#oc: iris malory

[sky-scribbles]

‘I am Aftershock. The catastrophe that strikes when you thought the danger was over. The chaos of something broken adjusting to its new, fractured form.’

aka, a villain armour design for Iris ‘functional armour’ Malory! She is not here to look fancy, she is here to Punch.

[akiramarienakajima]

@fanderemoperson OCs that don't get enough love

Adam Shade-Devonshire

Dayjah Mitsurugi

Nico Mitsurugi

Livia Malori

Dexter Mallius

Nathan Suinsu (I know he's ace/aro but everyone needs a little platonic love in their lives)

Ruelle Calore-Jackson

Rowan Calore-Jackson

Mitsuru Kirijoh

Hunter Quinn

Quinnzel Quinn

Ashe Jackson

Zelda Matthews

Buttercup

Elizabeth

The Baron

Vesper Irie

Zacian Lyon

Fergus Claudel-MacDubh

Adrienne Lithikos

Lily Shade-Edgeworth

Ralsei Shade-Edgeworth

Belladonna Jackson

Zenaida Amaré

[sky-scribbles]

In which my Sidestep has a very strange idea of courtship. Argentstep, ~1200 words, Argent x f!Sidestep. Retribution spoilers.

‘So,’ Argent says. ‘Here you are.’

She’s standing beneath a streetlight, the orange glow gilding the edges of her skin, and the effect is so ethereal that it takes you a moment to speak. ‘Here I am. Are you going to tell me that we need to stop meeting like this?’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’

A single leap brings you down from your perch on the wall. You’re showing off, but you know she won’t complain. ‘That tip-off you got was a lie, by the way. I’m not hunting any of your vigilante friends tonight. I just wanted to get you here.’

She rolls those eerie (beautiful) eyes. ‘You made sure I got a false tip-off and then hung around all evening, just so you could see me?’

‘So I could fight you.’ Feet shift into a ready stance; fists come up. ‘Are we going or not?’

Her grin is the only answer you need.

And so you fight her. You fight Lady Argent across the city, fists and claws clashing in the evening’s smoky haze. You grapple on the rims of earthquake scars and dance across the rooftops. You lock arms with her and push against her strength, feeling her pulse hammering through the silver skin. 

There was no need for this. This bizarre chase serves no purpose in your plans. But you wanted to fight her, because when her claws are scraping against your armour and your mind is fixated on nothing but her mind, on her, just her… everything makes sense, somehow. Feels clearer. More real.

You made sure to divert the media before you came. Ever since Argent kissed you and scarred your lip, your fights have taken on a new, private meaning. Cameras would be an intrusion; news reports would taint everything. So now she’s chasing you through an abandoned tower block, and the world’s silent except for your feet and your punches, dark except for the occasional flash of moonlight against her skin.

She hurls you through a door and it shatters against your back. Painful, yes, but not enough to stop you from springing back up almost as soon as you hit the floor. Fists raised again, feet light on the ground. Argent lingers in the shattered doorway, the usual smirk playing about her lips.

Shit. How does anyone have lips that impeccable?

‘If you wanted me alone,’ she says, claws drumming on the remains of the doorframe, ‘you could have got out of that armour and taken me to a bakery.’

‘Wow. Rude. I go to all this trouble, and you pretend you’d have preferred some normal date to this? We’ve got it all here. Starlight. Privacy. Adrenaline.’ And the thrill of this strange dance with your enemy, your ally, the woman who saw your face and thought it was worth kissing.

Her eyes sweep the room’s peeling walls and broken roof. ‘You have a strange idea of romance.’

‘Says the woman who kissed a villain’s helmet.’

The claw-drumming stops; that memory clearly still rankles. Or, at least, its aftermath does. ‘I didn’t hear you complaining at the time. But if you’re going to complain now... take it off.’

An order. Your insides give a sickening twist, and you don’t move, because for a moment you’re back in the Farm and you can’t –

Then Argent’s hair stirs in the breeze drifting through the broken windows, and the memories drop away. You’re not back there, you’re here. And she’s so beautiful that you don’t even think about another tower, another pane of broken glass, because you’re not there either.

You’re here. With her.

‘I said, take the helmet off,’ Argent says. ‘Unless you’d rather carry on our dance. I don’t have a preference.’

You take in a deep gulp of air. Playing to others’ rules is something you swore off a long time ago. But she played your game, didn’t she, when she showed up for this fight? You owe her for that. You owe her for giving you a shining hour where every breath in your lungs and every beat of your heart felt like it was real, like it mattered.

So you snap open your helmet fastenings and pull your head free.

