#highwall

[neuwall]

Ultra High Type Movable Partition Walls

Designed for movable partition as high as 7 m to16 m with max soundproof rate 53 dB. Load bearing of each meter is more than 2000 kilograms, pulley bearing more than 1600 KGS, used in large place, such as banquet hall, multi-function hall, exhibition center, gym and conference room. visit our website>> https://bit.ly/3SpsZwS    

[dadsbongos]

kanin under maanen

word count - 4.6 k

warnings - p in v sex, reader is described with words like "soft" and "round" and is also fem, rag's status as a widower is an afterthought, i kept losing track of where i put his furs

also - i think oldegaard is funger's norway?? or something... :P oops

“Please- I’ll be quick, I swear! I’ll carry things! I know how to mix herbs, I can heal you! And I’ll be quiet, too. Just, oh, just please... please let me stay with you…!”

Your hands rattle against your chest, which heaves like you’re fresh from a churning dash through the entirety of the dungeons -- just to ask this man, a stranger, a simple question.

“Can I stay with you, please?”

Ragnvaldr stares down at you over the bridge of his nose, seafoam eyes lapping over the weaker stain of your frame in his vision. Such bold, shameless desperation plagues him. He starts to wonder how you’d made it to the courtyard. How many cramped corners you’d jammed yourself into, barely scraping out of the dungeon beasts’ sights. How you’ve held your mind together to form words and continue your slow crawl to freedom.

The reddened, raw stretch of skin over his right ribs stings suddenly to emphasize your point. Ragnvaldr was raised well enough to know which shrubbery to scrub into which wounds and which ones to avoid at all costs, but his knowledge was poultry compared to what these cells demanded.

At the downwards twitch of your knees, Ragnvaldr can feel an uncomfortableness to rival the ache of his seared flesh twinge through his beating chest. He takes you by the shoulder, grip loosening when you flinch under his hold. Ragnvaldr shakes his head, silky cardinal tresses dancing over his skin. His lips, cracked and fading in color, pin themselves back faintly to ease your shivering uncertainty.

“No need to beg on your knees,” Ragnvaldr unlatches from you completely in favor of cradling the slowly leaking slashes in his side, “You said you can heal?”

“Yes!” you eagerly respond, nodding, “Yes, let’s sit you down!”

Ragnvaldr flows under the bristle of your fingertips, fur armor quickly coming off. His uncovered back was against the chilled stone highwall; lower body stretched out against the grass bed. Your hands move in smoother, more assured strides as you single out the most useful of your colored leaves.

“Can I…?”

“Ja, anything you need.”

Ragnvaldr’s eyes, you notice, have softened in how they watch over your work. The flutter of his lashes now matches the tenderness of their color. A near-missed swipe from a serrated weapon -- none like you’ve seen -- decorates the majority of his right side under his arm. Angry red lines string over the pink flesh. You press a careful hand into the surrounding area, testing the firmness of his body for soft spots. For broken bones. He allows it, despite the stark difference in strength and the fact he could probably crush your skull with one palm -- he allows your hands to roam.

The bag you pull from is ratty and he thinks the deep brown hue may be more from staining than original dyes, but he says nothing. You first pull out a thick book with yellowed pages between faded, peeling covers. Then, four blue herb sprigs and two glass vials -- the stretch and twist of your bones and ligaments beneath soft, unbruised skin is hypnotizing to Ragnvaldr. You crush the sprigs with a single vial before hurriedly separating the remains between the two vials and combining two blue vials into one.

“I don’t think it’s infected,” you murmur, clogging the vial with a cork. A lighter shade of blue now shimmers beneath the glass, darker shreds of herb cling inside the abandoned second vial.

Ragnvaldr shakes his head, “Nej. I’d have mentioned it.”

“Ah, right,” you cup a hand over your mouth, eyes wide as if you’re offstruck by your own words, “I didn’t mean- of course, you- I mean… I’m sorry,” you bashfully reopen the cerulean bottle and hold it up towards the man’s face, “I didn’t mean to suggest anything…”

A vicious anxiety continues to course through your chest, no matter how pliant Ragnvaldr has made himself to show his trust for your care. You’re visibly hyper-aware of how simply he could end your life. Something about the nature of this makes him nauseous.

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Ragnvaldr speaks softer than before, his voice a deep, gentle purr through the broad expanse of his chest. Tenderly, he swipes the open vial from your palm, the warmth from his skin washing over the cold nips of your own, “Thank you.”

Silently, you nod, wasting seconds to watch his adam’s apple bob thickly with each swallow before you pull loose the cloth you’ve collected through ransacked rooms. The strips coil around themselves by your kneeling legs.

“Can I start wrapping it?”

“Ja.”

“This might be…” you flounder under his eyes, instead stringing up the cloth in your hands and leaning over Ragnvaldr’s bigger frame. Invasive.

Ragnvaldr contemplates, for the second time, how you’d skipped past guards and tentacled flesh beasts and dogs. Even the impish, frail, winged creatures seem capable of knocking your terrorized self off your steady. Then, he asks himself why he’s taken you in. Oldegaard groomed strong warriors, and he had always taken pride in that. He was raised with scorching blood and willing hands, you were not.

But you remind him of the blacksmith’s girl. A sweet thing -- also unfamiliar with the fighter’s path. He prays she was killed quickly rather than being made to suffer.

Perhaps he can apologize to her and the rest of his gutted homeland by escorting you back out once he’s taken revenge.

“How did you get this?” your voice lulls Ragnvaldr from his own head, he looks up from your binding hands to your soft face, “Can I ask that? How were you injured?”

“A man with the head of a crow,” Ragnvaldr admits this to you with the ease he would his name, “A mace for an arm,” he gestures down the length of his side, “He’s much faster than I am.”

“I’m glad you got out,” you finish tucking the tattered end of your cloth spiral into the rest of the sprawl. You are suddenly afraid of being misconstrued, “I’m glad this dungeon couldn’t claim another soul.”

