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lothricknightgirl · 5 months ago

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Yo, Lancerblr

Figured I'd toss a few of these your way, grab some feedback. Haven't actually had a chance to play and stress test 'em yet, so I've got no clue how they'd fare in a combat situation, or if any of them are any good, really. Just threw together what I felt'd be neat in concept.

Even if this only gets one or two notes, I'm fine with that. Just felt like sharin'.

Personally, my favorite's split between Carrion Courier and Fog.

Beware, there are a LOT of words beneath the thing. Like, a-lot-a-lot-a-lot.

Here's Jane Doe, callsign Misnomer, with her mech Fog. She's a favorite, if you couldn't tell. Wanted for knowing a helluva lot more than she should and stealing a truly remarkable amount of prototype tech.

Mech Note:

"It's in the clouds! It's in the goddamn clouds!"

"Bank right, bank right, fuckfuckfuck FUCK-"

"I can't see, it's screaming, why is it so loud-"

"Sensors dead, I'm falling, shit, can't pull up!"

"Come into my parlor, said the crow to the spider to the fly."

» Jane Doe // MISNOMER « Spec Ops, LL9 [ SKILL TRIGGERS ] Act Unseen or Unheard (+6), Charm (+4), Get a Hold of Something (+2), Pull Rank (+2), Show Off (+2), Stay Cool (+6), Survive (+4) [ GEAR ] Light Hardsuit, Light Signature, Light A/C, Corrective, SSC Sylph Undersuit, Subjectivity-Enhancement Suite [ BOND ] THE BROKER Powers: SPIDER, CONTINGENCY PLANS, THE LEDGER

[ TALENTS ] Technophile 3, Hacker 2, Infiltrator 2, Ace 2, Skirmisher 2, Empath 1 [ LICENSES ] HORUS Goblin 2, HORUS Lich 1, IPS-N Caliban 3, SSC Dusk Wing 1, SSC Atlas 2 [ CORE BONUSES ] Kai Bioplating, Improved Armament, Mount Retrofitting [ MECH ] « FOG » IPS-N Caliban H:2 A:5 S:4 E:0 SIZE:0.5 STRUCTURE:4/4 HP:15/15 ARMOR:2 STRESS:4/4 HEAT:0/5 REPAIR:6/6 ATK BONUS:5 TECH ATK:2 LTD BONUS:0 SPD:5 EVA:13 EDEF:12 SENS:3 SAVE:16 [ WEAPONS ] INTEGRATED MOUNT: HHS-075 “Flayer” Shotgun FLEX MOUNT: Autopod / Thermal Pistol // Mount Retrofitting HEAVY MOUNT: HHS-155 CANNIBAL [ SYSTEMS ] Wandering Nightmare, Rapid Maneuver Jets, Neurospike, H0R_OS System Upgrade II, H0R_OS System Upgrade I

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And here we have Jane's former co-worker/war-buddy/mortal-enemy, John Blackacre, piloting the Carrion Courier. Spider-cowboy-mech. All the auxiliaries, all the close range brawl.

Mech Note:

"Okay, he's reloading, we can-"

SPANG-

"Okay, now he's reloading, get-"

SPANGSPANG-

"... Wait for it."

KERTHUNK, SCHERKERTHOOM-

"And he's reloaded. Fuck."

"How many of those things does he have?"

"... One, two, three-"

"Oh, christ."

» John Blackacre // SPUR « Spec Ops, LL9 [ SKILL TRIGGERS ] Act Unseen or Unheard (+4), Blow Something Up (+2), Charm (+2), Get Somewhere Quickly (+6), Read a Situation (+4), Stay Cool (+6), Word on the Street (+2) [ GEAR ] Assault Hardsuit, Archaic Melee, Light Signature, Smart Scope, Frag Grenades, Thermite Charge [ BOND ] THE WOLF Powers: GO FOR A WALK, BLOOD SCENT, POUNCE

[ TALENTS ] Gunslinger 3, Combined Arms 3, Exemplar 2, Tactician 2, Bonded 1, Grease Monkey 1 [ LICENSES ] IPS-N Raleigh 3, IPS-N Blackbeard 3, HA Iskander 1, HA Barbarossa 1, HA Genghis 1 [ CORE BONUSES ] Gyges Frame, Integrated Weapon, Mount Retrofitting [ MECH ] « CARRION COURIER » IPS-N Raleigh H:2 A:3 S:0 E:6 SIZE:1 STRUCTURE:4 HP:21 ARMOR:1 STRESS:4 HEAT:0 REPAIR:6 ATK BONUS:5 TECH ATK:-1 LTD BONUS:3 SPD:5 EVA:11 EDEF:7 SENS:10 SAVE:15 [ WEAPONS ] INTEGRATED MOUNT: M35 Mjolnir INTEGRATED WEAPON: Chain Axe / Hand Cannon // Mount Retrofitting AUX/AUX MOUNT: Hand Cannon / Stub Cannon FLEX MOUNT: Hand Cannon / Hand Cannon HEAVY MOUNT: Kinetic Hammer [ SYSTEMS ] “Roland” Chamber, Grounding Charges, “Roller” Directed Payload Charges, Reinforced Cabling, Personalizations

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And here we have Anne Queen, codename Wreken, former pirate warlord and currently freelance mercenary. Finds both Jane and John creepy as all get-out-of-fuck and yet enjoys scaring the shit out of grunts. Absolutely charming.

Mech Note:

Exerpt from training exercise no.55638, JUN-30, 0537, begin play::>>

"... Hey, where'd squad five go?"

The sergeant answers with another question. "Y'see that big red circle that just popped up on your map reticle, private?"

"...Yessir."

The old Tortuga's head nods and extends a hand, holding up five fingers, slowly putting them down one after the other.

On the final finger, thunder splits the skies in the distance, once, twice, thrice, and then with a final sundering THOOM, the circle disappears, along with the markers within it denoting the remains of squad 8.

"Oh."

The older mech crosses its arms. "Yes, private. Oh."

Out of the corner of his eye, his face lights up red, and he feels the color drain from it.

"We're in the circle, sergeant."

The sergeant nods, again. "Correct, private. Now, what we do in this situation?"

He doesn't even wait for the order. The circle was very, very, very big, and his Saladin's legs weren't the fastest.

» Anne Queen // WREKEN « Outlaw, LL9 [ SKILL TRIGGERS ] Act Unseen or Unheard (+2), Assault (+6), Blow Something Up (+6), Pull Rank (+2), Stay Cool (+4), Survive (+6) [ GEAR ] Light Hardsuit, Heavy Signature, Heavy A/C, Frag Grenades, Stims, Thermite Charge [ BOND ] THE TITAN Powers: TRUE GRIT, NOTHING TO FUCK WITH, ABSOLUTE MEAT

[ TALENTS ] House Guard 3, Siege Specialist 3, Heavy Gunner 3, Walking Armory 3 [ LICENSES ] HA Barbarossa 3, IPS-N Caliban 1, IPS-N Raleigh 2, IPS-N Drake 3 [ CORE BONUSES ] Integrated Ammo Feeds, Briareos Frame, Reinforced Frame [ MECH ] « WARSPITE » HA Barbarossa H:5 A:1 S:0 E:5 SIZE:3 STRUCTURE:4 HP:30 ARMOR:2 STRESS:4 HEAT:0 REPAIR:6 ATK BONUS:5 TECH ATK:-2 LTD BONUS:4 SPD:2 EVA:7 EDEF:6 SENS:10 SAVE:15 [ WEAPONS ] INTEGRATED MOUNT: Apocalypse Rail MAIN MOUNT: Mortar MAIN MOUNT: Mortar HEAVY MOUNT: Howitzer [ SYSTEMS ] Ammo Case III, External Ammo Feed, Autoloader Drone, “Roland” Chamber, Siege Stabilizers, Armament Redundancy

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This is Cal Dera, callsign Crepescule. Nothing about her is reminiscent of faint rays of sunlight, more akin to its boiling surface. She specializes in punching straight through the frontline and making herself a very large fucking problem for everybody involved behind it. Walk into her zone? Melt. Attempt to go around or leave it? Get shotgunned to death.

Mech Note:

The 'tech stares. "What the fuck."

His co-shift nods. "Yeah, that tends to be what people say when they see her for the first time."

"I can feel the fucking heat from here, and we're behind triple reinforced walls in a vacuum. It's not even on yet?"

The co-shift shakes his head. "Nope. Reactor's not even burning yet."

"How the hell does this thing work near civilian centers?"

The co-shift paused in his preparations before eventually offering two words. "It doesn't."

He felt his mouth dry. "Ah."

» Cal Dera // CREPESCULE « Freelancer, LL9 [ SKILL TRIGGERS ] Assault (+6), Blow Something Up (+2), Spot (+4), Take Control (+6), Threaten (+6), Word on the Street (+2) [ GEAR ] Assault Hardsuit, Medium Signature, Heavy A/C, Thermite Charge, Personal Drone, Stims [ BOND ] THE PATHFINDER Powers: FREESOUL, LIGHTSPEED, MOMENTUM

[ TALENTS ] Ace 3, Vanguard 3, Nuclear Cavalier 2, Spaceborn 2, Pankrati 2 [ LICENSES ] HA Genghis 3, IPS-N Blackbeard 3, IPS-N Nelson 2, IPS-N Tortuga 1 [ CORE BONUSES ] Superior by Design, Reinforced Frame, Sloped Plating [ MECH ] « BEHEMOTH » HA “Worldkiller” Genghis Mk I H:3 A:0 S:2 E:6 SIZE:2 STRUCTURE:4 HP:22 ARMOR:4 STRESS:4 HEAT:0 REPAIR:5 ATK BONUS:5 TECH ATK:0 LTD BONUS:3 SPD:3 EVA:6 EDEF:10 SENS:5 SAVE:15 [ WEAPONS ] MAIN MOUNT: SUPERHEAVY WEAPON BRACING MAIN MOUNT: Deck-Sweeper Automatic Shotgun HEAVY MOUNT: Plasma Thrower [ SYSTEMS ] Spaceborn EVA, Explosive Vents, Auto-Cooler, AGNI-Class NHP, Reinforced Cabling, Siege Ram

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And since this is already quite fucking long, I think I'm going to stop here and leave whoever's willing to read through this word-vomit-spaghetti to chew through it.

Ciao, all. Let me know if any of these sound feasible, if you want.

#lancer #lancer rpg #mecha #mechs #lancer ttrpg #bis rants

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vole-mon-amour · 2 years ago

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2x05, part 2.

Kaz is like, "Do I look like a person who's gonna do any of your nonsense?" And with those bruises, lmaooo. "My husband" what a sigh your 'husband' is, lmaooo. Again, she's the the only one who can pull that off. They can kinda flirt and are borderline romantic, but in reality they're such platonic pals. <3 I adore their relationship in the book.

WHEEZING. Only she can pull that off without punished for that, lmaoooo. I love how different her relationships are with Kaz and Inej. Inej is all sweet and can sleep with her head on Nina's shoulder. That's the partner she needs, not Kaz. Nina, however, can troll him as much as she wants, and will still stay out of his league. She's simply more powerful than he is and isn't intimidated by him even one bit.

I don't think Nina understands how hard this is for him. It's so rare for anyone to see the bare skin of his hands. I fully expected him to do what he is asked of without taking his gloves off. This is a very important moment. Such a rare sight. It feels weird, even, to see his hands with the gloves off.

It's like it's not even him.

Darling, put the gloves back on. :( My heart aches for him. They think it's all a joke until it's not. My question is, though, why didn't she try to slow his heartbeat? I don't remember anything about this in the book, unfortunately. She just felt how bad it was for him and maybe could've helped. But idk, if he's having trouble breathing, then the slowing his heartbeat would probably not help.

This is where I thought he'd fall into the water tbh. Bumping into so many people, with his hands bare, which also amplifies a panic attack. I'm glad Inej understood she needs to IMMEDIATELY back off. If they push that "I'll have you without your armor" bullshit, I'm gonna be very mad.

And for that moment, he's in a pile of corpses. He's five years old. Jordie is dead. He's alone in this world. He uses Jordie's corpse to stay afloat. And my heart breaks for him yet again.

Him sharing food with Jesper and Nina is so cute. Foodies. <3 I like their friendship.

Sharing those glances, that bond once again. <3 Kaz even shares a smile/a scowl with him. Jesper doesn't care. He'll endure whatever Kaz throws at him and still be so chill about it. "Now to the real talk, okie dockie?" And Kaz starts talking. Love it.