Maybe you expected her to lunge for you, crush her lips over yours again, snag teeth against your skin. But she doesn’t. She moves towards you slowly, almost warily, talon-like fingers reaching up to rest against your cheek. One stroke to the side and she could cut your throat open, but her touch is enough to make you lower your fists, lower your guard, lower everything.

This is so incredibly stupid. This is leaving yourself vulnerable, it’s putting yourself into someone else’s hands, and you promised yourself, you swore never again. You can’t afford this.

But you want it. Want her. Want to trust her.

Delicate claws trace the rise and fall of your cheekbone, sliding strands of hair behind your ear with a light flick. Your breath stutters and you slam your eyes closed. Maybe if you don’t look at her, she won’t see how she’s affecting you.

You feel the claws melt back into fingers. Soft and smooth against your skin. And then her lips, closing around your own.

She steps in close, metallic skin snug against your armour, and you reach up to slide your nanovore-free hand into her hair. Her mind leaps in response, fierce and warm, like machinery jumpstarted. All her thoughts are melting together, filling up with –

With you. She’s thinking of you, your lips, your hands – and she likes it. She wanted this, hoped for this when she came out here, she was eager to have her lips full of yours and her mind full of you and only you.

You, who swarmed into her mind and enslaved it.

Your helmet falls from your free hand and rolls away over the floor as you tug her in tighter. This is why you’re doing this, showing your throat to her claws. She has no reason to trust you. You don't deserve her trust. So you’ll take the first step, you’ll trust her, bare yourself, bring everything in you that can be hurt right up to the surface. You’ll kiss her with everything you have. Offer her everything you are.

(You’re not much. You know that. But she must know that too, and yet here she is.)

It hurts so much less than you feared, letting go of the control you’ve always clung to so tightly. There’s a thrill in surrendering. In trusting. In choosing to leap from an edge for once, not being forced over. And right here, right now, with Ximena’s lips warm and so wonderfully, surprisingly gentle over your own, you feel the same way you did when you first marched out on the world in your armour. 

Strong and fierce and free. Filled with the euphoria of falling.

[sky-scribbles]

I couldn’t decide whether to write Argent angst or Argentstep softness... and then I realised that both is good. Many Retribution spoilers, ~1700 words, f!Sidestep x Argent, also some Ortega & Argent friendship.

‘Ximena.’

You don’t say the name aloud. Just shape it with your lips, tasting how it rolls through your mouth, trying to remember that Ximena is you. You are her. A person. Who exists.

The door opens, and for a heartbeat you’re ready to surge to your feet. Claws out, teeth bared, ready to fight and snarl and make whoever it is stay away. But then you recognise Ortega’s tread, so you stay sitting. Hands clasped together into one tight fist, head bowed so that your hair hangs loose on either side of your face.

Ortega stands in the doorway for so long that you almost tell him to say something or get out. At last, he steps into the room and lets the door swing shut. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’

Soft words, like you’re porcelain and the impact of speech could shatter you. You stare at the floor and say nothing.

‘Chen’s smoothed things over with the LDPD for now. You should go home. Get some sleep.’

Don’t look at him. Don’t speak. If you do, you might do something stupid, like telling him that you can’t go home, can’t sit alone among silent walls and remember what was done to you. Can’t walk there alone, knowing that someone is out there who can slip into your mind and wear your body like a glove. Might be watching. Waiting.

Might take you again. Might not let you go this time.

‘If you’re worried about the press making trouble, I can go with you.’ Ortega says, still gentle. You’re fragile goods. Handle with care. ‘I can zap some cameras. Make sure no one bothers you.’

He’s letting you pretend that’s all you’re worried about, and you’re grateful, because it leaves you with some scraps of dignity. But you shake your head anyway.  ‘I can handle it.’

‘All right. Just…’ He sighs, running a hand through his already messed-up hair. ‘I know what happened to you today was a special kind of awful. But some of the strongest people I’ve known haven’t been able to resist telepaths. Almost every hero I’ve known has –’

And you know he’s trying, you know he’s trying to make you feel a little less alone, less judged, but something inside you splinters. Your fists come down against the table, your head spins around towards him. ‘Stop. Talking.’

It’s all you can get out before your mind catches up with your voice and you’re turning away again, gritting your teeth. Slamming your eyes shut, as if that could block out your thoughts. Or block your mind from telepaths who make you hurt your friends and laugh, because for all your walls and all your strength you weren’t enough to stop them.

(They got what they wanted. They’re gone from your head.

Aren’t they?)

To his credit, Ortega nods, as if he expected this. ‘Do you need to be alone right now?’

