#g witch is over so i have to shill something else that's good

[voldrinofthenorth]

@vexwerewolf So we played In Golden Flame tonight and damn, I did not expect to show up at the end of somebody else's cowboy movie, only to realize we were g-men.

Now that Blacksmith guy, head of the local worker's union, he hired us to kill a "thief". We find the thief, but let him say his peace. If I'm hired to kill someone, I'd like to know who the target is, and the Blacksmith wouldn't give us any info.

The Thief tells us the Blacksmith is a corpo plant, and he's got evidence. Sends us multiple files. Screenshots, data logs, audio and video. Correspondence between the Blacksmith and SSC. Now, I understand having to work with the corpos in order to get shit done out here. We've got no Blinkgate and Union doesn't give two shits about the Boondocks of the Galaxy. Shit, half of us are piloting SSC chassis. We cut our own deals, even got into their "VIP Pilot Program", or whatever. I get it. But icing somebody to keep your reputation intact? I don't like that. You can say it's for the "greater good" all you want, but the only life anyone has any right to sacrifice is their own damn life. I ain't gonna shoot a man for fucking whistleblowing. No corpo could ever pay me enough to stoop that low.

Now, I'm firm in my beliefs here. The squad as a whole, however, are of differing minds. I voice my opinion. Redline isn't having it.

"We were hired for a job, we should finish it."

Charlie pipes in. "Guys, remember our mission? We're trying to save those people who are literally being enslaved and forced to fight each other to the death by Steele. We need the Blacksmith's transport ships. If we trade one life to save all of them, I think it's reasonable."

Christ the Buddha, did this bastard just bring up the fucking Trolly Problem? But shit... He's making sense. We need those ships for evac. We don't have enough room on the Dragon's Tooth for all of those civilians. Still...

Redline pulls his pistol onnthe Thief. "I'll finish him off if you won't."

In that moment, I make my decision. I draw my blaster and point it at Redline. He looks indignant when he turns to me.

"Really, Al? You'd point your gun at me? Over this?"

"I ain't gonna kill an innocent man, Red."

"Oh, so you get to decide who's innocent, now? Who made you judge and jury!?"

"Who made you executioner!?"

While we're having our shouting match, Lamplight is frozen. He can't decide. We need to save all those people. But, killing this man in cold blood is wrong... Right? Lamplight always wanted to be a hero, like Jessie. This doesn't seem very heroic...

Redline's face is red. He turns to the Thief and I can see his finger squeeze the trigger. I'm faster. My blaster goes off first. (I roll for Assault. 23.) I aim for his hand. The plasma bolt sunders his pistol, sending molten slag flying. Redline can feel the reverberations through his hardsuit. His arm goes numb, and falls limp to his side. He doesn't cry out. He just grits his teeth and pulls out a stim with his good hand.

I just stand there, realizing what I've done. Red looks up at me.

"I always knew you were a coward."

I square my jaw.

"I've got nothing to prove to you."

"Hesitating at the end of a job like this? It's weakness."

"I don't fucking care. I'm not a corpo shill."

Lamplight suddenly realizes something. "I can just do both." He looks to me and communicates though Witness, into my mind. "We can just do both."

I understand what he's communicating in an instant. With the images, I can also hear the old Witch's words. "Now, you may find another way..." With a thought, I activate my dataplate visor and send a message to Charlie. "Make it look like we killed him."

Redline's eyes are wide from the stim. He's shouting louder now.

"You're fucking weak!"

I shout back at him.

"I don't fucking CARE!"

I whip around and aim my blaster at the Thief. (I roll for Assault. Natural 20.) I aim for his head and make eye contact with him. I put the plasma bolt right next to his head. Close enough to singe him, but not enough to kill. Charlie is recording the evidence to send to the Blacksmith. Redline jumps on the Thief, veins pumping with a cocktail of stimulants. He beats down on him with his good hand.

Lamplight opens his slate and, as the video is recording, makes a few minor adjustments. Just enough not to be noticed, to be a bit more convincing. He looks up and shouts "Alright, he's dead already! Templar, pull him off!"

I grab Redline and yank him back. "Christ the Buddha, come on! He's dead, and we aren't fucking savages!" I drag Red off, back to our mechs. Charlie cuts the video feed and Lamplight leans down to the Thief. Into his mind, Lamplight speaks to him. "He won't come for you for a while."

The Thief looks up, bruised and burned and bleeding. His voice is horse. "I... I don't know how to repay you."

