drew a silly becker family reunion for artfight !!!! [aka all the sidesteps on artfight i could find with the last name becker/beck) procreate app and my ipad hated me for this piece but it was fun!!!!
Little drabble inspired by talking with @crowshuh about Dina and Tegan's very different side effects from connecting with the carnivorous nanovores during the Nanosurge that caused Dina to become meat repulsed and Tegan to have cravings he'd rather not talk about. Tegan's pov, warning for mentions of disordered eating and just being kinda icky.
"Oh shit!" You untangle from Dina's mind as quickly as you can but not before the first wave of nausea hits you like a punch to the gut. How could you have been so stupid? As if walking past that butcher shop was something either of you could handle, was getting lost in her mind so addictive it overrode your situational awareness?
You chide yourself for being the idiot that you are as Dina clasps a hand hard over her mouth, eyes shut tight and she allows you to pull her off the street and into a shaded alley. Luckily its deserted and relatively clean, though not for long if Dina loses what little lunch she had.
She curls in on herself, lowered into a squat as you kneel down beside her, her breathing quick and erratic, fighting every instinct to purge it all, to get rid of the rot, the sickly sweet decay roiling in her stomach, sticky tar-like—strengthen your shields you idiot!
"Easy." You say in as steady a voice as you can manage, reaching out to touch her back, half expecting the contact to burn you like a hot stove and punch straight through your shields but it doesn't. "Try to breathe slower." You move your hand in slow circles across her back in what you hope is a soothing motion though you can feel her shaking slightly.
A sheen of sweat had broken out across her forehead you know has little to do with the Los Diablos heat, causing her dark waves to stick to her face. You pull the hair tie from your hair, gathering hers up and away from her face in a messy ponytail of sorts. At least this way if she does hurl she doesn't risk getting it in her hair.
You wait it out together.
You wait and you try not to think.
You try not to think about what you definitely didn't see. It was just the store front. Its not like you saw the glistening pink meat behind the counter, raw and bloody. Or the deep red marrow from the discarded bones. You're not prey anymore, your teeth were meant to sink deep into soft flesh of lesser things and the saliva that fills your mouth tastes like blood, a by product of your over-active, destructive imagination.
"Tegan?" Despite your closeness, Dina's voice sounds distant but its enough to bring you back to the here and now and a sharp sting makes you realize you were biting the inside of your cheek, hard enough to draw blood. Not your imagination after all. You swallow hard stealing a glance at Dina.
Her hair looks absurd.
The snort-laugh that erupts from you is enough to break the spell that had washed over you, the haze receding back into the well of memories, best left forgotten. The Nanosurge had been one of the strangest scars for you both, marked in ways no one else could see. And you wouldn't want them to see.
"Don't let me do your hair again, I don't think I'm good at it."
"What you don't think this could be my new look?" The shake of her head caused the lopsided ponytail to wobble.
"I guess its not worse than those ridiculous cowboy boots." You roll your eyes for dramatic effect, please to see her squint in annoyance
"Hey, don't knock the boots." Dina stands, helping you up as well as she pulls the hair tie from her hair and hands it back to you. You quickly put your hair up in a well-practiced ponytail.
You don't remember the small talk you made as you shared a cigarette, an excuse to linger and to make sure you were both in control once more. As you parted ways you make a mental note of the street name, one more place to avoid. The list was starting to get long.
Revised relationship chart between mine and @localcryptic's sidesteps.
Explanation if anyone cares:
Ripley and Teo: Siblings. Brother and sister, Ripley's older. Live together, do villain shit together, codependent as hell post-heartbreak. Ripley's the yapper, Teo's the more quiet one. Do not separate them.
Rhan and Teo: Exes, dated on and off. Rhan wasn't really as romantically into it as Teo was, and saw it more an excuse to hook up every now and then. It wasn't a very fulfilling relationship for either of them, so the breakup was relatively smooth all things considered.
Al and Teo: Lovers <3 Started as villain rivals, then made out in the tunnels, then Teo performed life saving surgery on Al, then gave Al a place to stay after she broke up with Judas. Now they're taking things slower. Kind of did their relationship shit out of order but hey! They got where they needed to be. Also Teo helped Al realize she was trans that's a big one.
Judas and Teo: Judas has no clue who Teo is, besides the vague idea of someone who picked Al up after they broke up. Teo knows too much about Judas from Al and may or not be planning on ruining his life. The haterisms are more one sided.