Ragnvaldr thinks you are as kind as the blacksmith’s girl, but you must have resilience to survive this far. More guts and nerve, and even teeth. They may be loose and accustomed to chewy, lavish fat, but you most certainly have teeth.

He wants to see them.

“I feel the same.”

You smile, bigger than he had earlier. The thin shadows and dimples highlighted in your face remind him of when he was younger, with the liberty to stare up at full moons. Absorbing and beautiful with radiance to shine over shadowed forests and into black night seas. He wants to return to there. Even in the cruel winters when he was faced with the opened chests and severed limbs of his deceased comrades. Even then, when he had to eat or be eaten, things were simpler compared to now.

“I think you should rest,” you frown immediately after speaking, “To avoid agitating the wound with the cloth… it isn’t very clean and I don’t have enough green herbs to keep infections at bay for long.”

Ragnvaldr tenses, but it’s not as nerve-wracking as it would’ve been mere moments ago. He clenches his fists and gently skims his knuckles down the pseudo-bandages, when it stuns him momentarily, he nods.

“We can’t stay out here, then.”

“There are rooms in the dungeon’s first level.”

“For torture?”

Dread fills you, that he may consider your suggestion foolish and ultimately dump you off to a guard, but then you see the lopsidedness of his grin. He’s messing with you.

“Well, yes,” you huff, coming to a stand and holding out both hands to assist him up, “but our options are limited.”

Ragnvaldr stubbornly stands on his own, pushing off the tower wall behind him and stumbling ahead of you towards the entry hall.

And with just as much defiance, you jam yourself under one of his arms before you can properly think out the action. Your desire to be helpful and needed by the strongman outweighs your politeness; not wanting to be abandoned with your back turned. Ragnvaldr jolts over you, but relents and leans the more unstable part of his weight against you. The trek is difficult, but you both manage. You feel less afraid traversing back through the dank, dark halls than you did leaving them, and you are not ignorant to the fact it's because of Ragnvaldr hanging over you. Injured as he is, he’s still far more competitively capable than you.

Once you’ve properly settled into a room and jammed the door shut, Ragnvaldr slips onto the sole creaky bed. His eyes close, exhaling noisily through his nose.

The bed’s frame is caked in dried, blackening blood and sits opposite a bucket full of murky sludge; a crinkly film drying over the surface. Pressed far into the side of the room is a table with glinting blades scattered across the stained wood. You can’t define what most of the tools are, but you can identify the skinning knife teetering by the closest edge of the table.

Aside from that are the typical smears of carmine blood over cobblestone: people before you and someday people after you. You can only pray now to the old Gods that it won’t be your own blood to join the pool.

For that, for your safe passage through the dungeons, you need to ensure your new party doesn’t fall to infection or blood loss.

“I’ll check you over tomorrow morning,” you tangle your fingers together, switching the weight between your feet, “Maybe tonight if it’s noticeably hurting.”

Ragnvaldr stares over at you again before patting the bed.

You heed the silent command, dragging along the worn bag you pulled from a barrel in the basement.

“What brought you here?” you wonder quietly, looking over at the man. He monopolizes the bedspace, spread wide over the mattress without even intending to.

His eyes drift up to the ceiling before finding your dutiful hands again, he follows the movements as they dig through your items. Taking stock of what you have, mourning the losses, and fretting over what you need. The blacksmith’s girl didn’t have hands as mystifying as you.

“I am here to find a relic that a certain person took from my people. This man is imprisoned somewhere deep down below,” Ragnvaldr is not so foolish as to believe his home’s pillaging is either undeserved or unbefitting for his soul to bear. He’s done the same, and the parasite from Vinland still burns a hole in his pocket. Even so, his human heart persists, “When I found them- I was one of only a few survivors.”

“Oh,” you pause your inventory search to very delicately press a hand to his shoulder and pat sympathetically, “I’m sorry. That’s terrible.”

“I’m going to kill him.”

He wonders what someone with as soft hands and face as you would think of such a declaration. If the teeth you have can chew through the toughness of his words. You pull back, but much slower than he was expecting, and return to sorting through your bag.

Much to Ragnvaldr’s surprise, you smile, “Then I’ll make sure you get there in one piece.”

You swallow his ominous message without pause.

“What are you doing here?”

“Ah, a friend of mine…” you worry your bottom lip between your teeth, fingers caught at the bottom of your bag with a thin slip of paper, “She’s pregnant and the man promising to wed her came for a job to set them up for life. He’s been gone for a while.”

“A friend would send you here? Into this evil?”

“She never said she wanted me to come here,” you shrivel into yourself, settling your bag against the bedpost leg, “I don’t know what compelled me… I really- “ your hands fist the torn, blood-stained sheets, “I was an idiot to think I could’ve done any good here.”

Ragnvaldr sits up, laying his calloused palm over yours, “The man you’re looking for. What’s his name?”

“Cahara. Cahara of the South.”

The man nods, auburn strands hanging with the motion, “And I’ll make sure you find him for your friend.”

“Thank you,” you notice the way he moves further to the side, a new gap on the mattress for your body to slot beside him, “Thank you, Ragnvaldr.”

He doesn’t think he’s heard someone outside the North say his name with such care.

You lay beside Ragnvaldr and revel in how close the two of you are. Safety and comfort buzzing in the lack of space.

He’s big. And warm. Like the sun.

You missed the sun.

…

Upon rising from slumber, you see that Ragnvaldr is still in unguarded rest. His bare chest rises and falls in soothed repetitive swoops, and his soft hair rains over the flat pillow beneath him. Prepared to slide off the mattress, you don’t register the arm fastening you to Ragnvaldr before you’re brushing against it. The arm tightens and you’re rendered useless.

You contemplate waking Ragnvaldr. Of squeezing yourself through the narrow hold. Even forcefully unwinding his muscle from your midsection.

You fall back asleep.

…

By the next time you’re awake, Ragnvaldr is too. You’ve sat him up against the scratched, chipped headboard and are undressing his wound. Green herb sprigs sit at the ready by your right knee in case pus is clinging to the cloth and oozing from open shreds. Thankfully, nothing of the sort awaits.