You still can’t speak. There are no words in you, except words you can’t bring yourself to say: how it feels to be drowned under someone else. Buried beneath a nightmare that won’t stop, until you forget that there was ever anything but this. Forget that there was ever a you.

But you somehow manage to shake your head, and to not shove him away when he touches your arm.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I am so sorry this happened to you, but it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. And I know none of us can set this right, but… we’re here for you, Angie.’

Angie. You almost laugh. He’s here for you, but the name he’s using belongs to someone who doesn’t exist. He’s here for you and he’s trying to help you but he doesn’t know who you are.

Still, you let him keep his hand on your arm. And you don’t push him away when he leans in to hold you, even though you don’t hold him back. Just breathe in and out, and silently repeat the only thing that reminds you that you’re here and real.

Ximena. Ximena. Ximena.

‘Ximena?’

You blink. Then you drag your eyes away from the television and your mind into the present. Iris is looking at you, eyebrows raised, sprawled out on the couch beside you.

It was her. She said your name.

‘What?’ you say, barely paying any attention to the word. Your mind is fixed on replaying that sound: your name, your real name, spoken in someone else’s voice.

That someone else lets out a huff, waving a hand towards the plate in front of you. ‘I said, are you going to fight me for the last éclair?’

And you’ve fought her over less, but she just said your name. So you shake your head and let her grab it. She bites off half, swallows it down, then turns towards you, draping one arm across the back of the couch so that it’s… not exactly around you. But close to it. ‘You all right?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Telepath, remember?’ She taps a fingernail against her temple. ‘Your mind flared up a little. Like I startled you.’

You consider brushing her off, but only for a second. She’s shared more with you than you ever expected; what’s one more truth laid bare between you? You’re both already risking so much.

‘I’m fine. It’s just... been a long time since I heard anyone else say my name.’

She looks at you. Cautious hazel eyes, studying your face. ‘Are you okay with me using it?’

Something stirs in you. Not anger, really, but bitterness. Sharpness. ‘You were okay with possessing me, but now you care about using my name?’

As a rule, Iris does not wince. Even when you fight her, even when you slam your fists against her armour with everything you have, she doesn’t wince. Either she stands firm or she rolls with the momentum, redirects it effortlessly into her next punch.

She winces now.

‘I know what I did,’ she says. Voice heavy, eyes heavier. ‘And… I guess we need to talk about this at some point, so… I know that saying I’m sorry or that I know it was shitty doesn’t change anything about what you went through. And it’s not about me or what I feel anyway, it’s about you. I know some things are unforgivable. No matter how many éclairs I buy you.’

Unforgivable. You turn the word over in your mind, watching as she tosses the uneaten half of the éclair back onto the plate, appetite apparently gone. Have you forgiven her? Will you? Could you?

You push the questions out of your mind, because you don’t know the answers, and because there’s something you want to know more. ‘Why did you choose me? If you needed a Ranger –’

‘If it helps, it’s not because I thought you were weak.’ The words are very firm. ‘Ortega’s immune. Chen knows me, he would have had an easier time kicking me out, or working out who did it afterwards. So it was you or Herald, and he’s too open, all that emotion bubbling around close to the surface. Emotion’s unpredictable, it’s hard to control. So…’

‘So it was process of elimination,’ you finish. Is that better or worse? Knowing that one of the worst nightmares of your life had nothing to do with you, only the ruthless calculations of an expert tactician?

Iris squirms a little in her seat. 'Yeah. And... something else. It’s true what I said – too much familiarity is dangerous. If you’re recognised, it’s game over. But a little familiarity can help you get inside, make it a smoother process. And before I did it, I learned everything I could about you, and I watched you on the news, and I…’

Iris bites her lip, sitting quiet for a moment before shrugging. ‘I saw you. I saw you a lot. Strong. Proud. Like there were no chains or walls that you couldn’t break down.’

‘So?’

‘So, you reminded me of myself. Of who I used to be. Who I wanted to be again.’ She swallows, scarred fingers knitting together. ‘It was that little bit of familiarity I needed.’

‘So you didn’t choose me because I was weak. You chose me because I was strong.’

‘I guess.’ She shrugs, then sighs, then pushes the éclair distractedly around the plate. ‘Look. I know I could spend my whole life trying to make up for it and never do it. And if you ever decide you don’t want to keep doing… whatever we’re doing… because of what I did, or because of anything else… Just tell me. And it stops.’

You close your eyes, letting the drone of the television wash over you. Whatever you’re feeling right now, it’s too much and too complicated to put into words. But there’s so much less anger than you expected. And maybe a trace of comfort. So you nod, open your eyes, and say, ‘Thanks.’

Her eyes flick back towards you. ‘You don’t want it to stop, right?’

‘No. I don’t.’

