up with that scarf? It’s a million degrees out here!”

“Leave the scarf alon-...”

But their hands are already grabbing for it. 

It’s not like the move’s not telegraphed in your mind, but you have your hands full and you’re not fast enough to avoid them as they snatch it off your neck. 

“This thing is … Fuck! Cyrus what happened?!” 

“Please put that back on?” you beg. “I didn’t want anyone to see.” 

They just stand there holding the scarf, staring at them—clear-as-day bruises and marks on your throat, where Husk tried to strangle you. Thankfully then the scarf goes back on, gently, their hands treating you as if you were suddenly made of glass. 

“Thank you.” 

They give you an evaluating look, their mind quickly putting together the pieces of the puzzle. You avoid the prying eyes and take off, but again you are followed.

“The fuck… Are you ok?” 

“Course I am. It’s nothing.” You try to dismiss the marks they saw, but their mind clenches around them, far too tight for the kind of telepathy you’re capable of in this state. 

Shit.  

“What did Husk do to you?…” you can feel the anger mounting on them, directed at whoever did this to you. 

“I don’t want to talk about that!” you yell, far louder than you intended.

“... then why are you tearing up?” 

SHITSHITSHIT

“I’m not! Stop asking questions! You’re seeing things. I’m fine.  Never been better! Now go away!” 

You add suggestions to your words, but your current telepathy would fail the most basic examinations back at the farm. Sloppy, emotional, obvious lies won’t cut it against someone so determined.

They sigh in frustration, following you, trying to understand. Not something you can help them with. Tears? Since when are you so fucking weak? 

You’re not supposed to cry, least of all with other people around.

“Stop running!”

“I’m not running!” You lie. 

What else can you do? 

Husk just wanted to kill you. They never meant to shatter your vision of the world. No, you’re the one who did it all by yourself, getting into their mind uninvited. 

How do you explain that now you know things you wish you didn’t and nothing makes sense? Like how you still feel serving the goals of the Special Directive is the “right” thing to do, but you can’t deny knowing how vile it truly is? 

Husk opened your eyes to the horrors humans are capable of and there is no closing that door now.    

“Does the painting gig help?” Themmie asks understanding too much without even knowing you.  

“Why do you care?” you ask bitterly because it’s too true.

“Because you almost die trying to help me and Ferra, you idiot!” they say, hand on your shoulder, looking into your eyes. “It’s my fault. I know what Husk does to people!”  Again you look away, unable to hold their gaze, just as you don’t understand the emotions inside their mind right now. 

Guilt? Remorse? 

Humans are too darn complicated, and you don’t know why but Themmie feeling bad because of your last telepathic screwup with Husk just feels wrong. 

“Hey, I’m telling you…It’s nothing. I mean… I get the files or not? That’s all that matters. I swear I’m fine. I mean.. I’ll be fine.” you try to reassure them. 

And again you fail. The gesture makes them feel even worse. 

You’re the one hurt, they should be the ones trying to make you feel better, not the other way around. That’s how Themmie sees it at least. 

It’s painful… how they think this is all their fault. Blaming it all on himself just as…

Just as you do. 

 “Sides, I swear I’m going to hunt that Husk down, and when I find them…”

“No! Husk’s not going to bother anyone else ever again!” you spit out, wishing you had bit your tongue immediately afterward. 

“What?”

Shit. You hate being this weak. 

Themmie’s concern is wearing you down, but would it be so bad to say something?

 “... fine. Alright, Fuck it. I’ll tell you what happened. Some of it at least” 

“Let’s keep walking while we talk. That helps sometimes,” they say, knowing you more than they should once again. 

The traffic light changes and you cross, thinking about how to start. 

Should you lie?

But what kind of lie would that be? You don’t even know which way it should point.

No, no lies. Just the truth, at least what you can give them. 

“It’s simple. I thought I could go and fight Husk alone, and they were getting away while you were busy with the police and Carter”

“We told you how dangerous they are!”

“You think I don’t know that now?!” Your voice grows louder than you wished for.

“Sorry! I shouldn’t interrupt you. Go on please”

“If you let me” you grumble, annoyed. “We fought. They mopped the floor with me and that’s all I’m going to say about it.”

“That’s fine. That’s totally fine. You don’t need to go into details.” 

“You saw some of the details.” you rub the scarf around your throat. “Promise me you won’t tell”

“I promise I won’t.” And it’s not a lie. Not one you can feel. 

“Thanks. Things got uh… less than ideal… and uh… some people showed up.”

“People? What people?”

“Other people. People Husk pissed off” You can’t tell them it’s the special directive because no one is supposed to know that. Looks like once again you’re helping them hide their secrets. “So they were distracted and I took the chance to get the hell out of there”

“And then…?”

“There were gunshots. I lost track of Husk’s mind after that.”

“Dead?”

“They were definitely not firing blanks” you bite your lip. “I started running and I got lost in the tunnels… It was hard to breathe, it was dark, It smelled like shit… and I couldn’t see where I was going, and … and… and…”

And Husk’s memories took too darn long to banish. You can never retain anything, but of all things, this shit got stuck in your brain. Everything they ever told you became a lie, and you wanted to forget.

The words die and you cover your face. You don’t want Themmie to see you tearing up again 

But they step forward, wrapping their arms around you in one big hug. 

“It’s ok. You’re ok now. It’s over”

You can’t remember ever feeling this weak and useless in your life.  Regenes are not made for this. Definitely malfunctioning.  Not supposed to be crying on someone else’s shoulder.

It can’t be real. It can’t be happening to you. You want to push them away and break free, show them it’s nothing at all. But you can’t fucking stop crying anymore. Mourning the lies you told yourself. That they always knew better. That they had a great plan for all of you. That you had a purpose.

The lies that kept your world glued together, even after you escaped. 

“It’s going to be alright. I’m here for you,” They say. 

How could it be alright, when everything is falling apart?

--------------------- 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 world. 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 his wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

#fallen hero rebirth #fallen hero retribution #fallen hero fanfic #My fanfiction #Anathema #Sidestep #fanfiction #fallen hero spoilers

[muchadoaboutchoices]

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ortega/Sidestep (Fallen Hero) Characters: Elena Ortega, Ortega (Fallen Hero), Sidestep (Fallen Hero) Additional Tags: Fluff and Angst, Wet Dream, Cunnilingus, Fluff, Angst, everything is against when you're sidestep, i have too much love for ricardo ortega and it needs to come out somehow, Fallen Hero: Retribution Spoilers Summary:

A month after the car crash that wrecked her legs, Zeyna Brown is still recuperating and hiding away from Los Diablos in Elena Ortega's ranch. When the most recent visit of Ricardo Ortega brings upon a wet dream for them both, Zeyna suspects that though her telepathic powers are nullified against his epilepsy, her empathic abilities are apparently not.