“Good!” you chirp, and Ragnvaldr remembers a full moon hanging over the spindly, leafless trees in the harsh falls of his youth, “There’s still some scratching, probably scarring later… but no infection! And it’s not inflamed or red.”

“We should continue our way, then.”

“Oh.”

Ragnvaldr laughs suddenly, from the hull of his chest, and only stops when the skin over his ribs pulls uncomfortably, “You want to stay here?”

“It’s been nicer than out there… We could stay in here. Away from the darkness.”

It has been nicer. The dungeons of Fear and Hunger are no place for domesticity, but anything is fair in a locked room. In a strange way, you wish you could stay with the beautiful man from Oldegaard.

His hair brushes past his shoulders and even though he is so much larger than you (you fear that he may even be able to kill a guard on his own), he is nicer than most men you’ve met in your life. Especially where you live in the seedier underbelly of Rondon -- men with spines are not uncommon, but men with spines and hearts are. Cahara was a welcomed gem in the coal mines of home.

And Ragnvaldr, you fear, might be your prettiest diamond.

He gazes upon you fondly. Seafoam you want to drink up. Or drown in. You haven’t decided yet. He cups your round cheeks and smooths back the stray hairs slicked to your face.

“Maanejente,” he coos beneath his breath, the harsh pads of his thumbs glide over the plain of your face and down your neck, working into the knotted meat of your shoulders, “Maanejente… nothing will hurt you. Not with me here,” he wants to see your teeth in that pretty smile from last night, “You have sugar in your heart, has anyone told you that?” you bare your teeth in a grin and he feels more successful than after any battle, “We’ll press on later.”

You nod under his calm massaging, eyes drifting to the fiery lines over his right side, “I don’t have anything to make the wounds close.”

“I don’t expect anything more,” he soothes, studying you kindly. Oldegaard had such a wide, unhindered view of the skies, when he was a boy he would stare into the moon’s craters. He’d compare them from night to night and dream about a day when he would defeat a beast so great, he’d be rewarded. The thick trees of Vinushka Himself would lift Ragnvaldr high into the sky and he’d be able to study the deep caverns up close, “You’ve healed me plenty to keep fighting.”

He became a man and forgot those dreams in favor of providing for himself and his wife and their child.

But he remembers himself in his purest form and finds that he doesn’t want to part with you after taking revenge against the foolhardy Le’Garde. If you asked, he would stop fighting after that, or he could become the God of Ultra-Violence. Whichever way you please, he’ll bend.

“Maanejente, we should go.”

You move swiftly, exhaling sharply with a curt nod, “Right!” you stow away the unused green herbs, “Right, we’ll go.”

“The job your friend had taken, what was his work here?” Ragnvaldr watches you move. Your sureness and determination sway him further.

“He had to find a man,” you bury yourself into the shadow of Ragnvaldr as he unsticks the room lock, “I’m not sure of the name.”

“An important man, though,” Ragnvaldr is embarrassed how his first thought is what you’ll do if he kills the man your friend is meant to rescue, “Must be.”

You realize what he means, eyes widening, “No! It… Well… It could be…”

Ragnvaldr’s warm gaze melts into the floor tiles as he guides you through the dim hallways. Prison guards moan and gurgle in the distance and the sound used to freeze you in your spot -- it now feels like the squeaks of mice with the Northern man in front of you.

“I’m sure if he knew,” you brace, “he wouldn’t get in your way.”

Ragnvaldr pushes through to the courtyard, unveiling rows of hanged men naked and baking in the open air. Despite the fact this is, in fact, open air, the scent of death continues to cling along each blade of grass. A mist clogs your vision.

Bared skin wafting more warmth than the exposed sun, Ragnvaldr looks down at you as you clutch your measly bag. Your expression is pinched like you’ve somehow stabbed him in the back. His red hair burns like gold embers in the bathing light.

“You would let me kill the man, then?”

“He hurt you,” you answer simply. A way so unbridled by dark and evil, Ragnvaldr once again cannot comprehend your survival past the entrance guard dogs.

You discuss a stranger’s death with the comfort you would which color you prefer for robes. You have teeth unsharpened by true terror. Ragnvaldr should get you free of these walls soon.

“Sugar for a heart,” he muses.

The two of you duck under an archway and find a womanly figure in the mist. Two oblong points jut out from her skull, and the closer you get the more defined her shapes become. Firstly, is that she’s naked (Ragnvaldr chuckles when you gasp and clench your eyes shut); second is that her horned points are ears on a mask. Her voice drips like honey from behind the bunny mask,

"Welcome to the meadows, o' travelers,” she shifts closer to the wood post behind her, your eyes slicing sharply away from the sway of her breasts, “Let us ease your suffering…” your stare dawdles up over the contemplative face of Ragnvaldr, then to his injured side, “The first one is free."

“Mending of flesh,” you mutter, creeping further into Ragnvaldr’s coziness, “Sylvian will heal you, if you…”

Ragnvaldr is struck by the opportunity, wringing his hand through yours and stringing you into the scene. The expressions you can make out from under the eggshell masks are highly varied -- from twisted agony to buttery bliss to far-off stares and brainless drooling. Some bodies are limp, unmistakable from corpses aside from occasional jolts and twitches of their hips. Other bodies are more lively, rocking and humping in veracity. A man with dark hair stands in the middle, he waves the both of you over.

"Are you looking for partners?” you clutch Ragnvaldr’s hand tightly and pointedly ignore his exposed groin, and he squeezes back. The man giggles quietly beneath his mask before holding out two more, “Just take off your clothes and put on these masks."

“Come, mannejente,” Ragnvaldr pulls you away from the man, a previously unfamiliar thrumming working hot blood through his entire body. He works off his furs quickly and lifts your bag from your shoulders to lay it down, “Would you be my partner?” he smiles softly, “I’m not sure of these other people.”

His utterance curls inside you like a full meal. The thought alone makes your mouth water. He’s got meat on his bones and you want to sink your teeth into him. If he were to sleep with anyone else in this garden, you can already tell the sight would make you physically sick. You hope that he’d feel the same.