Because you want her in your life. And because there’s one more thing you want to ask of her. You’re not sure you can say it aloud – but then you remember that you don’t need to, and hold the thought in your mind instead. How much it meant to you, hearing your name in her voice. How much you want to hear it again.

You don’t look at her, so you don’t see if she smiles, but you hear a fond little snort. And then –

‘Ximena.’

It’s like hearing a ghost. Except it’s a warm ghost, wrapping you up in bittersweet memories of parents’ arms and gentle voices and kinder days. And now there’ll be a new memory woven into that sound: Iris. Curled up against your side with her arm very nearly around you. Bringing that name out of old memories and into your present.

So you lean towards her, showing her with your thoughts that it’s okay for her to put her arm around you. And she does, pulling your head against her shoulder, turning so that she can press her lips to your forehead. ‘Ximena,’ she says again. Softer, this time.

And you let her hold you. Let her bury another kiss into your hair, your hand, your lips. Still whispering your name, as if she could use the sound to fill up every hollow space inside you, warm every cold memory, knit together every wound that she and the world have dealt upon you.

And maybe she can.

Maybe she will.  

[sky-scribbles]

Some thoughts on my Sidesteps’ mental stats (as of Retribution)! Contains  Retri spoilers.

Wren: 

I am not making this up. This little birb is strong.

The obvious reason for Wren’s high subtlety that they’re a cautious introvert who doesn’t want to push too hard and give themselves away. They don’t act without reading people, gathering information, and analysing the situation. They’re a watcher. It’s what they do.

Plus... their empathy is 93%. Wren isn’t out to cause intense psychological damage random civilians; they’ve been on the receiving end of that themselves too many times.

The Farm once used Wren for crowd-control, tapping into the herd consciousness and sending gentle ripples of thought through crowds to influence them. Now, as a truth-motivated anarchist, Wren’s taking those skills and using them for their own ends: silently, stealthily nudge the world towards changing.

Miles:

Surprisingly, Miles ‘no impulse control’ Mercer isn’t a forceful man. He’s a villain because he wants to feel seen and important again. He’s a charmer. He smooths his way with a smile and a joke, he tweaks people’s feelings to make them like him.

On a practical level, Miles’s telepathy is very emotion-based; he’s almost an empath. That lends itself better to nudging and reading people’s feelings than to brute force.

It also reflects his main Farm role: infiltrate events, talk to people, bring around the right conversation topics, and browse their minds for intel undetected.

Miles is a lot less cautious than Wren, though, and he’s an attention-seeker, which is why he has a tad more force and isn’t quite as strong in the manipulations department. 

Iris:

Iris’s Puppermaster scar doesn’t manifest as her being a calculating mastermind. It’s about rock-solid walls that mean she will never be controlled again. She pushes in to take charge of others before they can chain her or hurt her or reject her. She will always have the strings of a situation in an iron-firm grip.

But the Subtlely is still pretty high, because Iris is a tactician, and her end goal is to break everyone, including the heroes, out of the cycle of manipulation they’re stuck in. She’s got to nudge them towards realising how chained they are. Gotta pull some strings in order to cut them, right?

Jalal:

Oh, Jalal. He kept flip-flopping back and forth between mental stats in Rebirth, and the consequence are these abysmal skills...

Jalal has a big problem with passivity, which means he’d often take the options to try to be unseen and unnoticed, hence the Subtlety points. However, he also lashes out when he’s afraid, defaulting to his old combat training, so... in a lot of dangerous situations, he reacts with overwhelming force without thinking.

Unlike Wren, Miles and Iris, who’ve consciously groomed their own skills in a specific direction, Jalal has no future-planning skills. He does what seems best in the heat of the moment, and that means little chance to develop a specialisation.

Please, Jalal. I love you but you’re being shown up.

[sky-scribbles]

I’m not sure if this counts as soft but it’s as close as Argentstep gets :’D Retribution spoilers, f!Sidestep x Argent, ~1700 words.

You’ve told yourself a thousand times: you don’t miss being Sidestep.

You don’t. You don’t miss the media, the million eyes trying to get the measure of you. You don’t miss Steel’s glares, the mutters about background checks. You don’t miss your own naivety. How you let your shields slip, and paid the price.

But right now, it’s hard to remember that. Because you’re sitting in the Rangers’ break room waiting for Argent, earphones in, tapping your foot to the music. And there’s no one to dance with you.

Shit. That has to be the most pathetic thought you’ve ever entertained.

All the same, if this were ten years ago, you wouldn’t be leaning against the wall alone. Neither would you have your earphones in. You’d be blasting the music to the whole room, ignoring Steel’s complaints. And then you’d catch someone’s eye, grin, and lunge forward to drag them to their feet. Dance.