Rating will update with Chapter 2.

#fallen hero #fallen her rebirth #fallen hero retribution #sidestep #fallen hero sidestep #ricardo ortega #charge #malin ryden #hosted games #interactive fiction #ao3 #fanfiction #fallen hero fanfic #fallen hero fanfiction

[zoethehead]

Here's a redo of the "last hopes of earthbread" fic.

Now it makes 50% more sense!

#mocha ray cookie #pure vanilla cookie #cappuccino cookie #hollyberry cookie #burnt cheese cookie #dark cacao cookie #tarte tatin cookie #golden cheese cookie #peppercorn cookie #white lily cookie #dark enchantress cookie #burning spice cookie #pomegranate cookie #mystic flour cookie #affogato cookie #shadow milk cookie #poison mushroom cookie #eternal sugar cookie #lobster cookie #silent salt cookie #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run ovenbreak #fanfic #fanstory #crk #crob #ancient heroes crk #beast yeast #crk fallen heroes

[lilacthebooklover]

fallen hero headcanons & theorising my beloved

#1800 words in #and there's not even any dialogue yet #eternal sugar's just too fun too write #eternal sugar cookie #eternal sugar crk #idk about you guys #but i'm an “internal monologue until the character decides to speak” sort of writer #shadow milk crk #shadow milk cookie #fallen heroes #crk fallen heroes #crk fanfic #burning spice cookie #burning spice crk #silent salt cookie #silent salt crk #mystic flour cookie #mystic flour crk #beast yeast #cr kingdom #pure vanilla crk #pure vanilla cookie #crk theory #crk headcanons #i love giving the beasts personalities & backstories #even if this all turns out to be wildly wrong #i am having a blast #they should've hired me for the writing team smh

[mortumslab]

First time ever drawing, so I present my rendition of Arya Skovsgaard, my Sidestep and protagonist of my Fanfic, Remembering to be Human, which just finished up this weekend.

Which you can read here!

Be on the lookout for the sequel series: Remembering to be Human: A Broken Canon.

#fhr #fallen hero #fallen hero retribution #sidestep #fanfic #arya #skovsgaard #arya skovsgaard

[godshaper]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sidestep & Steel (Fallen Hero) Characters: Sidestep (Fallen Hero), Steel (Fallen Hero) Additional Tags: Developing Friendships, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unreliable Narrator, Identity Issues, Past Sidestep/Ortega, Flashbacks, Not Canon Compliant Series: Part 3 of anomaly Summary:

re·peat

 1. to say or utter again; reiterate 2. to tell to someone else 3. to make happen again or undergo again

#2024 #fanfic #fallen hero #fhr #lula & tal #wei chen #sidestep

[ladyshivs]

Hi! tracing fingers down your partner's chest for Lydia, smiling in-between kisses for Rohid and/ or bridal carries for Richard pretty please? ^^

Total word count: approx. 1850

Fandom: Fallen Hero by Malin Ryden

Pairings: Chargestep (Lydia/Ricardo), Steelstep (Rohid/Chen), Flystep (Richard/Daniel)

Time elapsed: 1 hour, 35 minutes

Physical Intimacy Prompts

Lydia

A zip ran down the center of Lydia’s breastbone and she barely managed to resist biting down on her lower lip. Somewhere, out in the real world, dawn was breaking. The city never fully slept, but there was enough of a lull in activity in Ricardo’s building that it felt like a gentle stirring rather than an uptick in traffic and car alarms.

Her heart begged to differ and was currently trying to climb up out of her throat, slamming into everything it could along the way. Her lungs, her ribs, her. Her. His fingers dipped slightly, tracing a vicious scar over her clavicle before curling away like a whisper of smoke over her chest.

Drifting in aimless patterns over her skin. First light circles, pausing over a ragged edge. A change in texture as he turned his hand over, gliding the backs of his fingernails across the curve of a tattoo. Smooth and rounded, then, as he let his fingertips angle enough to drag nails over her. Not enough to scratch.

A wake up call sent to delicate, tickle flinch nerve endings that sparked to life.

Every touch he was giving her was feather fluff agony, far too light to be satisfying. Too little to settle the pounding of her heart which she knew he could feel, there was no way he couldn’t, it was practically starting a band in her throat and he was being too quiet.

Lydia glanced down and followed his eyes to where his palm was resting flat, just in the center above her sternum. Watching him watching his own fingers, curling in against his palm. Not tight. Not a fist. Impossible to tell where his thoughts were spinning, but not hard to guess. She’d never had the strength to use that weapon—to ask how long he’d spent. Bent over her, pumping her heart to keep her alive. Hands bruising instead of gliding.

He'd cracked ribs. Lydia’s skin tingled as if it could remember.

“Did you really kick Hollow Ground in the teeth?” well. That answered that question.

Lydia hoped the snort didn’t sound forced. “Pssht. Not like I did it for you,” hand coming up, unbidden, to flatten his back out over her. Pressing until he let his fingers go out flat again.

“Thought you said you were only there to help me investigate?” giving her a. She hated when he looked like that. Too bone weary. She hoped he didn’t know he was doing it; the look was better off unintentional. Looking exhausted and solemn instead of teasing and smug. The dig didn’t hit pay dirt, though.

“She wanted me--La Bruja--to join her crew. Or at the very least wanted me to pay her dues to work for her,” not too much of an admission, considering what he already knew.

“Shit, really?” a little note in his voice. Not entirely genuine surprise, then? But that was allowable because his fingers were moving again. Sliding out from under her hand. Drawing designs and patterns over the dip and swell of her breast. “And it was a bad offer?”

“Obviously. I introduced her mouth to my foot at that point, so I’m not sure what else was included in her proposal,” a little embellishment, but only for flare—Ric’s fingers were getting dangerously close to. To. “But there’s no way I’d ever work with her,” muttered without a thought and. “Not knowing how--,” how you hate her. But it was too late. His fingers had slid over a different set of nerves on her chest.

Like watching the edge of a knife descending. One of the many masks slipping into place. This one curled at the corners of his lips, but he forgot to change up his eyes. “So it is because of me,” the tone was gloating, light and proud. Trying to tease, but his stupid fucking eyes weren’t in it and it made Lydia’s chest clench all the tighter for its absence.

Lydia swallowed dry. “Don’t go getting a fat head over it,” too wavy in her throat. “Just because I’m not going to work with your mortal enemy doesn’t mean that I like you or anything,” trying to force the conversation somewhere that light could hit it. Raising his hand up to press her lips to his palm.

Rohid

A quick peck. All it was meant to be, just a quick little smack of lip on lip before they darted out of the door and back to the streets. They were going to let that little blip of contact feed them for the rest of the day.