That's what I'm talking about. Wylan looks so unnatural. Baby, can you snap out of it please? On the other hand, maybe I should reread the book first before saying this. I don't remember if he's on the specter in any way. If he is, it's understandable. If he isn't, I'd love for him to be more alive and have more personality and be a valuable member of the Crows, like in CK.

WRONG. Big wrong. Oh, the book... What he felt for her, how he loved her. Matthias deserved better. ;_;

!!!

Nooo wayy??? That is truly something new. Get his ass!!

That's brutal. I don't wanna go there. I'm not ready. :(

The moment when Nikolai gives Alina his compass was nice. I remember from what I've read that they've become really good friends. I actually like seeing it in the show. I liked seeing this side of him, and it feels like they've cast a proper actor to play him? But i don't know much about him, so it's not up for me to decide. He's still good though, imo. The emerald though. It's for Zoya, isn't it? Don't remember how they end up there, but yeah.

That talk between Wylan and Jesper at the end. "Because it's not a blessing, it's a curse! And you have no idea what it's cost me." They did a lot of things about them wrong, but those words and encounters they have at their cores, both of them, had to be included. And I'm glad that they are.

Holy shit. So it IS in this episode. Jordie pulling him out, then drowning him back. It's 11 pm, I woke up at 6, how am I supposed to sleep now??? My goodness, I was waiting for this scene. Gifs!! I NEED GIFS!!!

#ninej #kaz brekker #nina zenik #kazper #wylan van eck #alina starkov #inej ghafa #sabn #natiswatching #nikolai lantsov

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restless-sea-art · 8 months ago

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Armored core 6 has basically taken over my brain like an infectious parasite or ameboid of some sorts so I’ve went down the rabbit hole of fanfiction and fanart, which has in turn inspired me to write my own head canons down, and one replay of armored core 4/4A and well….

Anyways here’s how I imagine a few the corporations/pilots from 4 would work in 6’s timeline. Some info is implying a Liberator ending as I plan on using these in a post liberator fanfic

THE EARTH SPHERE CORPORATIONS

These companies are all old money, pioneers of core theory With their developments in the field of AC research, and in turn helping propel humanity out into interstellar colonization. While no longer being the only fish in the pond they still command respect from earths governments and

Global Armaments

Global armaments is a house in decline, having already been on the back foot in the wars that ravaged earth, they were slow to make the jump into extraplanetary exploration. Things not being helped by whatever market niche they could carve being overtaken by the Balam group. Nevertheless, many a mercenary in the earth sphere take a shine to their AC designs, finding them a nice compromise between the Dafeng and Balam design philosophies. They maintain colonies in orbit of mars, the home planet of one of their top pilots Unite Mons.

Rayleonard

A company that’s always been at the forefront of AC development, they maintain colonies in orbit of earths moon where they act as a nation in and of themselves, leaving their earth activities to their subsidiary Akvavit. Rumors say that they had a massive share in the rubicon research institute and have the biggest off planet stockpile of coral though many investigations from earth sphere officials and the PCA have found no truth to these claims.

Bernard Felix Foundation

BFF is a corporation with close ties to the earth government, lending its top minds to the development of advanced MT’s like the PCA LC/HC lines. BFF was initially an aerospace engineering firm, spearheading humanities colonization of the stars with its research. It now commands a series of colonies in the asteroid belt between mars and Jupiter, and is ruled by an aristocracy stationed out of earth itself. The general culture of which models itself off of the Knights of old, befitting the groups roots in Europe.

PILOTS

Joshua O’Brian

AC: White glint

A mercenary in association with the organization Collared, though not an association he’d like to have, Joshua is an ace among aces, only being rivaled by Anatolia’s mercenary. His interest has turned to rubicon after Balam and Arquebus’ retreat from the planet, seeing the newly formed rubiconian government as a potential client.

Anatolias’s mercenary

AC: Thinker

Callsign: Crow

An old soldier, having fought many battlefields since as long as they can remember. Their past is shrouded in mystery, with a select few knowing who they truly are. They fight to support their home of new Anatolia, a small mining colony in an O’Neil cylinder that, after the resource they mined dried up, could no longer support itself. Comes to rubicon after word of a mercenary known as raven having played a pivotal part in the conflict

#armored core #ac4a #ac6

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kivaember · 9 months ago

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Not sure if you play any other FromSoft games, but who would be hanging out with who? If they weren’t trying to fight and kill each other on sight that is. I’d imagine Raven would be with the tarnished (only really played ER and Bloodborne 😓) and Rusty with Blaidd since they’re both wolf motifs (one more literal than the other).

me getting round to this ask after a million years... the only other fromsoft games i've played and completed are armored core 6 and bloodborne LMAO

i have played elden ring but i kept getting distracted in the big open world, so i've never actually finished it... i definitely ran into blaidd though, and i feel rusty and he would jive over how committed they are to their duties... rusty to rubicon and blaidd to ranni.

621 would be trying to tame those horrible crow/ravens with the blades strapped to their legs LMAO

#armored core ramblings #man i should replay bloodborne again #i really enjoyed that game #being such a furry and monsterfucker #cleric beast....

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rin-yellow · 1 year ago

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ngl I was scrolling thru AC6 posts earlier and I forgot I wasn’t doing that right now. I actually haven’t played AC6 yet because my broke ass is waiting for it to go on sale, but I’ve played the older games casually waaay back and so I deadass thought for ten whole seconds that “Crows” were some new thing introduced in Armored Core 6 instead of y’know.

The bird.

unpopular opinion but crows are just lesser ravens. Ravens are are bigger fluffier, and can do more aerial tricks.

I will not waver.

#armored core #birds #crows #ravens #In spite of being that mecha friend around like three different friendgroups #I actually think I might know less about AC than like any given Soulsbourne friend #Or at least AC6 #I know enough about the older games but by that I mean mostly just #Cool robot designs lol #Oh and I remember that one pilot Bilbo or whatever her name was #She was lame but I liked her character description #And her vomit green mech #Idk where I was going with this #OH also I remember the painball guy who looks like Guel's mech or smth #idk #I apologize to all AC fans for this

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space-city-traffic · 3 years ago

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yet again im back on my bullshit so... (gazes with mixed feelings at the TV show Firefly) i could fix him.

my extremely long thoughts about my Own Personal Good Version of Firefly (with plenty of spoilers for the show and the movie) under the cut:

things that are getting axed first thing no question:

out with the whole “let’s add in a thin veneer of Chinese cultural aesthetics out of context for ~flavor~” deal. just no.

instead, let’s hire some actors from a bunch of different cultures and work with them to figure out how their characters would bring those cultures into space with them!! and also hopefully bring some experiences with immigration/alienation/travel into it, since the Whole Core of Firefly is about how humanity always brings our doomed and silly and stubborn and unique warmth with us even into the cold void where nothing is familiar or homey in the slightest.

let’s respect our sex worker character shall we?

i do appreciate that Inara’s work as a companion is described as legitimate and well respected in the show. however please stop having your captain and hero call her a wh*re every five seconds against her clearly expressed wishes and portraying this as just a totally acceptable thing

let’s be more respectful of our characters of color and also have some more diversity, shall we?

others have put it better than me but yeah, the way Zoe and Book are treated is very uncomfy, and the rest of the show is depressingly monochromatic. come on let’s do better.

stop the weird confederacy hat tips

again others have pointed these out with much more thoroughness than I could, but the names of some characters and locations, as well as some of the language used to describe the browncoats, has uncomfortably confederate vibes. instead i propose we very Clearly tip our hats to the Alliance equaling space capitalism instead! you can’t go wrong with space capitalism as a villain.

don’t! make! the! psychotic! character! violent!

listen i love River Tam with my whole heart. but you should absolutely not portray your only character with psychosis as violent because of that psychosis!!!!!!! and yeah, a huge part of her character is that her brain got fucked up by the alliance and so she hallucinates and is also a super ninja. but like. she doesn’t need to be a super ninja for her character to work, okay? the crew does not need to be scared of her for her character to work, okay??? more on this later bc it would take a lot of care and nuance to make her character work but i really think it can be done

things we are absolutely keeping:

found family tropes my fucking beloved

this should be self evident. this is why the show is as appealing as it is despite its flaws, at least in my eyes.

malcolm reynolds, the knight in dusty armor

there’s something so appealing to me about what Mal stands for. because at his core is this ridiculous, silly, stubborn, doomed devotion to what he thinks is important and right, a romantic idealism thinly covered by cynical cowboy platitudes that he thinks make his bleeding heart totally invisible. and he is so obvious and entirely incorrect. bless. this is a man who will do anything for his family, who charges into swordfights to defend his friend from a man who wants to turn her into an object despite having no clue how to hold a sword. at his worst, he starts brawls in bars just for the martyr’s thrill of being persecuted for supporting the right; at his best, he inspires downright religious belief from his crew because he represents a romantic and chivalrous and doomed dedication to the right thing over any practical concerns. and then he throws a “selfish” quip over it with 100% confidence that everyone fell for his clever distraction and believes him to be a dirtbag. he’s oblivious and ridiculous and god he makes me want to be a better person because he’s just so goddamned sincere. stupid, but sincere. 10/10 himbo. <3

Mal and Inara ultraslowburn friends to enemies to friends to lovers to enemies to friends to lovers to friends to...

there’s nothing i love more than a ship that’s just two people who know each other way too well, and they’re each the only one who knows the other well enough to call them out on their bullshit. the way Mal and Inara interact in the show sometimes makes me uncomfy but like. the core of their relationship has to stay.

space western aesthetic

i need the cows on a spaceship scene to stay like i need air okay

that sweet sweet religious shit

mal, who lost his faith in gd and a whole lot else during the war. who lost his faith in himself, and now feels he has to hide the part of him that still wants to be good, because he knows he can’t be anymore, and he feels like it’s embarrassing for a guy like him to want something so unattainable. who takes a preacher on board, and the preacher has lost something, too. the preacher has his own past, and his own questions. but not questions like the observant neurodivergent girl, the one who wants to interact with and understand this thing that’s so important to him, but it just doesn’t click with how her brain works and she feels like something needs to be fixed, either the Bible or herself. and Mal takes care of them all, and slowly, he begins to find gd again, not in a prayer but in humanity. humanity doesn’t need to be fixed, like the alliance thinks. the shining imperfect strawberry sweetness of it in his family’s smiles is something to be worshiped and served and devoted to. and he finds he has something to believe in again. (and his crew find that he’s given them someone to believe in, too. and maybe suddenly he’s a saint.)

and finally, my brilliant ideas as to what i would like to add:

TRANS WOMAN KAYLEE RIGHTS

listen her femininity is so important to me okay? it’s so thrilled about everything that’s pretty, from dresses to the spaceship’s electric innards, and it’s so non-traditional and grease stained until it’s not and it’s pink and ruffly and twirly, and she never sees any of it as a contradiction, because none of it contradicts, it’s all just her! her gender is warmth and love and prettiness, feeling pretty and appreciating the pretty and making her friends�� days pretty too.

i want us to find out she’s trans in that episode with the ball, and i want us to find out alongside Mal who just never asked or never realized. Kaylee gasps and squeals at the dress in the shop window and Mal makes an off handed, ill considered comment, and then... someone yanks him aside and hisses a few very significant words in his ear. and suddenly he remembers what the blue white and pink she painted all over the engine room means, and he knows he has something to make right. so he buys her that dress himself and lets her know just how pretty she looks, and when he walks into that ball with her displayed on his arm like something precious, he looks the proudest out of any man there. and she notices. for a few seconds, of course, until there’s chocolate, and ‘nara, and a chandelier—and some horrible girls, but she’s used to that, until—suddenly, she finds her people. a group of old men who light up when she jokes about compression coils and whack presumptuous boys who ask her to dance. they adopt her as a treasured granddaughter, and Mal is beaming at her like a proud dad, and she finds that one of her new elderly friends gazes a little too long at her bracelet, and so she gives it to xem and teaches xem a few new words, and... it’s a good day, huh? it’s a really good day. (of course, then the captain has to go and punch somebody in the face, but it was a real nice party up until then.)

