"You know I'm going to ruin you, right?" you purr as you circle the chair Herald’'s tied to. "Mr oh-so-perfect poster boy hero."
Herald shivers, his muscles tight and tense. Too afraid to move. Too afraid to show weakness in front of you. "I'm not afraid of you," he lies, and you tut at him. It's pointless to lie to a telepath and really, he should know that. "W-what do you even want with me?"
Little Danny boy is terrified, and you're the reason why.
It makes you smile, taking a vicious sort of pleasure in his predicament. You can't help but feel a thrill shoot through you at having brought Herald down to your level. On his knees, bound in front of you.
There's a...different sort of thrill that also shoots through you at having Herald in such a vulnerable position kneeling, but you ignore it. As tempting as it might be...no. You're not that sort of villain.
Sure, you could force others to submit to your control easily. But there's just no meaning in it. No satisfaction. Not like turning them to your side and luxuriating in their conflicting emotions, their moral struggles. You want genuine loyalty, not twisted bonds forced under duress.
You know you're not a good person but there are still some lines you refuse to cross. You have your own sort of honour, even if it's not one everyone agrees with.
Be loyal to your people. Everyone else can burn. And if anyone does betray you…
You'll make them pay with extreme prejudice.
You ignore the whispers at the back of your mind, accusing you of being the very sort of person you despise. It's not betrayal if the world abandoned you first. You thought...you thought you had found people to rely on, but even they forgot you and left you to rot.
Never again. That's why they have to pay. That's why you hand picked your new family, made sure to be as loyal to them as they are to you.
A family of your own.
You've never had that before, and they know if any of them dare think about turning on their new brothers and sisters you'll make sure they will regret it. You're strict, not a cruel Father. Not like-
Not like at The Farm. They're not your real parents anyway, you were created, not born. And now you've remade yourself in your own image. Haven't you done an admirable job raising yourself? Learnt how to live. To be human.
That's all you, not what they tried to shape you into. You are proud, proud of who you are and what you are and they will never, ever take that away from you. You refuse to be ashamed anymore. You refuse to bow down to their hatred, to believe yourself lesser for existing.
You are Pride, and you will not. Be. Erased!
Herald moans in pain, and you are momentarily distracted. "Having fun down there?" you hiss.
Herald just glares up at you, refusing to give you the satisfaction of answering your taunts. Honestly, you thought he'd be easier to break before you met him. It's kind of ruining your groove.
"No answer? Hmph. No matter. I can still play with you regardless."
Herald doesn't whimper, but it's a close thing. Honestly, he's trying to put up such a tough front it's almost pitiful. It almost makes you feel like a bit of a bully.
Almost.
"-won't get away with this."
Hm? Oh. It turns out the cat hadn't caught his tongue after all. Well, you're less a cat and more a lion, that's what you styled your armour after, after all. You stand poised in gold and royal red and look just as much of a leader as you feel.
Herald spits in your face and oh. That's incredibly rude, not to mention horribly unhygienic. Discreetly, you step back to grab a nearby handkerchief and pull your ruined glove off; maybe your priorities are skewed but getting bodily fluids on your armour is one of your pet peeves, blood is already bad enough. At least blood is something expected.
"Tsk, tsk. Didn't your mother teach you spitting was rude?"
Anger. Coldness. Oh, this was interesting. You hadn't expected the surge of negativity that wells up at the mention of his family, it looked like the golden boy didn't have as perfect of a home life as he would seem to have.
"It's not like she'd care what I got up to," Herald scowls. "But at least she wasn’t as psychotic as you! You're deranged, you know!"
You're pleased that the voice distorter turn your amused laughter into a rumbling growl appropriate as the lion you've modeled yourself after.
"Perhaps I am," you tease. "It doesn't change the fact that you're kneeling here at my mercy. You might not want to challenge my goodwill so much, no?"
"I'll- I'll challenge it all I want!" he mutters, looking the picture of a poised, tragic hero even when so obviously outmatched.
It makes you bitter. That even when he's at his lowest he still holds onto some notion of nobility and acting so much better than you. It makes you want to ruin him, drag him down into the dirt with you.