Spoon had had other plans, weaving his lanky body behind Rohid’s legs and planting himself firmly between the regene and the door. Clearly in cahoots with the man that then pressed himself up against Rohid’s front, smiling into the longer kiss that he stole in retaliation. Pulling a soft sound out of Rohid’s chest with his next move, wrapping his arms tighter around their waist and tugging them. Walking together back towards his couch.

Not asking them not to leave.

Just letting soft touch after soft touch pepper itself along Rohid’s mouth until it curled into a grin for him. Cotton balls of pleasure filling Rohid’s sinus cavities, stuffing them up until the only escape was giggling against Chen’s tongue as it slid between their lips.

The only reasonable counterattack was to return fire, lips stretching thin as they disregarded the urge to fight back their smile and instead nipped at Chen’s bottom lip. Enough to make the man that was.

Huh. When did Chen start pressing them down into the couch cushions? Rohid’s brain politely set the question on fire. It had better things to focus on. Like Chen’s own smile, crooked and twisted and making Rohid’s heart do a very complicated dance with their lungs. And like Chen’s tongue, that was flicking out to try and open them back up again for another, deeper kiss.  

They allowed the intrusion, but they couldn’t wipe the smile off their face. Couldn’t stop the bright, soft tittering escaping their throat. Voice strong for once. Sounding like their old self, for once. Both hands holding Chen’s head still, giving them enough space to press their giggling grin to his cheek.

“Can I stay longer?” was what they meant to ask. There had been so many months between the last time they had been able to speak clearly that hearing it from their own chest hit like a punch to the throat. Their voice withered in their throat halfway through, but Chen’s mouth was there. Hiding the shift with a kiss.

“As long as you want, Ro,” and another. And again. And. “As long as you want,”

Richard

The Drop was always anticipated. Which was shitty of him, and he knew it, but it was there all the same.

Or maybe that was just the excuse he used to curled into the heat of Danny’s chest like an arthritic old dog curling up in a patch of sunlight. Arms pulling him in until Richard could nestle into the crook of his neck and sigh.

There was no whining from his knees, no muttering from his hips, even with the position forcing his joints to flex. Something about the how. The how in how Daniel held him.

The Drop wasn’t incoming, and he knew it. They both knew it. All the letting down had been on Richard’s end.

“Thank you,” whispered. A bitter, curmudgeonly voice from the back of his head protested that being carried around like a doll was demeaning. Every single other voice pushed it to the back of the crowd and gave it dirty looks when it started hissing again.

Daniel shifted his weight slightly and grinned, thoughts swirling up in a wonderfully warm updraft.

“No problem,” chuckling and squeezing him just enough for Richard to sink even further into that sensation. Held fast. As if he were something worth holding onto, despite all the evidence to the contrary. Wingbeats fluttered against his arm. “How is it?” knowing that Richard would know what he meant.

“Healing. At least that’s what they tell me. A little bit better every day,” Shrugging as much as he could, turning his head to let his forehead rest on the swell of Daniel’s trapezius muscle. Separated by a thin cotton t shirt and Richard’s self control that kept him from mouthing at the freckles he knew were waiting there. “It doesn’t hurt too badly today,” it was his hips that had prompted the request.

Bruised pride and stubborn ego had fallen sharply away when he realized that he was going to have to climb the stairs to his apartment and the unseasonable spike of humidity was going to make every step a particularly excruciating torture.

A quick text and Danny had fluttered down from their shared balcony like a falling leaf, looped the grocery bags around either elbow and then, like just another piece of shopping, scooped Richard up against his chest. His thoughts had glowed and spiraled, beyond pleased that Richard was willing to ask for his help. And Richard had only grumbled a few times. Or three. Before Danny had nuzzled his nose against his temple and drove those complaints back into the dark.

Of course, when they landed back up on the balcony, Richard could have easily peeled himself out of Danny’s grip. But.

Well.

It. Well. That thought sheepishly drew a circle with its toe and struggled to make eye contact.

Danny had the decency to laugh and not feel too put upon, carefully maneuvering the shopping off of his forearms without jostling Richard out of his grip. It was a fraction closer to ridiculous than Richard was normally given to but feeling Danny’s heat against him. The safety of his arms and the soft brush of his mind and. He couldn’t bring himself to feel too guilty about having Danny hover for a few more seconds, holding him close. “How was your day?” asked out loud even though Richard could feel the question from a dozen or so miles away.

“It’s better now that I’m home,” with a very pointed squeeze around Danny’s shoulders. Home in your arms, he didn’t say, but pushed the thought loudly enough into Danny’s mind for it to register. For a faint blush to spread over those cheeks, making his scar stand out all the clearer. “What about yours?” casually flipping through the surface thoughts that Daniel always presented like he was browsing magazine covers at the check out line.

A minor altercation. A lot of paperwork. A lot of coffee. Threaded with hints of something much more frustrating that his thoughts were working hard to keep shuffled away. Richard considering dipping his fingers into the fray, but thought better of it. “Not too bad, then?” chuckling as Danny offered up his own shrug.

“Boring,” but the necessary bits were what they were, he added on. Hoping to keep whatever it was that had upset him saved for another time. Softening as he turned his head to kiss Richard between the eyebrows. Point taken, Richard slid out of his head. “Better now that you’re home, though,”

#fallen hero fanfic #fhr #fallen hero #thank you! #flash fiction #chargestep #steelstep #flystep #ricardo ortega #lydia becerra #wei chen #rohid chenthilmurugan #daniel sullivan #richard abekket #hntf adjacent when it hits richard's because of course

[honor-among-thieves]

Uhh, I wasn't going to share this because I feel meh about it in general, was kind of just using a flash prompt from the Patreon Discord to play with dialogue, but I upload all my (finished) fanfic even if it's not great and some people found it anyway and no one said they hate it. It is the first time I got to examine how I imagine Connor's own voice vs. the Canonical Sidestep so I don't totally hate it.

General, no triggers, just a lot of kissing. Maybe I can be inspired to finish some of my more involved stuff that isn't so dialogue heavy now?

#fhr #fallen hero #sidestep #fhr charge #chargestep #ricardo ortega #fanfiction #fanfic #connor szarvas

[thatfangirllyfe]

Fire Lily was such an amazing fanfic. Tell me why I can’t find a single bkdk angel/devil au since????

Please anyone recommendations????