also she and Simon are both transhet t4t im correct and you know it

time for a better River Tam

the first thing we’ve established is that this version of her is not unpredictably violent and the crew is not scared of her!!!! it makes no sense to take a kid who’s primarily brilliant, experiment on her brain, give her telepathic powers....... and tack on the fact that she also has super strength and speed and dexterity and what not, AND say that they programmed her to be super violent. no! no. not only is that extremely harmful rep, that’s also just stupid.

instead!! my version of River is in fact not terrifying to the crew, but is actually the one they feel safest around. River has always been totally blunt, she was one of those kids you could tell realllllly early was autistic, and she doesn’t like being disengenous at all. so you can always trust her to tell the truth and not play weird passive aggressive games or have any hidden agenda, which makes her just a really chill person to be around. also, one of her longtime special interests is music and dance, so whether or not she’s nonverbal on a given day, there will always be some sort of beautiful sound when she’s around. she does have the singing voice of a dying crow unfortunately but that’s ok bc Simon’s is even worse and they’re both incredibly competitive so you’ll at least get free entertainment out of the affair.

my version of River does have psychosis and hallucinations because of the trauma of the experiments, and they are really troubling to her. she and Simon work together to find ways to cope and meds that help, and it’s a process, but there are some things that help.

the only thing she gained from the academy was the ability to hear people’s thoughts and sense the future a little bit. and yeah, that led to her picking up a few spooky secrets at the beginning, which, yikes. and for a while, it was hard to figure out which voices were real and which were hallucinations. but around her friends, she always feels safe to ask “did you just think about triple cheese burritos or was that just a me thing?”, and they’ll always tell her the truth no matter how embarrassing their thoughts are, bc it’s important to all of them to respect her and help her sort accurately through what’s reality and what’s not. and bit by bit, she gets better and better at figuring out what kinds of things tend to be telepathy and what kinds of things tend to be psychosis, and that each one feels a little different. and because of the trust and respect and support of her found family she’s able to do that in a safe environment!!!

trans man Simon rights

listen i wanted to keep him as just a side note on Kaylee’s list but he is my son and he’s important to my heart so here goes

out on the outer rim where Kaylee’s from, gender ain’t much of a big deal, there’s an individualistic quality to life out there, and so if the trail you blaze is the trail of a woman or a man or neither or both, that’s respected even in the rare cases where it’s not outright encouraged. but in the inner planets, where competition and connections and public faces and family names are everything, you have to be what’s expected of you to survive. you can’t change your brand, you can’t be anything other than what your family planned for you since before you were born, it’s incredibly hard to survive in such a hyper competitive environment, and so your very identity becomes just a tool in how to market yourself for better success.

needless to say Simon (just as autistic as his little sister and also very trans) fuckin hated it there. but he was very good at it. correction: he was very good at his very specific field of STEM, good enough to where people stopped talking about how cute he looked in bows and started talking about how impressive his work was from a very young age. and his work had no gender. he could be whatever he wanted to in equations. so that was where he could express himself, and gd, he got so much praise for it, he never wanted to stop.

not until he discovered that his sister needed him, and ran away, and needed a disguise, and realized... suddenly, every stifling rule and prying eye was a million miles away. he was freefloating, freefalling, with none of the charted paths he’d been following all his life... so you know what? fuck it. he’s always enjoyed the name Simon. and since it’s not on any legal records, it’ll make him just that much more untraceable.

and on Serenity, starting over with new people who never knew him before his transition feels like an unbelievable blessing that just dropped right into his lap. he has to keep up the secrecy, he has to make sure they never find out who he used to be, because gd, it’s so nice when they look at him and say his name right, and he doesn’t know if he can handle losing that, not when it’s so new and so important to the person he’s finally becoming. but then one day, the unthinkable happens, the wanted posters for his arrest have an old name on them, they’re looking for the Tam sisters, and... nothing changes. the crew of Serenity could not give even a tenth of a percent of a fuck, and it doesn’t seem like they even know they’re supposed to. huh. that’s new. Simon could get used to that, he thinks.

i’m sure there’s more i could add, but it’s 4:30 in the morning now, so if more occurs to me, ill simply add it in a reblog tomorrow. if you’ve read down this far, i am in love with you. please let me know your Better Firefly ideas, too, bc im always down to yell about this show!!!

#firefly #Serenity #in which i choke out joss whedon with my bare hands and rescue his characters and give them better homes #ollies fix it series #malcolm reynolds #ollies personal good firefly canon

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stealing-jasons-job · 4 years ago

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💫 FAKE PRETEND RELATIONSHIP BC THEY'RE IDIOTS IN LOVE AND I ADORE THEM A LOT 😭😭

COMING RIGHT UP, QUEEN.

***

Kaz is going to regret this.

He walks into the ballroom with Inej’s gloved hand resting in the crook of his elbow, his crow’s head cane replaced with a standard one that would draw less attention.

Get past security. Break into the servant’s quarters. Have Inej scale the servant’s elevator shaft up to Druiminn’s office while Kaz lets the others in through the window. Nina and Matthias would create a diversion to distract the guards, allowing Inej to escape. Wylan and Jesper would be waiting to drive them away in a valet carriage outside.

They just had to get past security. Together. While pretending to be a giddy couple madly in love.

Inej had been opposed to the idea initially. But her desire to find information on Druiminn’s trafficking operations had won out against her pride. Or maybe it was her disgust. He couldn't tell these days.

“No.”

“I don’t recall asking for an opinion,” Kaz responded, not looking up from the layout of the mansion.

“I’m not giving an opinion. I’m telling you no.” He ran a gloved hand over his face. Only Inej could get away with such a statement, and she damn well knew it.

“It’s the only way we’re going to get past security to let the others in.”

“Then send Matthias and Nina.”

“Last I checked, neither of them can scale an elevator shaft or pick a lock in under 60 seconds. Think logically, Inej.”

“I am thinking logically,” she retorted. “And logically, we won’t be successful if we use this ruse.”

He studied her then — the set to her jaw, the way her hands sat stubbornly on her hips, the fire dancing behind her eyes. She’d been an entirely new person since she began her hunt for the traffickers that plagued The True Sea. He missed his Wraith more than he was willing to admit, but there was something equally captivating about the woman she’d become.

Kaz pushed aside the harsh whisper in the back of his mind reminding him that she was clearly better off without him in her life.

“Do you have so little faith in your ability to pretend to love a demon like me?” he said quietly, standing up and crossing the room so that they were only a breath apart.

He expected her to scoff at him, or perhaps fire back a sarcastic response about his own acting abilities.

But she surprised him instead when she reached a hand out to rest against his chest. He closed his eyes at the contact. There was the fabric of his vest between her skin and his own, but he could feel her warmth seep through to his very core. He yearned for it to consume him.

“I’m more concerned with my ability to pretend not to once the ruse is over.”

He sucked in a breath at the boldness in her admission. But when he opened his eyes, she was gone. Out the window as if carried by the wind.

In the end, she’d agreed and Kaz had felt vindicated.

But now that she stands beside him — dressed in a deep green silk dress that covers the daggers he knows are strapped to her thigh, her long hair flowing uncharacteristically free behind her, he’s beginning to think she was right.

The first hour of the evening goes off without a hitch. They make idle small talk with other partygoers and dance when the band plays

He holds her hand more than is strictly necessary, equally grateful and despising of her elbow-length silk gloves and his black leather ones. Over the past months, his desire to feel her skin against his has started to encroach on his repulsion of being touched. He’s awoken in the middle of the night, images of her lips against his cheek, his hand at her back lingering in his mind.

Kaz tries his best to push those thoughts from his mind as they make their way to the side of the ballroom. He has a job to do, a mission to complete. His unrealistic fantasies would have to wait for his dreams.

Even if he could have Inej, she deserves much better than the bastard of the barrel. She may have changed, but he has not. Not enough. Never enough.

In his distracted state, he doesn’t register the guards headed for them. But Inej does. She pulls him quickly around the corner, pushing him against the wall. The move itself is so surprising, his body doesn’t even react to her nearness.

“You wanted this to be the ruse, so now it’s time to put it to the test. Kiss me, Kaz Brekker.”

“What in Saint’s name—” But he’s cut off with her hands on his lapels and pulling him down to her. Her lips touch his, and sensation explodes like one of Wylan’s demolition sticks beneath his skin.

He expects to feel that familiar overwhelming need to pull away. He expects a wave of nausea to consume him at the contact. But instead, he feels an inextricable want to draw her closer. He wants to hold her against him. He wants to never let her go. He wants. He wants. He wants.

One of his arms wraps around her while one of his gloved hands cups her cheek, his cane forgotten as it clatters to the floor. He has half a mind to spin so that he can press even closer. But before he can move, a harsh cough sounds nearby.

Inej pulls away, an uncharacteristically ditzy smile plastered on her face. “So sorry, officers,” she croons. “Just got carried away with the music and the wine.” Woman must have been taking lessons from Nina in her spare time.

“Back to the main ballroom, both of you,” the guard cautions, pointing back around the corner to the crowd. She nods quickly, and both men continue on their patrol as if they’d never seen the two of them.

Kaz is stunned silent the entire exchange, eyes wide and fixated on Inej. Their exchange seems to not have phased her, and she smoothes out his lapels and picks up his cane.

“If only I had known how easy it was to shut you up,” she comments, a smirk pulling up one corner of her mouth. Her tease riles him into action, and he straightens himself. His hand reaches out to grab her arm as she passes in the opposite direction from the guard’s instruction.

“Inej...”

“Without armor, Kaz Brekker,” she says, her silk-clad hand tapping his own. “Until then, we have a job to do.”

She walks away in the opposite direction from the guard’s instruction, and he’s left standing there wondering when he’ll finally muster the courage to stop letting her go.

#kanej #six of crows #grishaverse #grisha wine club #drabble #well longer than a drabble bc I don't have self control #madison writes things #foreverandalwayscrysis

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crowcryptid · 1 year ago

Text

minor skill issue is beginning to show

broke irl and in game </3

#ok ok.. things are beginning to heat up a little. i had to switch my weapons for the first time #i hate stealth enemies and it shows. pls tell me those bitches dont pop up a lot #i have only been buying weapons i havent bought a single body part #is that going to bite me in the ass? probably #i feel like the auto aim is fucking me over when youre in the lock on to one enemy view #also yes ive learned do not fucking touch the right stick 99% of the time. just let it do its own thing. picked up on that real fast lol #um idk if i will be posting much but ill make a take just in case #crow plays armored core #< for blacklist

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ageofwonders · 3 months ago

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Yeh yeh ^-^ Uh I've put screenshot + text transcriptions under the cut for each of them. Felicia has an extra theme listed because she lost the personality themebook and got a adaptation theme that I never got to fully fill out </3

ADELINE(Borderliner):

Defining Relationship: "Doomed" Guide I hope one day you'll tell me why you care… +A:Why is this relationship so important to you? Actively Looks Out for Me +E:When you call for help, who will aid you? Man Who's Been Through Worse +F:What gift, heirloom, tool, etc., did they give you? Pocket Knife -C:Who or what else is vying for their attention or time? Unsavory Friends

Destiny: Abandon All Hope Why am I to bear this role? +A:What is most useful about your destiny? Recieves Divine Knowledge +F:Who or what helped you manifest your destiny? That Who I Loved +H:How can you direct your destiny or part of it to someone else? What Comes After -D:What evil is drawn to you because of your destiny? The Dead & Damned

Personality: I'm doing something important, leave me alone. +A:What lies at the core of your personality? Want of Control +J:How do you strive to improve yourself? Try to Appear Normal +E:What special skill or talent did you pursue because of your personality? Lingustics Student +I:What typically interests you? People Watching -B:What sort of people or conditions make your personality less effective? Social Butterflies -C:What aspects of your appearance, style, or physique can get in the way? Pain Behind The Eyes

Bastion: God's Word Who is supposed to guide me to salvation? +A:What quality or ability granted by your mythos most often protects you? Divine Authority +H:Who or what were your powers meant to protect? God-Sent Journey +E:How can you use your defense actively? Shine Blindingly -C:To what attacks is your defense susceptible? Pure Physical Prowess

FELICIA(Borderliner -> Legendary):

Defining Event: Money Down The Drain I couldn't do anything to stop it. +A: What kind of strong emotion did your defining event leave you with? Resigned Peace +B: What part of your old self, while deeply changed, still serves you? Care of Loved Ones +H: What approach to life did you adopt following your defining event? "Play the Cards I'm Given" -B: Following your defining event, what responsibility or social burdens do you have to shoulder? Financial Debt

Personality: I Don't Get Paid for This I act my wage. +A: What lies at the core of your personality? Doing the Bare Minimum +C: What interpersonal skills do you have thanks to your personality? Bullshit Detector +F: What aspect of your personality helps keep you safe or helps you resist influence? Stay out of others Business -A: What happens when you let yourself go too far? Ignore Responsibilities

Familiar: 3 Birds, No Stone Why do the crows hound certain people? +A: What is your familiars main trait, ability, or power? Warn of Ones Doom +F: Which acute or supernatural senses does your familiar have? Know Someone's Fate +B: What other natural weapon or defense does your familiar possess? Persistent Wings -A: In what way does your familiar get in the way? Random Bird Attack?

