#fh sidestep

[mosartandjunk]

me drawing any fallen hero fanart: what if theyre being silly on a couch

[disastersteps]

shattered against me.

[swordsandspectacles]

Artfight might be over but that doesn’t mean I’m stopping my war on other peoples sidesteps

@autistic-sidestep get fuckin GOT - (I say, as if I haven’t already shown this in discord-)

Speedpaint and alternate version under the cut :>

[hyper-pixels]

I used to think Sidestep was actually HG's baby sibling because they died in custody and I thought "hey what if they can't grow a whole body/had too low of a succession rate and just took dead kids who are likely to survive to boost drug and have no family and just revive them (like the regenerator) and put a chip in their brain" but the more I read Mr Ryden's answers about Re-Genes the more I think they just took the DNA from HQ's sibling cause their genes were a great quality candidate in the Re-Gene program. The only reason they did it is cause while HG had power, it wasn't enough to warrant a side eye /just/ yet

[waterdeers]

im still obsessed w my fallen hero oc

[licuadora-nasir]

Registrations are open!

Akali (left) is @remnantsofmorality's Ais (right) is @rosaindomitus's and River (mid) is mine

[silvery-bluish]

WIP Wednesday

I got tagged by both @dogueteeth and @m3k-fhr! Thanks for the tags both of you <3 boy howdy it sure is still Wednesday somehow. I... don’t know who all’s been tagged yet, so if you haven’t done it yet I’m going to tag @rosaindomitus, @thenightdayblogger, @rangerdoubt if any of y’all have anything you want to share!! No worries if you’re not feeling it.

I haven’t been getting much writing done recently bc I just had a bit of a Job Change that is good but it is Kicking My Ass a little bit. It’ll even out at some point in here. The upshot is the following snippet isn’t something I did this week, but I did work on this document as a whole this week which I’m gonna say is. close enough.

AU In which Arsinoe runs into Ortega several years prior to what actually occurred in canon, relatively soon after they returned to Los Diablos. It doesn’t have a name yet because I’m bad at naming things, that’s usually the. last thing i do with a work. for a tiny bit of context Ars is currently shoplifting several small objects from a gas station. Throwing it under a cut because it’s around 450 words whoops.

---

He’s there. Just stepped through the door, your mind inventing him again, like it’s done before, when things are really bad, just standing there. Looking at you. Watching you.

You’ve thought about him older, before, line between desperate daydream and hallucination blurred. Grey creeping onto his temples. The mustache is new, but you don’t… dislike it. Thanks for the variation on the theme this time, brain, let’s stop doing this some time because it doesn’t get any easier, looking at him and knowing he’s not there. But you stop, anyway, and you must look even more bizarre than you already do, choppy, uneven hair hanging limply into your face, clothes you got… somewhere? You don’t remember where, actually, but they’re too big on you and hiding is a comfort. Makes you look like you spent the night in a dumpster and you… don’t think you did last night? No. Motel. Flickering TV, static blurring the words.

Anyway. This Ortega is older, not the time-capsule-frozen version your brain gives you sometimes, preserved like a bug in amber. Staring back at you, brown eyes to green, like he’s watching over you, somehow, or watching you suffer, you never can decide, you broke yourself out anyway, like dislocating your thumbs to slip out of handcuffs, so it shouldn’t matter, can’t matter but--

“Ars?” he says, voice a cracked whisper, and the bolt of panic at that and the static oh that’s actually his static and not just the sense-memory of it, not just the echo of too much static around you, and you’re running, dropping the bottle from your sleeve, because he doesn’t talk, he never talks, mouthing words like he’s trapped behind glass or someone hit the mute button, words couldn’t reach you and you never could figure out what he’d say anyway. But this him spoke, which makes him real, which means you’re fucked.

Nobody’s called you Ars in years.