#bkdk fanfic #bkdk #bkdk smut #boki no hero academia #bnha #mha bakugou #mha midoriya #bakudeku #bkdkbk #fire lily #fallen angel #devil and angel #fanfics #ao3 fanfic #save me please #i’m desperate #my hero fanfic #my hero academy fanfiction #mha

[cigarettesandinevitablebetrayal]

Pairings: Sidestep/Steel; Pre-Sidestep/Steel/Charge

Rating: M (17+ Recommended)

Word Count: 3,559 words

Tags: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Body Image, Discussions of Sexual Assault, discussions of polyamory, Trans Sidestep, Scars, Self-Esteem Issues, Post-Retribution, Sidestep Crash Ending, Opposite Gender Mirror Image Puppet, Mild Discussions of Homophobia, Explicit Language, Chen's Perspective

Summary: Remus isn't ashamed of any of his scars except, it would seem, the one. Chen intends to find out why.

Read on Ao3 or

Remus is still wearing the makeup. Chen had noticed it the first time he'd found Remus at the Bone Yard. Early in the morning, following a self-proclaimed rough night, Chen had noticed the patchy discoloration and slight texture difference across Remus' cheek. There was obvious concealer thrown haphazardly over the top of whatever it was that Remus had been hiding on his face, like he had been too distracted to apply the makeup properly.

When Remus had called him after therapy, Chen had paid better attention. The spot he had noticed before was gone. There was only Remus' usual light tan and mostly smooth skin. Remus has facial scars. They're impossible to miss. Most of them, Remus doesn't bother to cover up. Thin lines cross his face like a road map of a small town in the sticks. One across the bridge of his nose, a few through his right eyebrow, one towards the center of his bottom lip, and one that curls around his jawline like a botched attempt at a face lift. But whatever mars the better portion of his right cheek stays hidden under layers of makeup.

Chen had asked one of the artists on his makeup team once, just to distract from the annoyance of having to have his own scars softened for the benefit of some bureaucrat. He had described the details he remembered as his primer was applied.

"Sounds like a burn scar," the tech had said, frowning slightly as she switched to a concealer. "At that size, might be a plasma burn, but I'd have to see a picture to get a better idea."

"What would it take to cover it up completely?" He had made an effort not to look too interested. He knows Remus has an affinity for jewelry, but despises makeup. Before catching sight of the mistake, he would have put hard money on Remus never wearing makeup except for the occasional eye liner. Just a little something to bring out his eyes.

"Like, to make it unnoticeable?" she had paused, giving it good thought before answering. "A couple hours and some expensive products. You'd need one of the new smart silicone primers, the right color correctors, then you could use your concealer and foundation. It would still itch."

"Itch?"

"Oh, yeah, plasma burns itch like mad. And makeup will only irritate them more."

So Chen had watched more closely after that. Every time since that first chance meeting in the Bone Yard, Remus had worn makeup over his right cheek. Even when just coming to the Rangers Tower to see Ricardo. Chen had surreptitiously asked Daniel, being careful to frame it as an innocuous question. Though he’d been confused by the question, Daniel had confirmed that Remus wore makeup to spar. Chen didn't dare ask Ricardo. On the off chance Ricardo had neither known nor noticed, Chen didn't want to risk drawing his attention to it. If Remus wanted to hide it, it was his business. And if he accidentally let it slip to Ricardo, he’d never hear the end of it.

So when Chen comes home to find Remus in the living room, set up as comfortably as he can be with his sketchbook, face full of makeup, Chen can't help but frown. He knows Remus had asked Ricardo to pick up a few things from his apartment for his stay. Ricardo had even mentioned, with an air of worry, that Remus had had what looked suspiciously like a go bag. Chen hadn’t put much thought into what it would take to make Remus take it and go to ground. But it wasn’t the go bag that Ricardo had retrieved. This one is more of an overnight bag, though why Remus had one at the ready, Chen isn’t sure.

"Welcome back," Remus says with a lazy smile. He pulls his hand back from Spoon so the dog can pad his way over to Chen. "We missed you."

It's a little concession Chen recognizes immediately. Remus' aversion to open intimacy doesn't surprise Chen, but the workarounds make him smile. It wouldn't do for Chen to know Remus feels his absence, but they both know Spoon does, so "I" becomes "we" and Chen understands without prompting. 

"I hope you two didn't get bored," Chen says as he scratches Spoon's chin. "There's no telling what you two would get up to, otherwise." 

Remus puts down the sketchbook as he places a hand across his chest dramatically. It allows Chen to steal a glance at what Remus is sketching. Some doodles of Spoon, a still life of the coffee table, and what looks suspiciously like Chen from behind. "I'll have you know I'm on my best behavior."

"Of course you are," Chen says. He runs his fingers lightly through Remus' curls. It's always a gamble whether the strands will get tangled in the joints of Chen's hand, but he doesn't mind terribly and Remus doesn't seem bothered when it pulls at his scalp. He presses a kiss to Remus' forehead. "I'll go get changed."

As he walks away, he keeps an eye on Remus. There it is. Remus reaches up, gently itching his right cheek with the edge of his nails, being careful not to disturb the layers of concealer. He frowns slightly, drops his hand and sighs before picking his sketchbook back up.

Chen would have normally gotten changed in the lockers, but had the sneaking suspicion Remus had to be getting bored. He's just as prone to distraction as Ricardo and twice as fidgety. Being stuck in casts is not doing Remus any favors. Chen is certain if he hadn't bought the sketchbook and pencils, Remus would have found a disaster to manifest. He’s more than creative enough to make trouble, even stuck in a wheelchair in Chen’s apartment.

He switches out his business slacks and simple button down with an old air force shirt and comfy shorts. It's easier to be dressed down around Remus than strangers. He never stares - or rather, not for the same reasons. Chen has caught him a few times staring, but with either his bottom lip between his teeth or a pencil in his hand. It's a welcome change, knowing Remus sees beauty in his mods.

Sometimes, Chen returns the favor. He lets his mental shields down from time to time, letting just a few stray thoughts through for Remus to pick up on, usually in admiration of his smile or the way his body moves beneath his clothes, all svelte muscle and grace. The tattoos have become like background noise, much like Remus' scars. The attention brings a flush to Remus' cheeks and his smile will turn an odd mix of embarrassment and pride. Chen had never realized how susceptible to flattery Remus can be. He files it away for later use. It’s sure to come in handy some days.

That would almost explain the covered scar, were it not for the fact that Chen knows how Remus views scars. Signs of survival, of strength, of life not being able to keep him down. Remus seems to remember the stories to all of them, or maybe he's just good at lying. Chen has caught Ricardo, Daniel, and Remus in the break room more than once, listening to Ricardo recount some story from his days as Marshal. He's seen Remus point to whatever scar features in the story, so long as it's on his face or forearms. Never anywhere that might reveal his tattoos.

Chen rummages through his bathroom, pulling out the package of facial wipes he keeps just in case he can't get around to removing the makeup department's efforts before getting home. He clears off the foundation and concealer, watching his own scars become more distinct in the mirror. He spares the packet a glance as he throws the wipe in the trash. Making up his mind, he swipes the packet off the counter as he leaves the bathroom.