Al and Judas: Where do we even begin here. Al and Judas were peak toxic yaoi of their time. Judas, a person notoriously obsessed with control, got into a very close relationship with Al, a person notoriously prone to being manipulated. Their relationship had a very classic "you belong to me" "okay <3 yay <3" dynamic happening between those twinks. What was once endearing turned sour once Judas suspected Al was talking to other villains. It got to the point where he slit her throat, failed to kill her, got stabbed by Al, and Al still apologized to Judas. They kept dating after that! All it took was Teo finding the tracking device Judas put on Al's suit for Al to finally put her foot down and say "Yknow what? fuck this" and she left him.
Ripley and Judas: Ripley just hates the guy on principle. Judas' tendency to attempt to establish his authority everywhere he goes versus Ripley's natural hatred for anyone with authority.
Rhan and Judas: Coworkers. For some reason I have no idea what their actual dynamic is. Judas hired Rhan once for a job and then became the person he vented to when Judas and Al broke up. Rhan keeps blocking his number but for some reason Judas is under the impression they're friends.
Al and Rhan: They don't know eachother very well. Rhan knows Al is the person Teo's seeing after they broke up. Al knows that Rhan was the person Teo was seeing before they got together (and a little bit during. It was complicated.) Who is jealous of who? Don't worry about it.
Ripley and Rhan: Haters but for no real reason. They're both assholes with weird complexes and gay in the opposite directions from one another. If they were normal kids they would've played wolves together. But they're grown ass adult regenes and neither are willing to be friends.
Ripley and Al: In avi's words: "Ripley acts like he's annoyed [by Al and Teo] but he actually thinks it's cute. He likes seeing Teo so happy. Al might think Teo's affection is more subdued but Ripley knows Teo, and that this is the height of romance for her. He genuinely really likes Al in that 'if you break my sister's heart you're fucking dead' kind of way. Once he gets past the initial 'There is a Stranger in my House' weirdness, [Ripley and Al would] end up being really close. Al probably thinks Ripley hates her a little bit because Ripley shows his genuine affection through loving teasing. Ripley hopes Teo and Al stay together forever"
“I’m not kissing you for your entertainment,” you snap, slouching against the table with crossed arms to take up more of the gap between you and Marion. Daring them to invade your personal space. And of course, they accept your challenge.
“But you want to,” they say, matter-of-fact. They learn forward until your faces are only inches apart. “Do you not?”
(I swore that I'd keep these under 1k words but. Well. As you can see.)
A bit of context for this one, since it's placed in a Sidestepverse AU where hero-villain roles are reversed:
"Abelards" refers to the twin Mortums, retired heroes now collaborating with The Green Sky Institute, a boost research facility led by Supernova (the Void).
"Rat Council" is Rat King, except they're chatty (think Wheatley from Portal), temperamental, and extremely loyal to this AU's Psychopathor.
Ripley Hawthorn. Ruin.
If anyone asks you, letting the Rat Council form full sentences was a huge mistake. In fact, both you and Rhan can attest to that. Those damned critters have been incessantly bothering the two of you about “putting your useless tinkering to good use for once” in that infuriating voice module that the Abelards recently installed to their translator. Seriously, whose bright idea was this? Weren’t the single word death threats enough as is?
With a grunt, you pour the contents of your bag onto the table, letting various mechanical bits and pieces clatter onto the surface. So it turns out that the Rat Council really, really wants someone to build them a flying vessel. Since the Abelards were completely unfazed by their chittering, they’ve been alternating between nagging you and Rhan into doing them the favor. For a brief time, there was a degree of solidarity in your shared suffering. But of course, that fragile truce soon fell apart when the two of you got into a petty argument about the apparent insanity of your perfectly coherent workflow. You grumble under your breath at the memory as you organize the parts into small piles. Your sorting criteria makes total sense to you, but Rhan called you deranged for it. As if they know any better than you.
And that’s what led to your latest project. Whoever makes the drone vessel that the Council likes the best, wins. Sure, there’s no prize to this other than freedom from the rats’ nagging, but your pride is on the line.
You somehow manage to have a few uninterrupted hours to yourself, but something that good doesn’t last very long. Just as you’re about to assemble the body, Marion makes their way into the common area, humming some tune that you don’t recognize. You throw a glance back when you hear dry marker squeak against the communal white board. That thing is already filled to the brim with notes, isn’t it? How are they trying to fit more onto it? Just as you turn your attention back to your project, they take notice of you and do the telepathic equivalent of poking you, signaling their intent to bother you. When you don’t make a move to retreat into the privacy of your own room, they take a seat across from you with a bag of… Are those teddy graham crackers?
"You’re building something,” they say, tossing a headless bear into their mouth.
During the time you’ve spent with Marion, you’ve noticed that instead of asking questions, they have a habit of making observational statements, then expecting you to elaborate on it. You suppose that it’s some sort of conversational tactic, but you don’t care enough to figure out what that’s about. What matters is making them work for the explanation they want.