Your shoes suck, objectively, for running, why didn’t you get better running shoes, worn sneakers you’d gotten out of a used shoes bin. Could’ve made somebody give you better shoes. Didn’t want to risk it yet if you didn’t have to, shattered-glass-sharpness of your mind the way it is. He’s between you and the front door, but there’s an employee entrance around the back, so you skid around the counter despite the dead-eyed distant-minded teenager’s vague protest and bolt, slamming the door open with your bad shoulder, ow, bounce off and down the alleyway you go, breath coming faster than it should, grasping around you for somewhere to hide, somewhere to hide, you can’t be here, you shouldn’t have come back here--

“Ars!” Behind you, following, because of course he is, need to get away, he can’t catch you, you can’t let him--

[liskqisk]

good morning how are we coping with the new book

[moncuries]

ok by request my sidestep :] i realize now that he looks like jessie breaking bad kinda. anyways guess where his second piercing is :)))

[ladyshivs]

This is exactly how this scene happened

[reapersmarch]

are you tired of being nice? don't you just want to go ape shitt

[mosartandjunk]

luca's so fun and quirky and collects cassette tapes

[disastersteps]

Oh, oh, ooh, oohh

[swordsandspectacles]

Personally, truly, I blame @the-cooler-sidestep for this because I probably would have just drawn gay little wolves on my 4 hour flight.

I’m glad I drew Rashad’s fancy suit Instead :>

@cigarettesandinevitablebetrayal is the victim of today (it’s past midnight it’s a new day ok-) and I had! A lot of fun if that isn’t apparent.

Wow there’s a speedpaint under here, who would have guessed?

[ianthedebonair]

fellas, is it gay to accidentally confess your long-withheld feelings towards your best friend in the heat of an argument?

[autistic-sidestep]

sidestep scar map

here's all the physical scar mentions of step's ive discovered so far that aren't choice dependent! (choice dep scars will be in another post). lemme know if i missed any!

edit: hi people from r/hostedgames o/

edit 2 (nov 8th): added some more i missed!

(cw for sh/sui mentions and graphic injury description)

general

"Have you seen me?" You don't bother to hide your sneer. Even with your clothes on, there are enough scars and marks that many people would pay dearly to remove them. (ch 22, argent meetup) Regenerate…the notion is a tempting one; could it work on your tattoos? You've tried cutting and burning, but there's just too much, you'd be scarred and mutilated before you were done, but this…this prototype, could it help you too? (ch 19, etc, regenerator discovery) "What?" A moment's confusion and then—finally—he adds up the dots. His frown deepens, and he looks between your face and your chest, marred by scars and brightly orange tattoos, marking you as other. As not human. "Are you saying that—" (ch 22, flystep apartment scene) "Do you like scars?" you tease, taking one of [Daniel']s hands, tracing it across one on your chest. An ugly one, a remnant from an angry attempt to carve away your tattoos until the drugs couldn't keep the pain at bay any longer. (ch 22, flystep apartment date) It's a slow, circling motion over the small of your back, palm against skin, warm fingers tracing the deep scars you both know are there. And a few that ${he} doesn't. (ch 17, hoots makeout) ${his} hands are running over your skin, over your back. You know ${he}'s tracing scars, the same as you, and having an easier time of it. No fancy hospitals for your body, just your own skills, and no need to make it look pretty. (ch 21, chargestep apartment nsfw)

autopsy (incision) scar(s?)

"I obtained…pictures." He lets out a sigh, rubbing his face. "Classified. Highly classified. I assumed they were from the autopsy." He focuses on you. "Your autopsy." […] "The damage from the fall was horrific…you looked dead. Opened up." (ch 22, steel bar meetup)

legs

You remember that [Psychopathor] fell against the wreckage, and it moved and caused you to scream out loud as it dug into your leg. There's still a scar there somewhere. (ch 2, warehouse fight)

face

"Yeah, things changed. For me." You touch your face without intending to. The thin scars there are the most obvious legacy of your fall, of the window tearing into you like memories. (ch 21, hoots) "I'm not the only one with scars." He rubs the side of his face as he looks at you, and you have to fight not to do the same. You can feel your own face itch with the need to pick at your scars. "Yeah," you admit with a tired sigh. "Looking into the mirror is not fun." For more reasons than one, but you'd be lying if the scars weren't one of them. Bad memories imprinted on your flesh, a reminder of nightmares you can't ever forget. It's interesting, really, the way they see you as another vet. Are you looking out of place enough for that? A helping of scars. The nervous awareness. (ch 22, steel bar meetup)

hands/wrists

"Does it say that the scar on your hand always itches when you're stressed?" (ch 22, flystep apartment date)