"Have you had anything to eat today?" He asks, setting the packet down on the accent table closest to Remus before continuing to the kitchen. "You’re welcome to order something. If you’ve gotten bored of canned soup.”

Chen expects Remus to wrinkle his nose, to make some scathing comment about the state of the food in Chen’s house like Ricardo always does. What he doesn’t expect is the heavy silence that follows his suggestion. He leans over the breakfast bar to get a better look at Remus.

Remus is staring at the packet of wipes as though Chen had slapped him across the face with them. He blinks slowly at them once, twice, his lips curling into something between a sneer and a scowl. Chen has only seen him make that expression a handful of times. It is usually reserved for things Remus finds demonstrably unpleasant and usually Ricardo-related, like the craft beers Ricardo likes to keep or the first awkward attempt at a joke when Remus had told him about being a re-gene. The wipes seem too innocuous to warrant the Look.

“Remus?” he prompts. He watches as Spoon noses Remus’ hand to no avail. “Are you alright?”

Remus blinks hard and slow one last time before he turns his face towards Chen. His face is suspiciously neutral. Chen has never known Remus to be neutral about anything. “I don’t know. I haven’t finished deciding whether to be more surprised or offended.”

Ah. There’s the melodrama that always precludes an argument. It’s another first for Chen to be on the receiving end of this particular tactic. His brow furrows. “By the face wipes?”

Remus narrows his eyes and Chen can feel Remus’ insulted pride like a spike against his mental shield. “By the fact that instead of asking me about it, you decided to just drop it in my lap that you know I wear makeup.” He prods the package with the eraser end of his pencil. “You could have asked me about it. Given me a little warning.”

Chen doesn’t remark on the fact that Remus could have plucked the knowledge from his head at any time. He’s been surprisingly respectful of Chen’s boundaries. The most he does is the equivalent to stapling angry letters or sweet notes to the walls in Chen’s mind. “Would you have answered if I had asked?”

“Yes,” the lie slips out immediately, but Remus glances away under Chen’s gaze. “Probably.” He rubs his face with a hand, left side, sighing deeply. “I don’t know, Wei. I’m sorry.”

Chen comes around the corner, sitting down on the couch corner closest to Remus. He doesn’t reach out to touch him, though. Not yet. He’ll know when Remus wants physical contact. “I never took you for the self-conscious type.”

Remus gives him a lopsided smile, “I’ve got a good mask.” He echoes Chen’s words from months ago. Then he puts aside his sketchbook and pencil. He chews on his words a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose, but says nothing. His free hand twitches lightly on the armrest of the wheelchair.

Chen takes Remus’ hand gently, careful not to catch any of his skin in the joints and plates of his prosthetic. He kisses Remus’ scarred knuckles, watching as his expression softens. That soft, private smile plays across his face. It’s the same one he gets when he watches dogs. Chen’s favorite smile. “You know I don’t care about the scars.”

“It’s not about being scarred,” Remus says with a sigh. He shifts in his seat before meeting Chen’s gaze again. “It’s about this scar.”

There’s a silence that settles between them as Chen tries to figure out where to move forward in the conversation. He waits for Remus to make the first move. That will better inform him on how to proceed.

Clenching his jaw, Remus takes a deep breath and opens the packet. He leaves his left hand with Chen, lightly squeezing it, and fishes out a wipe with his right. He doesn’t meet Chen’s gaze as he slowly, methodically cleans his face of concealer and silicone filler. The second go takes more force, more scrubbing, to clear the last remnants of creams and powders. Remus looks unflinchingly at Chen, his grey eyes daring Chen to make some comment on it.

The scar takes up all of his right cheek and threatens to extend further. It doesn't reach his mouth, doesn't pull at it the way some of Chen's do. But it does reach close to Remus' right eye and causes the corner to droop just slightly. It's an angry red in color and looks alarmingly like melted flesh. Definitely from a plasma caster, more than a few years old from the look of it.

"There you are, then," Remus says curtly. "Happy?"

Chen reaches up and settles his palm against the scar, his fingers brushing against the locks of Remus' light brown curls that fall into his face. "It's not that bad."

Remus snorts. "It's half my face."

Chen doesn't argue that point. He's not wrong about it taking up a stingy amount of real estate. Instead, he turns his questions elsewhere. "You didn't have this when you were Sidestep. Was it during Heartbreak?" Remus had carried a plasma caster back then, among his other toys and tricks. Chen doesn't remember Ricardo mentioning if Remus turned his weapon on himself, though it is a possibility. After all, it wasn’t as though Ricardo had been in any state of mind to recount the incident for a while afterward.

"No." Remus looks away again, but turns his face slightly to press a kiss to Chen's palm. "I, uh, I got it at the Farm."

Chen doesn't clench his fists at the mention of the Farm, but he comes close. He is not a man of quick temper, but perhaps Ricardo is rubbing off on him, or perhaps it's just the way that talking about the Farm seems to make Remus shrink. He always becomes quieter, less bombastic, less himself. Like the mere mention of the place carves a little of him away each time it comes up. "I'm sorry."

Remus shrugs, but his smile is weak and the weariness shows in his eyes. He suddenly looks a decade older than his years. "Not the worst thing to happen to me there. He was an asshole. And I gave more than I got." There's something harder in Remus' voice than there usually is when he talks about the Farm.

Chen watches as Remus looks away, idly itching at the scar. "Did you get it when you escaped?"

"Uh, no, no it's from before that." Remus works his jaw like the words he's putting together don't fit right in his mouth. "Some of the Farmhands like to, uh…shit, there's no delicate way to talk about this," he trails off. Taking a deep breath, his face turns to stone. "Some of the Farmhands like to fuck re-genes."

Chen's jaw clenches hard enough that he can hear his teeth grind against each other. His voice comes out softer than he feels. "You mean rape."

Remus shrugs his shoulders, his expression blasé, but his eyes are still miles away. "You can stick your dick in a vacuum hose, but most people wouldn't call that rape."

Tactful. The crass language is a type of armor, Chen knows, he's seen it used against Ricardo too many times. It puts people off, catches them off their rhythm. Chen ignores it. He's heard worse back in his army days. "You're not a vacuum, Remus." Remus opens his mouth, but Chen is faster. "Please don't make an oral sex joke right now."

"Spoilsport," Remus grumbles, but then he catches Chen's eye and the mirth slips away. "I don't know why you're looking at me like that. There's not that much more to say. He didn't like how unresponsive I was, so he tried to see what he could do to get a reaction out of me. That's all."