"Oh, is that so?" you say, vicious amusement and genuine anger coalescing into a something more raw and revealing than you would like.
Herald is holding up admirably in the face of the situation. He can't take flight and run away from his problems like he'd like to, so all that terrified energy has turned into furious anger instead. "The others are going to come for me, you know," he tells you, and he truly, honestly believes that. "They're going to come and bring you to justice."
You bristle. How dare he rub it in! How dare he rub it in that he has friends he can rely on while they left you for dead? It makes burn with resentment and that's why you grab his hair in rage and jerk his head back forcibly, making him gasp in pain.
"Argh!” he yells. “W-what are you even doing this for? Do you just like hurting people? That's pathetic."
"I do," you force out, face twisting in fury. He should be afraid. This isn't how it's supposed to go. Why isn't he begging for mercy yet? "And you, Herald, are beginning to test. My. Patience!"
He just looks at you with that infuriating, pitying face. "You call yourself Pride, but I don't see anything in front of me to be proud of. I just see a broken, angry shell." he tells you, and the truth stings, stings so badly because you can read Herald’s mind like a book and you know he genuinely believes that. Genuinely feels sorry for the twisted, cruel mess you've become.
No. No! You will not be pitied anymore! You are not a thing to be pitied anymore-
And then Herald has to go and rub salt in the wound. "People like you are worth nothing but feeling sorry for. You've gone down such a dark path. You know they say pride comes before a fall, right?-"
Fall.
Fall.
Don't- don't fall.
Please, help
Someone, please, anyone!
Ortega? Steel?
.
..
...They're not coming.
No one is coming for you. You always knew that, but you hoped against hope you'd be proven wrong. There are no heroes for things like you, you were the one that tricked them into thinking you were human. The only person you can only rely on yourself.
(You can't stop falling)
Embrace it. Embrace the darkness. It's where you belong.
That's why they have to suffer. They have to understand the pain they put you through…
Don't they?
.
You are not human you will never be one of them they abandoned you and they will pay for looking down on you for treating you as disposable
You will not be a thing anymore.
Never again.
...
...You're hyperventilating.
The armour is giving you warnings that you'll pass out if your blood oxygen level rises much higher and your crew have entered the room and someone is slowly, gently, leading you away.
They don't mention anything about what just happened to you and you're glad for it. You shouldn't have shown such weakness to them. You're supposed to be the indomitable boss, you're not supposed to be a mere, flawed person like the rest of them. You're not supposed to start shaking and fall to your knees from the flashbacks.
It... grates at you that you're too weak to protest the blanket they lay over you, the mug of chicken soup someone places beside you with a straw that'll work through your mask.
The...the understanding and care you pick up from their thoughts. It undermines you, Pride is supposed to be in charge, controlling and caring for your family, not being cared for.
It scares you. You’re not supposed to be scared anymore. You’re supposed to be the one scaring people.
Herald doesn't say a word as they lead away, but you feel his eyes on you following you out.
Name: Léon Bellandini | Puppet: Simba | Villain name: Pride
Daring/arrogant/fighter/lots of contacts/gang leader.
---
The streets are a flurry of colour and noise. There are so many people out there it's giving you a headache, thousands of minds banging themselves up against your mental shields.
It hurts. And yet you don't want to look away. Don't want to leave. Maybe you can only watch this world through a glass barrier as an observer. You've never been one to look away from painful things, though.
Your fingers leave streaks on the glazed window.
People are happy. Open. Teasing. This is supposed to be a day of love. Tolerance. Pride in who they are and what they are, even against all the opposition thrown their way.
They wouldn't accept you though. This day is for humans. For people. Not supposed things like you.
You don't want to feel the disgust, the shock, the rejection. It'd hurt worse coming from those who have been on the receiving side of such rejection before and know exactly how much it hurts. Because then it's deliberate. Then they know the pain and choose to wield it against you.
There aren't any people like you out there on parade, and you're going to change that. You refuse to be lesser, you refuse to hide and you refuse to lie about who or what you am anymore. Maybe you might have to resort to some less than savoury methods to do that, but it's not like they gave you any choices to do things through proper channels.
