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vibrantbirdy · 1 year

Note

Hiii. Firstly, I just want to say how much I LOVE your work. I think you’re fantastic!

I was hoping to request an Obi-Wan Kenobi x Senator or Princess female reader (always a sucker for this). Maybe Clone wars or pre- ending of Revenge of the Sith. Peppered with Obi-Wan denying his feelings for the sake of the Jedi code, and then confessing true emotions in the Kenobi series era. (gotta love angst with some feels after a whole lot of yearning).

Thank you so much 💙

Thank you so much for your kind words and this wonderful request. I was so excited to write for Obi-Wan as it's been years since I have, and it's really cool to write for him in the wake of the Kenobi series. So thank you for this lovely prompt and I hope this is the sort of thing you were looking for.

(Requests for Character x Reader fics are currently open in my Asks. Please read the guidelines first.)

(Masterlist of my fics can be found here.)

Title: Relics Fandom: Star Wars: The Skywalker Saga Setting: Pre the Phantom Menace to post the Kenobi Series. Genres: Sci-fi; Romance; Minor Angst Warnings: mild/moderate sexuality; mild references to Reader family losses due to old age; mild references to the Empire being baddies and doing baddie things Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Princess Female Reader Chapters: 1/1 (Complete) Word Count: c.5k Author's Note: It's late and I need to proofread this properly, sorry for any mistakes in the mean time!

Summary: You and Obi-Wan Kenobi have a connection that spans decades as your lives intersect throughout the years. Will you find each other again in the most unlikely of places?

Now

Inevitably, the Empire discovered that you have been siphoning off funds to various Rebel factions across the Galaxy for years. As Queen of Vitis, you planned to stay on your home world and face the consequences of defying the Imperial tyrants with your people.

But your Bodyguard, loyal to a fault, had other ideas. The night before an Imperial delegation was set to arrive, your Captain of the Guard, Old Paltrum, hired a bounty hunter to abduct you from your chambers in the middle of the night and drop you off somewhere "safe." This apparently meant any random, obscure world in the Outer Rim of the mercenary's choosing.

Seemingly, the desert planet of Tatooine was the farthest flung rock in the Galaxy that the brute could think of.

At night, you dream of home. Of Vitis. A beautiful planet, full of lush forests and green meadows where wildflowers gleam through the grass like little jewels.

Too often, these dreams turn to nightmares and you watch, helpless, as the rivers run red with the blood of your people and the Imperial flag flies like Death's victory banner above the royal citadel.

You fear you'll forever be known as the Vitisian Queen who abandoned her subjects in their most desperate hour of need.

Tatooine is not like home. The heat during the day is a constant, inescapable blanket of oppression. No matter what you do, the sand works its way into your eyes, between your teeth, into your clothes and tracks its way all the way through the small one room home you managed to purchase with the few credits Paltrum obviously appropriated for you from the palace treasury. And you are always so thirsty, no matter how much water you consume.

Still, you have been on the desert planet for almost three months now, and despite your belligerent determination not to, you are beginning to settle and acclimatise. Slowly.

You like Tatooine best in the evening, just as dusk falls. It's cooler and there is a rare, strange beauty to be found as the twin suns set in the sky which turns from blood red to pink to purple and finally to a deep, midnight blue.

You make your living selling the clothing you make at the stall you have acquired in the market in Mos Eisley. It is mid-afternoon when you catch sight of a man you know walking across the far side of the square. You jump up from your stool, knocking it over in your haste and sending your weaving unravelling to the floor.

Ducking and weaving and apologising to the people you bump into, you track the man making his way across the market through the obstructions of clothing and clutter and trinkets hanging from the stalls of your neighbours' and your own.

Your heart leaps. It is him. Obi-Wan Kenobi.

What is he doing here? Of all places.

You want to run to him, to call out his name but something stops you.

He looks older. Of course he does, it's been over a decade since you last saw him. But that's not it.

The Obi-Wan you remember carried himself with a charismatic air of confidence which, on other men, could easily have been perceived as arrogance. But Kenobi was always able to temper this with his good humour and dignified manner.

Now, he looks downtrodden, smaller, as if he's been on Tatooine so long that the years have started to grind him into the sand. His once well kempt hair and beard are scruffy and his dirty, torn clothes are little more than rags.

