#hunter squall

[angelosearch]

It's an oddly specific gender... (technically Razer has facial tattoos but that's a form of scarring!)

[charliemwrites]

Still thinking about yesterday’s post and the dynamic that fucking snatched up my brain worms in a vice grip.

Reader who is perfectly capable, has a well earned spot on her team. Who has safety net after safety net provided by the mere presence of the rest of 141. So much so that she doesn’t even remember what fear is. Living in that invincible bubble of “we’re the best because we look out for each other and we’re not going to let anything happen to each other”

And the day that bubble pops and you don’t even realize it yet. A chance encounter with a KorTac operative and you stole his kill right out from under him. Made eye contact in a shower of blood, maybe even threw him a cheeky grin, high on stims as you were.

You didn’t realize that you’d stepped outside the metaphorical bounds of your little safe zone, stepped right into the territory of a feral, untamed creature with sharp teeth and the scent of you cloying in his nose. A scent that made his blood sing a siren song of want.

It’s not just happenstance that you cross paths again. (Not that you know that). Hes been seeking you out, taking mission after mission in a dogged attempt to see you again. To see if it was more than a fluke.

And his impatience, his persistence, is rewarded with the silhouette of you, breaking a man’s neck with your thighs. (If the man weren’t surely dead, he’d wish he was for the crime of having your attention, of being smothered by your thighs, of being that close to your cunt.)

In your precious stealth gear, sleek and deadly, eyes sharp on the path ahead, not the shadow gathering behind you. He just watches you for a long while, soaking you up like a dry earth in a squall, letting you take root deep, deep within his being, in the place a soul should be. (You’re better than.)

He’s got your callsign now, whispered by one of your team members as their path intersects with yours. Narrowed eyes at the (too) friendly shake given to the hard mask covering your mouth and nose, the way your cheeks rounded with a grin beneath.

What was an interest has evolved instantaneously into an obsession. (Or devotion. Or love. They’re all the same to him, all the same kind of possession.)

He loves watching you fight as much as he loves watching you kill. He’s hard in his tac pants experiencing it this close, getting to feel each unforgiving strike in all the openings he leaves for you - invitations you always accept because you’re his good girl and you can’t resist, of course not.

He purrs when he gets you pinned to the wall, your eyes big, sparking with that animal knowledge that you’ve been bested by a bigger predator. That you’ve been won, claimed. To the victors go the spoils, and the only thing he’s lost is his restraint.

You’re panting and squirming beneath him, and he’s hypnotized, unable to do more than press closer, press harder to get you wriggling against him. Moaning softly when your heel digs a bruise into his calf, how you go still with a sort of realization.

“Again,” he rasps into your ear, “go on, pretty little hunter. Keep going. You’re so strong.”

But before you can, something over his shoulder steals your attention. Your eyes flick away from, where they should be. And he realizes that he been so consumed by you, intoxicated, that he missed the intrusion on your moment together.

In the aftermath, his gear smells like you. The place where he slipped his thigh between yours and pressed he swears smells like your cunt, heady perfume. He’s breathes it in as he fucks his tight fist, high on the memory of your strength testing itself against his.

He imagines the scent of him all over you in return. Going back to those men with his claim in your armor, wishes you’d taken the blade with you, his blood smearing your gloves, your shirt, your pants, staining your skin.

He cums to that thought, thick spurts all over a grainy print out of you from the op he first met you on, milky drops on the ink that forms your mask.

Soon, it’ll be reality.

[squallsong-survival]

burst don’ really impact my speakin’. s’just a power-up, really. gain some senses, some type affinities, moves, and so on. can’t understand beasties any better either. at most the sharper senses help read body language. I don’ have any psychic hearts though, so maybe telepaths bring more ta the table? hear there’s a burster in the area workin’ on a Kirlia heart who’s uncanny with the monsters

also the fuck is an eebydeeby?

Hm. A question for eebydeebies/humans-turned-Pokémon.

[mdr-mardek]

For the people in the back that say Bells Hells haven't earned their titles. These titles doesn't necessarily represent what they've done, but what they ARE. You just have to look at the character. To quote Travis: "Y'all, read your lore".

Lady Fearne Calloway, Fey Scion of the Ancient Flame: Daughter of the Fey Sorrowlord Athion Zathuda and bearer of the shard of the Primordial Titan Rau'shan, Emperor of Fire.

Laudna, Veil Mistress of the Shadow Tree: Callback to her death, the Shadow Realm with the Sun Tree, and the fact that she has control over Delilah Briawood now.

Ashton the Reforged, Hammer of Paradox: He's a living paradox between Primordial and Dunamancy that has been rebuilt and wield a giant fucking hammer.

Chetney Pock O'Pea, High Hunter and Lupine Paragon: A werewolf that constantly defines himself as a model of perfection.

Dorian Storm, Master Muse and Son of the Wind: Bronté Wyvernwind. Loving Bard and heir for the leadership of the Silken Squall that has a connection with the Air Ashari of Zephrah.

Imogen Temult, Exaltant Hope of the Red Storm: Exalted Ruidusborn that has decided to go against the call of the Red End.

Orym of the Air Ashari, Savior Blade of the Tempest: Devoted protector of Keyleth who risked his life to save her from incurable wounds.

Braius Doomseed, Nascent Might of the Platinum's Call: In a way, he responded to the call of the Platinum Dragon.

[palushiemalis-fr]

Rain scored Noire's wings. The storm drummed on her scales in relentless waves. Visibility over the cove was minimal. The wind was stirring the sea, each wave arching its back in contempt of her efforts to spot the dragon lost under the surface.

Noire shouted over the gale to her second in command, "Maelle, can you dive from this height?"

Maelle nodded as she joined her side. She dropped her wings into an anchor and plummeted into the blackened waters. Noire spiralled down and pierced the surface.

A veil of furious bubbles and foam swarmed her as she swam. The rain boomed and spat, furious it could no longer reach the two guards. Tidelord be sated; she prayed, knowing her prayers would not be answered. In the rolling gloom, she spotted Maelle's armour glinting and pursued.

Maelle was a guardian, her ears were suited to the echoes of the depths. Noire could only rely on her bleary vision. She could have sworn she saw phantoms closing in, every turn she could make out the outline of a drowning dragon.

Maelle made lowing wail, the kind guardians made to communicate under the waves. Maelle began to snake into the dark, Noire followed. The taste of blood curdled in her mouth and nose. Someone was bleeding. It was fresh. Maelle surely smelled it before her.

There. Wedged in between fanged rocks and oyster beds, a limp Fathom. Just as the sighting had confirmed. His neck lolling back as ribbons of blood curled away from him like smoke. His wing was tattered, he would have struggled swimming back without getting caught in the rocks. Together, they wrenched him from the crevice. Noire felt the strain of her lungs as she carried him on her back to the surface. Maelle led the way, his spear and satchel in her mouth.

They breached. The wind screeched, Noire gasped as the air fought its way down her throat. The fathom head lay on her gorget. She could feel his eyelids fluttering against her. There was hope.