"I'm not sure about this," he says, looking down at your scarred hands as if he could read your mind. Soft. Human. He doesn't want to hurt them. (ch 25, post puppet crash step leg rights, chen apartment minddive)

You let Ortega take your hands in [theirs]. Warm. Calloused. Scarred. Just like yours. You can't help but trace the edge of ${his} mods where they break the skin, strangely cool to the touch. (ch 21, trans mc ortega apartment reveal)

You look down at hands so much cleaner than your own. $!{puppet_name} hides all scars. (ch 18, puportega stakeout)

"It feels like they do," you say, scratching one of the scars on your hand a little nervously. "I wish I could tell you, but I can't." […] Your hands are clenched. Hard enough that your knuckles are white. There are a few scars across them, memories of punching things you shouldn't punch. People. Armor. Walls. […] You press two fingers against your wrist, feeling your pulse, feeling the scars. It's a familiar sensation, but instead of the weight pressing against your shields, you feel like a balloon, ready to burst. (ch 17 - finch therapy scene)

arms

tattoo removal attempts

You tried to get rid of them after your first escape. A specialist, suitably coerced. You still have the scar on the inside of your arm where the lasers didn't quite take. Too deep. Something she had never seen before, and she wasn't lying. Almost as if they were regenerating. (ch 15/ch 17, reader regenereveal tag )

You've tried lasers to remove them. You've tried dermabrasion. You even flayed off a piece of your own skin, and while that worked, it left another scar, a deep one. You know it's not possible to do that for your entire body. It's too much surface area; the process would kill you or leave you maimed. Not exactly the life you want. _(ch 15/ch 17, reader regenereveal tag / ch 19, puppet auction)

You tug at your sleeve; it keeps clinging to your sweaty skin. The small hairs on the back of your arm stand on end. The scars are visible now, the ones you made yourself. The ones where you tried to remove them. (chapter 19, argent regene reveal)

"I'm not lying anymore." You very slowly tug your sleeve up, rolling it past the scars, past the places where you tried to obliterate the tattoos, up to where they peek out beneath the fabric. Sharp. Orange. Inhuman. Like you. You look away, regulating your breathing, keeping a straight face as ${mhis} fingertips trace the edges of the design. There's a slight "tsk" at the burn scars that cut them off, no doubt ${mhe} is adding the clues together. […] "I tried to burn parts of them off," you say, […] so ${mhe} doesn't need to ask. "Didn't work too well. Needs third-degree burns, or they'll grow back." "Really?" $!{mhe} bends your arm, and you shift to allow it. "Fascinating." "Flaying works if you cut down to the flesh." Your voice sounds dispassionate even to your own ears, and Dr. Mortum takes a step back with a shocked look on ${mhis} face. "I'd hate to know how you found that out." "Other arm." You tug your sleeve down now that ${mhe}'s stopped touching you. (ch 20, "good" mortum mc reveal at the lab)

Holding your breath, you raise your arm in front of you, watching the pale green hospital robe slip back, revealing the intricate tattoos etched into your skin, broken only by scars. Neon orange. (ch 24, mccrash, revoked legrights)

dog bite

Some [dogs] were kept to guard the perimeter; you got bit once for straying outside. You still have the scar on your arm, a reminder that things that are hurt inevitably turn on each other. (ch 15, 1st boneyard scene)

general arm scars

It's so easy to feel human around ${him}. So easy to ignore the fear. Your sleeves are rolled up to your elbows. Anything more would risk revelations you aren't ready for, but even like this, the scars are enough for conversation. […] *if suitag: The bubbles hide most; you keep them buried deep in the soapy water to make sure ${he} doesn't look. (ch 21, ortega apartment dishes)

sh scars (suitag dep)

The scars on your arms are hidden under your sleeves, and maybe they would be something you could talk about. Something she would expect. A safe revelation of self-harm. *if suitag: Across. Not lengthwise. Your one deal with yourself. Not yet. You have things to finish first." (ch 17, finch therapy scene)