Something must be slipping through his expression or mental shields, because Remus pivots hard away from the topic. "I didn't cover it up the first few weeks I was out of the Farm. But so many people would just…stare at it. People stopped seeing me, they just saw the scar. Like it defines me or something." He touches it lightly, his lips curling into a cruel snarl. "A fugly memento of what he did to me that monopolizes everyone's attention. So, yeah, I cover it up."

"Does Ricardo know?"

"About the scar?" Remus clarifies, voice heavy with disbelief. "Why? So he can have more reasons to look at me with pity? Or, worse, so he can get angry every time he sees it.” He scoffs, hard and angry. “Absolutely not."

There's something else there, but Chen isn't sure exactly what at first glance. He knows Remus has a surprising amount of vanity. There's an edge of pride to it, as though people finding him attractive is indicative that he did a good job in shaping himself through his transition. A self-made man, he's said before, pride shining in his smile. But now he's avoiding Chen's gaze, grey eyes distant, and fiddling with the rings on his fingers the way he always does when there's something on his mind that he doesn't want to talk about.

And then it strikes Chen. This isn’t just about the fact that Ricardo can’t keep calm about anything revolving around the Farm. It’s because what Ricardo thinks of Remus matters to him, more so than most anyone else in the world. He’d caught sight of how Remus looks at Ricardo before. He’d recognized that quiet longing. Accepting friendship both because it is appreciated and also because it’s the closest he would ever get.

He is also aggressively aware of just how similar Ricardo’s girlfriend and pet project looks to Remus. They both have light brown skin, mousy brown curls, and piercing grey eyes. Chen had wondered, when he’d first met Kassandra, if the two were related, but that was impossible with the knowledge he has now. An odd coincidence, but one he’s sure hurt Remus all the same. Does Remus see the same similarities when pictures of Kassandra and Ricardo make it on the front page? Not that it will happen again now that she's in the wind. 

"I'm sorry," he says quietly.

That brings Remus back to reality. His usual smile slips back into place, albeit tinged with confusion. "What? Why?"

"Because Ricardo can be an ass."

Remus barks out a laugh, wincing as it jostles his bandaged ribs. "That's nothing new." Then something somber takes over his face. "And that's not something you need to apologize for."

"I know," Chen says. "But I know what it's like for someone to pick the more socially acceptable option."

Remus winces, "Wei…" He sighs, running his hand over his face. "It's not his fault. I assumed he was straight. And I didn't exactly let him know I have a crush on him."

Chen takes Remus' hand again, "You should talk with him about it."

Remus levels a blank look at him. Chen feels the dirty blow coming before it flies out of Remus' mouth. "So should you."

It's a triumph that Chen doesn't flinch. This isn't a fight, but he's not going to let Remus have this one regardless. "You're right," he admits. "He wanted to come over tomorrow, to check in on you and cook for us. We can both talk to him then."

Remus groans, rocking slightly in the wheelchair. He only briefly winces as he jostles his broken legs. It's a wonder it doesn't happen more often. One day, Chen fears he’ll find a way to fall right out of it.

"I don't want to have another serious conversation for at least another week," he complains. A smile tugs at Chen's face at his melodrama. "Can't we just start inviting him to things and see how long it takes him to figure it out?" Then he gives Chen a wink. "Bet if we add kissing to the mix, it still takes him a month at least."

"He's not as dense as you seem to think he is," Chen points out.

Remus side-eyes him with a barely concealed grin, "Maybe. But not with relationships." Then he sighs, but there's a good nature to his expression. "Shit, I guess you’re right."

"I usually am." It's a rare concession of pride, but it's worth it to see the mild grumpiness on Remus' face. "And did you give ordering in any thought?"

"I could go for some Thai food," Remus mumbles.

"Alright," Chen says before he presses a kiss against the burn scar. "Thai food it is, handsome."

Remus preens, despite the bright flush that blooms across his face. Chen doesn't think he'll ever get tired of watching the sheepish smile that graces his face with compliments. He'll have to see how many times he can draw it out in the coming months. Maybe longer. Maybe he can talk Remus into staying longer.

He doubts it. Chen knows that as soon as Remus can get away with it, he'll likely slink his way back to his apartment. Can't show too much weakness, after all. Chen will make the most of it while it lasts. It's been nice having him in the house.

#fallen hero retribution spoilers #steelstep #fhr fanfic #bad things happen bingo #marshal steel #Wei Chen #cigs writes #fic: remus #Ship: old dogs new tricks

[parragone]

wip wednesday saturday

one of those "I can't tag anyone else because I don;t know who to tag" situations, but thank you @r6shippingdelivery for tagging me in the first place <3

it's been a hot minute, so I'm gonna post a couple WIPs - the first being a muze wip from the early days of Rainbow, the second being a wip chapter from my Gentle Progress rewrite, Set in Motion, and the third being from a Fallen Hero wip because I am fucking rotted by this game-

ANYWAY, IT'S ALL UNDER THE CUT

first is from Early Days, which is the mute/fuze thing that just... bites at my heels

The party was loud. Too loud, really, but Mark had grown somewhat accustomed to the way the team liked to celebrate. With new arrivals from Japan to liven the party further, Mark had ducked out to get a breath of fresh air and hopefully escape the party altogether. He had never been one for parties in the first place, having never been quite old enough to be invited to any among his peers, and had little interest in learning to enjoy them. With a flimsy excuse about needing to finish his latest prototype improvement for MONI, he’d escaped a lecture from Mike – a well-intentioned lecture about needing to learn how to socialize, but a lecture nonetheless – and slipped out of the mess hall. A walk to clear his head and ground himself would do him some good, and then he’d go back to his ideal holiday activity; six hours spent coding something for fun rather than for a deadline. It’d be quiet until the operators came back from the holiday party disappointingly sober yet still all too happy to carry on their chatter, but by that time he hoped to be well and truly too tired to care. As he tugged his hood up and prepared to take the short walk around the obstacle course that he had come to well and truly despise, he heard the steady pace of another set of boots on another late-night jog. He raised his head to look down the track with furrowed brows, only to be met with the now-familiar figure of Kessikbayev. The smell of fresh cigarettes overpowered the smell of the rain and Mark was suddenly glad for the mask that covered his face and hid the way he cringed at the smell. “You weren’t at the party,” Mark commented as the older man slowed to a stop under the overhang. Shuhrat raised a brow as he shook his head to get rid of the excess water. “No.” The answer was simple and curt, and Mark felt a twinge of relief. “You have left it.” “Too loud.” It was as much an excuse as it was a reasonable explanation. “You done jogging?” “Yes.” The older man paused and gave a sidelong nod toward the barracks. He was done for the night, Mark assumed, but they were heading the same way. “Mind company?” “No.”