***

"Your name?" "Keōua." He said, his voice monotonous. She could tell his head was pounding, she was not expecting niceties from someone who had almost drowned a few hours ago. "I am Noire. An allied clan sighted you from the cliffs, floating on the surface before you dragged back down." She stated, "You were attacked under water. From what? Marren?" "No. The Marren here are kelp-gatherers and pearl-divers, shy folk. I believe it was a dragon. A sorcerer."

Noire studied him. Fine clothes with many silver charms and bone amulets. His spear, now leaning on the infirmary wall, was tipped with a ruby harpoon. A weapon for the incorporeal. It thrummed with a volatile magic. His deep, slit eyes were now watching her back.

"Strange times. I am not too proud to dismiss the idea of a rogue sorcerer in my territory. But my suspicions lead me to say you were not diving for pearls off our cove." She said, staring him down, "You were hunting." "I was. I didn't plan to lie. I am a shade hunter. When my pod alighted in this territory, I couldn't shake the feeling we were being watched. I am sworn to hunt them and protect the Squall-Mouths Clan." When Keōua spoke, she could feel the underlying urgency in his voice. He was no liar.

There was a heavy silence. Noire knew that a wing so gashed and torn would need prosthetics and retraining before he could swim again, let alone battle.

"You will rest here, we can send word to the Squall-Mouths we will provide you with what you need to recover." "I need to return." He snorted, stretching out his wing and immediately wincing. "You will. But you must speak to our artisans so we can mend that wing, and perhaps our shade doctor to decipher your encounter."

He looked away and pinned his ears back, clearly frustrated. He huffed and offered his fin to shake. "Agreed." "A hunter must hunt." She said, curling up to lay besides him, "I know that burning in your marrow, that tightness in your throat. I know staying here whilst your pod is unguarded is agony. We will make these necessities quick."

He met her eyes and nodded, before laying down himself. Sleep overtook him within a minute. Noire watched over him until she too surrendered.

[meli-writes]

Boar and the Lamb - Ch. 04

(Read on AO3) /// (First) / (Previous)

Consort not-to-fucking-well-be Lantarelle wakes unexhausted for the first time in two miserable, Gods-be-taintlickingly-damned weeks. Another accursed extension to the now several months of delirious, anger-smothered terror. She’s never going to admit how much she needed this, having previously wrenched all she could from herself fleeing from the caravan meant to be her doom. The one that was supposed to carry her off to be some dirt-smeared barbarian’s captive.

Oh! As she is right— fucking— now.

Lant is used to the damnable chains by now, it’s the weight of the blanket she notices first, followed then by the small toy standing to a dutiful, squeezed attention in her hands — insultingly-soft, offensively-reassuring.

She pushes it to the floor, down into a pile that the wind-stolen blanket makes as it flies off of her, when the door rocks open and watches as her crude captor scrambles to shut it against the bitter, need-to-fuck-off winds. The hunter’s boots press into the floorboards, till she’s ridden up on her toes just to leverage the required weight to shut and bar the door.

She doesn't seem that bad to Lantarelle. And it’s difficult for Lantarelle to like anyone, let alone some tall… dark-haired… dull-witted peasant-creature like this one.

But her attempts to help Lant are admirable, at the least. But she doesn’t want to prepare herself for how she’s going to feel when this doesn’t fucking work.

The hunter doesn’t show if she spots Lantarelle’s swift decantation of the comforts snuck onto her, too wrapped up in undressing from the outside; stomping snow off boots; letting a half-rusted hacksaw clatter in front of them both. It takes all of Lant’s will not to grab it, and to sit instead with immeasurable patience as the hunter kneels before her — as she should — and begins to work on clipping the chains where they meet collar-and-manacle.

When she can coax Lantarelle to lie down — and let her arms and other various parts be pinned to the floor as some form of perplexingly-pleasant bracing — she saws desperately slow through each restraint left, careful not to leave Lant with any more scars.

And, at last — at-fucking-last — they’re all pried away.

The moment Lantarelle feels her neck unburdened, never to fucking miss the sickly-sour fizzle of the anti-magic metal, she hoists herself up and bolts for the door. She stops only to grab a childish shrift the hunter had brought out for her earlier, unable to replace the one she had cut from her — clueless to its ridiculous value. Shrift thrown over herself, she tries to remember how the hunter jammed the door shut, but behind her—

“Hey! It’s still cold out there,” the hunter wails, taking her at the wrist.

Before Lantarelle has even thought about the spell she’s casting consciously, she’s already stolen the warmth from the hunter’s arm, and hears her yelp; feels her skin tear as the hunter pulls free before her hand is frozen whole.

Lant knows she’s been wanting to hurt someone, and it seems like it was want enough not to have considered who she did it to. “Said I don’t need your help,” she reminds with a bitter after-taste. “Got enough magic to—”

Shit-fuck!

Lant stumbles. Over the skinned remains of a once beautiful animal, now reduced to a pitiful ornamentation for the floor. The dead fur prickles her bare feet, and she doesn’t bother to explain what won’t be understood. The cold is meaningless to her.

And she can’t have far to go now.

She manages to loosen the door at last, and leaves without shutting it.

---

And she hasn’t made it a dozen paces into the half-lightened squall before she hears a raucous manner of racket start to spill from the cabin. She rises higher and higher in the snow, till she’s treading on top of it like a shrew; it lets her pick out a rushed but rote order to the hunter’s noisome endeavour, and it isn’t a surprise when the snow starts to moan behind her.

“You don’t— have to— need— my help— to get it,” the hunter pushes out, inbetween hot sucks on cold air and messy, unensorcelled trods through Lantarelle’s pristine wake.

Lantarelle stops.

She’s surprised to turn and see the hunter clad in snow-shoes. Not quite as snow-fucked as in the boots. Her eyes run over the rest of her: sword in its sheath; flintlock tucked in her belt, with a bandolier of powder-stuffed flasks for at least four shots; sack over her shoulder.

It won’t be enough.

She makes as much as she continues walking, “They’ll send worse after me than caravan guards,” and doesn’t look to confirm, but hasn’t picked any pace the hunter shouldn’t be able to keep up with.

“Yeah— well,” she mutters at Lant near-conversationally, despite how her unmasked nose flushes red, and her scarf’s loose ends are drawn by the wind towards the dark forest, “if, like me, you know what you’re doing. Then we can get where ya need to go without them, your ominous worse-than-caravan-guard, ever seeing you.”

If Lant was fuelled appropriately on six-sugar’d tea right now she would order a thorough explanation from the hunter like she’d tell her spoilt, missed handmaiden to mop up spilt milk with her own servant-dress.

She is not. And she doesn’t—

Doesn’t need her help.

“And even if they do spot us,” the hunter continues, “I’ll just… bury myself in the snow! Pray to at least three gods. And assume you can handle it.”

There’s a frustrating amount of… sentiment to the girl that Lant can’t quite place where it comes from.

“You do know where you’re going?”

And that makes Lantarelle pause.