You are suddenly struck by the idea that he might not want you to see him like this. Then, you think about what happened to the Jedi Order and the rumoured purge said to have been commanded by the Emperor himself.

Obi-Wan must be in exile or in hiding. Just like you.

With this revelation, you are paralysed by indecision. By the time you come to the realisation that you can't let this chance to reunite with him slip away, he is already gone.

***************************************************

30 years ago

The Republic have sent a diplomatic envoy to Vitis to discuss with leading politicians from the surrounding worlds the increasing Separatist pressure on the system's trade routes. The delegation of two Jedi, Master Qui-Gon Jinn and his young apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi, arrive at the Vitisian royal citadel early in the morning.

Although you really think you should be sitting at the table with the other delegates, you've reluctantly agreed with the wishes of your parents, the King and Queen, to show Obi-Wan the palace grounds and some of the countryside beyond.

He's a young man about your age, probably eighteen or nineteen. Upon first introduction, you get the distinct impression that he feels like he should be present at the discussions too. But, following a brief period of stilted conversation as you lead him through the palace and out into the lush gardens, it quickly becomes apparent that you and Obi-Wan just click. Any interest in trade or commerce is soon forgotten by both of you.

When he speaks, his pronunciation is clipped and proper, but his voice is full of a charming vitality. He has a graceful, purposeful physicality and moves his body with a self-assuredness many young men his age don't seem to possess quite yet. And he's handsome. He has an open, honest face with well-proportioned features, adored with two impossibly bright blue eyes. He has sandy coloured hair which, apart from a small pony tail at the back of his head and a long, thin braid that runs down behind his ear and to his chest, is cropped short.

As you walk through Vitis's lush, green surroundings together, the conversations flows easily. You notice that he has a perpetual, good-natured smirk on his face, as if he constantly has an amusing quip on the tip of his tongue. Sometimes he speaks these out loud and his blue eyes twinkle with mischief.

His little barbs are never unkind. In fact, you find it refreshing, the way he makes you think on your feet in an effort to fire out your own witty retorts.

One time, you're too slow to think of anything clever to say, so all you can think to do is to pull, gently, at the strange braid affixed to the side of his head.

"What's this?"

What's what?" He asks with mock ignorance, and you shove him playfully.

"It's my Padawan braid," he explains, "It signifies that I'm not yet a Jedi. Once I've completed the trials, I'll cut it off as part of the ceremony when I become a Knight."

"Oh," you say, faltering.

It all sounds rather meaningful and symbolic.

"I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have..."

He smiles reassuringly.

"It's ok, I have a bad habit of tugging at it myself when I'm nervous."

Hours have passed and you've wandered all the way through the grounds as far as the great lake before either of you notice the time. You take the short cut back through the woods and past the gargantuan Whispering Tree, which stands sentinel like a great, leafy guardian on the border of the royal forest.

Obi-Wan stops to admire the tree, his eyes following its massive trunk and he cranes his neck in a futile attempt to try and get a glimpse of the top as it disappears into the canopy. The tree is putting on a magnificent show today. Its peculiar white leaves are dazzling in the sunlight and the pale silver bark shines like precious metal.

"What is it?" he asks, his voice filled with awe, "I've never seen a tree like it."

"It's called the Whispering Tree because of the noise it makes in the wind. It sounds like someone speaking. It's the only one left of its kind - a white Vitisian Birch. Traditionally, first born royal daughters are charged with its care," you run a hand against the smooth bark fondly," and that happens to be me."

Obi-Wan smiles almost absent-mindedly as he presses his palm against the tree and closes his eyes.

"Are you talking to it? Using the Force?" You ask, excitedly, "What's it saying?"

"That's not how it works," he chuckles, but he stops immediately as he sees your cheeks redden and realises that you're embarrassed.

"Uh, but if it could talk," he continues, earnestly, "It would say that it feels very lucky to have someone like you to care for it."

You beam widely at him and, unable to stop yourself, you lean in and plant an impulsive kiss on his lips. At first, he stiffens, his eyes wide in surprise, but then he seems to melt into you and you feel a thrill of excitement course through you as his lips start to move against yours.