Lamplight noded. "Wait to send your broadcast until our mission is complete. That's all we ask. We need those ships.

The Thief closes his eyes. "Al... Alright. I'll wait. I'll wait..."

Lamplight put a a chitinous claw on his shoulder. "Thank you. I believe in you. I think you're a hero."

*Apparently the GM didn't expect our conversation to go the way it did. Since the book only has two outcomes, he had to improvise a bit. We're going to get to use the Blacksmith's ships for the mission, but afterwards we will gain "Enmity of the Blacksmith", but we'll also gain "The Thief's Honor". This session was great. We all gained several points of pilot stress and extra pilot EXP. Love Space Cowboys.

[post-itpenny]

You can never trust a monster

Bright Spaces

Some DBD OC stuff. I apologize if this ran too long. uwu

Thomas has already lost count of how many trials he had been in, a fact he preferred not to dwell too much on.

Instead he chose to look for “bright spaces”, a phrase his grandmother used to use. Finding something good that could lift your spirits in bad times. It was apparently something his great grandfather came up with after they cut wages at the mill he worked at. His grandmother describing how tight funds were when they didn’t have much to begin with.

“Was the Great Depression, everyone was tight. But you find good things in hard times and it’s even better than when you find them in normal times. Tiny treasures.”

For Thomas his bright space was the memories of his grandmother.

For Thomas’ grandmother, her bright space was snow cream.

Thomas has not really thought much about snow cream until a particularly long trial at the Dead Dog Saloon.

At the beginning of the trial Thomas was actually really excited, he was a sucker for the western vibe and it was so nice to see some sun. He knew it wasn’t really the sun of course, there was no warmth here. But it was still nice.

And then The Doctor showed up.

He was on his second hook and had just ducked into an abandoned building as the creep stalked by. Thomas took a moment to catch his breath when he looked up and spotted it on the top shelf.

A bottle of vanilla.

Thomas blinked, processing what he was looking at before swiveling his head around the room. It was a general store- or at least what was left of one.

A little searching proved successful, he found not only the vanilla but a barrel with a few handfuls of what he hoped was sugar and a few empty jars.

The idea of making snow cream in a place like this was absurd… but there was a place to actually get snow so why not?

Surviving the match resulted in his first hatch escape. Some of the other survivors congratulating him and questioning what he had snuck back with him. They all did it, taking things from the trial grounds that is. The current claim to gain was a guy name Steve who somehow got ahold of the “G” from the Gas Heaven sign in Autohaven. Which of course led to a very upset Wraith and a lot of good laughs whenever anyone went for a visit.

Thomas reluctantly shared his plan, childishly worried someone would ask to share in the treat. Thankfully no one did. Perhaps they understand its importance to him.

So Thomas stashed his goods at his sleeping space and for the first time, left to go find a killer’s “home.”

Another thing the others sometimes did, “making house calls” Pandora joked. “Just be careful if you decide to ok? Not everyone likes visitors.”

Thomas gave the redhead a hard look, “you tried to visit that freaky pyramid thing didn’t you?”

She shamelessly grinned and made a comment about cake that left Thomas making curious glances at the killer next match.

The trip to Ormond was a slight trek, following the directions the others had given. As he walked Thomas mused over what his plan actually was. He had nothing to hold the snow in once he got it, so he would have to find something, maybe there was a bowl or vase or something in the lodge. Would The Legion miss it? Despite being around his age Thomas had a feeling they wouldn’t be ok with him just showing up and stealing a bowl.

Come to think of it, finding clean snow would also be a challenge, maybe he could-

Oh….

Well this wasn’t Ormond.

Thomas must have taken a wrong turn, he must have. How else could he wind up in the Village?

Thomas had only come here once, and met the owner much to his dismay considering he died rather quickly. It was maybe his third trial so at least he could give himself some slack for it.

However, it was pretty cool in its own way. His great Grandmother had immigrated to America from a small Austrian village and the winding streets reminded him of the stories of that place passed down courtesy of his grandmother.

Thomas wondered the streets, careful to not stray too far from the road he had walked in on. The place felt like a twisting maze of sorts, empty save for a soft sigh of wind that flowed through alleyways.

And yet-

As Thomas poked around he couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of being watched, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

Alright then, guess it was time to go.

Thomas turned back in the direction he had come but only made it a short distance before something caught his eye. Sitting in the window of a house, was a simple wooden bowl.