Usually it was Themmy, laughing and making up the moves as she went along. Ortega was more practiced – all those parties, all those girls on his arm – but with you, he’d let himself trip on his own feet, grin when you laughed at him. Sometimes Sentinel, and he’d spend most of the dance in the air.

You’re not sure how you did it. Snatch up your friends and be dumb with them. Dance like you had nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to fear.

You guess you were happy.

You wrench your phone from your pocket and stab the skip button. You need a new song, once with a rhythm you can dance to, because why the hell shouldn’t you? You shouldn’t be like this, numbly tapping a foot to music no one else can hear. You have no one to dance with because you were an idiot, because you let your guard down, let those bastards at the Farm tie their strings around you. But you’re stronger now. You’ve cut your strings. You won’t dance to their tune anymore, just to yours.

And you’ll dance alone if you must.

According to the receptionist, Ortega and Herald are out on duty. You came here to talk to Argent about the regenerator, but she won’t be back for a while. Steel won’t bother to visit you. No one will see. You can relax. Let go.

Think of nothing but the pulse of the music and the way your body flows along with it. Feet firm when they hit the ground and light when they leave it. Nothing exists beyond the edges of your skin. No strings. No walls around you. Just music and breath and movement.

The song ends, and you finish your dance with one last spin. Switch your mind back on, emerge from your body. And then your senses reactivate.

You’re not alone anymore.

A familiar presence is lingering in the doorway and at the edge of your mind. The cool of liquid metal and the warmth of confident strength. A hint of something dizzying, the vaguest feel of something huge and magnificent lurking inside a human shape.

You should be embarrassed. But you’d be lying if you said you don’t get a kick out of it, knowing that Argent has seen how perfectly you can control your body. She knows your power and precision already from her fights with Aftershock, but this is something more. This is grace.

‘Enjoying the show?’ You don’t look at her, keeping your eyes on your phone as you pause your playlist.

A pause. Then she steps inside and lets the door slam shut. ‘What are you doing?’

Ignore the challenge. Issue your own. ‘How long were you spying on me?’

‘Long enough to get a good look. I should have known this would be your kind of thing. You always did enjoy our dances.’

You hop up to sit on the nearest table, facing her. ‘Well, it’s the same thing, isn’t it? Fighting. Dancing. It’s about knowing your body. Controlling where it moves, and how your dance partner responds.’

‘Dance partner?’ The words are a snort. ‘Is that what you call it?’

‘Why shouldn’t I? It’s what we’ve been doing. When we fight, you watch how I move, you learn how my body works. You move with the momentum. You try to be the one in control. I do the same. Whoever’s best at it is the one who ends up leading the dance.’

Her eyes narrow, and you prepare for a barb, a challenge. Then you look closer, and you notice the looseness in her stance, the ease of her grin. That look on her face isn’t anger or suspicion. It’s interest. Curiosity.

Something inside you jolts. Lady Argent is standing there, looking nearer to casual than you’ve ever seen her, and she’s curious about you. Not about Aftershock, who’s a threat, who’s strong, who holds the strings of the city. You. Iris Malory, the washed-up vigilante who couldn’t even keep herself safe, who runs on anger because fury is the only way to stay focused, to avoid thinking about –

You shove that thought away, and focus on Argent. On her words. Ximena’s words. ‘Dancing makes you feel in control?’ she's saying. ‘That's why you do it?’

‘That’s why I do anything.’

Which is ironic, because you weren’t in control of those words. And now Argent’s frowning at you, like she’s expecting an explanation. And you don’t know how to do this, you don’t know how to share, how to explain yourself, expose yourself. You definitely can’t tell her that you can never have cold, hungry claws in your head again, that you can never be strapped to a table or locked in a cell –

Don’t think about that. Focus on her.

‘When I’m dancing, I’m taking my… my energy. Giving it precision. Nothing happens in my body that I’m not in command of. What I’m doing as Aftershock…’ You shrug. ‘It’s the same thing. Take what’s inside me and give it focus, make the city respond to me. And they can meet that energy, they can try to redirect it, but in the end… all they’re doing is reacting to it. To me. I need that.’

Her jaw goes rigid. ‘Controlling people?’

And that’s a sore spot for her, one you made yourself. Maybe this is why you’re being honest. You owe her that much. Debts are acceptable when they’re the natural result of actions you planned and chose.

‘I’m just making sure no one owns me.’ You meet her gaze; metallic, alien. Beautiful. ‘Making my life mine. Not a response to anyone else, or to… circumstances outside my control.’ And then, because you’ve been reckless enough already, ‘You get that, don’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t be after that regenerator. You’re taking yourself back.’