Expression: Wash Armor Before the Blood How can I know who will win? +A: What is the most common way you use your mythos to affect the world? Give Battle Strength +B: What useful reverse effect can you exert? Strike Fear Unto Foes +E: Against what targets are your expression powers more effective? Easily Riled Up -D: What are the repercussions of bringing your mythos into the world? Bathed in Blood

Adaptation: Sovereignty Withheld What will make me go too far? +A: What mythos power allows you to respond differently to every situation? Phantom Shapeshifter +G: What attitude or emotion lies at the core of your adaptive powers? Pure Bloodlust -C: What hinders your mythos or limits it's capabilities? Hard to Conceal

VESTER(Touched):

Defining Relationship: Dante ALigheri???????? (Her Name is Adeline) I'm not letting you do anything brash on my watch. +A: Why is this relationship so important to you? Better Moral Compass +C: What were you forced to learn because of this relationship? Take Care of Others +J: Where do you spend time together? College Library -C: Who or what else is vying for their attention or time? Angel from Above

Possessions: Tools of the Trade I'm just keeping these out of worse hands! +A: What is the most important thing in your possession? Knifes and Lighters +B: How would you describe your possessions in general? Stolen Goods +E: What kind of stunts or moves do you typically do with your possessions? Flashy Knife Trick -B: What bad habits or traits related to your possessions do you display? Kleptomania

Defining Event: Jail :( If I get caught again, it's over. +A: What strong emotion did your defining event leave you with? Need to Stay Strong +F: What skill or mundane ability did you pick up during or due to your defining event? Light Sleeper +G: What knowledge did you gain access to thanks to your defining event? Criminal Operations -D: What is now broken within you, physically or mentally, due to your defining event? My Bad Leg

Relic: Minoan Leather-Bound Book What will the book ask from me in return? +A: What is the main useful feature or part of your relic? Helps Grant Wishes +D: What cosmetic attributes does your relic possess? Regal Finish +H: What have you learned from your relic? Write the Rules -A: What is the most troublesome shortcoming of your relic? Too Pretty to Use

omg hiiii another city of mist blogger!! do you have tags or posts about your characters that I can read 🥺

hai hai haiiiiii :3 i heart the narrative and its consequences

Uhh right neow I have like two main tags for characters that I've like. Actually played

Felicia is my lil meow meow whose campaign died but also if I don't use her for something in the next 5 months I am going to blow up. Rift of The Morrigan(Irish goddess(es?) of war and fate) who works at a liquor store and wishes the economy didn't suck

Adeline sucks and I hate her /j Uh she is the rift of Dante Aligheri's Divine Comedy(the inferno purgatario and paradisio), a linguistics major who needs catholic god to get her to go touch grass. She has one older brother(Sven) who has had his lore change so much since I first made him but he's normal around other people and will get Adeline to eat a vegetable :)

However recently I have come up with a third. Sibling who also sucks so so bad. His name is Vester(Sylvester) and uh basically Sven used to be a rift of King Minos but then he turned into a different character so I took those traits and. Put them onto the Vesterrrrr. He's a kleptomaniac who will steal your knives and lighters and also he has a magic book that he can ask for wishes from(meant to represent the bull that was a gift from poseidon to prove that minos was rightful ruler). He needs glasses really really bad but doesn't wanna wear them because he'll look like a nerd and he's not a nerd he's gone to jail!!!!!1!!

I have like. 15 other lil guys who are desperately rattling aroudn in my head and I wanna get them out so bad but also introducing characters scary :( One day I shall let Carol be real

#you can really tell that felicia was. my first time putting together a character sheet while vester is the latest #like wtf was that identity for personality. the title is a better defined identity than that #honestly when/if i get to play felicia again i'm divided between rewriting that theme or just. starting as legendary and going from there #i tend to like playing characters that are either support/investigative types or 'capable of fucking around AND finding out'#who are built so I can take insane left field actions and probably survive #you can also probably tell i like to use. slightly weirder/obscure part of the mythos to start with and then get. more obvious #or at least that's the case with vester cause his one mythos theme is based entirely on pre minotaur king minos #who due to some lack of clear heir went to posiedon for help becoming king and posiedon went #alright heres a very shiny bull that will convince everyone to crown you ruler but you MUST sacrifice the bull in my honor afterwards ok #and then minos didn't do that #but vester hasn't gotten any consequences for using a book made from the hide of said bull so far #also also i think between the three here adeline is the only one who. would care about the mythos as like. figuring out the legend/story #vester is stupid and felicia would just go 'idk what to do with this information though'#good god I have done so much thinking on. the topic of mythoi and the ways various rifts would manifest or percieve their powers #anyways blasts you with my psychic energy beam

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clevercxs · 4 years ago

Text

Believer - Sigefrid Thurgilson [Ch 1]

[MORE CHAPTERS]

Pairing: Sigefrid Thurgilson x female oc

Word Count: 6.2k *Ongoing series*

_______________________________________________

The Outskirts of Lunden

An unusually frigid night had fallen upon the land. Such darkness was disorienting as woodland creatures and wandering shadows seemed to play tricks on the young warrior’s eyes. Though her ears had become sharper, her mind was weary and riddled with paranoia. Every snap of a twig was perceived as a threat, even if it was only a deer or raccoon waking from its slumber to watch the Western-Saxons pass by.

The full moon, in all its glory, shined through the trees and cast an ethereal light upon the worn path she and her men travelled along; one interlaced with overgrown roots, decaying wildflowers, and fallen leaves that crunched beneath her steed’s hooves.

The descending blackness stirred a sense of claustrophobia within her, even though the forest stretched for miles and those traveling with her were not far behind. Nonetheless, she couldn’t help but feel alone; vulnerable, even, though not without the reminder of the heavy blade draped across her back.

A chilling breeze tore through her layers of cloth and chainmail armor, causing her core to contract and stiffen. Her tousled, unruly hair fell loose around her shoulders, whipping back in accordance to the harsh wind she faced head on. It was the type of coldness that seeped through her bones as if her skin were a door left wide open during a snowstorm. She knew, no matter how uncomfortable she felt, that they had to keep moving; keep pushing onwards and upwards north where her destination and the comforting thought of fire surely awaited her.

Her travels had not been easy thus far; even with torch light and enough supplies it was a journey only made under the greatest of needs. She knew the risks it posed not only for her, but for her kingdom back home. She was grateful for those brave enough to accompany her into the depths of the woods and beyond, unaware of the dangers lurking around every corner, and behind every tree.

The surrounding woods on either side of the path seemed unusually quiet; ominous, even.

An anxious feeling gnawed at her stomach yet she continued on until she reached a clearing suitable enough to set up camp for the night, seeing as they’d overstayed their warm welcome in Lunden and had travelled too far to return home.

Upon entering the clearing she felt compelled to stop in her tracks, tugging at the reins for her anxious steed to halt; he paced uneasily in a tight circle and refused to stand still. Her breath, in white plumes before her chapped lips, hung low the atmosphere before evaporating into the damp air.

“Easy, now. Easy.”

She cooed and leaned forward to rub its arched neck. With her eyes squeezed shut she exhaled slowly. Her hands began to tremble just as she swore she felt the heat of a thousand eyes burning into her.

Ever so methodically, with utmost caution, she reached over her left shoulder and withdrew her sword, now grasping it tightly in front of her. The hilt was bound with soft, black leather; the pommel decorated with a beautiful red stone similar to that of Uhtred Ragnarsson’s sword.

She paused and waited. Each breath she drew was slow and deliberate as she tried to remain calm and steady her heartbeat.

The sound of her men’s footfalls fell silent; not a single voice was to be heard. Alas, she could no longer see the orange flames of their torches from beyond the trees. It was as if they were never there at all, causing her to fear the worst.

How could they have fallen so far behind without me knowing?

Surely they would be fine without me if something were to happen...

All that could be heard was the sudden rustling of bushes and swirling of leaves overhead. A outcry of crows fleeing from the trees and soaring in to the night startled her upright as she watched them black out the moon.

Chills erupted from beneath her skin, traveling along the lengths of her arms and down her spine. She could hear the pulsing thud of her heart once more in her ears and feel every individual hair on her body prickle. Her breathing started to hitch and her chest tightened. She slowly turned her horse on its heels, panning around the area for any signs of life.

Something was off.

The air was still; heavy. She knew in that moment something had gone terribly wrong - and she wasn’t alone. She called out the names of her men - one by one - and when an unfamiliar voice replied she knew what fate had in store for them.

Out sprang a dozen or so Danes from beyond the bushes, wielding swords, axes, shields and other harsh weaponry. Her horse began to spook, rearing on its hind legs as the Danes drew nearer.

She was completely surrounded.

Their faces seemed to blur as she searched for a way out; a possible gap in the tight-knit circle of heathens closing in. Everywhere she looked she was staring into the tips of sharpened arrows ready for fire - all steadily aimed at her head in case she tried to flee.

There were flashes of metal swords reflecting the moonlight and burning torches all around; ferocious voices shouted threats and profanities at her as she began to lose control of her horse completely.

You’ll be alright. Breathe. Focus.

She swung her sword down at any Danes who dared come too close, though often met blades of their own and withdrew when she saw the chance.

“What do you want with me?” She cried out, as her horse reared once more towards a handful of gnarly Danes, striking one square in the chest and nearly kicking another in his stomach.

Others were laughing and cracking jokes amongst themselves, marveling in the joy of capturing someone - let alone a woman.

Seeing as no one was ready to talk, she pressed firmly, “We mean you no harm, I swear it.” She then found herself in a rushed panic, glancing all around her for some way out; some remedy to her troubles.

There were still no signs of her men.

“We were simply passing by on our travels. Nothing more.”

There was an uproar of hearty laughter. A short, rounded Dane came forward, wielding a worn axe in one hand that he gripped so tightly his knuckles had peaked white not unlike some snowy mountaintops. His hair, twisted and knotted into rows of golden braids upon his head draped down his back and swayed against his leather armor with each step. His curly beard was a wiry, unkempt bush showcasing two small horns woven into strands of silver growing from his chin. His eyes - a striking hue of emerald green - widened with bewilderment at the sight of the valiant Saxon woman riding before him.

“Your men…” he paused, “they will not survive their journey.” A subtle grin tugged at the corners of his lips as he slowly drew out his words; his eyes seemed to glow eerily in contrast to the smudges of kohl around his lids.

Before she could react, a series of blood curdling screams rang out from beyond the tree line. She craned her neck to face the darkness behind her, imagining the gruesome horrors occurring in her absence though she wasn’t sure if there was anything she could have done. Their cries of terror echoed throughout the night and pained every inch of her being knowing she could’ve prevented their deaths had she led them down another path.

Her entire body shuttered as she fought a sudden wave of nausea and dizziness. “I led good men to a slaughter.” She gasped, feeling tears strain in the back of her throat and guilt burning a hole into her conscience. “No… no t-this can’t be.”

“Where are you headed, woman?” The blonde Dane grumbled, the stylized mustache upon his lip dancing with each word.

“Mercia.” She croaked dryly. “We were to set up camp for the night, here in this clearing, and be on our way by sunrise. I had not realized we were in Daneland, I should have known better.” She cursed herself and lowered her sword as a sign of good faith, though the surrounding Danes took that as a sign of weakness and exchanged sly glances with each other.

They realized that things were heading in the right direction and according to plan.

“Now that we have cleared things up, I shall be on my way-“

Hæsten wasted no time in silencing the woman with the subtle raise of his hand. “When our scouts spotted a lady warrior in sparse company, well… I had to see for myself.” Hæsten took a step closer to get a better look. “…and I like what I see.”

“You’re a damned pig of a man-“

“-Hæsten.” He interrupted with a satirical bow and a glint of mischief in his eyes which caught her timid gaze. “You may call me Hæsten.”