This second part is for Set in Motion, but it's a ways away

"I brought a peace offering." Jayce's boots were heavy on the old steel floors but just controlled enough that Viktor could tell the man was being conscious about his approach. He stared at the wall as the Piltovan approached and placed something glass on the dusty old bedside table,  immediately followed by a retreat and the sound of his colleague circling around to the other side of the bed. The silence was so thick that he wondered if a bullet could kill it. "Can we talk?"  The bed creaked as Jayce sat on the other side, the dip in the old mattress just enough for the Zaunite to notice. He refused to turn over and look at the man, something bitter built up in his heart.  "Or maybe I can just… talk. I… I know I fucked up. I should have listened to you but instead, I paraded myself down an alley because I heard something. Even after you warned me that it's dangerous down here." Viktor listened as the Piltovan continued, aching hand slowly relaxing. "I was an idiot. And an asshole. And if your friend Vi wasn't there I probably would have ended up dead in a back alley instead of alive with a few new scars." Viktor looked at the pattern on the pillowcase. He wanted to be something mad, to be angry enough to yell at Jayce again, and found himself empty of it. The hollow cavity in his chest felt only slightly cracked, but enough to keep his attention on what his colleague was saying.  "I don't know what I'm doing. Obviously. I nearly - I did hurt people down there. And I… I'm… I didn't realize how upset it would make you or how dangerous it was or… or anything like that and now I feel like I've crushed your good will for me into the ground and I hate that more because you… you. You. You're smart. You're leagues beyond anyone else I've ever met, like the Lady of Progress herself made you to force me to change. You've never once been hesitant to tell me when I'm wrong or a jackass or just not being the best I could be." The Zaunite shifted his bad leg to stretch it slightly. "Such as your misconception about Shuriman naming conventions. You insisted upon yourself so loudly." "Yeah, exactly," Jayce replied, his voice tinged with an emotion Viktor couldn't place. "You damn near threw the history book at me. My point is, I don't want to lose you because you're one of my only friends. I just… I don't know how to be a good friend. I've never had many. Most people think I'm an asshole on purpose but half the time I can't even tell if they're mad at me or happy with me and the other half I can't tell their facial expressions apart."  The bed shifted again, the dip shifting into a full, familiar, comfortable weight behind him that made him ashamed and relieved at the same time. He wanted to turn around and look at his roommate, his friend, to encourage him and reward him with the end goal. Viktor knew better.  "I don't know how to be a good friend. I'm barely a good person. I know this because most of why I haven't built a city-leveling bomb is the morals of those around me. But I want… I want to be good for you. And I don't know where to start because I feel like every time I start to do something I'm inevitably gonna fuck up. Maybe not as bad as this excursion, but I still think about how angry you were when you left the play. I never want to do that to you again and here I am,  somehow doing something even worse. I think I'm asking for forgiveness, maybe? Or guidance. Just… I want to know how to..." "Fix it?" "You know me. There's nothing I can't fix, right?"

and the last bit is fallen hero, also very rusty, but also vaguely??? nsfw?? it's meant to be intimate but not necessarily sexual idk

The dreams had a strange mercy for once in that he could see nothing, but in exchange, his mind had conjured something far worse; a fantasy he could touch, smell, and hear. He didn’t need to see to feel Chen knelt in front of him, broad form settled between his thighs as a solid anchor among uncertainty. He needed a reason – and his mind provided, familiar hands pulling a blindfold tight over his eyes and the tickle of an all too familiar beard along the edge of one shoulder. Chen knew his strength. He kept one rough, weathered hand flat against Cole's lower spine to keep him still as he pressed quiet kisses against the warm, soft skin. Teeth grazed the edge of the ink that lined the smaller man's collarbone in fractal patterns too tightly interwoven to discern with the naked human eye; bruises bloomed over his neck and chest like flowers carefully embroidered into cloth too fragile to hold them. Held still as if he’d fall apart if Chen dared let go. Ortega had learned to be careful. His hands were softer than the Marshal’s, but just as grounding as they rested on his waist. Warm lips pressed to the nape of his neck, the scrape of a well-trimmed beard along the dip of his shoulder just as ticklish as it was when they kissed. He held the telepath as if he could save Cole from falling again, as if he could hold him close and somehow save him without knowing what he was saving him from. Like a hero should, if they could. It was too much to bear, not enough to fill the aching hole in his chest. Like filling an ocean one rainstorm at a time, bringing life from extinction. Washing away the barren empty with nothing more than a rag and their tears, they had no intention of letting him slip from their hands a second time. Monsters and all. Don’t touch me, his mind whispered in an instinctive flinch, I don’t know how not to bite.

#muze #r6s mute #r6s fuze #jayce giopara #viktor league of legends #wei chen #ricardo ortega #league of legends #rainbow six siege #fallen hero #fhr #fic wip #fanfic wip

[dogueteeth]

copper earrings

Just needed something to write between work since I'm struggling to concentrate.

Ricardo x Isa | Spice Level 1/5 | drabbleish

They close their eyes, and breathe.

He’s toying with their earrings again. Glimmering, shiny, orange-brown, makes-a-nice-clink-in-their-ears earrings, fingers wrapped around the soft metal, careful not to bend the thinner strands out of place. They’re terrible things, a little too flashy, a little too fancy for Isa’s comfort, even though they’re coals among diamonds in the street, just copper earrings with painted leaves among rose golds and sterling silvers inlaid with diamonds and gems. Terrible to wear on the job or in a fight, they rattle a little if Isa shifts their head to the side, and anyone with good sense could reach up and grab onto them and tear away what little remains of their mutilated ears. Or could they? What would break first, metal or skin and cartilage? It’s not a question they want to entertain, nor ever give the chance to find out.

But they’re nice. Here, in this strange little place, this hole in the world they’ve carved for themselves. Two creatures, person and not-quite. A safe little space for the both of them, where they can’t pretend that one of them is a villain and the other a hero on the edge, but they can coexist with it. Accept their fates, each other, their choices and indecisions. The softer parts in-between, like the copper earrings dangling from Isa’s ears, gifts from Ortega.

Gifts to Isa who is trying to work. They have files to go over. Encrypted ones, digitized and localized to a single, destroyable tablet they’ll reencrypt and send in a nice anonymous email to Rahim once they’ve understood every dirty little secret Alvarez’s latest goon has tried to hide. And Ortega’s not helping.

Sometimes they wonder if Ortega does or doesn’t know exactly what he does to them. If he’s the mind reader here. How distracted it gets them, when he plays with those little copper earrings before eventually wandering away to entertain himself with a sigh when they’ve ignored him for long enough.

Does he know that they can feel it? How the copper warms up with his heat?