You wait for her to snap that you don’t know anything about her, that you should stay out of her business, that her reasons are her own. But instead, she jerks her head. Not quite a nod, but something close to it.

A short pause. A silence that’s almost comfortable. Then she smirks again, gesturing towards your torn lip. ‘And you think you’re the one leading this dance?’

That’s the question, isn’t it? You made the first move when you exploded into the world as Aftershock. The next was hers, a kiss to your helmet, and you answered with a hand through her arm at the auction, your helmet lifted from your face. Then she took the next step. Gave you her name.

(Ximena. You don’t know why that part means so much to you, but it does. It feels unearned. Gifted. Precious.)

Then another move from her, mouths crushed together, teeth on your lip. And now it feels like it’s your turn, and maybe you’ll regret this, but you swing yourself down from the table, unplug the headphones from your phone, and set the music playing. Hold out your hand. ‘Want to find out?’

She stares, of course. So you grin, making it clear that this is a challenge. You know she won’t back down.

Her hand closes around yours, pulling you in rather than letting you guide her, but you’ve done this a thousand times. Redirect her force. Make sure you’re the one who ends up holding her, pulling her into the first few steps.

‘Stop focusing on where your feet need to go,’ you tell her, as she nearly stumbles. ‘Concentrate on what I’m doing, then respond. Then make me respond to you.’ You twist your head to flash a grin at her. ‘You know how this works.’

‘I do.’ Almost a growl, but there’s something intimate about it, the way you’re close enough to feel the word form in her chest.

A few more steps. Bodies matching the beat. Silver skin against your own. The music plays, and suddenly this isn’t a contest anymore, isn’t a fight for control. It’s a joint effort. Each of you catching the other’s energy, holding onto it, then returning it. Give and take, watch and respond.

Putting your weight into her hands, letting her guide you for a few seconds at a time. And you don’t feel controlled or exposed or owned. You feel like you’re in balance. The two of you, figuring out a rhythm together.

Of course, it ends with her throwing her weight against you. And you answer it, like you have a million times before. Sense where her energy is going, choose to let your body move with it, a few measured steps back. Let her press you against the wall, hands like vices around your upper arms. Dive in to meet the silver lips as they close hard over your own.

And it’s all right. It’s safe. Not a word you ever thought you’d apply to Lady Argent, but this is a woman who doesn’t believe in shackles or strings. Maybe being chained hurts her as much as it always hurt you. And something ferocious is pulsing in your gut now, a conviction, a certainty that if there are strings on her you’ll shred them with your own hands. You’ll make that damned regenerator work if it’s the last thing you do. Put her life back in balance, end her war for control over her own life and flesh.

After all, she’s doing the same for you.

You’re not dancing alone anymore.

[sky-scribbles]

And another Sidestep portrait! Iris Malory, aka ‘I came out to smooch the beautiful silver lady and have a good time and I hope you’re all feeling so attacked right now.’

[sky-scribbles]

@frozenabattoir tagged me to do this picrew game for my OCs, tysm!! This was fun :D

1. Helen Shepard, my tired mum friend commander from Mass Effect

2. Kessany Kana, my Revan from KOTOR

3. Iris Malory, my angery puppetmaster step from Fallen Hero: Rebirth

4. Sophina Cousland, my canon Warden from Dragon Age: Origins

Tagging @norroendyrd, @theebonhawke, @wine-and-sangria-lyrium, @jaegerjaguar and @monty-s-joy if you wanna do this!

[sky-scribbles]

7, for all of your Sidesteps (and Zeth if he feels up to it c: )

Tysm for asking!! This should be interesting :’D

7. Realistically, could your OC (in their normal circumstances- i.e. at thier own house/battlecamp/spaceship etc.) keep a small child alive for a week if they had to?  A Dog?  A Houseplant? A rock with a  smiley face painted on?

Wren: I mean… they could. But they would be a frazzled wreck by the end. Tiny humans require so much supervision and Wren burns out very very fast. They want the small person to be okay and happy but even being a telepath they don’t understand how to make that happen - no, put that down, it’s an active nanovore colony not a glove oh god, they need more coffee -

Miles: The kids gets brought into Miles’ luxury villain lair and treated like a monarch. Miles will spend the entire day goofing around with the kid and not get tired.  He gets marks off because he cannot say no to them, do not let them have that much sugar you idiot. 

Iris: Finds the feeding and cleaning and stuff boring, but great at coming up with very active games. Will punch anyone who looks at the kid/dog the wrong way. Has an unfortunate tendency to let them do whatever they want with no supervision because ‘I’ll teach them to fight, they’ll be ok.’ 