“I shall not.” She spat bitterly.

“You know...” The blonde Dane began, “it’s dangerous for a woman to be alone in the woods….” He cocked his head to the side and smirked at a fellow Dane, before circling around her like a hungry lion stalking its prey; enjoying the game and anticipating victory. Once again her steed began to snort and pace uneasily. It anxiously pulled the reins through her fingers and stomped at the dirt.

Danes began to close in and the realization hit that she wasn’t going anywhere freely - or at all.

“I wasn’t alone until you ambushed my-“ She fumed, only to be startled mid sentence, “H-hey!”

Hæsten, losing all patience, had taken firm hold of her reins from the ground and another Dane had grabbed onto her ankle in an attempt to pull her off. Kicking him away in his jaw, she ceded all control over her horse which repeatedly tried to rear or flip over backwards as a way to escape Hæsten’s grip. It raised its head violently in the air - tearing not only the leather reins but the entire bridle free from its head.

A banshee’s shriek erupted from within her steed as if to signal her demise; the beginning of the end. Hot clouds of steam engulfed her body as she was completely thrown off balance.

Before she knew it she was airborne, suddenly feeling a sense of calm and weightlessness despite the chaos breaking out around her. Time slowed to a halt before reality struck - and it struck rather painfully. She was thrown onto the ground, a sharp pain scorching throughout her back as she groaned and writhed in agony.

She watched as the underbelly of her steed passed her over and revealed a distorted version of the night sky. She fought to keep her eyes open out of fear they may never reopen. For a moment she forgot where she was and what had happened, until she found the strength to sit upright and shake it off. She had no choice but to blink away the dizziness and subside the ringing in her ears.

Then she remembered everything.

She scrambled for her sword which had fallen mere inches away from where she landed and gripped it tightly as a form of reassurance.

“Enough!” She shouted windedly, struggling for a moment to rise to her feet. Adrenaline coursed through her veins thus numbing the pain from her fall. Despite the female warrior’s fury and sudden outcry, Hæsten continued towards her.

He was caught off guard by the feeling of a sharp, metal tip pressed into his throat. “I said that’s enough.” She growled, feeling a cold droplet of sweat run down the side of her face. “Don’t move.”

The world fell silent at her feet. No one moved as instructed; all voices ceased as the Danes found themselves holding onto their weapons a bit tighter than before. They hadn’t expected that of her and were apprehensive towards her capabilities.

They readied themselves to intervene at any moment.

“Here is how we will settle this.” She announced warily, not wanting to overstep any fragile boundaries. “If I defeat you,” She narrowed her eyes at the round Dane, “Hæsten, I go free.” A low murmur rumbled throughout the clearing. Hæsten shook his head with a chuckle of amusement, wholeheartedly believing such a thing couldn’t possibly happen. “But if I lose,” the lady warrior continued with a nervous gulp and stabbed her sword straight down into the dirt, “Then I shall go with you, willingly, as a hostage.” With both hands now raised, a spark ignited within the barbaric Danes who cried for the battle to begin.

There shall be bloodshed.

She could hear Hæsten’s name being chanted melodiously as if he’d already won; as if she absolutely stood no chance against him. Little did they know that she had been trained by the best in all of Wessex.

The sound of swords banging into shields and the stomping of heavy boots against the ground made it clear that the time to act was now. Hæsten raised his axe to the mighty gods above and roared at the top of his lungs, swearing victory and riches for all after she is defeated, captured, and ultimately sold for ransom or to a slaver.

This was her only chance of survival. She’d ran out of options and seeing as she was outnumbered and frankly, already in their possession, she had nothing to lose.

The Saxon warrior hastily retrieved her sword from the barren earth as Hæsten traded his axe for a blade alike hers.

“Have we reached an agreement?” Now finding her voice and inner strength, she readjusted her grip and whispered a quiet prayer.

Hæseten nodded once with a primal grunt, showing off for his fellow Danes before turning to face the courageous Saxon once more. “We have.”

“Okay Steapa.” She whispered beneath her breath and quickly braced herself for impact. “Let’s see how much I’ve learned.”

In a matter of moments the two lunged forth, the sound of metal upon metal clashing seemed to rattle every surrounding tree, and every Dane to their core. Haesten showed no signs of going easy on the lady warrior after realizing she was far stronger than she looked.

“We can stop this now,” she panted only a few minutes in, ducking below Hæsten’s swinging blade. Her eyes widened at the loud whoosh that barely grazed the top of her head.

That was too close for her liking.

“Unless… you plan to kill me?” She teased lightly with a grunt, deflecting Hæsten’s sword once more, and using her upper body strength to push him back; his blade had come within inches of her nose before she’d done so.

Again, that was way too close for her liking.

“Saxon bitch!” Hæsten roared out of frustration after seeing she’d managed to counter all of his attacks and hold her own against him. He began to question whether or not he’d grown weaker, or perhaps he’d met his match once and for all.

The two danced around the circle as if it had been a choreographed performance. Periodically she was able to slice his forearm or lower leg while remaining unscathed herself. Her blows were swift and calculated like a venomous snake striking its next meal.

She moved swiftly; light on her toes and agile with each move. As time progressed she felt herself slowing down from fatigue and hunger. Hæsten, on the other hand, was fully rested and fed - as well as increasingly hostile by the minute. He had more to prove than she; for only her life was on the line, not family honor, pride, or reputation.

There was no way he was losing to a woman.

In a moment of weakness Hæsten knocked the sword from her grasp with his own and the woods erupted into fits of hysteria. As she stumbled backwards, he strode towards her and kicked her square in the stomach which sent her back a few feet until she landed in the dirt. She could feel rocks and twigs clawing into her skin but forced herself to ignore the pain.

With a heavy groan she laid there for a moment, wheezing and applying pressure to her aching ribs. She then began to gurgle on blood which she coughed up to the side. Hæsten appeared in her peripheral vision, causing her to scramble backwards on her elbows until her back bumped into the legs of a snaggle-toothed Dane. He lifted her from behind by her armpits and threw her back into the circle where she fell to her hands and knees.

Her arms began to quiver and threaten to give beneath her weight. She gagged and heaved over streams of crimson blood oozing from her mouth, slowly dripping down the length of her chin and into the puddles already soaking into the ground.

“You’re a si-“ she choked, “sick bastard!”

“You do not know when to give up, do you?” Hæsten shook his head with a scoff of disbelief, showing off by twirling his sword between his fingers and around his wrist.

He practically skipped over to her like a jolly elf of sorts, making a show out of his conquest, and delivered a swift kick to her stomach once more, causing her to flip onto her back like a fish out of water.

Crack!

The sound of her ribs breaking made even the toughest of Danes there visibly cringe.

She cried in agony, pleading for the blonde to show mercy and accept his victory. Fighting for air as blood consumed her entirety, she managed to dispel most of it over shoulder and in between uncomfortable groans.

“Where is your God now?” Hæsten mocked, kicking her in the side of her head as he strutted past her form lying in the dirt.

“Slit her throat!” An older Dane demanded, causing Hæsten to grin from ear to ear. He’d already planned to do so, though after he was completely finished with her. Killing her now would be too soon for his liking. Besides, where’s the fun in that? “Kill that Saxon bitch!”

“N-no… don’t.” She choked on her words, fighting back not only blood but a distraught sob brewing in her throat.

The shouting of triumphant Danes all around her faded into a muffled silence. Exhaustion had taken firm hold her conscience. Her body felt as if it had been dragged to Hell and back. Her pounding head was a cloudy mess, and her spirit had been greatly damaged though not beyond repair.

He’s trying to kill me.

Summoning all of her remaining strength, ever so gradually, she rolled onto her hands and knees and picked up her sword. Once on her feet she swayed unsteadily on her heels. Her left hand remained a constant upon her tender ribs.

She could hear various gasps from Danes gaping in bewilderment at the sight before them. “No! Impossible!” Hæsten shouted, fuming at the mouth like a rabid dog. “Why won’t you just give up?!”

“Well,” She panted with a weak puff to blow strands of hair from her eyes. She found herself resting upon her sword for balance as her wobbly knees began to buckle, “Glory or Valhalla, right?” As she raised her sword towards his chest one last time, shaking, she couldn’t help but hiss in pain.

Then her arm fell limp to her side as she felt the ground beneath her boots rumble with the sound of thundering hoofbeats nearby.

Hæsten quirked an eyebrow and smirked. “Have you-“

It was as if the earth had come alive at the right time and began to shift beneath the weight of their swords.

Saxons? She wondered. Please let it be Saxons.

Where light met dark, Danes parted ways to reveal a monstrous figure emerging from beyond the shadows like an angel of death. A sleek black steed clad in heavy armor gave a deafening neigh, seeming to have emerged from the fiery depths of Hell, thus leading her to wonder who so valiantly rode upon its back.

Soon the lady warrior would come to learn that he was the living embodiment of the heathen spirit. Fearless. Brutal. Driven.

Glancing around her, not a single Dane dared to move or speak. Some even opted to take a knee out of respect for their presumed leader. He seemed to strike fear of the gods within their damned souls with his mere presence alone - and that frightened her.

“Dear god.” She gasped, making out the man before her to be the bane of all evils.

Hæsten’s chest rose and fell drastically with each breath he took. He seemed to sheepishly back away from the circle as if he feared being caught for doing something wrong. The unknown Dane immediately dismounted his steed, landing with a heavy thud. He then strode towards the Saxon before him.

When he stepped out of the darkness and into the moonlight she audibly gasped at his primitive ferocity. Never before had she seen a man of his nature. He was the epitome of childhood nightmares; the type of monster mothers told their children about at night to scare them out of their bad behavior.

In stark contrast to Hæsten he was a tall, brawny Dane who willed the strength and courage of the gods. His jet black hair was as sleek as a raven’s feathers, though shaved at the sides and bound by a single braid wrapped in coils of leather down the middle of his head. His beard was far shorter than Hæsten’s. It was black as night and drawn into two parts with a silver ring on each like the devil’s own beard. Below furrowed, stern brows were a pair of brown eyes encompassed by dark smudges of kohl. Upon his forehead was a deep scar to remind him of a past victory, she was sure of it. His teeth, sharp and dagger-like, were made visible as he drew his lips into a wicked grin.

His broad chest displayed layers of leather and metal armor, and around his waist hung a sword that nearly reached the ground. Though the most startling thing she noticed, after granting herself permission to stare, was the fact that his right hand had been entirely replaced by a small sword.

Her mind had a funny way of imagining things; potential scenarios as to how he could have lost it. The fearsome warmonger had a tendency of acting first and thinking later… which ultimately resulted in the loss of his hand not long before tonight.

“What do you know of Valhalla, woman?” His deep, powerful voice thundered throughout the entire woods.

“I know that if you come any closer, I shall send you there myself.” She cautioned with her sword held out painstakingly in front of her. She then peered over her shoulder towards the blonde Dane who’d caused her such discomfort, “Right after Hæsten.”

The dark haired Dane chuckled lowly, shortly followed by his loyal followers who did the same.

“You are broken… yet you refuse to surrender?” A puzzled look had bestowed upon his face, replacing his once menacing expression. He struggled to understand the disarrayed woman stained in red. “Why?”

“You may break every last bone in my body, but you shall never break my spirit.”

He quirked a dark brow and recalled hearing a Dane recite similar words before.

“I am a warrior at heart. I will keep fighting until my last dying breath.” She shuffled closer, now aiming her blade at his stomach. Her voice had dissipated to a faint whisper only loud enough for him to hear. “…which may be sooner than I’d hoped.”

For a brief moment their eyes met and she watched his expression soften ever so slightly. It was almost as if he understood, or perhaps respected to some degree, her will to live though it went against everything he stood for.

“I fear Hæsten has already killed me… though there is something I must do.”

The Dane’s full attention fell low to her blood stained hand pressed against her ribs. He doubted her ability to continue though was eager, in a selfish way, to see her in action once more… even if it resulted in her death. In battle she was mesmerizing to watch - like a seductive flame dancing in the breeze - that he couldn’t pry his eyes away from. How strange a sight, he thought, to see a Saxon woman wield the strength of a Dane.

His face was tinged with discomfort. He seemed to feel a bit uneasy, though would never admit it, at the alluring woman mangled and broken before him. She was the enemy, yes, but she was different. He couldn’t wrap his mind around her and that bothered him greatly.