Shrew-toes curl into the powder as deep as her magic will allow. She tries, “Ye—”

“No,” the hunter interrupts. It’s the first stern word she’s said. She’s stopped too; one shoe pointed towards her, the other off into the trees in an unfamiliar direction.

“You don’t,” she says, “Do you?”

Lant can feel how the hunter wants to move. To block her — knowing that Lant would have to let her — or to have Lant follow.

“It’s a— coaching inn,” Lant explains, not sternly.

The hunter doesn’t waste a second, and says it for her, “The Boar and Lamb?”

Whatever snort sprouts itself out of Lantarelle’s nose appears to confirm the hunter’s brusque supposition. It certainly sounds like the name of the place; it’s hard to remember with how uncreative Humans can be.

It also isn’t the obvious choice for the hunter to make.

Not the largest one around, nor the most propitious. Below notice without stooping so low as to become an expected part of the criminal ecosystem. The comfortable no man’s land of known and dull.

Her contact seemed to trust it, and she wasn’t in a position to argue.

“I’m meeting someone there,” Lantarelle says, disconcerted at the relief she feels to have shared that, how it warms her at the nape. She takes a step forward to escape it, and rebuffs that, “So yes, I know where I’m going.”

“You might not reach it going that way,” the hunter tells her.

Both her feet now are pointing in that unfamiliar direction, and then she taps them.

“And we aren’t going to find it that way either,” Lant tries to counter. Knowing of course that it’s this hunter’s secret, less necessarily-murderous alternate path. She waits for the hunter’s answer, and finds it in impatient feet itching to move.

Lantarelle doesn’t. Lets her cross over and catch up.

“Reach it. Not find it,” the hunter says when she does. “I can get us there before sundown, even in this weather.”

If Lantarelle is lucky — Ha! What a thought. — then her contact will still be there. She’s late, but when in her life hasn’t she been accorded that privilege.

“If that’s okay?”

The Gods can give it to her one last fucking time.

You. Me. We. Us.

The dim warmth in her isn’t magic.

“Works for me.”

---

(Masterpost)

[knightposting]

My main beef with the element armor bungie keeps putting out is that they capture the element but never the fantasy/philosophy that makes the subclasses use the element in unique ways. Sure, you slapped Silence and Squall on the back of that hunter, but nothing screams "ice ninja." Sure, you slapped some green waves on that titan, but where is the "viking berserker"? It's just boring armor that communicates nothing.

[lobster-tales]

Baby Blue and the Starlight Kid

Rating: T Summary: Baby Blue is a ruthless bounty hunter who tracks down and captures magic-users. When a bounty is posted for Luxanna Crownguard, the daughter of a wealthy politician, Blue finds her and learns that she is looking for the Firelights, a community that protects magic-users. Blue promises to lead Lux to the Firelights, but plans instead to collect the reward on her. On their journey, they face the perils of the frontier, and Blue begins to feel torn between her past and future. This work is available here on AO3.

Chapter 1

Everyone knew when Baby Blue rolled into town.

She was accustomed to being recognized. Not many bounty hunters had blue hair, the source of her moniker. She was particularly accustomed to the occasional gasp, a whispered, "Should we get the sheriff?", and her favorite, a baby squalling at the sight of her.

The reactions didn't affect her one way or the other. They were natural, as natural as folks might react to a thunderstorm. In fact, a thunderstorm might have been better received. At least it brought rain. All Blue brought was bad luck.

Blue dismounted just outside the saloon doors, tied Fishbones to the hitching post and patted his dappled gray hide. He snorted and shook the dust off, shook the white mane that fell in jagged spikes along his neck like a row of teeth, and dunked his snout in the water trough.

Her boots jingled as they thudded down the wooden porch. She walked right past the wanted board: from her peripheral, she recognized the array, knew the names already along with their respective bounties.

She caught the eye of some passerby in a shawl, whose bespectacled eyes flickered between Blue and one of the faded posters. The paper outlaw resembled her, sure, though there were some key differences. Blue's eyes weren't that wild, her scowl not that deep. The hair was almost the same: they shared the same color and a few locks that hung over one eye. But the outlaw had twin braids long enough to disappear behind her, while Blue's hair was cropped close to her scalp.

The woman faltered in her step as she made the connection. Blue smiled and tipped her wide brimmed hat, shifting her coat to show the glint of her holstered pistol.

The woman pursed her lips, clung the shawl tighter to her throat, and walked on.

The saloon was like any other: the air thick with smoke, the floor tacky with whiskey stains. Cowhands were spread throughout, enjoying their earnings after a long day, while a few businessmen chatted amiably at a table.

The biggest source of activity, though, was in the corner. Several tables and chairs had been shoved together to accommodate the small crowd. In the center of it all sat a woman. A broad-shouldered woman, a cigarillo smoking from the side of her triumphant sneer. Her right hand was on the table, fingers splayed over her down-turned cards. A poncho slung across her body, hiding her left arm.

As Blue settled on a bar stool, the woman's voice boomed, "Read 'em and weep, boys!" and she tossed her cards out with a hearty laugh. The crowd responded with a mixture of groans and whistles, as some of the onlookers exchanged coins bet on the side.

Blue watched so intently that the woman sensed her presence and met her eyes, disdain replacing her triumph. She muttered an excuse to the other players, gathered her earnings, and took the seat beside Blue at the bar.

"You got a lot of nerve comin' back to these parts," the woman muttered, raising two fingers towards the bartender.

"What can I say," Blue shrugged. "I'm homesick."

"Bullshit." She nudged one of the whiskey shots toward Blue: they toasted the glassware with a familiar clink, and both downed the liquor. "Must be some prize if you're willing to get this close."

"Not really. Business as usual."

"Hmm." The woman didn't believe her, but Blue had reckoned she wouldn't.

"Sevika," called one of the poker players. "Another round, want me to deal you in?"

Sevika nodded and downed another shot. She placed a calloused hand on Blue's shoulder. "You're too late, you know."

Blue gave her a sickly sweet smile. "Not if I leave tonight."

Sevika tried to read her face. She wasn't the only one who could hold a bluff.

"Better hurry," Blue said, jutting her chin towards the poker table. "Don't want to keep your friends waiting."

Wordlessly, Sevika moved past, leaving behind the scent of smoke and musk. Blue watched her play a few more games before stretching, grunting loudly as she did so to get Sevika's attention. She tipped her hat as she slid through the door.

But Blue had no intention of leaving that night. Instead, she got a room at the inn next door, bringing Fishbones into the stable. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and she chuckled: her curse had followed her once again, this time preying on Sevika. She hid in the alley between the two buildings and waited.

Sevika exited the saloon not long after, shoving her winnings in a pocket. She scowled at the lightning that danced in the horizon and cursed Blue under her breath. She slung a leg over her broad-chested bay horse, and loped into the night.

Blue could barely contain her laughter, and let out a callous cackle once Sevika had disappeared past the town limits. "Dumbass," she chuckled. The wind picked up, fluttering the wanted posters on the wall beside her.