No. If you're going to make any real change, you're going to have to start a revolution by yourself. It won't be clean, it won't be pretty. They never are, no matter how the history books paint them.
It all depends on how much you want something, and you want. You want it more than anything and you won't let anything get in your way. They never allowed you to have your own desires, it feels good to spit in their face and say look! Look at me defying you! I will not bend, I will not break. I will never belong to anyone ever again.
You. Are. A. Person.
No matter how much they might call you less-than-human. No matter how much they refer to regenes as 'it'. Their opinions don't matter to you anymore.
You are Pride, and you had hoped by choosing that name you'd learn to fill in that mask. Wear it until your face fills the gaps.
Glancing up, you make the decision to stride over to the fogged up mirror and wipe it clean. Your face stares back. Tired. Worn. More wrinkles than you would like, more scars and marks than you'd choose if you could have.
But strong. Accepting.
This is who you are.
You don't want to ever be ashamed of what you are ever again.
If it means painful choices, if it means associating with the lowest of the low...it's more than you ever had. If it means blood on your hands...so be it. You tried the path of the angels, and it just got you burnt.
To hell with them! You'll drag them down here with you for what they've done to you. What the world has done to you.
You've finally made your own family of misfits and fuck ups, you don't need anyone else. Everyone else can burn.
Will burn.
You're interrupted from your thoughts by the blurry sight of a couple kissing outside. Brave. Daring. Despite the welcoming environment of the day, the world still hides dangers for people who dare to be different, you know that all too well.
They look happy.
You really don't understand it. Maybe they fucked you up when they made you, when they programmed you. You've seen what love looks like from delving through so many minds and yet…
It doesn't make it any more incomprehensible. Their versions of love are so foreign to you, without the shouting, without the punishment, without the pain or control. For all its flaws, it was The Farm that taught you love and maybe you measure of it is broken as a result.
But you refuse to think of yourself as broken, less than. You are you, nothing more, nothing less. Maybe some people would say you're missing out, but you don't care. How can you miss something you never really had?
You don't.
You've got a Family, and they're all you need. You've all spilt blood for each other, a promise painted in pain. One that says "I will never leave", because none of you can once you enter this sort of life, except at the end of a bullet. The others will ensure that. Maybe it's fucked up, that you can only trust in a sort of relationship without the option of leaving. Maybe your trust and abandonment issues are a little bit (completely) messed up. You are all sorts of fucked up, even you can admit that.
But for someone like you. That promise, that whisper of trust that says you'll never leave each other til death comes for you...that's the closest thing you'll have to love.
It will have to do.
A knock. Ortega's muffled voice echoes through the sharp angles of the room. "Léon? C'mon, what are you doing in there that's taking so long?! It's been half an hour! I need to pee!"
Dammit!
Trust Ortega to ruin your serious musings! You quickly unlock the bathroom door and poke your head out, annoyed. "Go find a different bathroom! Can't a man have his serious brooding alone time in peace!"
"Oooooh. Ooooooh, so that's how it is, don't worry, I'll leave you to your 'alone' time…"
You groan. "That's not what I meant and you know it, asshole."
"You know you love meee-"
Just for that, you give him a sharp jab in the sides as you storm dramatically out to get past him. "Remind me, why am I even friends with an idiot like you?"
Ortega stops for a second, right in the middle of the doorway. Blocking your path, rude! "This is the first time I've ever heard you admit it." he says, softly. Looking up to you with a soft smile spreading on his face, like he can't believe what he's heard.
Argh. Stupid Ortega, getting you all emotional. You are not going to tear up. Not in front of this idiot, who teases you, who you resent above all the others because he was the one you trusted.
You kind of expected it from Steel. But Ortega…
Ortega was the one you thought was your friend. Your best friend. And he-
He left you for dead. He abandoned you.
You don't know if you'll ever forgive him for that.