Jalal: After panicking, he gets to work. By the end of a week the kid has they’ve binged-watched all of The Last Airbender, received five new knitted scarves, been taught how to look after plants and animals, and been hugged a lot. A day later, Chen gets asked how he feels about kids.

Zeth: Yes, and does so very responsibly. The only problem is that he tries to put an equal amount of effort into his Alliance work, which means the kid frequently slips away and runs wild across Odessen, and that Zeth has zero energy left by the end.

[sky-scribbles]

Argent: *breathes*

Iris, softly but with a lot of feeling: holy shit.

[sky-scribbles]

17 for all your Sidesteps? :^) But also, 9 for Sarai and Zeth?

17. How does your OC sabotage themselves?

Oh boy…

Wren: So much self-isolation. They have bone-deep conviction that they’ll never belong, so if they spend all their emotional energy trying to reach out, it’s pointless; they’ll only be be rejected. But of course, that’s just a vicious circle...

Miles: Impulsiveness. The kind that makes you become an entire villain because you’re lonely and want attention. Then to yeet yourself into dating a hero, and promptly realise there were much better ways to get emotional contact than becoming the scourge of Los Diablos, and your new hero boyfriend might not think highly of your life choices, and maybe you should have thought this through more.

Iris: Pushing people away. She’s terrified of being controlled again, and that makes her act constantly harsh and prickly and pretend she doesn’t need anyone or anything. Which leaves all of that trauma simmering away inside her, unaddressed, without anyone to help her process it. 

Jalal: Never thinking about the future. He’s just sort of assumed that the current messy state of affairs is permanent, so… why do anything to try and make it better? Why plan anything? Why not do things that make Ortega and Chen ridiculously suspicious of you, or recklessly reveal your [redacted] secret to people, or fire Mortum’s gun despite not knowing its capabilities? It’s not like things could get worse. (Spoiler: they do.)

9. What would cause your OC to chose to do something petty/pointlessly cruel?

Zeth: I mean, there was that one time he trapped a man in a Force stasis field that slowly stopped all his physical functions to the point of nearly killing him, because said man had just stabbed his boyfriend. That was hardly his finest hour.

Sarai: Probably some kind of personal betrayal. Sarai is rarely petty, because she’s very sensitive to pain and discord thanks to her particular Force abilities; hurting people is deeply uncomfortable for her (and also she’s just... a really sweet person.) But make her feel wounded and betrayed enough, and... well, it’s hardly like she can hurt herself more than the other person’s just hurt her, so she might as well say what she’s feeling, however spiteful.

(I have a feeling she might just have snapped at Atris and/or Revan, both of whom she had decent-sized crushes on once, after they let her down...)

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hello yes could i blease get some soft content for ur fallen hero children and also j'shana ;D

Always :D

- Wren has a really soothing voice when they read aloud. When Ricardo’s sick or just exhausted, he sometimes asks Wren to read to him. It doesn’t matter what, it’s the way they speak that’s comforting (especially because they’re so quiet most of the time and he loves hearing their voice.) They usually read out some passage of Shakespeare, because they’re a nerd, and the way they say it is so soft and rhythmic that he’s asleep in five minutes.

- Miles never bothered to bake anything until he tasted how amazing Herald’s homemade pancakes were. He’s now discovered a love of baking and frequently shows up to Ranger HQ with a box of cupcakes. (Argent approves.) 

- Iris loves stargazing! There’s something comforting to her about the patterns of the stars. (Perhaps because it reminds her that the only rules that can’t be broken are those made by nature; human structures, on the other hand, can be brought down). She will definitely take Argent on a stargazing date at some point.

- Jalal has a pet duck named Maisy. When he found her, she had a broken wing and was struggling to survive; despite his best efforts to help her, she still can’t fly, but she now refuses to leave his home. He moved to an apartment with a garden so he could make a little pond for her, and made her a harness so he can walk her around the city - often accompanied by Chen and Spoon. She and Spoon are best friends now.

- And finally, J’shana isn’t fond of the cold, but she does love watching snow fall. It’s mesmerising - so mesmerising that she occasionally feels an inexplicable urge to lick and/or chase the snowflakes. She’s also downright dangerous in snowball fights.

Tysm for asking!!!

[sky-scribbles]

10-12 for all three Sidesteps? :)

Aah, thanks so much for asking! And welcome to the fandom (pit)! :D

10.  Are they a leader or a follower?

Wren: they prefer to follow. Leadership is exhausting for them - so many lives and responsibilities to juggle. As Sidestep, they were 100% comfortable with being considered Ortega’s sidekick - why would they want to submit to the ordeal of being known when they had a much more qualified best friend (and sort-of boyfriend) right there?