“Right,” but the dungeons are not a place for his affection for you, and even though you know you’re not made for this world -- you don’t want to make him lose sight of his mission, “Everyone else is just strange.”

“Not you,” Ragnvaldr’s hands find your shoulders again -- working slightly under the hem of your lackluster cloth shirt, “Not you.”

Ragnvaldr is big and warm like the sun. More like the sun than what hangs in the sky above. The sun you used to run under as a small girl before the crushing weight of responsibility ran you tired and nerve-sprung. You miss those days. Somehow, even though he’s directly sifting off your clothes, you even miss Ragnvaldr.

Somehow, you need him closer.

And closer you pull Ragnvaldr, right by the furs draped over his shoulder; unsurely brushing your hands under the thick material. Ragnvaldr flows under your call, shrugging off the weight of his furs as he frees you of your own clothing. Little mind is paid to either you or Ragnvaldr by the other erratic bodies, but still, their presence is off-putting. In a terrible nightmare, you could see these people being broken from their overstimulation as soon as Ragnvaldr is tucked inside you. Then their eyes would wander -- would they judge you? A newcomer unwelcomed, perhaps?

Ragnvaldr gently kisses your cheek, sweeping you up between his arms and smoothly lying you on the plush grass. He kneels between your spread legs, angling the surrounding bodies out of your vision the most he could.

“Focus on me,” he simpers, all to your ears, “Sweet girl… snill maanejente...”

You never studied the tongue of the North, figuring that it would never come into play in the West, but you could listen to Ragnvaldr ramble to himself in his mother tongue all day. His hands slide over your sides, molding into the bend of your waist before snatching you up by the hips and perching you over his bent knees.

“I- “ wind catches in your throat, hands balling on the ground, “I’ve never laid with a man before…”

Ragnvaldr nods, leaning over you with his broader form to kiss you again. On the lips this time. He leaves with a soft, chaste peck before pursing his lips and letting spit pool in his mouth and laving your cunt with the saliva. He promises to be patient while slicking a single finger inside you.

The stretch is not entirely unpleasant, a faint pinch.

“Relax for me, sweet girl,” Ragnvaldr stares down at his hand slowly pressing into the apex of your thighs, “Take a deep breath and relax. Let me take care of you, yes?”

Ragnvaldr hikes one of your thighs to his waist, continuing to fingerfuck you until you’re gasping his name. His spit is joined by your natural wetness mixing along his thick middle finger, slippery and messy: he coils a second finger into you, carefully stretching your hole. Your other thigh joins at his waist of your own volition, jerking your leg into him in the throes of bubbling pleasure.

The warmth of Ragnvaldr’s body swaddles you, the meat of his palm grinding against your clit and sending a spiral of heat down your spine. Heating your chilled blood and raging all the way into your face.

Your bottom lip catches between your teeth, both hands squeezing around Ragnvaldr’s wrist as you cant your hips into his hand.

Noticing your earnest efforts to meet his fingering halfway, Ragnvaldr’s spare hand cups the flesh of your ass and pulls you higher over his lap, “Eager, maanejente?”

“Oh, please, Ragnvaldr!” you whimper, jerking onto his fingers. This begging he could get used to, “Please, please, I need you to- !” unfortunately for him, you stop that plea short, “I need you!”

“Beautiful voice for such greed,” he shadows over you, kissing and sucking the column of your throat as he replaces his fingers with the head of his cock. The enveloping heat of your cunt sucks him in as though you’re starved, tightly he grasps your hips and restrains the urge to give in and press your pelvis flush to his. He may leave violet imprints, but he knows he will soothe them later so the concern is quickly pushed aside, “My sweet girl is greedy,” he whines at the squeeze around his dick, “And so lovely when I’m inside her. So pretty, aren’t you?”

Your arms loop around his neck, nails puncturing into the skin of his bare back. Heat waves through your palms and through your arms -- all down your chest and into your churning gut. Most of all, however, the heat is buzzing where the both of you are connected. His hips slotted against yours.

“Pretty when you’re working,” he lifts you from his cock before thrusting in again, building in speed until his hips are pistoning into you in smooth, fluid strokes, “Pretty when you’re fucked,” his thumb finds your soaked clit and circles it, just to pinch out as many of your whines as he can, “Pretty - hah! - pretty maanejente.”

Ragnvaldr is big and broiling hot and you don’t know if you can stand to be apart from him after this. Dungeons be damned, damned as your souls.

His cock spears each sweet spot nestled inside you: thick and full. And messy. So wet you can feel your juices webbing between where his hips meet your thighs on every pull-back.

The arm not stimulating your button of nerves rolls under you and up to the back of your neck. He secures you in his hold, pressure on the sides of your throat though not suffocating, so he can push even further inside you. Ragnvaldr kisses up from your collarbones to your jaw and finally the corner of your mouth before he huffs into your mewling lips. Your thighs tighten around him as the steady warmth of ecstasy comes to a boil.

Ragnvaldr’s tongue dips into your mouth, desperate to taste your own tongue. Try as he may to keep quiet in favor of your moans, the throaty, raw groans and grunts from his chest never cease. The sounds make you wail louder into his gaping maw as your cunt cinches around Ragnvaldr.

When he was a boy, he used to dream of being lifted by swirly branches until he could scrape the moon with his fingertips. He imagines the feeling of you cumming with him is the same, inseparable euphorias digging up from his gut and swallowing the rest of his body whole. Your teeth latched into his neck, and he is unwilling to be released.

In darkness, he finds the moon. And for now, he doesn’t need to consider how foolish it is to trap a celestial body beneath him when he’s here for Le’Garde’s bastard head. In darkness, he’s illuminated by the powdery shine he senselessly clings to.

In the same way, you bathe in a sun that feels otherwise unattainable. Large and unburdened, Ragnvaldr warms your chills with ease under a sun less desirable than his company. A muggy, clouded sun -- wholly unappealing compared to the man above you.

This affection will eat you alive down here.

You might let it.