Thomas looked around, seeing no one he turned back to the bowl, maybe he could-

There was a shill call right behind him. Thomas giving a small yelp of surprise as he spun around to find a crow perched on a stone fence, watching him with its beady eyes.

It was just a bird, part of Thomas really wanted to just tell himself that. But he had already learned the hard way not to take things at face value here.

He gave a small guilty grin. “Y-yeah ok sorry, I’m…. later.”

He all but ran out of the village. Slowing down only once he was surrounded by trees again. Thomas sat down on a fallen tree, looking around to try and get his bearings again. He nearly screamed when he saw her.

The Witch was a very mysterious killer, beautiful and frightening-

And standing about thirty yards away from him.

She was just watching him, or at least he assumed she was as her face was partially obscured by the brim of her hat. She watched him, Thomas staring back feeling very much like a trapped rabbit.

The Witch Gabe a slight tilt of her head, as if in curiosity. Then she was gone, and Thomas sprinted back to the campfire.

It was a strange encounter, and it wouldn’t be the last. It happened again a few days (he assumed days) later. Thomas having tried again to reach Ormond only to miss the turn on the trail he had been following and left to wander in a circle. He saw her much farther away though she must have been aware of his presence as well as she turned in his direction. It was eerie yet nothing compared so many of the other horrors this place held.

“You can never trust a monster.” Thomas would remind himself. Just because she hadn’t done anything yet did not mean she wouldn’t change her mind the next time.

The third time he finally made it, Mount Ormond.

It was easier to find a container than he thought. An old bucket but he didn’t care. He filled it with as much clean snow as he could and booked it back to camp to gather his ingredients. And then leaving for the solitude of the forest.

As he mixed the ingredients together, Thomas remembered his grandmother. The slight rattle in her throat as she spoke that sounded as if she may soon cough.

“I remember one snow I begged mother to let me buy sugar to make snow cream.” She reminisced, looking out the window at the warm sunshine of summer before breaking out into laughter. “Why I was- I was so excited. Back then things weren’t pre-packaged, you told the man what you wanted and how much of it. Then he put it in a paper bag for you. I was running home with this paper bag of sugar and I tripped and spilled it all over the snowy road. I was so upset and trying to scoop it back into the bag!” She laughed again, stopped to really cough this time. “Mother couldn’t be mad at me for wasting sugar because I was mad enough for the both of us!”

Thomas didn’t have a spoon, so he mixed everything with his hand. Fingers numb as he scooped up the first bite to eat. It tasted nothing like the snow cream his grandmother had made. But he cried while he ate it.

There was a rustle of fabric. Thomas looked up and found The Witch hardly standing ten feet from him.

Thomas turned bright red. He must have looked ridiculous sitting in the forest, crying and eating snow. She stood there watching him as she had in the past. She was close enough now that he could actually see her face, hidden under veil and hat.

There was no fight or flight instinct, he was just too tired now.

“Hey,” Thomas mumbled with a small yet awkward wave.

The Witch tilted her head in acknowledgment.

This time it was Thomas that left first. Gathering up his belongings and moving what was left of the snow cream to the now empty sugar jar. She watched, yet did nothing. When he stood up to leave she had already blended back into the shadows. Thomas made a slight detour, deciding to leave the jar of leftover snow cream in the middle of the road that makes the start of the village. He moved on with a shrug, maybe she needed a bright space too.

[spooky-scary-imagines]

Hi :) would you write one where ChopTop met the reader the the radio station along with Strech*idk if i spelled it right* but the reader dressed similar to him and was in a band herself makeing ChopTop love struck and just his stuttering getting worst and forgeting what to say witch the reader finds cute maybe it would get slightly nsfw to to the ebd but you can pick its ok if its just fluff :3 *sorry if its to long*

((Sorry this took so long! Gotta love my boy Chop-Top and this prompt not only gave me an excuse to rewatch his intro scene but it also seems super fun! It is a challenge to figure out dialogue for him tho because he’s so bizarre in all the best ways. This one didn’t end up being too romantic but I’ve been thinking about maybe writing a continuation for this just cause there’s so much more I can do with it. So let me know if any of y’all are interested! Tagging: @i-cant-get-with-it

Chop Top meets hippie s/o @ the radio station:

It’s been a pretty rough week at the station. Your good friend Vanita had gotten a terrible call-in the other day. Initially she thought it was a prank, as the men had been obnoxious all day, but even she couldn’t ignore the terrible screaming and shill grating of metal on metal. Not when she saw that article in the paper that seemed to match the call-in. She had told you about the plan she devised with some old sheriff, about playing the tape over the radio. To you it seemed like a bad idea and a great way to put a giant target on her back, but she was insistent that she had to do it and make a difference. Despite your worries, you couldn’t just leave her alone, so you decided to stay with her after that night’s broadcast.

