#quick clockwork

[vibesoda]

“They say it’s lonely at the top, and it is, but it still feels good to be up here!”

- Hax “Frostbyte,” on being ranked first in the hero approval census for the second consecutive year

[vibesoda]

i’m probably never going to finish this so uh. go my evil fine

[vibesoda]

“A new look and a scowl won’t change who you are, Icarus. You’re a hero. When there’s a fire, you put it out.”

“The entire planet can burn if it keeps Feinberg safe.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“You don’t know me.”

[vibesoda]

into the flames we were never sure (who would you want to save?)

from my fic, Fine

[vibesoda]

playlist doodle for today: fine!couriway, things we lost in the fire

[vibesoda]

“Icarus.”

“Nox.”

brand new character debuts in chapter nine of fine. you will never guess who it is

[vibesoda]

“The best and third best heroes are acting strange. This has Nox written all over it.”

Fine, chapter ten sometime in May

[vibesoda]

thinking about a scenario in which a villain uses some kinda power-depleting device on Fine unknowing of how his power actually works.

drabble below the cut. ignore inaccuracies both to canon and in science.

“You can take my power from me,” Feinberg groans, each word dripping like thick molasses from his tongue. “But you can’t take everything.”

“You’d have to…” Feinberg staggers to his feet, leaning almost his entire weight against the telephone pole behind him. “Kill me.”

The final sparks of Feinberg’s strength crackle in his fingertips, the rest depleted by the device clasped around his wrist. Feinberg can’t summon electricity at will anymore, but he can still direct it. It’s innate to his very atomic structure. To rid Feinberg of his ability to heal, one must eliminate him from the face of the Earth.

“Don’t worry,” Feinberg slurs, his eyes slipping shut, his muscles too weak to hold them open any longer. “I can help you with that.”

Feinberg raises his arm to the sky, his grip on his stun-gun slackening with each passing second.

He takes a breath.

He pulls the trigger.

Feinberg drops to his knees instantly, spent, praying his aim is good enough. He didn’t get a chance to double check.

The answer to Feinberg’s prayers comes in the form of white-hot adrenaline surging through his body, accompanied by pain so intense his brain blocks most of his senses entirely to escape it.

“Each person is made of a couple billion tiny batteries called neurons. They carry seven-tenths of a volt at rest,” Feinberg grits out behind clenched teeth, the blood rushing in his ears too loud to hear himself. “Power lines in this city carry—“ a break in Feinberg’s voice that could be anything from a whimper to a scream cuts him off. “Twenty-four thousand.”

After a moment of searching blindly, Feinberg’s hand finds Couriway’s arm. Feinberg knows it’s Couriway’s arm because every sense in his body is suddenly screaming it at him. A ceaseless stream of information runs parallel to Feinberg’s thoughts. Heart rate zero, pulse ox unknown, thirty trillion cells still clinging to life.

“Technically, I’m not powerless,” Feinberg croaks to assure himself more than the villain undoubtedly watching him. “Right now…” A gasp punctuates Feinberg’s words. “In my frail, useless body runs the power of six-point-eight million lightning bolts.”

“I’m sorry in advance, Icarus.” Feinberg’s vocal chords might be shot, but a low rumble in his throat gives him hope. “This is—ugh—going to hurt me more than it hurts you.”