Her eyes traveled the posters. Most had rewards too small to be worth her time. Horse thieves, low-ranking gang members, and of course, magic-users.

She smirked at one poster: she had committed it to memory, and could have recited its contents in her sleep. Blue mouthed the words as she read along:

$50,000 REWARD

For the apprehension

ALIVE

of

LUXANNA CROWNGUARD

Wanted for the use of magic and destruction of property.

Centered on the page was a photograph of a young woman, in her late teens or early twenties, much like Blue herself. The picture was done professionally, likely taken in a studio back East and not in some frontier shack like the other criminals on the board. The detail was too crisp, outlining the perfect curls of the woman's long blonde hair, the neat press of her lips, and the spark of tenacity in her bright eyes.

Blue's attention drifted to another poster, and her smile faded. She ripped it off the board, reading as she walked back to the inn. "$3,000?" she scoffed. "At least worth five."

She crumpled up the paper and tossed it over her shoulder. Rain began to fall, water running the inky letters.

The poster read:

$3,000 REWARD

For the apprehension

DEAD OR ALIVE

of

JINX

Wanted for robbery, arson, and murder.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

The storm's memory left behind a world of green. Fishbones dangled his head low as he walked, tempted by the fresh morning grass that grazed his ankles. Blue tugged on the reins, keeping him focused on the path ahead. "Later, Bones," she said with a reassuring pat. "You can eat all you want once we have the reward. I'll buy you a basket of apples. No, a whole barrel! And all the sweet grain you can eat."

He snorted and flicked his tail impatiently.

"Yeah, yeah." Blue removed a device from her saddlebag. The object was compass-like in shape and function: the arrow, which customarily might point north, instead pointed west, glowing faintly like a blue ember. The compass also ticked, the tempo increasing with every step forward. "Getting close," she murmured, stowing it away in favor of a spyglass. She guided Fishbones to a higher spot on a hill, scanning the horizon through the lens.

There, in a stand of trees, a large bay horse was grazing.

Blue collapsed the glass, closed her eyes, and listened. In the distance, she heard voices. One of the voices raised into a shriek.

"That's our cue!" she said, digging her heels into Fishbones' belly to spur him forward.

They crested the next hill, Blue leaping from his back. She didn't bother tying him down, knowing he was too distracted by grass to wander off. She slipped through the trees, cocking her pistol. She saw movement and ducked behind a sturdy oak, peering out from behind.

Sevika grappled with the young woman, securing her hands behind her back. From the short distance, Blue could see the thick metal cuffs binding her wrists. The woman's hands glowed faintly, but were powerless against the magic-suppressing enchantment. Blue had a pair just like it in her saddle bag, but this time, she would only use them as a last resort.

The woman cried out, "Let go of me! Just leave me alone!"

"Sorry, kid," Sevika said, latching the cuffs with a small key. "If you quit struggling, I'll go easy on you."

The young woman tucked her chin, then threw her head back hard, slamming into Sevika's nose. Blue snickered at her pain. A thin line of blood trickled from Sevika's nose as she growled, "Stubborn brat."

Sevika shoved her prisoner to the ground, earning a scream cut short as the wind was knocked out of her. She placed a foot on the woman's back, and said evenly, "Look kid, I'm not here to play games. I'm a bounty hunter, not one of your parents' fancy foot-soldiers. I may need you alive, but that doesn't mean I won't rough you up a little bit if you get too ugly towards me."

The woman still struggled underneath her, so Sevika sighed and pulled out her pistol, pressing the barrel between the woman's shoulder blades. She hadn't even cocked the weapon, but the woman froze in terror all the same.

"That's right, now you're listening. Here's what I'm going to do: I'm going to bring you back to town, turn you in to the sheriff, collect that $50,000 and spend it all on booze and brothel girls. Here's what you're going to do," and she leaned in close. "You're going to shut the fuck up, and not give me a reason to shoot you. Fair?"

The woman whimpered, and nodded, the action rubbing dirt against her face.

As much as Blue was enjoying the show--she did, truly, admire Sevika's intimidation tactics--she saw her opportunity and took it. She lined up her pistol and fired.

Sevika's gun went flying from her hand, and she cried out at the shock. She clenched her fist and glared at the trees, spying Blue almost immediately. "I told you, Baby Blue," Sevika called, swiping her pistol out of the dust. "You're too late."

Blue smirked, blowing the smoke from her barrel as she leaned casually against the tree. "Nope. You're just early."

The bound woman shifted to look at Blue, her eyes wide and terrified. Sevika left her there in the dirt: not like she'd be able to get away.

Sevika fired, but Blue had already moved, working with the dappled sunlight that filtered through the trees to blur her actions. Sevika fired until the gun chamber clicked empty, missing every shot. She snarled as one of Blue's bullets grazed the shoulder beneath her poncho, and threw off the fabric, revealing her hidden left arm. The limb was made of metal, with a gun barrel built into the forearm. The rifle chamber rotated with a hiss of steam.

Blue dodged the volley of shots, but she was moving too fast to be able to aim back. She held still for one moment too long, and hissed as a bullet grazed her thigh. She ducked behind a tree, the wood splintering from the bullets on the other side.

She reached for a round capsule on her belt, pressing in the sides of the orb. When she heard Sevika's arm gun click empty, Blue hurled the object at her.

Vibrant pink smoke erupted at Sevika's feet, and she coughed, swiping her arms blindly through the haze. Blue used the cover to get in close. She tackled Sevika from behind, clambering on her back. Sevika reached for her, but not before Blue sank a knife into Sevika's metal arm, blocking the barrel. Blue backed away as Sevika aimed her weapon through the smoke.

Sevika fired. She screamed. The barrel of her arm rifle split in two, showering her in shrapnel.

Blue swept around Sevika and raised her pistol, bringing the butt of it hard against the back of Sevika's head.

Sevika collapsed, unconscious.

Blue caught her breath, watching Sevika, waiting to see if she would wake up. But she remained prone, face in the dirt.

"Is she..." the woman asked. She was kneeling now, her hands still bound behind her back.

"Taking a nap." Blue nudged Sevika with her boot, satisfied.

"You... you saved me." The woman's eyes flickered to the pistol in Blue's hand, her mouth deepening into a frown. "Unless. Unless you didn't."

Blue rolled her shoulders, crouching in front of her. "Depends. If I take those cuffs off, you gonna blast me?"

"No, not unless... No."

Blue accepted that answer, rifling around in Sevika's pocket for the key. She unclasped the cuffs, noting that they were a newer, more secure model than her own. She stowed them away covertly, planning to harvest them for parts.

"Thank you," the woman said, rubbing her wrists. "Thank you, miss..?"

"Name's Blue," she said, tipping her hat. "Baby Blue."

"Pleasure." The woman reached out her hand, fingers angled down. It was a pretty, rehearsed gesture, and Blue accepted, shaking her hand aggressively. The woman withdrew her fingers, wincing at the hard touch. "My name is-"

"Luxanna Crownguard," Blue said. "Twenty years old. Five foot seven. A hundred and forty pounds. Blonde hair, blue eyes." As she spoke, she unrolled the wanted poster, comparing the two side by side. "Hmm, your hair's shorter now, though."