[hakkiest]

everyone is gonna be lonely once or twice in their life. thats normal thts human. you cant like highwall expect yourself to be the exception ynow. loneliness

^ found in my drafts fuck past me and her passive optimism were lonely now

[grote5que]

𝐹𝑜𝑟 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 🎵 𝐼 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝐼'𝑙𝑙 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑎 𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝐼 𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑜𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑚𝑦 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑒! ⸺ featuring : the whole muse roster - compliments of @walkeddeath

「ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑎 𝑟𝑜𝑑𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑢𝑒𝑧. 𐕣 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑹. 」 ░▒ abbey - mitski ↳ i am hungry / i have been hungry / i was born hungry / what do i need? / i am something / i have been something / i was born something / what could i be? / there is a light that i can see / but only, it seems, when there's darkness in me / there is a dream that i sometimes see / that only appears in the dark of sleep

「𝑟𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑙𝑢𝑐𝑎.  𐕣  𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑮𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑳. 」 ░▒ i kill everything - deathbyromy ↳ mutilated to the point of perfection / i'm the patron saint of merciless love / just when i thought that we / had formed a connection / i got a message from the one up above / serpentine seductress love to bite back / probe me paralyze me nymphomaniac / brand me burn abduct me hyper heart attack / love to love me leave me make me come back / plagued be the body, holy and unscathed / forgive me father, for i have misbehaved / crafted like a weapon, unable to disengage / built to dismember, fill me with your rage / i kill everything i fuck / Fuck everything i kill / i kill everything i fuck / i kill everything / i am gods favorite bitch

「𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑙 𝑟𝑜𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑠. 𐕣  𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑯𝑨𝑼𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑫 」 ░▒ my body is a cage - arcade fire ↳ my body is a cage / that keeps me from dancing with the one i love / but my mind holds the key / i'm standing on a stage / of fear and self-doubt / it's a hollow play / but they'll clap anyway / you're standing next to me / my mind holds the key / i'm living in an age / that calls darkness light / though my language is dead / still the shapes fill my head

「𝑒𝑛𝑧𝑜 𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑘𝑜𝑠.  𐕣 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑨𝒀𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑫. 」 ░▒ whitehouse road - tyler childers ↳ early in the morning when the sun does rise / layin' in the bed with bloodshot eyes / late in the evenin' when the sun sinks low / that's about the time my rooster crows / i got women up and down this creek / and they keep me going and my engine clean / run me ragged but i don't fret / 'cause there ain't been one slow me down none yet / get me drinkin' that moonshine / get me higher than the grocery bill / take my troubles to the highwall / throw'em in the river and get your fill / we've been sniffing that cocaine / ain't nothin' better when the wind cuts cold / lord it's a mighty hard livin' / but a damn good feelin' to run these roads

「 𝑛𝑒𝑎 𝑘𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑠𝑠𝑜𝑛. 𐕣  𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑰𝑺𝑻. 」 ░▒ sober - tool ↳ there's a shadow just behind me / shrouding every step i take / making every promise empty / pointing every finger at me / waiting like a stalking butler / who upon the finger rests / murder now the path of must we / just because the son has come / jesus, won't you fucking whistle / something but the past and done? / why can't we not be sober? / i just want to start this over / and why can't we drink forever? / i just want to start this over

 「 𝑚𝑖𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑒𝑙 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑤. 𐕣  𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑳𝑶𝑺𝑻. 」 ░▒ marked for death - emma ruth rundle ↳ it was right that we did meet each other in each other's eyes / it was right that we did see each other in our shadow sides / it was wrong then, too, that crazy love loves crazy as it does / and each of us, and both of us so crazy as it was / who else is going to love someone like you that's marked for death? / who else is going to be with you when you breathe your last? / who else is going to take my place and hold and keep you safe? / who else is going to stay? / who else is going to love someone like me that's marked for death? / who else is going to be with me when i breathe at all? / who else would ever take your place and hold and keep me safe? / who else would ever stay?

「 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑦 𝑑𝑎𝑤𝑛 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑤.  𐕣 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑴𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑳𝑨𝑴𝑩. 」 ░▒ hard times - ethel cain ↳ hide me there, under the leaves / nine going on eighteen, lay it on me / tell me a story about how it ends / where you're still the good guy, i'll make pretend / 'cause i hate this story / where happiness ends and dies with you / i thought good guys get to be happy / i'm not happy / i am poison in the water and unhappy / little girl who needs her daddy real bad (real bad) / in the corner, on my birthday, you watched me / dancing right there in the grass / i was too young to notice / that some types of love could be bad

「 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑎𝑛 𝑙𝑒𝑒. 𐕣  𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑴𝑶𝑹𝑩𝑰𝑫 」 ░▒ darkside - bring me the horizon ↳ something haunts me / footsteps in the basement / out of body / but there's no escaping / something's in the way / don't know what i can say / memories are haunting me / a sickness taking over / so bury me alive / there's nowhere left to hide / and say goodbye / 'cause maybe i / maybe i will miss me when I'm gone

[gummypizzaboop]

The towering ramparts and highwalls of Castle Candy were all Princess Sugarfina knew for her sheltered life. As the bulb sets on the first day of travel, she regards her home from a distance.

The town of Dulcington was barley discernible from this view. Castle Candy looked so small and was to become even smaller still as they continue down the Sucrose Road.

A sense of bewilderment washes over her, yet a smile creeps up her lip in excitement for the journey ahead.