"Obi-Wan!" A stern voice makes you both jump and you leap away from each other as if you've been electrocuted.

The tall figure of Obi-Wan's mentor is striding towards where you are standing at the tree line, his Jedi robes and long silver hair billowing in the breeze together making him seem even bigger and more imposing.

"Master Qui-Gon..."

"You were supposed to escort the Princess to dinner an hour ago!"

"I know, Master, I'm sorry..."

Obi-Wan starts to explain, but Qui-Gon Jinn cuts him off abruptly.

"I don't want to hear it."

Side by side, you and Obi-Wan traipse silently back to the palace behind Master Jinn. You find yourself having to scurry to keep up with his long strides, but Obi-Wan appears to be used to it.

He looks rather crestfallen following Qui-Gon's admonishment, and you reach out to touch the back of his hand lightly with your own. At first, he doesn't look at you, instead just allowing the corners of his mouth to lift slightly as he runs his knuckles back and forth against your own.

Then, you exchange a sheepish, secret smile, behind Master Jinn's back, before breaking the touch and you both return your gaze to the ground with suitably chastised expressions.

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

It becomes apparent over dinner that Master Jinn, mercifully, has not informed your parents of your little indiscretion with Obi-Wan. You don't know what story he has concocted to explain your tardiness, but you are grateful for it.

Over the course of the evening, as you observe him, you realise that Qui-Gon Jinn is a kind man. Although he appears slightly terse with Obi-Wan to begin with, his manner softens as time goes on and to you, the relationship between the two Jedi seems almost akin to that of father and son.

Although you still feel a guilty, watching the two Jedi helps soothe your worries that Obi-Wan might face some severe reprimand on account of your actions.

Soon, it is time to see the guests off and the Jedi delegation is last to leave. You take advantage of the long conversation Master Jinn and your father apparently couldn't possibly have finished over dinner to say goodbye to Obi-Wan.

"I'm sorry, did you get in trouble?" You say quickly and quietly into his ear as you give him a formal, chaste kiss farewell on the cheek. "Yes, but it was worth it," he whispers back and a wide, boyish grin spreads across his face as he pulls away.

You can't do anything other than return it, and you look at each other for just a moment longer before he gives you a courteous nod of his head.

"Goodbye, Princess."

"Goodbye, Obi-Wan."

********************************************************

Now

You next see Obi-Wan a few weeks after your first glimpse of him at the market.

You almost approach him this time, but again, something holds you back.

He is heading towards Mos Eisley's space port and he has a more purposeful stride to his walk than when you last saw him.

Yet it's still not the walk of the composed, dignified man you once knew. In fact, his sense of urgency seems alarmingly close to panic.

Presumably, he is going off-world for some reason. He's not carrying much with him.

You hope he'll be back.

******************************************************** 12 years ago You are arriving on Coruscant, the sprawling city covered planet at the heart of the Galaxy, the seat of the Republic's power. Your father has sent you to make a representation to the Senate to officially declare an end to Vitis's neutrality.

It's not what you or your people want. But the Separatists have been pushing in on Vitisian interests on all sides in the past several months, disrupting trade routes, placing droid garrisons on nearby worlds, even muscling in on mineral mining operations on several moons within the Vitisian system. There is now really is very little choice. Vitis needs the protection of the Republic.

As you step off your ship, Obi-Wan Kenobi, now a Jedi Master, strides across the landing platform to greet you. You are so high up it gives the impression that the Coruscant sun which hangs large and low and golden in the sky behind you is about to swallow you whole. There is a strong breeze, which catches your hair and sends the flowing train of your green travelling dress snaking into the air like an emerald river.

Obi-Wan has grown into a fine looking man, tall and broad shouldered. He is clothed in traditional Jedi attire, a long brown robe draped elegantly over a cream tunic, fawn pants, and knee length, brown leather boots. His sandy hair is neatly cropped at the back and sides, with more length on the top and he had grown a distinguished golden beard since you last saw him.

"Princess," he says with a warm smile, those piercing blue eyes of his just as full of life as you remember.

"Master Kenobi," you respond, beaming, as he stoops to kiss you on both cheeks.

You'd been concerned that, in the almost two decades since you last saw him, his long years at war in service to the Jedi might have dulled that bright spark you so admired in the young man you once knew.