Luxanna reached absently for a lock of her hair, the ends just brushing her shoulder. "I... cut it. Some time ago."

Blue nodded decisively, rolling up the poster and stuffing it inside her jacket. "Well. Nice to meet you. Good luck." And she turned on her heel, pretending to head for the trees.

"You're not here to arrest me?" Luxanna asked, surprised.

"Do I look like a lawman, blondie?"

"But... you're not taking me in? Then why did you save me?"

Blue shrugged. "I don't like bullies." She continued for the trees in an easy swagger.

"... Wait!"

Blue paused, grinning to herself. "What?" she called innocently over her shoulder.

"... Can you... that is..." Luxanna paused for a few moments. "How- how well do you know this area?"

Blue glanced back. "Why? You're not lost, are you?"

Luxanna's silence answered for her.

"Aw, poor city girl," Blue tsked, turning to face her. "Depends on where you're headed."

Luxanna pressed her lips together, uncertainty written all over her face. For someone who had hidden a secret all her life, she sure was transparent. "I'm looking for... a group. I'm... well, clearly, I'm a mage. There's this group that hides magic-users, they're called the Firelights?"

Blue's heart skipped a beat. She had expected a rich runaway, but she didn't necessarily think she had a plan. Especially a plan that involved the Firelights, though she couldn't deny it made sense. "Oh yeah," Blue said flippantly. "Yeah, I know the Firelights."

Luxanna's jaw dropped. "You do?"

"Sure." Golly, this was easy. Blue might have felt guilty about how it was going if she wasn't so keen on that reward. "I can take you to them, if you like."

Luxanna hesitated. "How do you know them?"

"I got a friend in the Firelights."

Her eyes narrowed. "Tell me something about them. Something that most people wouldn't know."

"If most people wouldn't know, then how do I know that you know?" she asked. "I could tell you anything about them and you'd believe me."

"... I know their leader's name. Tell me what it is."

The corner of Blue's mouth quirked up, an inside joke with herself. "His name is Ekko."

Luxanna still didn't seem convinced, but her shoulders relaxed. "And... you swear you can take me to them?"

"I swear," Blue said, and meant it. After all, she could take her, if she wanted. She just wasn't going to.

Luxanna mulled it over. She was silent long enough that Blue cleared her throat.

"Look, kid, the way I see it, you don't got a lot of options. Either you take a chance and trust me to show you the way, or you wander the hills until you get picked up by lawmen or worse," and she nodded towards Sevika. "Bounty hunters like your friend here."

Luxanna cast one final look at Sevika and seemed to make her decision. "Fine."

Blue grinned. "Mighty fine. You got a horse?"

"I... did. Not anymore."

"Well, lucky for you, there's a bay tied up nearby that just became available." Blue waved her over. "If we get a move on, Miss Luxanna, we'll make it in four days."

"Lux." Her voice was firm. "Not Luxanna."

"Right," Blue said, reading the sun's position in the sky. "Lux."

[fiberturkey89]

Wind Dragon of the First Realm headcanons/lore pt2.

Whilst the Lightning Dragon is often considered to be the fiercer sibling of the Sky Serpents with its crackling lightning and thunder, make no mistake. The Wind Dragon is often associated in smaller folktales with the likes of hurricanes, typhoons, cyclones, dust devils, blizzards, and even sandstorms.

Wind Dragons are capable of producing sonic booms by cracking their tails with so much force that it is said to rival the constant roar of hurricanes by drowning them out and anything similar momentarily. Lightning Dragon's may be loud, but a Wind Dragon will always be louder.

Previous to the Oni and Dragon War, Wind Dragons were often seen as either positive or negative omens to various farmers dependent on the season. Inland farmers would view many Wind Dragons travelling to the coast as an omen of rain. Too few across the interior lands would mean either a drought or sandstorm.

In fact, Wind Dragons are often considered the most peaceful. Many tales from the Dragon Hunter's predecessors the Eclispan People, old stories of how they would request rainstorms to aid their crops in dire times and other locations would request for them to take sandstorms and blizzards away.

Wind Dragons were once widespread across the First Realm. Found anywhere from open oceans in the sky, vast deserts to the shearing cold of the mountains or tundra's that are found in the northern most reaches of the First Realm.

However..

Wind Dragons would be hunted en masse during the Oni and Dragon War- for the Oni knew of the great power the second Sky Dragon held over the weather and feared it. There were also rumours of the Wind Dragons being able to possess Lightning, like how Ice can use Water and vice versa. Yet, this has not been proven even in recent times...

During the war period, the Sentinels (Term used for the rank above Arc Dragons in the First Realm) of Wind and Water Dragons known as Squall and Current would be killed early on by the Oni Warlords named Hollow and Chasm. Their souls, alongside many others, would later then become the being known as "Mala-Wohira." The Ampithere of Wave and Storm.

Whilst Primordial Wind Dragons are native only to the First Realm, it is thought that the various types that live in Djinnjago are distant descendents of the immigrates who were looking to leave their war torn home, even as they took on the other Elements.

Culturally, the Primordials in the First Realm believe that heavy weather in the form of windstorms will allow the souls to pass easily as they are being picked up and taken to the afterlife realms. This is why they often share final resting places with Ice Dragons up in the mountains.

Whereas it is the opposite in Djinnjago. There, they are of the belief that open skies whether day or night will allow the souls to ascend easily to the Departed Realm and Realm of Remnants. (Zanth is one of the few remaining of her realm who practices this)

Celebrations wise, tornados of First Realm Wind Dragons will congregate in locations that are extremely windy to perform dances and rituals to usher in a new years beginning thats only happens once a year. Other than that, it is a way to reconnect and remember those who have fallen/greet newcomers to their world.

[marmolita]

Lita's Kinktober/Promptober 2024!!

Okay let's do this thing!! I haven't found any official kinktober prompts list so I'm making up my own. I will provide three choices of prompt for each day (2 kinks + 1 trope), and if you want me to write a ficlet for you, please send me an ask with the day, prompt, and ship that you'd like it for and I'll put it on the list!

At this time, I'm open to writing fic only for the fandoms/ships/characters listed below. If I change my mind and add more fandoms I'll update this post. If you think you know me well enough to convince me to write something else you're welcome to come talk to me about it!

Who can send requests?

Literally anyone, anon is turned on as well. I would ask that you only send 1-2 requests to start, then if I don't get very many I'll take additional requests!

What info goes in my request?

Please include the day you want, the kink or prompt you want from that day's options (there are three choices for each day), and the fandom/ship you want. It's fair game to say "any prompt for XYZ ship" or "any fandom for XYZ prompt" or the like, but please give me a little bit of direction instead of just "idk any day any prompt any fandom" because the whole reason I'm doing this is that I can't think of stuff on my own. 😅 If you would like the work to be gifted to you on AO3, please give me your username. I'll tag you on tumblr when I post it as well, unless you specifically tell me you don't want to be tagged.