The wounds never quite healed - only scabbed over, festering with infection underneath. You should hate him. You kind of do. There's a big part of you that's still furious with him, still sore about the scars that will never ever leave you. You feel them aching every time you interact with him, a reminder of what he did to you.
And yet. And yet you've never quite been able to separate love and hate. That's The Farm's influence, you suppose. You despise The Farm, they ruined you, they made you their tool and you will not rest until you've destroyed them with your bare hands. Make them watch as you rip them apart personally and with a grudge, knowing that they did this, that their downfall was engineered of their own creation. And yet you-
You still care. About the handlers who might have been more gentle than the others, the gentle sting of the rubbing alcohol on your wounds, the soft words and warm pride that fills you after a job well done. Wanting to please them. Partly to avoid punishment, partly because it's all you ever knew and you wanted their approval. Sought it out.
Of opposite of love isn't hate. It's indifference.
And for all you despise the man in front of you, for all you want to rip him to shreds and make him scream as you teach him the pain he forced you through...you will never be able to stop caring.
Hate and love and just two sides of the same coin. It's not the sort of love that gives people doe-eyed glances and candle-lit dinners, but that's not the only sort of love there is.
That's why you inhale, look Ortega in the eye and admit what you really feel. "Idiot. Despite everything...even when you're infuriating and I hate your guts, you'll still always be my best friend."
The pure joy in the smile that Ortega gives you lights up the room.
Aran is outwardly very collected, overly polite and kind-hearted. While she may be quiet and unassertive she won’t stand for being trodden on.
In actuality she has connections to the local branches of the chinese triads and can be quite ruthless with how pragmatic her decisions can be. She’ll invite you and serve you excellent rosebud tea that happens to be poisoned to assassinate you.
Name: Léon Bellandini | Puppet: Simba | Villain name: Pride Daring/arrogant/fighter/lots of contacts/gang leader.
Trigger warnings: Elaborate descriptions of death, graphic violence, disassociation/derealisation, PTSD flashbacks, memory problems, mentions of past abuse and dealing with the aftermath.
The world of heroes and villains is not a nice one. It’s messy and painful and complicated. Sometimes innocent people get hurt. Sometimes people die.
Léon has blood on his hands and can’t always remember why. Dark.
A mind flickering in the distance, like a dying candle.
Pain, fear, so scared what's happening? This can't be happening to me it's not real
You don't even flinch. Death is routine to you by now. There are only so ways to die and only so many reactions to it and it blurs into one big mess of emotions after a while. Shields help, but the thing is you've just seen so much of it you've mostly just become...well, used to it.
I'm too young this isn't how I wanted to go I'm too young to die!
It's always distasteful when civilians get involved. You try to keep them out of things, but... the honest truth is that collateral damage happens. The underworld is not a kind place and people end up in the wrong place at the wrong time. People who dip their feet into your world know what they're signing up for, know that death can come at any moment. You've signed your lives away to it and once you enter the darkness the only way you truly leave its depths is through a body bag.
There's a certain resigned acceptance that comes with that. People still aren't happy, but it's not the same as the complete shock that innocents get when they realise they're just as mortal and as fallible as everyone else.
Normal thugs you can go easy on. It takes too much effort to bother to make it painless for every single one that falls in the row of faceless masses, but you at least take pride in being a professional. It's just business, nothing personal, no need to make a mess of things. You despise getting blood on your suits; your dry cleaner is discreet and reliable but you'd rather not make a habit of ruining them often enough he begins to think you're completely incompetent at this whole thing.
Now people who have wronged you, that’s another story. The guilty and the corrupt. The so-called heroes. People who indulge in this cruel game of society built on the blood of those underneath them…
Despicable.
It's them you have a personal vendetta against. Let them feel everything they've done to you, let them suffer as you did. Their pain won't do much to ease your need to destroy them, it won't satisfy the void in your heart or make the scars you have disappear.
But their screaming is so, so sweet.
You're certainly not an angel but you would never give someone the disservice of pretending they weren't people too. That they didn't have their own lives and dreams and hopes that dissolve once and for all at your own hand. You've had your own personhood denied and you won't be so heartless as to deny that small acknowledgement to others.