That said… when they put the work in, they're a very skilled leader indeed. There’s a reason a lot of the underdogs of Los Diablos see Myriad as a rallying point. Of course, Wren would say that they’re just a theatre nerd and Myriad is a part they play. They’re not them in that armour, they’re in-character. But Myriad’s leadership skills didn’t come from nowhere…

Miles: leader. He doesn’t mind stepping back for close friends, but otherwise, he’d much rather be in the spotlight, getting people’s attention. He just loves the feeling that people are responding to his presence. And because he cares so much about the people he leads, he’s a very effective mob boss. He’d die for his crew in a second - but he’d much rather share a joke and a drink with them.

Iris: leader. After what happened with the Farm and Heartbreak, she will never be controlled again, so she takes control first. Of course, ‘leader’ implies that she trusts other people to work with her which… very, very rarely happens.

11. Are they more self-serving or more focused on others’ needs?

Wren: … well, their empathy score is 91%. Their opinion of themselves is much too low for them to pay attention to their own needs. (They’re going to get better, I promise.) 

Miles: he’s weird, frankly. His reasons for becoming Nexus are utterly selfish  - he’s terrorising a city so he can protect himself and feel real again. But when it comes to individuals, the friends he knows and loves, he stops caring about himself completely. He’ll take the most insane risks to protect them and make them happy.

Iris: she’s even weirder. For the most part she’s self-serving, because she puts up too many walls to have anyone who’s close enough for her to care about their needs. 

But… Iris is convinced that as a [redacted], she has to earn the respect and affection that everyone else gets as a matter of course. So if anyone gives her respect she doesn’t think she’s earned, she’ll fall over herself trying to pay them back. It’s not just because she hates being indebted to someone - though that’s part of it. It’s because the idea that someone would put in that effort, for her… it just touches her to the core. Breaks all her walls. And once Iris sees you that way, she’ll do anything for you. 

12. Do they prefer to solve things diplomatically or through violence?

Wren: diplomatically where they can - they’re better at reading people than at fighting anyway, and they really don’t like hurting anyone if there’s a choice. But they know there are some things - like the Farm - that will never yield to words. When faced with things like that, Wren will start a revolution first and talk later.

Miles: he’s pretty charismatic, so he’ll talk down his enemies when possible, if just to prove that he can. He’s a bit more punch-happy than Wren, but it’s rarely his first response to a situation.

Iris: again, she’s weird. Iris goes for whatever option is most likely to put her in control of a situation. Sometimes, that’s beating someone senseless so that they can’t threaten her - sometimes, it’s talking to them, getting a full read on the situation, scaring them or persuading them until they’re useful to her. 

Tysm again for asking! These kids are such utter disasters..

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3 for all of your sidesteps bc I highkey can't remember any of their villain names aaand 22! :D

Gladly! :D

3. What is their villain name? why did they choose it?

Wren: anwered in the last ask!

Miles: Nexus. He’s a little obsessed with wanting people to acknowledge him, admire him, care about his existence - because back in the Farm, no one ever did. In his Sidestep days, he basked in the positive emotions of his friends and the people he helped, riding the euphoria of how much they cared. But thanks to his Friendless scar, he’s convinced that’s impossible now - so he’ll make people care by being infamous. Feared. 

Being a villain is a way for him to connect with the world again. To stop being an island, and become a nexus.

Iris: Aftershock. She’s the catastrophe that strikes when everyone thought the danger was over. The chaos that’s unleashed when something broken adjusts to its new, fractured form.

22.  How do they feel about their telepathy? is it a gift? a curse?

Wren: they have bad days when it comes to their telepathy, days when the world’s too bright, too overwhelming, when their whole identity feels swamped by the mass of thoughts flooding in. But for the most part, they’re glad they have it. It’s a protective warning system. It’s way of gathering information - something that always makes them feel safer. And seeing how people’s minds work is a useful reminder that their own mind works pretty similarly. A reminder that they’re a person.

Miles: he used to love his telepathy. His powers tend strongly towards empathy, and he always loved feeling the warmth and the beautiful mess of people’s minds. But since Heartbreak, since his ability to connect with others was so badly damaged... now he’d willingly ditch his telepathy if he could. Anything to let him stop feeling the emptiness where all that warmth used to be.

Iris: to Iris, telepathy is a weapon and a shield. A way to keep herself protected, a way to take control before others can control her. And if the things she hears and feels hurt her - well, that’s her own fault, isn’t it? She should have had better shields. She should have been strong enough to not be hurt. 

Tysm for asking!! :D