How do I send a request?

Put it in my ask box please! If you don't have a tumblr account you can also find me on discord and DM me there (marmolita), or go old school and email me, marmolita42 at gmail.

What fandoms and ships can I request?

Note: in all of these, "Other" means an OC that I invent to match the type of person/thing of your choice (e.g. "hunter" or "diner patron" or "Galbadian army soldiers" or "mindflayer" or something like that). I will not write reader insert fic or fic for OCs of other people's creation.

For prompts that aren't sex-related (like "office AU" or whatever) you don't necessarily have to provide a ship, just some characters.

FFVIII: Seifer/Squall, Seifer/Squall/Rinoa, Squall solo, Laguna solo, Seifer solo, Seifer/Ultimecia (including Ultimecia possessing others), Seifer/Other, Squall/Other, Laguna/Other

FFXV: Noctis/Prompto, Noctis/Gladio, Noctis/Luna, Noctis solo, Noctis/Gladio/Ignis/Prompto, Noctis/Other. I may be open to other Noctis ships as well, except not Ignis, Ardyn, or any Kingsglaive characters.

FFVIII/FFXV Crossover: Any combination involving Squall, Seifer, Laguna, Noctis. I could be talked into other characters if you have a really good idea.

Dune (Villeneuve): Paul/Duncan, Paul solo, Paul/Bene Gesserit, and I could be talked into something involving Chani or Stilgar, possibly. Keep in mind I have not read the books.

Scholomance: Orion solo, Orion/El, Orion/mals

Supernatural: Dean/Castiel, Dean/Benny, Dean/Jack, Dean/Claire, Dean/Mary but only for "something made them do it" type prompts, Dean/Amara, Dean/Other, Dean solo

Marmalade Boy: Yuu/Satoshi, Yuu solo, Satoshi solo (yes I realize this is a very random fandom to include but hey if I'm willing to write it I thought I should put it in here lol)

Prompts

I'll cross these off as they get requested.

UPDATE: all have been claimed, thanks everyone!

1. Orgasm delay/edging, Fisting, Sex pollen

2. Electrostimulation, Vore, Omegaverse

3. Exhibitionism, Impact play, Arranged marriage

4. Voyeurism, Uniform kink, BDSM AU

5. Omorashi, Mind control, Enemies to lovers

6. Train molestation, Tentacles, Dubcon

7. Royalty/nobility kink, Intercrural, Magic made them do it

8. Sex work, Bondage, Bad guys made them do it

9. Bruises, Collaring, First time

10. Knifeplay, Sex toys, Oh no they're hot

11. Gunplay, Face sitting, Friends with benefits

12. S&M, Overstimulation, Unwilling attraction

13. Voice kink, Body worship, Truth serum

14. Competence kink, Incest, Guilty attraction

15. Leather/Latex, Breathplay/choking, Trapped together

16. Pegging, Free use, Captured by the enemy

17. Bukkake, Dirty talk, Sex as part of job duties

18. Rimming, Object insertion, Enemies with benefits

19. Frottage, Anonymous sex, Undercover as lovers

20. Waxplay, Begging, Fake Dating

21. Glory hole, Chastity, Amnesia

22. Fucking machine, Clothed sex, Tabloids/gossip

23. Praise kink, Mirror sex, Office AU

24. Humiliation, Sex tapes, Hate doing the thing but have to do it to save someone

25. Sensory deprivation, Manhandling/Rough sex, Child soldiers

26. Cloning/selfcest, Size kink, Power imbalance

27. Noncon, Dehumanization, Seduced by the villain

28. Double penetration, Slut praising, Horrifying revelation

29. Gags, Virginity kink, Under the influence

30. Threesome, Face fucking, Normally reserved character gets to be sexy/horny

31. Orgy, Public/semi-public sex, Fighting as foreplay

(if you want to steal my prompt list for your own October fest go for it!)

[preg-fandoms]

Fandom: Trigun Stampede

Pairing: none

Word count: 1k

Warnings: graphic trans masc birth, clothing birth, birth denial, semi public birth

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Hiding from bounty hunters used to be easier for Vash, he was quick to hide and skilled with weapons and fighting (though he preferred to not use violence unless he had to). But now.. being pregnant made things difficult. He wasn’t even sure who the father was, how far along he was, or even how many he was carrying. All of these were guesses by this point.

From the way his stomach was sitting, sloped painfully over his small pelvis, accompanied by intense cramping- he assumed he was in labor.

At the moment he was hiding in an alleyway of an unknown city, trying to get away from a group of bounty hunters that wanted him. For the time being he had lost their trial thankfully.

But now he had a different problem- in the middle of being chased down, his waters had broken. At first he was able to ignore the cramping in his back, just brushing them off as potentially false labor.

But the longer he was on foot, the stronger they became. He couldn’t even call for help or find somewhere safe to give birth. The alleyway was damp, a bit cold and clearly dirty. He barely had any light source, but he figured that’d be better.

He had taken off his belt, using it to bite down. He was trying not to push, not wanting to give birth here. But it was though his body wasn’t listening, he could feel the head move down further into the birth canal.

Face red and sweaty from the strain, a hand reached to cradle the bottom of his rock hard stomach, hand trembling.

It felt like this contraction wasn’t going to let up any time soon. The urge to push still there, and the bulge in his pants only getting bigger with each passing second.

Pressing his back into the wall, he had shifted down into an awkward squatting position.

Hands fumbling with his zipper, he couldn’t get it undone in time- another strong contraction coming over him full force.

Almost stumbling forward, his hands pressed into the pointed brick wall, nails trying to dig in to hold himself up. His teeth grit, biting even harder into the belt.

As he forced himself not to scream, he could feel the head quickly stretch his small cunt. The burn was unbelievable, tears springing to his eyes as he tried to reach to tug down his pants. Though he barely got them to move, too focused on the task at hand.

Reaching down, his hand slipped in between his trembling legs, holding the head despite still being clothed. Grunting and brows furrowed, he pushed once more.

Everything was moving so quickly he didn’t even have time to think, only give into his body’s urges.

The next push had brought the shoulders forth and some of the waist, the baby now settled in between his legs and his soaking wet pants leg.

Finally getting a brief moment to get himself together, he had hurriedly tugged down his ruined underwear and pants.

Pulling the squalling infant up to his chest, he had immediately covered their mouth with his hand.

He knew if anyone heard him or the baby, they’d both be captured.

Spitting the belt out to the side, he glanced down at the squirming angry baby.

He had pulled up his shirt, his dark puffy nipples already leaking heavily from her cries. Removing his hand from her mouth, he had cradled her up to a nipple to which she quickly latched and settled.

Relief had flooded over him, but not for long- still in the midst of tense contractions, he had realized there was another baby.

One arm cradling the newborn, he had pulled down his pants and underwear, now sitting on the soiled clothing as a makeshift nest of sorts.

Still holding the baby with one arm, his free hand had slid down to gingerly feel around for the head- which had yet to appear. But his lips were bulging outwards, a shiver running up his spine.