[navcommrelay]

/////Start Transmission/////

Delta Element: "Hammer" Commander Nathaniel "Aster" Lindsborg, OIC. Emperor EMP-6A "Righteous Indignation" (CMDR) Shootist ST-8A "Double Tap" Crockett CRK-5003-1b "Highwall" Marauder MAD-5CS "Mayflower" Details Below:

Emperor EMP-6A "Righteous Indignation" Base Tech Level: Standard (IS) Level Era Experimental - Advanced 2612-3044 Standard 3045+ Extinct 2840-3040

Tech Rating: E/E-F(F*)-E-D

Weight: 90 tons BV: 1,969 Cost: 18,713,100 C-bills Source: TRO 3058 - Star League Role: Juggernaut

Movement: 3/5/3 Engine: 270 XL Double Heat Sinks: 12 [24] Gyro: Standard Gyro

Internal: 138 Armor: 279/279 Internal / Armor Head 3/9 Center Torso 29/48 Center Torso (rear) 10 Right Torso 19/30 Right Torso (rear) 8 Left Torso 19/30 Left Torso (rear) 8 Right Arm 15/30 Left Arm 15/30 Right Leg 19/38 Left Leg 19/38

Weapons: -LB 10-X AC, LA, Heat 2 -Large Laser, LA, Heat 8 -LB 10-X AC, RA, Heat 2 -Large Laser, RA, Heat 8 -Medium Pulse Laser, LT, Heat 4 -Medium Pulse Laser, RT, Heat 4 -Medium Laser, HD, Heat 3

Ammo: -LB 10-X AC Ammo LT 10 -LB 10-X Cluster Ammo LT 10 -LB 10-X AC Ammo RT 10 -LB 10-X Cluster Ammo RT 10

Equipment: -CASE LT -CASE RT

Quirks: Command 'Mech

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shootist ST-8A

Base Tech Level: Standard (IS) Level Era Experimental - Advanced 2621-3054 Standard 3055+ Extinct 2815-3040

Tech Rating: E/E-F(F*)-D-D

Weight: 70 tons BV: 1,507 Cost: 6,555,228 C-bills Source: TRO 3058 - Star League Role: Brawler

Movement: 4/6 Engine: 280 Fusion Double Heat Sinks: 13 [26] Gyro: Standard Gyro

Internal: 107 Armor: 215/217 (Ferro-Fibrous) Internal / Armor Head 3/9 Center Torso 22/34 Center Torso (rear) 10 Right Torso 15/24 Right Torso (rear) 5 Left Torso 15/24 Left Torso (rear) 5 Right Arm 11/22 Left Arm 11/22 Right Leg 15/30 Left Leg 15/30

Weapons: -AC/20, LA, Heat 7 -Medium Pulse Laser, RA, Heat 4 -ER Large Laser, RT, Heat 12 -Medium Pulse Laser, CT, Heat 4 -Small Laser, HD, Heat 1

Ammo: -AC/20 Ammo, LT, 5 -AC/20 Ammo, LT, 5

Equipment: -CASE, LT

Quirks Command 'Mech

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Crockett CRK-5003-1b "Highwall"

Base Tech Level: Standard (IS) Level Era Experimental - Advanced 2752-3044 Standard 3045+ Extinct 2850-3040

Tech Rating: E/E-F(F*)-E-D

Weight: 85 tons BV: 2,307 Cost: 8,538,675 C-bills Role: Juggernaut

Movement: 3/5/3 Engine: 255 Fusion Double Heat Sinks: 15 [30] Gyro: Standard Gyro

Internal: 130 (Endo-Steel) Armor: 263/263 Internal / Armor Head 3/9 Center Torso 27/35 Center Torso (rear) 19 Right Torso 18/25 Right Torso (rear) 11 Left Torso 18/25 Left Torso (rear) 11 Right Arm 14/28 Left Arm 14/28 Right Leg 18/36 Left Leg 18/36

Weapons: -ER Large Laser LA 12 -Medium Pulse Laser LA 4 -Medium Laser LA 3 -ER Large Laser RA 12 -Medium Pulse Laser RA 4 -Medium Laser RA 3 -Gauss Rifle LT 1 -Medium Pulse Laser CT 4 -Medium Pulse Laser HD 4

Ammo: -Gauss Rifle Ammo [IS] LT 8 -Gauss Rifle Ammo [IS] LT 8

Quirks Easy to Pilot Poor Life Support

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Marauder MAD-5CS "Mayflower"

Base Tech Level: Standard (IS) Level Era Experimental - Advanced - Standard 3052+

Tech Rating: E/X-X-E-D

Weight: 75 tons BV: 1,648 Cost: 15,653,750 C-bills Source: Clan Invasion Role: Sniper

Movement: 4/6 Engine: 300 XL Double Heat Sinks: 18 [36] Gyro: Standard Gyro

Internal: 114 Armor: 208/231 Internal / Armor Head 3/9 Center Torso 23/35 Center Torso (rear) 10 Right Torso 16/23 Right Torso (rear) 7 Left Torso 16/23 Left Torso (rear) 7 Right Arm 12/23 Left Arm 12/23 Right Leg 16/24 Left Leg 16/24

Weapons: -ER PPC LA 15 -Medium Pulse Laser LA 4 -ER PPC RA 15 -Medium Pulse Laser RA 4 -LB 10-X AC RT 2

Ammo: -LB 10-X AC Ammo CT 10 -LB 10-X Cluster Ammo CT 10

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

/////End Transmission/////

@starcommanderhannahlewis @the-clawtake @harwood-pmc-official @the-tired-merc @lt-chari @msn-04iinightingale @snords-sword @house-steiner-stays-winning @karriethemechtech @starcolonelkatrinamoon @is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not @killer-orca-cosplay @jaded-falcon @scorpians-sting @combined-arms-merc-groups @on-a-mechtechnicality @freelance-belter-catgirl @callsignpuppy

[lenniharrisonsims]

Behind The Scenes...

Imperial Palace, Glimmerbrooke, 8:21am

Kat: Del Sol has declared neutral, which I figured as much. President Mitchell has just started his first term, he wouldn’t want to jump headfirst into a war that has nothing to do with them. I appreciate his caution.

Misha: It would help if he declared for us, though. It leaves a gap on the East of the continent where Windenburg could get a foot in.

Cesare: Mitchell remaining neutral also gives Highwall an excuse to stay neutral as well, which makes our cause look weak.

Kat: We are not in need of allies. We have all the states of the Empire, the forces of Newcrest, Willow Creek, Oasis Springs, and Brindleton Bay. How many allies does Windenburg have? None.

Misha: But his navy is still twice the size of ours, even if you include all our foreign aid.

Kat: Unfortunately, this is true…

Cesare: It's because he has a draft- mandatory conscription for all the adult men in Windenburg. All we have is voluntary service-

Kat: And I'm not going to change that. I promised my people they would not be forced to fight.