Who was she?

Aside from her exceptional swordsmanship it baffled the Dane leader how little she feared him, or how well she was able to mask said fear.

A woman who is fearless is a woman capable of anything. That alone was enough for him to be weary of her intentions, especially after everything she’d been through. With a forced, throaty grunt he nodded, dismissing the lady warrior to fulfill her last quest. “Very well.” He pursed his lips and stepped aside. A small part of him dreaded what was to inevitably become of her. One thing was for certain: he would never allow himself to forget her fortitude and undeniable bravery. Images of her fighting Hæsten would forever be ingrained in his mind. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman - neither Saxon nor Dane - had impressed him as much as she had. The grace in which she wielded her sword, and the eloquence of her movements captivated him in a way he’d longed to feel for ages.

There was something about her he couldn’t let go of; something he wouldn’t dare let slip away at the hands of Hæsten. She was everything he’d dreamt of finding in a woman - her only flaw being the Saxon blood running through her veins. Distracted, he became lost in his head at the thought of running his fingers through her dark, cascading ringlets of hair. He imagined what it would have felt like to caress the fair skin upon her cheeks, or plant a kiss upon her soft, plump lips - and to have her reciprocate his feelings. He could imagine them fighting side by side; warriors by day, lovers by night.

Sure, Sigefrid has his choice of any woman back at Beamfleot - whores, slaves - but they were all the same to him. He wanted her.

No; Sigefrid needed her.

But as soon as that realization hit he feared he was too late. By the time he looked up to see the damage that had been done, to his utter surprise, Hæsten had been pinned by his wrists - one appearing to be broken - and with a knee pressed into his stomach. His bloodied clothes were tattered and shredded to pieces.

Sigefrid let out a breathy laugh of relief; his eyes lighting up and dazzling beneath the night sky. He grinned from ear to ear and pushed his way through the Danes that stood before him. A rush of hope and giddiness surged through his body as he realized she wasn’t done for.

From atop of Hæsten she reached into his pocket and withdrew a knife. Before she could use it on his throat, as she’d planned to, something pierced through her right shoulder causing her to drop the knife and yelp like a wounded animal caught in a trap. A hot, thick stream of blood began to pour down her arm as her entire body trembled.

She could feel herself going into shock.

She could hardly breathe let alone react properly. There, as clear as day, was a crooked arrow protruding from her shoulder.

“Y-you cheating bastard!”

“NO!” Sigefrid roared and rushed towards her, stopping briefly to slit the throat of the archer who fired the arrow with his hand-blade.

Everyone gasped at Sigefrid’s sudden outburst though it was nothing new or unusual - just unexpected.

“You knew this was coming.” Hæsten sneered, lifting his head from the ground and crawling out from beneath her. He rose to his feet and lifted her chin with his dirty fingers to look her in the eyes though her gaze fell elsewhere. She was a bloody, filthy, sobbing mess being held together by his hand. “Such a shame.” He frowned, “You were a pretty one.”

“Please don’t…..kill me.” She croaked, slowly wrapping her fingers around the splintering arrow. “P-please.” She gurgled on blood which erupted from the corners of her lips like a volcano. “Please!” She sobbed. “You cheating pig!” She shrieked though Hæsten’s fingers slipped from beneath her chin. He had disappeared behind Sigefrid’s towering form. She’d hardly blinked before Sigefrid’s fist pummeled into the side of Hæsten’s face. As the round Dane fell to the ground she noticed he was out cold - if not dead - and all it took was one hit.

Why would Sigefrid punish him so? How could he chose her over his own man?

“No one is to lie a hand upon this woman.” Sigefrid pointed down at her with his hand-blade. “No one. Not a hand, or I will personally cut it off and beat you with it.”

She was starting to dissociate from reality as everything began to fade into black. She fought her hardest to stay awake to hear what was going on but it was no use. Sigefrid slid down on one knee and caught her before she toppled over. He cupped her face with his rough, calloused hand and frantically shook her awake, resting the back of her neck in the crook of his other elbow - minding his blade.

“No! Damn you!” He growled, seeing as his attempt to bring her back had failed. “Damn you woman! Open your eyes!”

Her breathing grew fainter and fainter. The sound of his voice had muffled and her eyes were sealed shut. Sigefrid, frightened by the idea of losing her, took a firm hold of the arrow in her shoulder. With a swift tugging motion he jerked it free from her shoulder and tossed it aside, frowning when her body didn’t reacted in the slightest from the pain it should have caused her. She still didn’t wake up.

He felt himself running out of options as he watched her head roll around his arm. Her chest ever so faintly rose and fell, giving him hope the hope he needed to keep trying.

Everyone watched in awe as their Lord fought to save her life. Never before has he shown such empathy towards another - perhaps not even towards his own brother Erik. There was something about the fair skinned woman that beckoned for him to save her. It was almost as if the gods themselves had began to root for her survival, acting through Sigefrid to ensure it happened.

Hæsten, regaining consciousness, stumbled his way over towards his Lord. Her body fell completely limp in Sigefrid’s arms as he held her close, looking down upon what could have been his future; and a glorious future at that.

“She’s dying, Sigefrid.” Hæsten muttered, feeling a pang of guilt in his chest for what he’d done, especially after seeing how deeply it affected him. “She is a Saxon, Lord.”

“I…don’t…care.” Sigefrid snarled, craning his neck to glare at the blonde Dane before turning to face her again. “Who is she?”

“Lord, she-“

“I will not ask again.” Sidefrid shouted impatiently and rested the back of her head upon his knee. “Tell me. Now.”

“She is King Alfred’s eldest daughter - Blædswith - Lord. She serves Uhtred Ragnarsson.”

Such a name was poison upon his tongue.

Sigefrid scowled bitterly and felt his stump of a hand ache beneath its barbaric contraption of wood and weaponry.

“Uhtred Ragnarrson.” His words were low and drawn out as he recalled the man behind the name whose face repeatedly haunted him at night. “That explains it.”

Allowing for his head to drop between his shoulders, dangerously close to her face though his eyes were closed, Sigefrid sighed heavily and realized what he had to do. He felt defeated; deflated, even.

He should have known that she was simply too good to be true. A mere trick from the gods above dangled before him; unattainable. Perhaps was a test of his loyalty — and he nearly failed.

Alfred’s daughter was the physical embodiment of his deepest, darkest desires - yet the thought of her now sickened him; pained him. He couldn’t keep her name out of his head even if he’d tried.

“She is a princess.”

“Yes, Lord.”

Sigefrid’s eyes shot open after feeling her stir in his arms and regain consciousness. When her crystal blue eyes reopened they immediately met his, which seemed to be mixed with loathing, sadness, and genuine worry. She didn’t scream nor try to push him away; she didn’t feel in any imminent danger despite who he was.

Dazed and disoriented, Alfred’s daughter was like a newborn baby seeing the world for the first time.

“Sigefrid?” She moaned ever so faintly, reciting the last thing she heard before everything went black. The name was familiar to her; she’d heard her father discussing matters regarding the bloodthirsty Thurgilson brothers - Erik and Sigefrid - and how big of a threat they were to the crown. Erik was known to the the more thoughtful, less violent one of the two. Sigefrid - the one holding her in his arms - was infamous for being a brutal terror of villages and ravanger of women.

Yet, she wasn’t afraid.

For reasons unknown to her, Lady Blædswith had become an exception to his cruel ways... at least for now.

Her hand steadily crawled towards her arrow wound and stopped in disbelief. “It’s gone? You… saved my life? M-my father will… he will hear of this. Of you, Sigefrid.”

“Oh, I’m sure he will.” Hæsten teased and Sigefrid brushed him off. “And when he does he is sure to pay rather handsomely.”

Sigefrid stood tall and lifted the princess with him. Taking her left hand firmly in his, he raised it to the skies evoking his fellow Danes to cheer.

“This here,” He began, “Is the daughter of King Alfred! Defeated; weakened. Ours for the taking!” In one swift movement Sigefrid swept her off her feet and hoisted her onto his valorous steed. Once situated behind her, he wrapped an around around her waist from behind and held on tightly to her slender frame. He would ensure there was no way she was escaping his grasp, for she was far too valuable.

“That hurts.” Lady Blædswith winced, “Sigefrid.”

He repositioned his blade-clad arm so they were both comfortable. As their bodies molded together beneath the stars she couldn’t help but feel safe for the time being. Surely nothing bad could happen to her whilst on horseback.

Sigefrid had done her no harm though she feared what he intended to do with her once they arrived at their destination.

Once all of the Danes were mounted and ready, Sigefrid led the way into the unknown territory of Daneland.

“Lady Blædswith, you will be our path to glory!”

____________________ ➴ ____________________

“Where are you taking me?” The princess questioned softly whilst leaning into his chest. The two swayed back and forth, left and right, with the rhythm in which his steed walked, occasionally passing through creeks or rounding steep corners.

She could feel the warmth of his breath down the back of her neck though it didn’t bother her in the slightest; she had bigger things to worry about. If anything, it was as if it comforted her and served as a reminder that she wasn’t alone against Hæsten.

Sigefrid pressed his lips into the back of her hair and replied, “Beamfleot. Have you heard of it?” She nodded her head against his lips and he grinned. “What have you heard of my brother and I?” Though his eyes rested on the trail ahead of him, his full attention had fallen elsewhere.

“Terrible things.” She replied shyly and felt Sigefrid’s chest rumble with laughter. “I’m serious.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“You are power hungry. You thrive o-on chaos and war, and leave a trail of bodies behind wherever you go.”

Sigefrid chuckled darkly, “Well, that is all true.”

“Even women and children.” Lady Blædswith added. “Is that true?”

He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “If it was... would you then fear me, princess?”

“No.” She could feel her body surrendering to the sound of his voice and the heat of his touch. “I do not believe you to be as they say.”

Lady Blædswith turned in the saddle as far as she could to look at him, and hadn’t realized how close their faces were until their noses almost brushed against each other. Her cheeks burned a bright pink from their shared moment of near intimacy. For fear of giving him the wrong impression she turned back around and clutched the horse’s mane, twisting it between her fingers.

“After everything that has happened… you still think greatly of me.” He became fixated on the Saxon princess, no longer watching where he travelled.

“Greatly is a stretch, however you did spare my life. That must count for something?”

Sigefrid rolled his eyes. “You believe me to be good.” A hint of amusement tugged at his words at the mere thought of being the man she’d hoped for. “Do you not?” He hummed

“I-I would like to. Make me a believer.”

And so he would.

_______________________________________________

A/N: This was so much fun to write, I look forward to the next chapters ;) I’m new to writing on tumblr so all reblogs and shared are appreciated!

Inspired by: @finantheagile and @inforapound, you two are such talented writers!

TLK fans who may be interested:

@cheapcakeripper @wildwren @metall-and-dust @onesaltyhunter xx

Special thank you to @wessexcrown for helping me with ideas for this fanfic along the way!! Feel free to ask to be added to my tag list xx

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the-order-of-fools · 4 years ago

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The Enchantress is Horny on Main

I really like the dynamics between the Enchantress and the "special character" of this fic and I think it can show how Love can be twisted in a completely wretched concept. The original title was supposed to be "Possession", but Mod Propeller had a better idea.

Warnings! Dubious consent, blood, alcohol (?)

The night was as cold and unwelcoming as the cut of a blade, one that was forged not inside the scorching womb of a volcano, but the freezing wastelands still untouched by man. Raindrops tore the air like a million darts, elongated and greenish, pelting the dark stones of the Tower of Fate.

The Enchantress grinned as she imagined poor wayfarers venturing too close to the Tower, unaware of her henchmen who were ready to strike. Her slender finger traced the opaque window by which she sat, drawing a clear line on the fogged surface as the unnamed adventurer bowed before the Liquid Samurai's unforgiving sword. He spat and cried out, holding the blade as it pierced through his tender flesh. Empty eyes followed his movements as the sword was drawn back in a swift move. The corpse fell onto a scarlet puddle. Unimpressed, the oriental warrior morphed into a small black mass and oozed back to its designated place, leaving the rain to finish the job.

The Enchantress scratched the glass with the tip of her nail as the wretched fantasy left her mind - the stones were still as clear as ever, washed by rain only and no other fluid. None of her sentinels had moved. Order and silence was all she had left.

She sighed as she leaned onto the glass. The bitter cold froze her pale skin - it had such a strange color, so different from her other self. She remained beautiful nonetheless, she mused.