Grabbing the belt once more, he had it in his mouth- biting down hard enough to leave marks in the leather, not that it really mattered.

As the next contraction began to peak, he had his chin buried into his chest- giving a deep push.

Like the first born, the head was quick to make its appearance, but took longer to stretch around his small pelvis, inching out slowly. Any time he let up on pushing, it slipped back in- causing him to feel defeated.

But he couldn’t make noise, it’d alert unwanted attention and with a second baby trying to force their way out, it’s something he didn’t need.

Carefully and slowly, he scooted up the wall, legs bent in a squat once more as he pushed.

Grunting beneath the belt, he could feel the head finally emerge into a crown.

His lips were tight around the head, having it in a vice grip for a few unsteady moments.

Tears burned his tightly closed eyes, he could tell he was about to tear. The sharp pain was evident as the head popped out with a gush of blood and fluids.

Eyes snapping open, he sucked in a sharp breath, feeling as though he could pass out at any moment now.

‘At least the hard part is over’ he tried to remind himself, eyebrows scrunched together as he took quick breathes through his nose. The baby was quick to begin turning, the first shoulder popping out, quickly followed by the second.

With one last push, the rest of the body had emerged on the male's blood and fluid soaked pants and underwear. Cord still attached, dangling between Vash’s legs.

The other had slumped down, landing on his butt as he reached to pick up the second squalling newborn.

Quickly getting them to latch on, the second born (a boy) had quieted down, content to eat greedily from his mothers overfilled breasts.

As the babies nursed, Vash leaned his head back, letting out a shaky breath as he closed his eyes.

Out of all the crazy things he had done, this had to be the top one.

[menaceofsociety2]

Have been thinking about a universe where it's the owl house but with the nevermoor characters, obviously Jupiter would be Eda and Morrigan would be Luz, but the real question is whether Ezra Squall is Hunter or Kikimora.

[heartillycore]

yay more interactive posts :0

tagged by @iffylogic to post 4 of my favs and you vote which one is most similar to me !!

tagging ermmm…. whoever wants to do it ^_^

[tourneys-by-me]

Here is the Bracket!

Match ups were randomized this time so there might be a few coughing babies vs hydrogen bombs, sorry about that

If y’all have propaganda can you please tag it as #propaganda or send it to my inbox so I can see it

(vs template by TotallyNotIncina on DA)

[bracket under the cut]

Round 1 (A)

Sinbad - Magi: the labyrinth of magic vs Weiss Schnee - RWBY

Cure Magical/Riko Izayoi - Precure vs Lafcadio Boone - The Sexy Brutale

Beverly Toegold V - Not Another D&D Podcast vs Carol Malus Dienheim - Symphogear

Lucy Heartfilia - Fairy Tail vs Aaravos - The Dragon Prince

Cure Miracle/Mirai Asahina - Precure vs Traveler - Genshin Impact

God Serena - Fairy Tail vs Joker - Persona

Maruju - TearRing Saga vs Omnath - Magic: the Gathering

Isaac - Golden Sun vs Delsin Rowe - Infamous

Mega Man - Mega Man vs Lord Snicklefritz - Towertale

Kakashi Hatake - Naruto vs Hazel Levesque - Percy Jackson

Mage - Miitopia vs Gill - Street Fighter

Jason Grace - Percy Jackson vs Mario - Super Mario Bros.

Round 1 (B)

Honey Lemon - Big Hero 6 vs Daylon - Dislyte

Donald Duck - Kingdom Hearts vs Y'shtola Rhul - Final Fantasy

Zoya Nazyalensky - Grishaverse books vs Paula - Earthbound

Alina Starkov - Shadow and Bone vs Domingo - Shining Force

Nami - One Piece vs Alatreon - Monster Hunter

Kevin Kaslana - Honkai Impact 3rd vs Omnimon/Omegamon - Digimon

Erin Ruunaser - Aurora vs Percival King - Epithet Erased

Citan Uzuki - Xenogears vs Rōjūrō Ōtoribashi - Bleach

Wairuha - Bionicle vs Mirabelle Chevalier - In Stars And Time

Mr. 104 (John Dubrovny) - DC Comics vs Tlalocmon - Digimon

X - Mega Man vs Robin - Fire Emblem

Sora - Kingdom Hearts vs Sypha Belnades - Castlevania

Round 1 (C)

Carl, the Invoker - Dota 2 vs Eidolon - Worm (Wildbow's Parahumans)

Vince Reynolds - Super Powereds vs Ark - Terranigma

Camille Severin - Muted vs Skylor Chen - Ninjago

Doctor Coyle - ARMS vs Aang - Avatar: The Last Airbender

Clark Kent/Superman - DC Comics vs Magolor - Kirby

Cetrion - Mortal Kombat vs Siffrin - In Stars and Time

Elemental Hero Neos - Yu-Gi-Oh! vs Greencap - Lone Fungus

Castform - Pokemon vs Trisana Chandler - Emelan

Squall Leonhart - Final Fantasy vs Akamai - Bionicle

Rae Taylor - I'm in Love with the Villainess vs Kirby - Kirby

Korra - Legend of Korra vs Cassian - Villain to Kill

Silvally - Pokemon vs Tiamat - Dungeons and Dragons

Round 1 (D)

The Collector - Aurora vs Twinrova - The Legend of Zelda

MOON - Space Funeral vs The Mage - Magicka

Katarina Claes - My Next Life as a Villainess: All Routes Lead to Doom vs The Dragonborn - The Elder Scrolls

Chu Wanning - The Husky and His White Cat Shizun vs Zagreus - Hades

Teclis - Warhammer Fantasy vs Qiyana - League of Legends

Sasuke Uchiha - Naruto vs The Defect - Slay the Spire

Blackbeard - One Piece vs Ben Tennyson - Ben 10

Manaria Sousse - I'm in love with the villainess vs Koromaru - Persona

Link (BOTW and TOTK) - The Legend of Zelda vs Callum - The Dragon Prince

Patchouli Knowledge - Touhou vs Soren - Fire Emblem

Spring Man - ARMS vs Shouto Todoroki - My Hero Academia

Capricorn (Tristan and Byron Vera) - Worm (Wildbow's Parahumans) vs Dan Heng - Honkai Star Rail

[blackjackkent]

So at Rakha's long rest earlier, Scratch brought her an animal speaking potion, which I had her use to talk to Scratch and Buddy because she never had before. I didn't write about it bc it wasn't too dramatic, although she did like being able to speak to them because I've already established that they help her calm down sometimes when her brain is noisy.

However - I forgot that it's still active! And I talked to the cat roaming the outer walls of Moonrise. And it has Durge dialogue!

"Yours is a face I shred in my dreams. One who kicked the Steelclaw, as if I were some stray. I am a champion hunter. When I lick my pelt, I taste blood. Fortunately for you, the slithering vermin I hunt has my attention... for now."