It’s a beautiful, terrible metal. Conducive to electricity, to heat, and soft as hell, so easy to bend and fold if you hammer it hard or stretch it thin enough. Does he know how their mind goes blank a little, how their eyes glaze over a bit when he grasps the metal that pierces their ear, rubs it a little? How the heat of friction travels, warming up the whole thing, warming up their ear as if he was rubbing the flesh instead of the metal? How they want nothing more than to put down what they'd holding, close dry eyes and just melt into his touch for an hour or two before the anxiety comes back and they have to work again?

It’s a struggle to hide the signs. A struggle not to close their eyes, not to smile at his antics when he bats at the dangling portions, amused by the way they dance and clink. Keep the buried sighs, the aborted shivers hidden when he accidentally tugs the earring a bit, and something a little less innocent than warmth heats their spine. It’s all about pretense, always, always, always about never letting him know. If they give Ricardo an arm, he’ll take the whole torso and maybe the legs for souvenirs, and the worst part of it all is that they’d let him. Soft, bendable, hammerable, stretchable. Conducive and weak to his smile, the one that highlights the settling crow’s feet in his eyes, to the electricity that jolts through them when he looks at them in that certain way, the one they never thought they’d earn.

And with the way Isa struggles to keep their eyes glued to the tablet, keep their mind on the content, swallow their sigh as his palm grips the metal, trailing warmth, heat, into the shell of their ear before letting go, and they know they’ll be damned if he ever finds out how it affects them.

Then he bites their ear, a sharp inhale piercing Isa, electricity and heat like a flash-fever as his teeth tug on the metal, and they know that they were damned from the start.

#fhr #sidestep #fallen hero retribution #fhr sidestep #oc #isa becerra #cerrisa becerra #fhr charge #fhr ricardo ortega #chargestep #fanfic drabble

[grey-gravy-art]

Short one-shot based off this post by @noahlivingston . Thanks for the inspo!!

The Rat King

Words: 881

Fandom: Fallen Hero: Retribution

Pairing: Chargestep, M/M

Warnings: Mentioning of suicidal ideation

Blurb: “ Ryker puts down his fork, sliding the plate away a second later, the discussion ruining whatever little appetite he had left, “You know, you’re not going to like the answers to all of these questions.” “

“What is it? The Rat King?”

Ryker closes his eyes, the regret immediately dog piling him. It had been a slip of the tongue, and now he knew Ortega wasn’t going to let it rest. “They-“ he stresses the word, “are five sisters, who are also five little rat brains in a tube that are connected telepathically. And yes, their name is The Rat King.”

“And you put them in Vital’s suit.” Ortega’s watching him when a strange look in his eye. Something like curiosity, but mostly caution. Afraid if he pushes too much, Ryker will shut down.

“They help me keep everything straight.” Ryker admits. “They can keep on eye on the environment and fill me in on things going on around us when we’re in a fight.”

“Where did they come from?”

Hmm. Another question he doesn’t want to answer, but he’s also tired of lying to Ortega. Was this really worth getting into? Maybe he should just refuse to answer the question, but that also doesn’t sit right with him. Here he was, with halfway healed legs, living in Ricardo’s apartment, already having admitted to being a villain that put Ortega in the hospital. And here was Ortega, still taking care of him, not arresting him, doing his best to understand him and his choices.

“Do you…” his mouth suddenly goes dry, how to explain this without giving Ricardo a heart attack? “You remember the Psychopathor.” Not a question, but he waits for Ricardo to nod anyways, “Do you remember his cannon? And the targeting web it used?”

“From when he nearly killed us? Yeah. Telepathically linked rodent brains.” Ortega says, recalling Ryker’s statement word-for-word, even though it was thirteen years ago. “How’d you get it from him?”

Ryker puts down his fork, sliding the plate away a second later, the discussion ruining whatever little appetite he had left, “You know, you’re not going to like the answers to all of these questions.”

“There’s a lot of things I don’t like,” Ortega replies, something like a smirk on his lips, “doesn’t mean I don’t want to know.”

Ryker sighs, heavy, filled to the brim with resignation. “I… stole it from him.”

“How?”

“Well. Do you remember a year ago when the… Special Directive tried to take him in?”

“Yeah, attacked a warehouse he was liaring in, if I recall?”

“Right.” Is all Ryker says

Ortega connects the dots faster than he expected, “You called the Special Directive on him!?”

Ryker shrugs, trying to project aloofness, “Yeah. Snuck in during the fight and stole it.”

“Ryker! ¡En serio!?” Ricardo’s face goes through all five stages of grief in just a few seconds, “You called the people who are actively looking for you and told them where you were!?”

“They didn’t know it was me!” Ryker hisses, keeping his voice down, as if they were back on a mission, trying to keep the argument from alerting enemies. “I told them where they could find the Psychopathor, not me.”

“But you were there too!” Ortega hisses back “Do you even realize how dangerous-“

“Of course I did!” Ryker interrupts, “But it’s not like I could fight him by myself!”

“Why didn’t you call The Rangers?!” The disbelief on his face makes Ryker want to cringe into oblivion, “At least the you wouldn’t have run the risk of getting captured again!”

“Why would I!?” Ryker folds his arms over his chest, “You and Chen would’ve recognized me with a glance- I wasn’t, I didn’t-“ words were starting to fail him. How was he suppose to explain that the thought of seeing Ortega again, and having to face the possibility of Ortega not caring that he was alive, was more terrifying than the thought of being recaptured was? The Farm was good at that, at making him feel worthless, at convincing him that everything he ever had with Ricardo was lie. He hadn’t been ready to face that reality. “At least the Special Directive just sent in other Re-Genes. The Handlers wouldn’t get that close to the fighting, my chance of being recognized was astronomically lower by calling them than you.”

Ortega visibly swallows down a retort, choosing instead to run both hands through his hair. “No puedo creerlo.” He mutters, “Eres idiota.” The Spanish continues on for several more seconds before Ricardo returns his gaze to Ryker, who pointedly looks away. “You could’ve gotten killed, or found, or taken-“

“But I didn’t.” Ryker says, “And I got The Rat King. Everything worked out.”

Ortega flops back in his chair, near boneless, seemingly having aged ten year in a single conversation. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“And myself, probably.” Ryker jokes, but it doesn’t land. Ortega just fixes him with a hard stare. Ah, right. He had forgotten Ortega also knew about his suicidal ideation. That subject was no longer on the table to be joked about. He waves his hand through the air, trying to swipe the bad vibes out of the room, “It’s fine. It worked out, I’m alive, and I have The Rat King.”

Ortega sighs, thinks for a moment before shaking his head. “I suppose. Just- be more careful? In the future?”

“I…. Will do my best.” Ryker says, and for once, it’s not a lie.

#fallen hero: retribution #fhr sidestep #oc ryker deckard #fhr #fallen hero #fhr charge #fhr ricardo ortega #sidestep #fanfic