You won't ever be like Them.
That's why you do this. Maybe these people are going to die alone drowning in their own blood and their only witness to their end an enemy who's going to crush their face into the concrete and enjoy it. That doesn't mean you won't take a moment to reminisce over their last moments, to witness the flame of their mind go out and never come back.
The dead can't hurt you any more. They can't.
What have you done, Léon? You're better than this.
...Stop it, Anathema.
.
..
...You shake your head. You shouldn't get caught up in your thoughts, you tend to go blank and lose your train of thought.
There are a lot of ways people deal with death. Most tend to go through the stages of grief - not always in order, not always all of them. But there are patterns.
This can’t be real whose legs are those? why are they pointing the wrong way why are they attached to me that’s so horrible
Denial. She didn’t think anything was going to happen today. She thought bad things only happened to someone else, not people like her.
Help me it hurts it hurts please someone help me how could they do this to me! This isn't fair I'm not ready I'm not ready I wanted to kiss him I wanted to tell him I liked him I've never even had my first kiss this is not fair!
Anger. She's just a kid, her sweet 16th is supposed to be next week and now her world has fallen down around her, crushed her underneath its weight. She just wanted to take a shortcut through the alley after school. Her parents don't know she's here, she lied and said she was going to study at the library to sneak to a boy's house. They've been sending sweet messages in class but she got her phone confiscated because of it and couldn't call 911 and now it's too late.
Please, anyone! Anyone...can you hear me? Please save me I promise I'll be good I have so many things I wanted to do so many regrets, I'll reform myself just please
Bargaining. There is so much she wanted to do, so much she dreamt about. She wanted to be a nurse, she wanted to help people and join a charity because she's seen the way people are turned away from hospitals because they can't afford it. That's how her little brother died and the hole in her family never quite healed. The empty chair at the dinner table is going to have one right next to it soon and this is going to crush her parents. Parents aren’t supposed to outlive their children.
Someone- Who's there? An answer to desperate prayers? A gleam of gold, a red flutter in the wind who is that? Fear, adrenaline - villain come to finish me off?- So so much blood why is it outside of me that's not right...I'm not going to make it, I have so many regrets I want to cry
Depression. She told her parents she hated them, of course she didn't mean it. It was just anger, she was just frustrated at failing biology and the threats of repeating a grade and being left behind and she hasn't even done anything with her life before it's already ending. They won't know what happened here until the knock on the door, the officer in blue. She's so sorry she loves them she wishes she could tell them that but it's too late too late too late.
You are not cruel, despite what people say. You save it for the people who have wronged you and this, this child is just an unfortunate victim. Can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, after all. You hadn't planned for this but you're not some sort of barbarian. No needless suffering for people who don't deserve it.
She's too weak to resist, too weak to even lift her head up. There's a procedure for animals that are too badly injured to make it, you make their last moments comfortable and their deaths painless.
Idly, you wonder why humans never get that mercy. It seems backwards to you to let humans suffer when supposed 'lesser' animals were given relief.
Maybe it's fitting. Humans can be such bastards capable of so much cruelty that perhaps they should suffer. Not this one though. She’s just a little lost duckling who got got smashed up against the rocks of life.
It doesn't take much tweaking usually; a quick in and out of their minds, cutting the pain off and letting their brains either go dark or grabbing their last thoughts and twisting them into whatever greeting they expect to come after death. A light, an soft white wings beating, the voices of loved ones long gone greeting them with open arms and promising reunion. Usually something typical like that. That's for the ones you bother being nice to, if you have the luxury and time of being merciful.
Sometimes all you have time for is a quick twist of the neck or bullet through the brain before you need to move on. There's no use wasting energy using your nanovores on ordinary people and besides, they don't cut through flesh quite so neatly. They shouldn't, at least, you've made many, many precautions to keep them neutered, you don't ever want to see them disintegrate flesh-
-Anathema's eyes; so shocked, flesh melting peeling. The smell of flesh bubbling up and frying.