This is really getting to be a bit much - getting taunted by Ketheric and Z'Rell and the Warden was one thing, but even the local cat is getting in on the action now. (And given her aforementioned warm connection with Scratch and Buddy, she's not deeply thrilled to hear that her past incarnation apparently had a habit of kicking said cat around.)

"What do you mean I kicked you?" she asks warily. "We've never met..."

The cat hisses disdainfully. "The death-walker passed through here before. I know your scent. All were silent afore you - but I dared to snarl. You skulked like you owned the place, trespassing on my domain."

Something in Rakha's head aches, a stab of familiarity, of dark memory. What this cat says echoes what the Warden said down in the prisons - she walked here and others were made to bow before her and hated her. Even this creature.

Try to remember what was forgotten.

Narrator: You excavate the empty caverns of your useless mind. Shoveling, dozing, blasting through the smoothbrain...

Narrator: How the kitty-cat mewled when your boot stamped upon its tail!

Narrator: You are the black cat crossing the path of the living...

The memory is hazy and dim. She grasps for it, fumbling inwardly, but as she grips it, it pulls and she feels herself sliding down into the dark. The bleak blackness of her forgotten mind grips her like a vise; her vision dulls into blankness soaked in blood and cruelty.

Welcome home... something nameless whispers inside her.

Narrator: The pleasure of the memory dribbles out of your leaking skull into the very air...

Flesh gives under her fingertips, rips, tears. There's a squalling screech that grates in her ears, and then a sharp snap and a flood of heat through her.

"Rakha!" She can hear Wyll shout her name, feel his hand on her arm. She is crouched on the stone balcony and there is blood coating her palms, splashed on her face.

The cat is dead.

No. I didn't want to do this. I didn't. It wasn't me. It wasn't...

Her heart races with sudden panic and despair. She had no control at all - she did nothing but try to recall a brief moment in her past, and it was enough. The beast had full control. Everything slipped away.

She staggers backwards until her back is to the wall behind her, her shoulders hunching, her breath coming in quick, stuttering gasps.

Cower in self-disgust.

Narrator: A memory won at the cost of a piece of your mind. You were in this tower before - that much is sure.

-----

"Hells," Wyll mutters. He looks ill as he crouches at her side. "I'm-- I'm sorry, Rakha. We saw you blanking out; I tried to stop you, but you were... so fast."

She can picture it, now that it's over. What she must have done. Quick and efficient and bloody.

"I didn't want to," she whispers. "I thought for a moment I could remember something... anything..."

He frowns. "And did you?"

"Yes." She swallows. "And it took over..."

He's silent a while. Then he takes her hand between his. She relaxes just a little, involuntarily, though part of her wants to push him away. This is the opposite of everything he has tried to help her to be. The darkness of this place is seeping into her...

"Don't try to tell me it's all right," she says, squeezing her eyes shut and looking away from him.

"I won't," he says softly. "But I know it wasn't you."

She draws a shaky breath and lets it out heavily. It felt so natural, that slide down into the darkness. There was nothing to think about, nothing to do but let the beast take over and destroy...

It is not what she wants to be, not anymore. But it was so easy... "I hope you're right."

[captainstarcruiser]

Vanguard Guardian OC Description

Name: Crimson-9

Nicknames: Crimson, Crim, Red, 9, or (Gambit title) Red Dot.

Pronouns: He/Him

Class: Exo Hunter

Subclass: Solar/Golden Gun and Stasis/Silence and Squall

Ghost: Bun.3 (pronounced Bunny) her shell is the Year of the Rabbit Shell.

Revival spot: EDZ Forest

Age: 25 (29 after revival)

Personal Trinket: MP4 made with salvaged Golden Age technology and these enemies: Fallen, Cabal, Vex.

Preferred Tools of Trade:

Häkke Brand

Suros Brand

Heliocentric QSc

Ammit AR2

Breakneck

Come to Pass

Coronach-22

IKELOS_HC_v1.0.3

IKELOS_SR_v1.0.3

IKELOS_SMG_v1.0.3

Herod-C

Albruna-D

Crux Termination IV

Tarnation

Hullabaloo

Half-Truth

The Other Half.

Exotic Favorites:

Sunshot

Borealis

Suros Regime

Forerunner

Monte Carlo

Ace of Spades

Hardlight

Polaris Lance

Quicksilver Storm.

Bio: Known as the Exo Hunter Crimson-9, he spent time with Cayde-6 on and off the field in order to learn his tricks and skills for the field. He usually sticks to the Hunter groups due to sharing more in common with them. From time to time he works with other classes when he's looking to make quick glimmer or resources for his purchases.

He enjoys music and food more than any exotic he's gathered.

Especially from a hole in the wall diner in the city run by an Exo and Awoken couple, known popularly as The Grease Bucket. They make the thickest, greasiest, and tastiest burgers and chili-cheese fries in the whole city.

As for Crim's taste in music, he has a collection that spreads down to the oldest traces of music, before the Traveler and Golden Age. He loves old school jazz, death metal, dubstep, and for his usual meditation sessions: Japanese Hot Spring Music.

Crimson-9 has a troubled past, involving the Red War and his time being lightless. Eventually his team ended up leaving him behind during a raid on the moon in the Hive sector. His only way to cope with the memory is his music, and meditation.

He hates Hive, with a seething passion. Anything that resembles the Hive, causes his mood to sour. Once he leapt onto a giant Hive Knight Boss and stabbed it in the head over and over till it fell, just because his team took too long to kill it.

The time he spent wandering the Hive zones after his fireteam abandoned him caused him to have nightmares of his time down there. Some nights it's just him being chased by cursed thrall, but the worst is when a curse of Hive decay slowly overtakes his body. He picks at and cracks off all the growing decay till he sees his face fall apart into a hideous ugly screaming thrall.

His likes:

The Grease Bucket

Modded MP4

Music

Pet Ginger Cat named Amber

Dancing

Meditation

Side Arms

Hand Cannons

Spending time with people

Drawing citizens of the Last City

Video Games

His Ship: Mayfly

Collecting every shader he can find

Collecting Gemstones

Collecting Sparrows and Skimmers.

His dislikes:

Hive

Bugs

Spicy and Bitter Stuff

Screams of Pain

Wasting Resources

Arc attacks

Raw Tomatoes

He had a strong silent type of demeanor, usually because he is listening to his music or focused on the battle. He'll open up if you offer food, a clone of your music for his collection, and his favorite drink at the Glimmer Glint Bar, which is a Sweet Wish Stasis, named after a famous Hunter who used Ahamkara-Stasis based weapons on their battles.

He had a secret nerdy when he's happy and philosophical side when he feels melancholy about the entire situation of the Earth.

If you talk to him about cats, music, food, weapons, or animals then he's ready to talk your ear off.

He's Pansexual, and a very tender lover. He knows which buttons to press, and loves seeing his partners reactions. From a cute moan to a squeal, it makes him feel warm when he hears his partner is being satisfied. If you treat him well, show some interest, and try to keep in contact often he'll stay loyal regardless of class or rank.

The only challenge you'll have when around him, is not dying from how critical Bun.3 gets when he's being himself.