But you needn't have worried. As he escorts you to your chambers within the accommodation wing of the grand Senate building, you find yourself falling back into easy, cheerful conversation with him, as if no time has passed at all.

Obi-Wan's youthful spirit is still present but it has evolved into a sort of refined, contained exuberance that sits elegantly on him. He is as quick to laughter as ever and the eloquent wit he possessed even as a boy is just as sharp.

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

You are sitting in the lavish parlour of the rooms you've been assigned. It is a fine suite, decorated in bright colours with a beautiful view out across Coruscant's endless cityscape. The arching floor to ceiling windows let in as much natural light at the metropolis' towering spires will allow.

Suddenly, you wonder what it would feel like to kiss Obi-Wan again, now that he has that dashing beard.

"Princess?"

Obi-Wan is standing at the sideboard, holding a steaming teapot and a glass mug out towards you. From the amused, questioning look on his face, you get the distinct impression that he has proffered the beverage more than once.

"I apologise, Master Jedi, I was parsecs away, yes please."

"Oh really?" he asks, conversationally as he drops into the lounge chair opposite you, and hands you the glass vessel across the low, marble table, "Where were you?"

"Well, I was actually thinking about when we first met, do you remember?"

It's not quite a lie.

"How could I forget?" He laughs, "Master Qui-Gon was furious with me."

A shadow of uncharacteristic sadness suddenly passes over his face.

Remembering the rumours you have heard of the violence of Qui-Gon Jinn's death at the hands of a mysterious, fearsome warrior, you put down your tea and reach across the table to take Obi-Wan's hands in yours.

"I was so very sorry to hear about Master Jinn, Obi-Wan," you say kindly.

"Thank you, it was a long time ago now."

He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He squeezes your hands gently before he stands up.

"I'll let you get settled."

Obi-Wan makes for the door and as he reaches for the handle, he turns and grins at you disarmingly.

"It really is very good to see you again, Princess."

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

You had only planned to stay on Coruscant for a week. However, politics being as they are, you have ended up staying for much longer.

One day, during a gap in the Senate proceedings, Obi-Wan takes you to visit the magnificent Jedi Temple. He wants to show you the terraced garden, knowing that you are missing the greenery of Vitis.

It is a paradise. You can't believe that at the centre of this endless cityscape is this bubble of serenity. The variety of plants that are grown here, the vibrancy of the colours, the wonderful aroma of a hundred different blossoms all intermingled - it makes you giddy.

You and Obi-Wan stay in the gardens for hours strolling and conversing and sitting together, then strolling some more.

"Strange how so many years have gone by yet I feel as if no time at all has passed between us," you say plainly as soon as the thought pops into your head.

You don't mean it to sound quite so romantic, but then you realise you really don't mind if that's how Obi-Wan choses to interpret it.

"I feel the same," he agrees and you are surprised to see a hint of bashfulness in the smile he offers.

You allow the back of your hand to graze against his. He turns his head and raises his eyebrows at you, an amused smirk of recognition on his face. He runs his knuckles along yours as he once did so many years ago.

Unlike then, Obi-Wan allows his hand to stay resting against yours this time and you walk like that, not quite hand in hand, through the vast gardens of the Temple long after the sun starts to set and the descent of the cool, evening air releases the sweet, heady scent of Coruscanti night blossoms all around you.

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

The month you have spent on Coruscant has been stressful, busy, and filled with difficult negotiations and decisions which weigh heavily upon on you. Your father is in ailing health, ever since the death of your mother, and you know that soon you will be Queen. It is not a thought you relish, but now, at least, you know that when you take the oath to serve your people for the rest of your life as sovereign, you will be able to do so knowing you can hold your own on their behalf in the Rancor's den of the Republic Senate.

Yet, aside from all the worry, this has also been one of the happiest times of your life. When you are not working, and when he is not galivanting off-world on some Jedi business or another, you have spent every moment you can spare with Obi-Wan.

When the time finally comes to leave Coruscant, Obi-Wan volunteers to escort you back to Vitis. You'd sent Paltrum home weeks ago, poor old sod. City air has never agreed with him and you just knew his wife, Ina, would be worried sick about him.