You can't- you can't deal with burning meat anymore, you pretend you're vegetarian because you're on a diet and maybe it surprises your team because they’ve seen you murder in cold blood before but it's because you can't deal with the consequences with cooking and accidentally leaving the heat on too long-
-No. No, you have a job to do, you don't have time for this again.
She looks so small at your feet all curled up, her body unconsciously trying to protect herself by going into a fetal position. You tut and ready yourself to dive in. Honestly, you expected better of a hero. He may not have intended this but he should follow through once he’s done instead of leaving her to suffer. He should have finished the job.
Time to put her out of her misery.
Her mind is panicking, she's dying and putting all her energy in trying to do something about it. That means it all redirects onto you, the intruder seeing her at her most vulnerable. Not that she can actually hurt you, she's just lashing out. Her hits might as well be a child’s play ball she's hurling at you for all the impact it makes on you.
You wrap yourself in her mother's embrace like a veil, soft tones and lullabies and kisses on the cheek. Memories of comforting words, stroking her hair like she’s little again and having nightmares; she doesn’t want to be alone. Her father's crackly stubble as he hugs her close, bright golden sunlight as they play backyard baseball and a sticky little brother with golden curls and a dimpled smile, the smell of warm milk on baby breath.
"Mama," she sobs, trembling as she buries her head in your chest. "Mama, it hurts, it hurts so bad."
"Shh, it's okay, baby. It's okay. Do you want me to take the hurt away?" You feel almost bored, dutifully acting out the behaviours you see dancing through her memories. When did you become this cold to normal people? Sure, you don’t really care about her…but.
Once upon a time you used to be able to feel a little bit bad about people outside your circle. Now there is only You and Your people and Other and you’re not sure when you stopped giving a damn about anyone who wasn’t yours.
"Yes, please please please! Make it stop, make it stop!" She can’t take much more of this before, she’s never felt such pain before.
"Yes dear," you soothe. "It will all be over soon."
Disguising yourself in memories is good, it makes her willing. She trusts you now and you don't feel any qualms about manipulating her at all because this is the only kindness you can grant her. The thread you want is frayed and almost unravelling, it takes only a moment to materialise a pair of scissors and snip away the excess. Can't feel pain if your pain receptors are cut off from the mind, after all.
She settles down now, snuggling into your arms as the small child she feels like again. Things are becoming disjointed, her mind is beginning to dissolve around you both.
Shit. You're running out of time.
"I love you," you lie with her mother’s warm voice, because people would rather hear sweet lies over cold, cold truth.
She sniffles into your sleeve and urgh, all you can do is to keep from recoiling from the mental snot on your arm. Now is not the time for your own distaste to be acting up, now you have to be strong to honour this girl's life and death.
"Mama, please,” she begs. “I don't want to die."
It's time.
"Shh, it's okay. It's okay," you tell her, infusing your voice with milk and honey and warm sleepy summer days. You can feel her relax, beginning to drift away in your arms. "You go on ahead and take care of your little brother for us, okay?"
"...Okay." She sniffs, letting go. "Okay."
…Acceptance.
Time to go. You're just about to head out through the fading frame of her childhood bedroom door before you feel a tug on your sleeve.
When you glance behind she's still there. She’s still there and she’s looking at you with a strangely knowing look in her eyes.
"Thank you," she whispers. "You didn't have to do that."
-And then you're ejected from her mind with a thud as the fragments begin to burn up and drift away in the wind.
You think you smell burning toast. Wha- What was that?
Did she… no matter. You need to finish this quickly before what’s left of her starts to get uncertain and confused again.
Silver metal, cold under her chin. A deep inhale as you plug one ear with a finger, your other hand cocked and ready.
The ringing in your ear resounds through your head, your arm shaking from the recoil.
...There. She's gone.
What a sight you must be, your beautiful golden armour now thoughtfully decorated in still-warm blood. It's messier than you would have liked, but that's life.
Are you proud of yourself?
You're not sure if you can answer that, truthfully, and that infuriates you. You were supposed to steadfast, you are supposed to be Pride, you are not supposed to doubt or question if you're doing the right thing.
No!