Tonight had done nothing to ease your concerns, angry callers had been cursing out the station and since Stretch first aired the tape. L.G. seemed to be the most upset by it, talking about how much trouble Vanita was going to get into, though anyone with eyes could tell how soft he was on her. Sadly, it didn’t seem like the feelings were returned quite the same way. At least not yet, you thought, as you watched her turn down his offer to grab some coffee with him. Guess you two were sticking around for this “Lefty” guy.

Shortly after L.G. left, you heard the phone ring. You went to reach for it, but Stretch got there first. “Hello?…Hello?…Lefty?” You could guess from her side of the conversation that she was being met with silence. You raised an eyebrow and she looked at you, equally confused. The mysterious caller hung up. “What the hell was that all about?” you asked.

“No clue,” Stretch shrugged, “We get some weird callers sometimes, but-.” As if on a cue, you two heard a small slam from the other side of the station. Vanita’s eyes flicked to you. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

Stretch had been gone for a suspicious amount of time, when you decided you needed to go after her. You stood in the doorway of the hall leading to the lobby. From there, you could hear Stretch and a strange male voice, talking manically. “Hi, I know what you’re thinking. This is weird. Hope I can handle it.“ You peered out into the lobby, there you saw Vanita nervously backed against her desk, across from her was an odd man. He appeared to be in his 30s, dressed in patched and campy hippie clothes, the odd look topped off with a shappy mop of black hair and lavender Lennon specs. Though a somewhat tacky outfit, it reminded you of the way you and your bandmates dressed, especially when hanging out around at festivals. He started getting up and moving towards Stretch, and you walked out from the doorframe. Both sets of eyes looking your direction.

“Uhhh, hey man…what’s up?” you asked, awkwardly trying to redirect him. He turned to you, and looked you up and down, face unreadable.

“Wh-Who  the hell’re you? I thought it was j-just the DJ?”

“Well it isn’t space cadet! Who the hell are you?”

“I-I-I’m just a fan,” he turned back to Stretch, “Me and my little brother, Bubba, we listen to this show e-every night.” He turned back to you with a sick grin, “Music…is my life.”

You smiled at that, “Oh? I dig it. I’m in a band myself.”

His eyes went wide at that, and the barely contained manic energy in him seemed to ramp up, “O-Oh yeah? Wh-What’re you like? Something h-h-heavy? Like-like Iron Butterfly!”

You chuckled. Despite him being kind of a freaky-deaky dork, you had to admit the spaz was kind of endearing and a little cute. “Kinda. We’re more like Vanilla Fudge or Quicksilver Messenger Service than anything.”

“Far-Out! So-”

“I hate to interrupt,” Stretch cut in, “But the station is closed for the night.”

The man turned back to her, a strange glint in his eye and a sick grin that made you shudder. “Well, y’see, I wa-wanted to phone in my request but, but I al-al-always get too nervous, y’know?” He paused for a reaction before continuing, “But, well, since I’m here. In-In flesh-and-blood…I figured I could just give you my request now right!

Stretch looked to you for help and you just lifted your hands in a shrug-like gesture. “Uh, sure, sure. You can tell me your request and then you need to leave.”

The man chuckled, and started heating up the coat hanger he was holding with an old rainbow lighter. “Al-Alright…How about Cold Stone Fever from uh, Humble Pie! Or uh…” he picked at his scalp, ”In Da Vidda da Gadda babey. Heh heh yeah…” he turned to you, “Real, uh, heavy stuff, y’know.” You hid a laugh behind your hand, at his goofy smile and the fact that he got both song titles wrong.

Then that menace was back in his eyes, “Or…how about s-something like that, uh, Lefty r-request record you played today? How’d it go again?” You and Stretch’s eyes went wide as the man screamed and growled in mimicry of the terrible sounds of the attack. You looked at each other in mutual fear at this man standing between you and the exit. “Wh-What was that anyway? R-Rambo III soundtrack?” he chuckled at his own joke. “Could you play it again? Or, uh, m-maybe you co-could get me a copy!” He grinned, “You could both sign it. To-To-To a far out fan!”

He seemed to respond better to you so you spoke up, “We, uh, actually don’t have a copy. Sorry sir. But we could, er,  play your other requests.”