Beautiful and untainted as the dark robe gently draped her curves, the same curves that her other self kept hidden under a thick armor. Her gaze loomed over the spotless hand as it brushed the thin scratch on the glass. Smooth, silky, the gentle hand of a maid.

Stronger than the calloused hand that once held a shield.

Stronger than the hand that could only hold vile weapons with no glint of magic.

Her palm glistened, a violet flame burst into existence, she clenched her fist and sparkles of destructive power shot out in every direction. The fire died within seconds, causing no harm to the surface it came in contact with.

The Enchantress hissed - the fire had torn her palm apart. Her own blood stained her sleeve.

Her body wasn't strong enough.

She wasn't strong enough.

Specter Knight was doing a fine job, she admitted fairly. Soon, her power would be stable. Soon, she would be the powerful sovereign she was meant to be. Ruler of a kingdom that was yet to meet its own demise, for no one will resist her terrible magic. She grinned again as she imagined her eight knights spreading terror and death all over the Valley, forcing its citizens into silence and obedience. The blood of her enemies would fertilize the earth for scarlet roses to grow and adorn the lands that belonged to her.

A mere fantasy was enough to send over the edge and make her luscious lips curve into a grin. She had always been fascinated by the thick, red liquid as far as she could remember.

Fantasies were all she could allow herself, as she still had to wait for the completion of her plan. All her fantasies were perversions, for her twisted mind always turned the sweetest dreams into the most wicked nightmares.

Still, she loved her nightmares.

As terrible and evil as the power that corroded her and seeped its way further into her core day after day, stronger and stronger, desirous to consume the very essence of her and destroy the reflection she always saw when she looked into the mirror. The kind-hearted warrior of the shield, the gentle smile that graced her features - the stain that ruined a being of blood and death such as herself. That image would decay, melting into nothingness as its memory died with it.

An imperfect being she would be no more.

She licked her lips and felt their dryness. A glass of wine appeared before her, clear and corporeal. She held the fine stem and let the liquid spun slowly. Soon, she was absorbed by her fantasies once again.

Her eight knights bowed before their ruler as she arose from her throne, mighty and refulgent with strength, a black star of incomparable power. Submissive and faithful, they spoke to her with fear in their voices trembling as she walked closer. She smiled, caressing the black helmet of the one she had chosen as her favorite.

She could feel how he shivered, his lips trembled beneath the metallic surface. His gaze met hers an instant before he averted it, a lump of fear and shame tugging at the insides of his marred throat. She grinned at the pitiful display, but dared not speak her mind. Instead, she commanded her knights to go and carry out her will. Her voice was loud and stern, yet the excitement of a child lived within it.

The knight she fancied bowed his horned head before her and walked away with the others, leaving her alone in the dark Tower.

The taste of alcohol intoxicated her senses as she poured it down her throat, savoring every last drop. Her cheeks were tinted pink, her mouth agape, her eyes half lidded.

Alone.

She licked her lips again and tasted bitterness - her grip on the stem hardened.

How dare he not join her order? How dare he not bow in front of her and recognize her as his queen?

The glass shattered, the shards dug into her palm, they cut through her skin and were met with the flames that dwelt within her, the fine wine now wasted on the floor tiles.

It was his fault - she hissed between gritted teeth.

She threw herself onto the bed and stared at a spot on the ceiling. Her hand was already healing, it hurt but she couldn't care less. She closed her eyes as she let the alcohol play with her fantasies, merge with her twisted perversions and shape into the object of her desires.

The knight in black armor.

The only one who could resist her promises of tremendous power. The one that kept slipping away from her grip, every time she tried catching him. He longed for freedom, yet she could always find him roaming around the Valley, battling whoever wished to harm her. Her guard dog, more loyal than the swarm of Liquid Samurais she had as her personal soldiers, more emotional than she would ever allow a knight to be. He was a mess of pride and weakness, of strength and self-doubt. A delectable little thing she would twist and pull to her own delight, if only he let her under his skin.

Skin as sweet and tender as the lips that she would ravish, if only he let her mark him. Own him, prove him that he could find happiness in being her possession. Hands that could hold her, fists that could grip the sheets as she claimed him as hers, a broken voice that swore obedience to her and her only.

She sighed and bit her lip, rolling on her side as the image of the knight became clear in her mind.

She did not know what color his eyes bore, yet she knew she would love gazing into them as they filled up with tears. Weary and gentle, he caressed her cheek as he prayed for another kiss. She smiled and stirred towards him, gracing his dry lips with the sweet taste of hers. Her eyes were devoid of the usual coldness, they were filled with gentle affection instead. The right prize for making her struggle so much, for denying her the taste of him for so long. The sweet image of her undressing herself before his longing eyes - for she knew, she could feel his desire whenever he turned down her scrumptious offer - urged her to take off her clothes for real. Her bare skin met the freezing air right as the knight's hands were placed on her soft hips.

Oh, how much he yearned for her!

She commanded him to swear eternal love to her; to never run away from her and let her dispose of him him as she wished, as she slowly lowered herself onto him. His voice came out faint and hurried, to her utter amusement.

A hand slid to the basin between her legs - she took him in as she watched him lose himself among a maze of scattered feelings, offended pride and burning desire. His grip was strong, tears flowed from his eyes as he started thrusting into her. He gave in, at last. He was so beautiful with his face all hot and flustered, his eyes that bore the consistence of the sea and the cracks of the earth, his lips twisted and his teeth gritted. So broken, so beautiful.

She moaned as she spread her legs, welcoming the coldness - he rolled, pulling her beneath him and holding her in his desperate embrace. He shook like a leaf during a storm, his arms - fit and muscular, used to harshness and fatigue - were weak and gentle. He held her like she was made of glass. She was ready to shatter him instead, and take pleasure in doing so.

She chuckled and bit her lip, soaking the sheets - as he thrusted into her, hiding his grimace in the crook of her neck. She smiled, triumphant, trapping him between her arms and listening to the faint voice that kept calling her name. Her name, at last. For the warrior of the shield was no more.

And she ravished his lips once again, forcing him to accept that now he was hers, only hers. She had captured him at last, a stubborn crow that she had finally lured into the cage. Her sweet black knight, her favorite knight - she would let him make love to her as he desired, corrupting and corroding the freedom he loved so dearly, leaving but an empty shell at last.

He gasped as he reached his limit, then burst in a wretched cry. She cried out as well and tried to hold onto him. But he had faded away.

Dazed, she opened her eyes.

She was alone.

Only the bitter taste of wine on her lips, and a small pond between her legs.

In the blink of an eye, she made the latter disappear and the robe embraced her form again.

She sat by the window, the sweet sound of raindrops cradling her. She avoided looking at the glass shards and the crimson stain - instead, she let her gaze escape the confinements of her room. She went back to watching the motionless world outside, waiting, sighing as the image that had caused so much fuss faded into nothingness.

Again, her lips curved into a smile.

He would become hers, at last.

-Mod Tinker

#shovelry #shovel knight #black knight #enchantress

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readyplayerhann · 4 years ago

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Ghost of Himself | Choi San

═ 1. Ghost of Himself | Choi San (Ateez) Genre • gotham!au, red hood!san, assassin!san, hurt/comfort, angst Warnings • smut, forced entry, mentions of weapons, depiction of torture, (past) major character death Word Count • 2.1k About • San's been dead for five years, and yet this ghost of him stands in front of you with his face and his voice telling you he's alive.

Spooky SZN Masterlist > Jokes On You | Hongjoong (to be linked)

10042020

He came in through the window, you thought, seeing as the door remained unharmed and you hadn't heard any noise coming from there either.

You know you've missed San. You have been for the past five years after his death. The use of alcohol and aimless sex hadn't let you forget the one you loved the most and you've realized early on that you never would. That didn't stop you from trying, however.

The most you've forgotten was his voice and sometimes your mind allowed you to escape his face, if you haven't taken a peek at the pictures on the wall. Your body welled up with guilt, if you'd looked too long so you'd avoid them most times. Some turned over, others discarded on the floor beneath their original hanging place.

You should've tried better investigating his death, you knew that. You should've allowed yourself to run ragged while chasing down leads while they were still scorching. Now, five years later, all the trails were freezing cold and you might get frost bite if you went digging for one.

And even as you maintain the fact that you've forgotten his voice, the intruder in front of you sounded exactly like him.

San's words were always smooth and velvet-like, even at his worst moments. Even when he bleeding to death in your arms.

"I got the best view in the world." His body was going limp, and he still managed to make you heart fluttered. The syllables glided easily over his tongue, even as blood filled his mouth.

Was your subconscious toying with you? Were you unconscious and fighting for your life in the real world, while your brain played this sick fantasy?

"Y/N?" The voice called out again and your body rattled with uncertainty. It sound exactly like him.

"No." You sounded sturdy, reliable, but your voice contradicted your frozen stature.

The masked man moved to remove his red helmet, the protective garment hissing as it disengaged from his black body armor. The helmet is pulled from his face, and this man looked exactly like him. A sharp jawline fed into smooth cheeks that held the hidden treasure that were his dimples. His eyes were dark, swirling with adoration in the pale moonlight of Gotham bleeding through the window. His hair was jet black except for the blonde tendrils at the forefront of his hairline. He was captivating, just as he was all those years ago.

Your mind wondered back to the crime scene photos that plague your mind for so long. You blinked and the stranger's face faded into one of torment and agony.

"It's me, Y/N." He took a step forward - towards you - thick black soles pelting the floor of your hardwood. The ground trembled.

You snatched your gun from the counter, quick and pointed at the impostor's face. If your hovering finger pressed down on the trigger a bullet would spiral out of the coil, slicing through the air and right between the man's eyebrows.

A smile twitched onto the intruder's lips and his hands came to hang in the air by his torso. The body armor was tight around his body, every inch dipped in inky black. The only contrast provided by his suit was the blood red bat symbol on the middle of his breastplate along with a tattered earth tone jacket hanging off his shoulders.

He looked ready to kill.

"I wouldn't expect anything less from my girl." His voice held a fondness to it and you can't stop the feeling of comfort that flooded your stiff body. His eyes were as piercing as they were dark, prodding at yours to just believe him.

He took a step forward. You took one back. Your foot hit a kitchen stool and it made a screeching sound. San's impostor flinched.

You're reminded of his cries, and the blood dribbling from his temple as he begged to be let go. Joker didn't relent though, he only swung harder, bent crow bar hitting wary skin. The video was burned into your mind and you could never unseen the brutal torture San endured.

If only you got there earlier.

Your heart jumped in your throat and you click the safety off.

"I'm not your fucking girl. You - San - is dead." Those words scraped against your teeth as they clawed their way from inside your throat and your heart ached.

The funeral echoed in your mind's eye, bring you back to that depressing day. You were the first to cover San's casket with dirt.

Your body quivered and the weapon clattered in your hands. The five year old engagement ring was secure and rutting against the metal of your gun. His gun. The one he kept for just encase.

"I'm not dead, Y/N. I'm right here." The stranger can see your hesitation, you know he can. In the way you clutched the gun or in the way your eyes flickered from his form to the door. Maybe thinking through escape routes if this situation escalates.

San won't let it escalate. He'll keep you safe.

He took another step forward. The gun pressed even harder in his direction and your trigger finger is perched on the metallic mechanism. If he took another step you'd shoot.

"Baby," His voice was tender as he caressed the two-syllable word with his tongue. Your chest tightened and your stomach coiled. Fuck.

"D-Don't." Your voice broke, crackling like a fresh record on a spin table. Your resolve broke and San was quick to pick up the pieces. Swallowing your frame in his arms, chest pressed firmly to yours, he cradled your shivering form. Like he used to.

You both fell to the floor as a choked cry erupted from your mouth and your lips quivered. You inhaled his scent and vanilla and ash hit your nose. You pressed closer to him, nose digging at the skin of his neck. His gloved hands come to cradle the nape of your neck and your lower back.

"You died, San. I remember." Your sniffles crowded your voice, but San can understand you somehow.

When you got to the scene of torture, your core shook and anxiety swallowed you whole like a predator and you were it's prey. Panic held back, only for a bit, before spring on you from behind, mauling your body as the light from San's eyes dissipated.

"I did, but I'm back now." His breath pelted your exposed ear and you surged closer to the man. You could feel him over the body armor, crafted muscles tight and stiff.

"We had a funeral." The whole affair was somber in nature, you cried the whole day. And the following week. And the years to come sporadically.