You don't regret doing this, this was a kindness, this was mercy, you are not a barbarian that would let animals suffer needlessly.
Isn't it your fault that this happened to begin with? Who are you trying to convince, the world or yourself?
He gurgles as the blood fills his mouth, spills over onto your arms while you crush his neck. The whites of his eyes spasm in their sockets as pierce through the fragile flesh of his throat, you don't know your own strength anymore.
Good.
The world is cruel and you've just had to adapt to survive. Now it will be you at the top sitting on the throne, now it will be you forcing them to bow at your feet and acknowledging them.
Now one will ever be able to hurt you again.
This is wrong. This is so wrong, Léon.
Fingers dance loosely trying to pry you away and weak as a newborn kitten. He's not getting away that easily, you want him to suffer for what he's done; for what all the heroes have done to you, for what the world has done to you.
Stop. Stop. You're torturing him.
Maybe if he didn't want to die he should have been more careful, you sneer. Heroes were no different than you so-called villains. The only difference was that you've accepted the truth: that you are just as bad as the rest of them. They still have delusions about the concept of 'good' and 'justice'.
STOP IT
They don't know the truth. You are all pawns to be sacrificed at their amusement and you refuse to play their game when it’s rigged against you.
No. Now you will be the one in control. There's no one who can stand in your way, there are no voices-
S T O P I T
-There is no such thing as justice given to people like you, so you are going to take what you need by force. That's why people like him need to suffer, that's why they will have no choice but to pay attention to you, you need to break, break, break him just like they broke you-
THAT.
IS.
E N O U G H!
.
..
...What?
Nothing works. You can't move, it's like something has come over you, all your muscles feel like they have frozen in place.
What. Have. You. Done?
...Go away, Anathema.
WHAT. HAVE. YOU. DONE?
Please. Please just go away.
.
..
...What was that just now. Did your mind just blank out for a second?
You drop the man to the ground, too shaken to hold on. Distantly, you become aware of the fact that you're reaching for your gun. Your hand is guiding the gun to his forehead, your finger almost moving of its own accord as you fire again and again
and again and again you need to make sure you need to make sure
And
And your heart is racing and breaking all over again and and and-
And end this.
You want to end...you.
Yes.
You don't have to do this anymore. You can finally rest. It feels like sweet, sweet relief-
-Your ears are ringing, someone is coming for you.
"Someone get the boss!"
"On it!"
"He's not responding, I think he's hyperventilating again-"
Need to go. Goodbye, Ortega. Goodbye, everyone
-Someone is grabbing you and you are shaking, you're not supposed to do that. You need to you need to..
..to..
You need to go, you need to MOVE
"Someone help restrain him! He's too strong!"
"Boss, boss, it's okay! You're safe, there aren't any more enemies, they're all dead!"-
Glass in your skin, it hurts it hurts the pain feels like relief and you shatter all over again and again and again
-Screaming, primal and terrifying in its distortion. Is that your voice? Your throat hurts. You don't care you can't care, you can't hear properly right now
And the birds have taken flight and your team are cowering and covering their ears and you can't you can't youcan'tYOUCAN'T-
Léon.
…
Oh, Léon.
...Leave me alone.
You need to stop doing this.
Please leave me alone.
...Why won't you just. Leave. Me. ALONE?
Stop doing this. Stop lashing out like this, stop hurting people. Léon? Don't ignore me.
Léon?
.
..
"-Boss? Are you back with us?"
Worried looks. You resent it, you resent falling apart in front of your Family. You are supposed to be strong. If you show weakness, they will start to doubt. You need to be good enough, you need to be perfect or they will lose confidence in you and you refuse to have that.
That's why you just give a curt nod. "I'm fine."
"Are you sure? You don’t seem fine, that looked really intense-"
Your body is moving and your mind is along for the ride. "I. AM. FINE!"
Footsteps backwards, you were too much. Regret is apparently the emotion of the day because you're flooded with a whole heap of it. You don't mean to yell. You didn't mean to get angry at their concern. This is so messed up.
If they lose confidence in you, they might leave.