“Duh,” you toss back, because that somehow never fails to get a twitch out of them. You suspect that it might be out of amusement rather than irritation, though.
“And those,” they point at the propeller blades, “look like propeller blades.”
“Wow, I’m impressed,” you drawl, words dripping with sarcasm. “Now just learn to tell the difference between bolts and screws, and you’ll be well on your way to qualify as my assistant.”
There it is. You sense signature bursts of their mirth at the back of your mind. By now, you’ve figured out that it feels like a sprinkle of popping candy against your tongue.
You continue putting together the smaller components of the drone without looking up, expecting them to keep making obvious remarks until you inevitably cave and let enough information slip for them to piece together the picture. That’s how it usually goes. Instead, they change the subject.
“Huh. That’s a recent development.”
“What is?” you ask, squinting past your reflection on the glass and down at the bustling crowd to try and spot who they’re talking about this time. They like pointing out random pedestrians that they somehow recognize as a recurring passerby. Is there one that got a haircut or something?
It’s only when they snort that you flit your gaze back to them and find that their eyes are trained on you and not anyone else. When you give them a questioning look, they tap an uplifted corner of their mouth. Your hand comes up to mirror their gesture, only to find that you’re… Shit, you’re smiling. That’s weird. You practically scrub the expression off, making room for your familiar frown to take its rightful place.
“I knew I shouldn’t have pointed it out,” they sigh, though their pretense of a pout doesn’t last long as their mouth soon widens into a grin. “And you wore it so well, too.”
Upon their comment, your scowl deepens on instinct. You click your tongue, tightening a screw a bit too hard as you internally swear to one day punch that smirk off their face. Your mistake doesn’t catch up to you until they burst out laughing. Shit, you projected that thought, didn’t you? And now it’s too late, because you’re picturing that one time that you did try to punch the smug out of them. Busted lips and bared teeth. Curved eyes of a cat that got its cream. Because they only press your buttons as much as they want to. Because they’ve somehow figured out the precise length of your fuse and never quite pisses you off enough for fists to fly—unless that’s exactly what they want from you.
There’s just no winning when you’re dealing with this fucker. It feels like you’re playing right into their hands no matter what you do, and it drives you crazy. The worst part? Your frustration is just another reward to them. That’s not how it’s supposed to go. Your anger is supposed to solve your problems, not enable them.
You know better than anyone how easy it is to just… get mad. Take the bait, then tear through it. Once they get a taste of your ire, most people know better than to provoke you twice. Sure, some persistent idiots keep coming back to you for some reason, but at least there’s satisfaction in aiming your anger at people that don’t want you to be mad.
Well, it turns out that some freaks enjoy making a sport out of your anger issues. How the hell are you supposed to deal with that?
The flirting threw you off at first, but at least it didn’t take long to figure out that they’re just fucking with you. There’s no weight behind their passing remarks, and that’s something you can deal with. Even if some of their nonsense lingers longer in your mind than it should. It’s just one more person among many others that’ll get a piece of your mind for messing with you.
… The problem is that neither your bark or nor bite have had any luck fending this one off. That leaves you here, at a standstill. Even your hands lost track of what they were doing while you were lost in thought.
With a groan, you let your tools go and bury a hand in your hair, glaring daggers at the culprit behind your distraction. Marion leaves you at a loss. Makes you think too much. Think about things like crushing the perpetual assurance on their face. Crushing your lips against theirs until their insufferable grin has been ground into gasps.
Fuck. Your eyes widen just as theirs do. In a pathetic attempt to damage control, you scramble to gather as much of your irritation as possible and shove that to their face. Thankfully, they take the hint and avert their gaze from you, pursing their lips in an attempt to hold back the laughter that leaks through telepathically anyways.
“Shut up, Lee.”
“But I didn’t even say anything?”
You throw your head back, dragging a hand across your face. Fine—it’s true that you’ve been getting thoughts about them. Thanks to the likes of Ortega and Chen, you’ve dealt with this side of yourself for long enough to be able to admit that much. So what?
“Well, what if I told you that I like your idea?”
They say it so casually, but their question makes you sit back straight in disbelief. “You what?”
“Your idea. I like it—”
“I heard you the first time,” you interject, desperately trying to reel your thoughts back in. Why? Why the hell would they like the idea when they’re just toying with you?
There it is again. The popping candy. Amused, are they? Satisfied to see you give in? That must be it. There’s no other explanation for what they claim.
“I’m not kissing you for your entertainment,” you snap, slouching against the table with crossed arms to take up more of the gap between you and Marion. Daring them to invade your personal space. And of course, they accept your challenge.