He lowered a fleeting kiss to your temple, fingers rubbing patterns into your hips.

"I know."

"Then how are you here?" You don't know when you started believing the man in his attempts to prove to you his identity, but you supposed the road easily traveled was better in your sniveling state. So you trust him. At your own peril, you knew.

San inhaled sharply through his nose and you can feel the expansion of his chest beneath your back. His throat cleared and he whispered, "I made a deal with the devil."

It's cryptic and he knew it, but he doesn't continue and you don't press him for details. He's grateful, but he knows he'll eventually have to explain.

Right now, though, he was going to hold you for as long as you'll let him. You missed him.

You don't ask anymore questions and just sit on the floor in his arms. He rocked your body and continued to mutter affirmations of his existence to you.

You don't know how it happened but, your lips fell on him. Needing and wanting. San responded easily.

His lips were burning as they met yours and he swept a thumb over the peak of your cheekbone. Maybe in an attempt to sooth you, you thought. Tears transferred from your cheeks to his as you kissed back, teeth knocking slightly and lips moving haphazardly against one another's.

San pressed impossibly close to you, thin sleep shirt crumbled against tough body armor. His lips released yours and you gasped for air, mouth going wide as his glided like ice across the expanse of your neck. His teeth peek through, catching on your pulse point and frost rushed up your neck. The coils in your stomach tightened and you fell closer into San's frame.

He caught you, gloves discarded and scarred hands spread wide to grasp your hips. His fingers dug deep, afraid he'd lose you if he loosen up again.

You rocked into him, needy and whining. San's grip tightened and you can feel the bruises forming as you teased him more. You don't care, though, because it's him and all you've wanted was him.

"Baby." His voice was low and grated at the edge of your nerves, frying your senses and numbing you to everything, but him.

Your nails clawed at his armor, impatiently, wanting to feel his skin on yours. San tugged your wondering hands from his chest and you pull back with a quizzical look. He flashed you a devilish grin.

San reached behind him to pull at the zipper of his body armor, before the material loosened around his frame. You helped him out of it, grasping the sleeves for him to pull out of.

His muscles rippled in the shallow light and you ghosted your fingers over them. His abdomen was inked in bruises and scars. They ate up his torso and marred his chest.

The sight pulled you from the lust clouding your mind, your fingers effortlessly finding every imperfect path of skin, red and scarred, "What happened?"

San looked away, face bathed in the dark shadows of your apartment. You rested your hands on his cheeks and pulled his gaze back to you. His eyes held a hazy glaze to them and it took him a moment to recuperate. His brown eyes eventually focused in on you, swimming in what you thought was guilt.

"I don't want to talk about it." San whispered into the cool, night air.

This time you pressed, "San-"

"I'll tell you later," He promised, lips skimming your neck, letting his tongue dip out to tease the purple and blue painting adorning your neck, "I just want you, right now"

"I want you too." But I know you're hurting, San.

You can tell he's changed. The scent of San that tickled your nose as he lavished wet kisses down the expanse of your chest isn't the same, but it still struck a cord within you. His voice was rougher, dark and restricted, but still manged to have the playful edge to it that you fell in love with. The once smooth skin of his abdomen held great stories of torture and anguish. Even though it was him, it was still not him. He's been tainted and you can see, touch, and taste the filth radiating off him in waves and all you want to do his allow that filth to taint you as well.

You allowed your body to connect with his and you felt yourself to be whole again in his presence. The ache in your chest subsided and complete and utter love bled from your heart. You're bleeding adoration, it's getting all over San and you're terrified he might drown.

But San absorbed the blistering, crimson love like a sponge and offered his body like a nurse would a band-aid. A quick fix, before lasting damage can set in. Like the infection of the soul, or the unneeded scarring of the heart.

"Please don't leave me." You grunted out as you reached your breaking point, your grip on San's neck unyielding and fierce. The coils of your stomach begged for release, just as you begged for the assassin's presence in your life.

"I won't." The words fell off his lips and spilling onto yours, heated and gentle. You and San met each other in the middle; you came crashing down and he ascended as he shot his warm load into your sopping cunt. Your walls restricted around him.

A whimper overtook your mouth and you shivered against San's huffing frame.

"I love you." His arms were warm around you.

"I love you, too." You whispered back to the ghost of San, frighten he might vanish just like he appeared.

#choi san #san #ateez #ateez san #ateez smut #ateez imagines #kpop #kpop imagines

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junkyardlynx · 4 years ago

Text

“Crow,”

A voice squawked in my ear, crystal clear and uniquely grating. My handler, a wiry middle-aged man with a voice like steel wool. I didn’t know his name and I didn’t care.

“You there, birdbrain?”

“...What is it, HQ?”

“Oy, oy, save the animosity and low voice for the bad guys. You’re en route to the black box, but...just wanted to let you know that you aren’t the only one with a SHINE out here. You’re the only friendly one, though. Lucky you!”

Yes, lucky me. A chance to spread my wing, both literally and figuratively. Swooping low and piercing through the mist spreading lazily over the forest treetops, I ran a systems check on my stealth, ICE, and weapons suites. All green. I grinned inside of the black helmet I wore, which was something visually akin to both a pyramid and a beak. Our callsigns were mostly attributed to something about our appearance or unique abilities. Between the helmet and the Kestrel flight/fight system, it was pretty easy to see where mine came from.

Another SHINE, huh?

SHINE. Synthetic High-Information Neurolink Exoskeleton. Like most acronyms, it neglects brevity and accuracy for a cool name. Pilots of these advanced personal exoskeletons were usually called Shiners. The overall technology package was pretty new and viable candidates were few and far between, with most applicants washing out within the first two tests. It should be noted that “washing out” was a sanitized term for, well. Anything from neurolink installation failure to psionic organ rejection. It was estimated that Russia, the largest superpower, had around thirty combat capable Shiners. A country’s overall military prowess was determined by the strength and skill of its Shiners after the Toa-Yahontov Skirmish, where two JDF Shiners lead an overwhelming victory against five Russian armored divisions.

I was one of twelve NATO Shiners. We were relatively late arrivals to the peacekeeping table, due to deliberations over the moral quandaries inherent in our creation. Experimenting on teenagers left a bad taste in the mouth of rational people, I suppose. Wonder why? We turned out to be quite instrumental to a tenuous world peace, though. Our first real deployment lead to us taking on both JDF and RAF Shiners on the artificial island of Oxcallos, smack dab in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Both superpowers had a mind to lay claim to the neutral scientist-lead nation for their own devices, intent on breaking the technological and military stalemate they’d found themselves in since the late 2080′s. My blood surged with a heady sweetness when I recalled the sensation of finally tasting real combat with my SHINE, as if all the pain and training had paid off. Ostensibly, we were there to enforce peace, but I know I wasn’t the only one that reveled in the chance to prove myself to both the world and our commander.

I was pulled out of my reverie by a blip on my radar, some 3 kilometres to the northeast. It appeared only once, but I was sure it was no mistake. My SHINE and I didn’t make “mistakes.” We moved as one, our senses were one. Noting that the buildup in the stealth system’s heatsink was nominal, I nodded internally and increased my speed, on an intercept trajectory with the radar blip.

“HQ, anomaly noted on radar, time logged as 18:37. Moving to intercept. Permission to engage potential hostiles?”

“Permission granted, Crow. Good hunting, even if I’m not seeing whatever you’re seeing.”

“Just trust me. Going radio silent.”

I wove through the mist, silently cursing its presence. Anyone paying close attention would be able to see sharp, unnatural voids in the mist where my sheer speed cut lines into the air. As a countermeasure, I took erratic loops, full stops and dips, the maneuvers only possible because of my SHINE’s unique method of flight - an array of black, bladelike pillars. When active, they formed an elecromagnetic field around the core SHINE, interfacing with my psionics for fine flight control and my neurolink for synchronicity. Flight at the speed of thought, really.

Coming up on the area that had pinged hot on the radar, I made a straight descent onto the ground and switched the Kestrel to scouting mode. The “wings” switched to their inert position, attaching to my SHINE in the rough shape of a cloak, causing me to hover just a couple of inches above the forest floor. I glanced from side to side, monitor inside of my helmet flush with information. The forest floor had been disturbed recently, and the air stank of charged ions and spent fuel. Someone was using a mass-produced SHINE flight system around here, a basic propulsion model. Probably an A-Type Osprey, judging from the smell and scorch marks. As I nodded to myself, running the numbers on who would still be using such outdated tech, I heard it. The softest “plink” of a high-tension fibre wire bowstring.

There.

Without shifting my body, one of my wings shot out and sliced a projectile out of the air. The Sagittarius EMP Arrow buzzed uselessly amidst the fresh dirt before exploding into harmless shrapnel. I’d picked up on the danger as soon as I landed, but decided to play on the back foot and let the attacker come to me. Chasing a target I couldn’t see into the forest was a good way to get riddled full of holes, after all.

“Is that you, Paris?”

I asked, taking a shot in the dark. My SHINE’s external speakers broadcast my voice into the endless canopy of trees, and the only response came in the form of three arrows - from three directions. 12, 7, 4. Classic triangle attack pattern.

I blocked all three with two of the Kestrel’s twelve blades, clicking my tongue loud enough for my assailant to hear.

“You’re getting slow in your...well, you’re the same age as me. I guess you’re just getting slow. You know it’s a war crime to attack a NATO peacekeeping officer unprovoked, right?”

Six this time. Three behind, one in front, two on the sides.

I was getting a little annoyed, now. Paris was probably testing my defenses, seeing how many arrows they needed to fire at once to overwhelm me. That worked for me. I didn’t mind being underestimated if I was the one that set it up. Knowing full well I could deflect all six, I let one slip through my six o’clock before hardening my SHINE’s systems to avoid the EMP burst and deactivating the Kestrel’s scout mode. Falling to the forest’s floor, I stood back up, making a show of attempting to restart my weapons suite.

If they fell for this, they were an idiot.

“Come on, Paris. No mercy for an old comrade? I dunno what they teach you in Greece, but you’ve gotta be kind-”

Idiot.

Sixteen armor-piercing arrows bared down on me, forming a nearly-perfect circle meant to impale me with no room for conversation. This was Paris’ preferred way to fight - unseen, from a distance, and with overwhelming firepower. Their signature weapon was some sort of tricked-out bow coupled with a miniaturized fabricator, capable of producing a wide variety of specialty arrows. Owing to the psionics all of us Shiners trained in, Paris could do this fancy little trick where they simply threw the arrows with their mind. It let them set up attacks that were seemingly impossible to dodge. Thing is, they loved their goddamn bow, so there was always one arrow just a little faster than the others. That was what we called a “dead giveaway.”

Kestrel roared to life with an electrostatic burst, and I spun all twelve blades above my head into an interlocked shield, scattering the arrows with a horrific metal screech. Kicking off the compacted dirt beneath me with the aid of my SHINE’s synthetic muscles, I leapt a good ten feet in the air before activating flight mode, cutting through the dense forest in the blink of an eye. With branches and limbs falling to the cold earth, I followed the direction of that arrow that was just a little faster than the rest. In the thick eaves of an old redwood, Paris scrambled to fire another shot that I barely dodged before I slammed my metallic fist into their sternum, knocking the air out of them.

We sparred for a few seconds, just like the old days. Unlike the old days, though, all i wanted was to end this pointless little fight as soon as possible, so I simply slapped Paris’ centurion-like helmet with the flat of a Kestrel wing, knocking them out cold. I’m sure they thought I was a bad sport.

Maybe, but at least I didn’t shoot first and reminisce later. Dick. I set them against the trunk of the tree, rummaging through their SHINE’s external compartments until I found what I was looking for. The black box containing all of Rabbit’s intel, pulled directly from their brain. And I do mean directly.

“HQ, this is Crow. Looks like the Grecian army sent out Paris to recover the black box. I’ve incapacitated them. Do you want me to bring them back to base along with the black box?”

“Crow, I hate to point out the obvious, but what are you doing blabbing on a battlefield?”

“What do you mean?”

“Since when did they send Paris out without Hektor?”

The descending roar of a Type-A Osprey sounded in my ears, followed by the metallic “shing!” of what could only be a legendary lance.

“Ah, shit.”

#writing #my writing #sci-fi #science fiction #cyberpunk #exosuits #exoskeleton #original fiction #maybe this could become something later idk #psychic powers #psionics

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