amputee thea muldani? i will love to hear more !!
eeeee the people in my phone like my ideas.
It’s sort of an AU (obvi) (i guess?) where post-canon Thea is targeted by the Moriyamas/ex-Ravens (a la Jean with the house fire, you understand).
I’m thinking it’s the middle of a game. She feels no fear on the court, because why would she? This is just one of the places she dominates. Every swing and footfall is strategic. People are predictable in a high-stress environment like this, and Thea knows how to read a court (side note: autistic Thea. come back to me on that.)
But there’s someone who isn’t playing by her rules. This guy — the name is irrelevant to her — is a defensive dealer. He can mark her, sure, but why? He’s been tunnel-visioned on her since he got on the court, so much so that the other team’s defence has a gaping hole in it. The Sirens ((thea’s team)) have been exploiting it all game, but no matter how much this guy’s teammates try to pull him in line, he slingshots right back to get in her face.
That’s the part that throws Thea. She almost recognises his face. Not in the features or the structure; not in the acne or scars; there’s a furious betrayal that she’s seen before. In the California sun. In a quiet hotel room after a fight. In the mirror most nights when the pills won’t hit her head. His eyes nearly bulge with it, red-faced and rabid. He’d been contained until Thea had passed around him again, right into that weak spot he’d created. One too many times, she supposed, right before he took her to the ground.
For a fleeting moment, she had some empathy for Josten. She’d seen the broadcast and heard the shaky recollection Kevin could give her. Riko, however, was sober enough to pause for drama. This guy didn’t hesitate. No words. His racket came down to crush her skull, but Thea knew how to read a murderer in the making. She rolled, not fast enough, with an arm up as a reflex. In the split-second before, she heard her common sense screeching to not do that — better to lose your life than lose your ability to play.
Her forearm never stood a chance. The pain shot through her, unbearable burning. Worse than the sound of the crack of bone was the screaming. Her own voice had never shaken her so much, but a wail like that only ever accompanied unending grief. Like a banshee, she was seeing the death of her career.
i will come back to this i will i will i have. Many Ideas.