Vera: Current intelligence tells us King Victor plans to commandeer the naval forces of the island nations he’s occupying.

Kat: Tartosa has a fairly impressive navy, but not much can be said for military forces in either Sulania or Selvadorada. That’s part of why both have peace and trade treaties with us. We are meant to provide the military might for them in case of an invasion. Why do we not have a plan to recapture Selavadorada yet? 

Advisor 1: We’re currently in talks with Oasis Springs for the addition of their navy to our numbers in an invasion of Selvadorada as we speak Ma’am. His Majesty, King Ivan, was apparently out of office this morning when our council tried to reach him about a decision. Something to do with a “family matter.”

Kat: We’re his family. Vera, get my brother-in-law on the phone immediately.

Vera: Yes Ma’am.

Advisor 2: Oh my god…

Kat: What is it?

Advisor 2: You need to turn on the TV, Ma’am. World News Coverage.

*Vera turns on TV*

TV: -in a lavish ceremony at the Crescent Cathedral in Newcrest, and has now begun to call himself “Emperor.”

Kat: Oh my god…

TV: “The New Windenburgian Empire” as he called it, encompasses the previous kingdoms of Newcrest, Sulani, Selvadorada, and Tartosa.

Misha: What?!

TV: Emperor Victor also crowned several loyal members of Windenburg Royalty and Nobility into positions of high authority in his new empire. His eldest daughter, Princess Martha, was crowned as the new Queen of Sulani. His son, Prince Jonas, was made King of Tartosa. The Earl of Frankvan was crowned as King Lucien of Selvadorada.

Kat: What the hell…

TV: The most shocking out of all of these of course was the crowning of Mr. Stefano Colona, the exiled King Cesare’s younger brother, former Prince of Newcrest and Prince Consort of Sulani, as the new King of Newcrest in his own right.

Cesare: That bastard son of a bitch!

TV: He was crowned alongside his once-mistress and now wife, Miss Justine Boyd, and his son born to the pair- the young Damien Colona.

Misha: How could he?! After everything you did for him, and for Damien? This is how he repays you?!

Cesare: He’s never cared about any of us. All he has ever cared about his power…

Advisor 3: Ma’am…

Kat: What?

Advisor 3: You might want to change it to International Breaking News.

Kat: Why?

*Vera changes channel*

TV: -at the ceremony, announced the engagement between the new Crown Prince Damien Colona of Newcrest, and Princess Emma Lofton-Strauss of Windenburg.

Misha: What?!

Kat: They’re just children…

TV: The new Emperor stated that the union was to solidify the new friendship between the ruling families of Newcrest and Windenburg, and help shape the future of the New Windenburgian Empire.

Kat: Turn it off. Vera, change of plans. Get Ivan, Caleb, Genevieve, and all my generals on an emergency conference call now. 

Cesare: What are you thinking?

Kat: I’m thinking that if we don’t get help to the Island Nations now, I worry about what’s going to happen to the ruling families that just got ousted and are still trapped in their homes.

Misha: You don’t think Victor would-

Kat: I think he would probably do anything to legitimize his new Empire, and that includes getting rid of opposition.

[kingagrzonkowskablogcas]

ACTIVITY – 20/05-02/06/24 – CLIMBING

I had fun experiences while climbing the past two weeks. We did some highwall, we did bouldering, and we did competition. Overall, those are the things that keep me going. It allows me to free myself from all the burdens of everyday life. I took some falls, but I always tried again till success. I love this sport for how much joy it brings me. Sometimes I feel that bouldering gym is like a giant playground but instead of young kids there are adults there. It is a very creative sport as every route has multiple ways one can complete it. The main challenge during the competition was my mind. It is scare to complete some routes as they require dynamic moves high above the ground, but I am proud to say I managed to overcome it every single time. Hopefully I will be able to participate in this sport for possibly the longest time. The worst thing about any competition is that I leave covered in blood as my fingertips are bleeding and typically my legs are covered in bruises. Though it is painful for few days I would never change my sport. 

[neondreamsicle]

I have a way of playing video games where i often sometimes get into outrageous situations that were never programmed into the game.

Basically, if you ask me while i'm playing "HOW THE FUCK??" it is a little something i like to call

THE KATY EFFECT

I am the girl who will be going like fucking butter and then all of a sudden, i've ramped over the overpass wall into a river below, losing my bike to the depths and having to run for an hour to find a way out of highwalled canal.

I somehow once simply *stepped out of a vehicle* and got TRAPPED IN THE BACKROOMS BEHIND THE PLAYABLE GAME SPACE. I had to reload a previous save point to get out of it.

So many glitches or mishaps that only i have the power to find. Like a superpower!

[blogynews]

"Undercover Heist Unraveled: Unprecedented Coal Theft Rocks West Bengal Mine, Prompting Urgent Safety Measures"

Three villagers were killed in an active coal mine in Ranigunj while attempting to steal coal, leaving senior coal officials surprised. Unlike previous incidents where deaths occurred in abandoned mines due to cave-ins, this incident took place at an operating colliery. The incident occurred at Narayankuri, where a highwall miner machine was being used to cut and retrieve coal. The villagers had…

[blogynewz]

"Undercover Heist Unraveled: Unprecedented Coal Theft Rocks West Bengal Mine, Prompting Urgent Safety Measures"

Three villagers were killed in an active coal mine in Ranigunj while attempting to steal coal, leaving senior coal officials surprised. Unlike previous incidents where deaths occurred in abandoned mines due to cave-ins, this incident took place at an operating colliery. The incident occurred at Narayankuri, where a highwall miner machine was being used to cut and retrieve coal. The villagers had…

[blogynewsz]

"Undercover Heist Unraveled: Unprecedented Coal Theft Rocks West Bengal Mine, Prompting Urgent Safety Measures"

Three villagers were killed in an active coal mine in Ranigunj while attempting to steal coal, leaving senior coal officials surprised. Unlike previous incidents where deaths occurred in abandoned mines due to cave-ins, this incident took place at an operating colliery. The incident occurred at Narayankuri, where a highwall miner machine was being used to cut and retrieve coal. The villagers had…