Something dark passed over his face that you couldn’t quite place. He looked to the side in the records vault. “Hey, uh, is this where you keep the golden oldies? And mayb-” The rest of the sentence was cut off when the lights suddenly flipped on, revealing a horrifying giant wielding what looked like a chainsaw. You and Vanita screamed, she ran off towards the back rooms while you ducked out of the way into the far corner of the room behind and hid on the far side of the sofa. You heard the man from earlier hollering in pain and wailing at the giant to “Get the girl!” You saw the giant run after Vanita through the door, and you peered out from your hiding place. You watched the man from before scream and clutch at his head. “He dented my plate! My brain is burning! Nam flashback! Nam flashback! Leatherface, you bitch, I’ll…Oh just look what you did to my Sonny Bono wig. Oh, God damn it!”

You listened to the man’s cries of pain and rage from your hiding place as you resisted the urge to help him. Judging from what you could make out from his rant, he was clearly with the man trying to kill Stretch. Oh god…Vanita…what have you gotten yourself into? He eventually managed to get to his feet and began to go through the records vault, muttering something about dogs hunting. You covered your ears and tried to block out the terrible sounds coming from behind the door leading to the recording area.

You heard a door open from the other side of the room. “Hey! What the shit?” L.G was back! Maybe he could get the police and everything would be okay.

“Lick my plate you dog dick!” the hippie yelled, flipping L.G. the bird. It would have been funny if the whole situation wasn’t so terrifying.

“What the fuck you think you’re doing in here, you crazy-looking little son of a bitch? Get out of here!” You wanted to scream at L.G. to run out of here and get help, that these guys were totally buggin and super dangerous. But you stayed quiet for fear of revealing your position. This turned out to be a lethal decision as the man lunged at L.G. brandishing a hammer. “Time for incoming mail!” he shrieked, slamming into hammer into L.G.’s skull, “Ho Chi Minh!” Over and over you heard the sickening thuds through your covered ears. You squeezed your eyes shut but you couldn’t pretend it just wasn’t happening. Hell, the same thing was probably happening to Stretch right now .

You didn’t even realize you were crying until you felt the warmth of the tears sliding down your face, but someone else did. You open your eyes to see the killer’s leering face less than a foot from your own, “H-H-Hey there, rock’n’roll b-bunny! T-th-th-thought I lost ya t-there.”

“Please, don’t kill me,” you sobbed, “I’m, like, really sorry for whatever’s making you upset.”

This seemed to make the man nervous, and he started picking twitchily at the edge of a metal plate embedded in his skull. “I-I…I ain’t g-gonna, er, kill you. J-Just…” he looked around the room frantically, as if trying to find a solution to his problem. He spied the hammer over by L.G.’s corpse and his face broke into a grin. He scrambled to grab it, whipped back around, and started getting closer to you, arms out ahead of him as if you were a spooked animal. And I guess in a way you were. “N-Now do-don’t move or-or nothing. It It ain’t gonna h-hurt.”

Your soft sobs turned into bawling, “NoNoNo Oh God PleasePleasePleasePlease Don’t do this Please don’t do this!”

You noticed some emotion flash across his face that you couldn’t figure out. “A-one and a-two and a-three!” and the hammer fell down on your skull. You collapsed, yet you kept fading in and out of consciousness. You heard footsteps coming through the door to the studio and what sounded like the two men having a one sided conversation. “Did you get her, Bubba? Did you get that bitch? She was my fave…but-but she knew! And now…nobody knows!…L-look what you did to my plate, you bitch!…Y-You got her? Di-Did you get her good?…Slap me five!

You heard footsteps coming closer but you couldn’t see what was happening as you felt yourself getting dragged over to a damp section of floor. “I got some too. Bonus bodies! Look at that beef,” you vaguely felt a slap against your thigh, but it was as if you were made of cotton. “Help me get it out of here!,” said the hippie as you felt yourself be hoisted onto the larger man’s shoulders.

 You were tossed in what seemed like the back of a truck, though you were so dizzy it was hard to tell. Finally you succumbed to your head injury and passed out. The giant, Bubba, left to sit shotgun and only Chop-top stayed by, standing over you with a dopey look on his face. “Don’t wo-worry baby, we’ll b-be home soon,” he gave you a sloppy peck on the cheek and ran back around to the driver’s side. “Alright Bubba! Let’s blow this pop stand!” he yelled, and sped off back to where the rest of the family was waiting.