“But you want to,” they say, matter-of-fact. They learn forward until your faces are only inches apart. “Do you not?”
The glint of vibrant green reflected in their eyes almost distracts you, but you manage to catch onto the touch of uncertainty in their last question. It’s enough for you to feel compelled to reflect. Do you? Well, yes, if your gaze drifting down to their lips is any indication. But why?
It’s not a thought you ever gave ground to—the notion that you might have a type is stupid and ridiculous—but it’s true that you can’t help but see glimpses of Ortega in Marion. More specifically, there are echoes in the little details that you were once trained to catch onto. It’s the confidence they exude in the way they carry themself, even when they’re trying to be unassuming. It’s in how they scratch their neck to put on a show of shame when they feel no such thing. It was the intensity of their glare when they raised their voice at the Ricardo of this world that one time, standing between him and you.
As if making a fool out of you isn’t enough, they even see you as something that needs their pity—their protection. Just like he does. It makes your skin crawl and your stomach churn.
Just as that thought crosses your mind, the ever-present smile on Marion’s face collapses right before your eyes.
“Oh. So that’s how it is.”
You frown, tamping down the twinge of disappointment at the sudden distance between the two of you as they plaster their back against their seat.
“What?”
“I didn’t understand why you would want this, but I get it now.” They let out a hollow laugh.
“You’re not making any sense.” The waves of jealousy emanating from them do give you an idea of what they could be on about, but that doesn’t make this any less absurd.
“Look, Hawthorn. You don’t need to kill time with a stand-in. The real deal is practically drooling to get into your pants.”
“That’s—”
“I get that he’s not your Ricardo, but hey, if you want an outlet, it might as well be the guy that actually shares a face with him—”
“Holy shit, cut that out!” you shout, trying to pry the clinging jealousy off of your shields. “You’re making the entire room feel nasty!”
Raising your voice seems to do the trick for once, since the air tunes back to being breathable. You sigh, pressing against your clenched eyes.
“If you find the comparison that unbearable, then fine. You’re nothing like him. You always try too hard, while he makes things look effortless. You make yourself a nuisance just to get a fraction the attention he does by just existing. And if he had even half of your audacity, he’d literally be unstoppable, so don’t make me imagine that. There, happy?”
You open your eyes to find that no, they’re not happy. In fact, this is the closest you’ve ever seen them to looking upset. Crap. This isn’t as gratifying as you thought it’d be.
“Alright, alright, You want me to fuck off, I get it,” they mutter, brushing crumbs off their hands. Before they get the chance to get up from their seat, however, you jump out of your own and march over to their side of the table. They scrunch their nose as they blink up at you like a cat that just got squirted with a water spray.
Yeah. You know what? Fuck it.
Without warning, you grab them by the collar and pull them in closer, shoving your lips onto theirs. There’s no helping the widening smirk when you feel them gasp against you. Your other hand grips onto the back of their head, letting the whiff of mint in their quivering sigh carry the the moment onward and onward because you can’t stop until you’ve made your point.
The moment you separate to catch a breath, Marion tries to fit in a retort.
“Hawthorn, what the fuck—”
“There. Now you get to say you kissed me before Ricardo Ortega.” The insanity of what you’re saying doesn’t quite catch up to the pace you’re setting. Good. “Happy?”
You don’t get a response from them, since they stammer some nonsensical noises before shoving you out of the way and barging out the room. But based on the trail of figurative fireworks they leave behind, you think you can chalk this one up as your victory.
i am grabbing you and spinning you in a circle and jumping for joy this is such a yummy prompt thank you
58: Who’s more likely to hold a grudge after an argument?
Ripley/Ricardo: Ripley 100%. he's been holding a grudge against Ricardo for the last 7 years. he became a supervillain about it and everything. Ric doesn't even know he did anything wrong. His crime is "assuming Ripley was dead for extremely normal and believable reasons". Ripley is holding this against him for ten million years, along with everything else he's ever said or done that has pissed Ripley off. ....Hopefully this will get better by the time the two of them start actually dating.
Teo/Al: Neither of them are terribly likely to hold a grudge against each other after an argument! YAYYY RELATIVELY HEALTHY COMMUNICATIONNNN‼️‼️‼️ If you give Teo enough time and space to cool down after an argument, she'll be fine about it, and Al only tends to hold grudges if she is avoiding talking about something that bothered her, and Teo doesn't do a lot of things that bother Al <3
Al/Judas: Judas always and forever. It doesn't even matter what the argument is about. Whatever came up during the argument is going right in his back pocket to be dished out the next time they argue. It's a never ending cycle. It's how he wins every fight. Or at least how he feels like he does.
thank you soso much for asking this was such a fun prompt! questions can be found here