And you can't. You can't let your Family leave. They are all you have, they are yours. You hate that you're what The Farm made you sometimes, that this is your reflexive reaction to anything and everything.
You just…
Why couldn't you be normal and show them you love them the normal way? You want to hold them close and yet you're so afraid of closeness that you just push them away again.
They're still just waiting. Waiting for an explanation. Maybe an apology that will never come - because you are Pride and you are all too proud to ever willingly admit weakness, admit that you messed up, that you were wrong.
.
..
...Nothing important happened today, everything went according to plan.
You ignore the looks your team are giving you, walking past and slipping a handkerchief out of a hidden compartment in your armour. Where did all this blood even come from? Urgh, you hate getting dirty.
You are not haunted by blank spots in your memory. You are not going crazy and you are not ever going to question if you're on the wrong path.
Maybe if you keep telling yourself that, it will become real.
You're already falling into the darkness, there's no stopping your course now. Like a circus performer walking the tightrope, you have to keep walking. You can't sway. If you question or hesitate you are only going to lose your balance and end up plummeting into the depths below.
You can't look down, you mustn't turn your head. Eyes forward; focus on the goal.
Léon.
So what if your hands are painted red?
So what if the hero hadn't meant to kill her, that he'd been a bit too overenthusiastic with his crushing abilities and didn't take into account that the wall he took down was a load-bearing one?
So fucking what. People die.
Get over it.
Get over it.
You can't escape what you've done, you know.
Please.
Why do you keep hurting people? Why do you keep hurting yourself?
Don't. Don't. Don't.
Silence. The faintest whisper, the creeping feeling of unseeing blank eyes that cast judgement and you are not cowering under them because you do not cower, you will not cower any more, you are strong you won't be a victim you will not apologise for what you are-
Why are you even doing this?
-You will never apologise for what you are. You are proud of it. You are Pride and that same pride would never admit allow you even consider being wrong.
Oh, Léon.
.
..
...You have absolutely no idea why, but you feel like crying.
Daring / Arrogant / Fighter / Lots of Contacts / Gang Leader
Hunger scar, wants revenge. Vice is cigarettes. Aromantic Pansexual, friends w/ benefits woo. Big Dom Energy. (tm)
Léon @ the ROs:
Ortega should suffer because I care about him
Argent is a fucking trashbag who has everything I want and throws it away I hate it.
Steel is a dickhead but at least he honest about not giving a shit
Herald who? You mean Danny? Aw isn't little Danny boy cute, let me teach him the cruelty of the world personally tied up in my dungeon
Mortum makes dat good shit
Léon is a...
Sadomasochistic control freak who hates getting dirty
Drama queen who always wanted to go into theatre and loves monologues
Mother hen to his underlings & evil bastard to most people
Léon has issues with...
Trust (Feels betrayed by the rangers/world)
Abandonment (Clingy, this + trust issues makes him tsundere and pulling people in only to push them away, rinse repeat)
Past abuse, PTSD (Messed up sense of boundaries and flashbacks)
Love/hate (Was taught abuse = love. Does not feel romantic love, only platonic.)
Anger (Lashes out to feel better / keep people away. Directs it into desire for revenge and inflicting pain.)
Misc: His armour is imposing, golden lion themed with a bright red cape and scandalous red thigh high boots. His favourite movie is The Lion King and thinks it's funny he has his own 'pride' of lions (his cute minions) who he bakes cookies for. He has a throne in his headquarters spray-painted gold and a secret ‘treasure’ room full of chocolate coins to roll around in.
FICS:
Pride - Pride, an up-and-coming mob boss interrogates Herald and ends up confronting his own demons.
A Chosen Family - Léon watches a pride parade and accepts himself. Character study.
Catch Me When I Fall - Pride goes from fighting Herald to saving him to ravishing him. M/M, Bottom!Herald.
Euthanasia - Léon has blood on his hands and can’t always remember why. Dark.
Mutually Assure Destruction (Part 1, Part 2) - Pride doesn’t feel alive until he faces death in the eye and in his bed. Her name is Angie, and he hates enough to want her ruined underneath him.F/M.