[bingesandburntbridges]

“Get me drinkin' that moonshine,

Get me higher than the grocery bill,

Take my troubles to the highwall,

Throw'em in the river and get your fill,

We've been sniffing that cocaine,

Ain't nothin' better when the wind cuts cold,

Lord it's a mighty hard livin',

But a damn good feelin' to run these roads”

[havroth-traveler]

J3 Year 2

My second year at Hogwarts proceeded smoothly. Classes were easy, and Harry seemed to have forgotten about all the questions I didn’t after the finally. The biggest change was the Dumbledore had changed things up and remained the head master.  I spent this year much as I had the first part of the year before. I did my homework with more focus and diligence than > ever had. I Spent time on the Slytherin practice ranges. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I had picked up most of the second year spells already by being in the army, and working with Harry.  Remus Lupin had taken on the role of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and Horace Slughorn had stepped into the role of Potions professor and the head of Slytherin. The year past by fairly quietly.  I noticed something strange during Christmas break.  I noticed that several paintings had that weird symbol from the cliff side cave. The portraits didn’t remember the symbol being there, and when I described it for them they didn’t know anything about it.    When classes started in January, I dragged harry up to the 7th floor corridor, and showed him the room of requirement.  He was acceptably surprised that I had found it. It didn’t take much work to get harry interested in trying a little capture the flag.  The next week Andel, Draco and myself met with Harry, Hermione, and Nevil on the 7th floor corridor. I opened the room to show a room with a flag pole at either end, and a maze of chest highwalls.  Everyone was impressed that I had found such a versatile and useful room.  Our first game of capture the flag was successful. Harry volunteered to design a 3 team challenge for next week. Each of the generals went out to recruit their army’s a new.  I won’t act like the professors didn’t know about the game. Andel probably let something slip and it wasn’t long before there was a group on the room, every night. Still the games were varied from games like Quirrell had us do to defending hot spots, or gathering resources. It was fun, and even Harry had a harder time with these games, because he didn’t know what the rule would be before he arrived, unless of course it was his turn to design the game, then he would make the most complex games, with multiple parts, and obscure point systems, that it tended to devolve into putting your opponents to sleep as fast a possible.  As there year drew to a close I found another hall way with paintings with that symbol. Still no one else seemed to know or see the symbol. I asked professor Slughorn about it and he mentioned that it might be a kind of optional illusion. that once I was the image left by some ancient magic, I would be able to keep seeing.  I pass all of my classes and signed up for divination and ancient runes for my 3rd year electives. 

[icedfairy]

Continuing the RPG setting posts, I’m going to put down Areas of conflict, and places the PCs can base from.

The Lord of Justice :

The Lord of Justice is the most militaristic of the demigods raised up by the Grand Solar.  He is in charge of the crusade, and he plans to bring Light, Law, and Order to the world.  His lands were mostly the cities and farms of Ysild, and humans predominate the area.  Under his militaristic rule, patrols regularly cross the villages, and the cities are clean and free of most crime.

He was the man chosen to lead the holy army on their grand crusade to destroy the demons, and when the Great Betrayal occurred he found himself leading the push into the Orc steppes.  His initial advance was incredibly successful, but then the Great Khan called down a might curse on the land that suffused the whole area with chaos.  Where the ragtag orc clans failed, the total collapse of his logistics as monsters rampaged through his back lines succeeded.

Now he finds himself in a painful stalemate.  His armies can easily take land, but holding it is nigh impossible.  Between taming the natural lands, fighting off attacks on the supplies, and pulling troops to keep his own cities from being raided, his armies are usually forced to retreat.  He's claimed less than ten miles in the past millennia, and the war wears on him.

Followers of the Lord of Justice can, once per day, swear a statement they make is true.  This follows the spirit of the words, not the letter, and if they do speak the truth, the words will resound with the god's agreement.  This helps him keep order among his faithful, as it quickly becomes apparent when there's a disagreement in understanding as opposed to a liar in the group.

Justice has very harsh punishments, but his courts strive to be fair.  Justicars will use magic liberally to determine the full truth, and if there's doubt, sentences will be delayed or reduced so a more intricate investigation can be performed.  Exceptions are Necromancy, Diabolism, or worship of evil gods.  Acts that usually result in an investigation after the summary execution.  Prisoners from raiding parties frequently face a quick execution as well.  Though given the alternative is being sent to the Divine Physician's asylums some might consider that mercy.

Deep in his territory this means the cities are quiet places where people can live out simple lives.  On the fringes however, where the threat of raids and attacks are omnipresent, cities all have well guarded walls, villages are armed camps, and soldiers never travel alone.  Lone travelers aren't turned away.  But a band on horseback will quickly be asked to declare their allegiances.

Possible Foes and Places of Interest :

Hunters - Raids are a constant fear on the border, and so the army has a higher number of irregulars then most Lawful armies.  Hunting bands look to ambush the ambushers, trying to keep the wilds safe.

Also to deal with any giant rock lizards that wander over the border.  That's a problem too.

Counter Raiders - While not having permanent structures means the orc tribes can't have their fortifications stolen, it also means their towns are usually quite flammable.  If a tribe is rebuilding they aren't raiding, so there are several quick strike units that give the orcs a taste of their own tactics.

Inquisitors - Not every foe is out in the open.  And corruption can strike the hearts of otherwise good people.  The Inquisitors make sure evil magic, foul gods, and spies don't ruin life for the people of the realm.  And they do it with supreme authority and sharp swords.

Fortress City Highwall - The high watermark of the crusade's push, the fortress of Highwall was built even as the other armies were forced to retreat.  Now it stands as a salient in the Broken Steppes.  It's frequently cut off from supply and has been assaulted many times, but the keep has never fallen.  The current halfling commander intends to keep it that way.  While the humans around her want to use it as a forward base, she always works to make sure the fort remains defensible.  Something that irks both her comrades and the Khan who'd love to see it burn.