As you finally land back on your home world, it is amid thunder and lightning. It is perhaps the most violent storm you've seen on Vitis in a decade.

You almost can't believe it when you and Obi-Wan step off the ship and see Old Paltrum soaked through, standing sentry at the palace doors.

"Paltrum, get inside, for the love of the Maker!" You scold the ancient Captain as you approach.

Obi-Wan is holding his cloak over your head in a valiant effort to keep you dry, but it is making not one bit of difference and you can feel the water seeping through your travelling clothes and into your bones.

"It's always been my job to watch for you, your Highness, I'm not about to stop now," Paltrum responds indignantly and you feel a pang of guilt for your rather patronising tone.

"I know, thank you, Captain," and you have to shout over the roar of the wind and the lashing rain, "It's late. I'll see my father in the morning, don't disturb him."

"As you wish, my lady," Paltrum says with a gracious nod, and you stifle a laugh as a deluge of water floods off the peak of his cap with the motion.

The Captain turns to Obi-Wan as he opens the huge, ornate doors to let you through.

"Master Kenobi, there are guest quarters ready for you in the east wing."

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

Obi-Wan does not go to the east wing. Instead, you lead him towards your own chambers. Someone, thankfully, has lit a fire in your sitting room and you both sit cross-legged on the rug on the floor as close as is possible next to the roaring flames.

You've each taken off your sodden outerwear. If possible, Obi-Wan looks even more dashing wet through, his light undershirt clinging to his muscled torso underneath.

Neither of you have spoken since you sat down and as you both watch the flames from the fire reflect in the other's eyes, a tension-filled silence fills the room and sets your heart racing until you think it might burst.

When you can bear it no longer and you see no point in prolonging further pretence, you grab Obi-Wan by the front of his shirt and pull him into a kiss. It is not like your first, so many years ago. This is a deep and passionate embrace, full of desire. He responds immediately to your touch this time, his lips crashing almost roughly against yours.

The Jedi's hands are round your waist, at the nape of your neck, the small of your back, tangled up in your hair, seemingly all at once. You start to unbutton the fastenings on his shirt, tearing at them with one hand, while the other travels urgently down his chest towards his abdomen.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan leaps to his feet and turns his back to you, his broad shoulders rising and falling rapidly. As you've seen him do so often in recent weeks, he brings a hand to his face and rubs his beard. You think this new habit has probably replaced the old one of tugging on his Padawan braid.

"Have I upset you?" you ask quietly, the sting of confusion and rejection, worrying its way under your skin.

"No, Princess," his voice is an earnest whisper as he sits back down in front of you, grasping your hands in his, "Never."

"I still dream of that kiss we shared all those years ago," he admits suddenly, his voice low and full of longing.

Obi-Wan cups your face gently in his hands and looks at you, brows furrowed with emotion, his gaze penetrating right through your soul and setting it aflame.

"Now, seeing you again after all these years, I dream of what it would be like to hold you, to share your life, to....share your bed. These past weeks, I have yearned for you, you must know that."

Your foreheads are touching now, your nose presses into his face, and your fingers are suddenly entwined in his wet, golden hair. You can feel his heart raging against his chest as if it is fighting to escape, just as your own is.

"Obi-Wan..." you say, open-mouthed against his cheek, breathless with need for him.

He closes his eyes and brushes his lips against yours, but he doesn't quite allow himself to kiss you. Instead, after a moment of breathing each other in and out, he pulls away gently.

"But that's all they are," his voice has returned to it's usual refined timbre, "I'm sorry, but they are just dreams. It's all I can allow them to be."

His words are like a thousand tiny knives to your heart and you can't help feeling how cruel it was of him to give you hope and then tear it away like that. You stand up sharply and walk to the window, gazing out onto the storm raging across Vitis, a mere spring shower compared to the tumult now roiling within you.

"You must understand, I have pledged my life to the Jedi Order..."

"You were a child when you made that pledge..." you scoff and you despise the bitterness in your own voice.

He walks across the room to join you and puts his hand on your shoulder.

"All the same. It is made. And now we are at war. I have obligations, I have responsibilities to the Order and to the Republic"

You turn to him and place your hands on his broad chest. His heartbeat has slowed and you know you are losing him. It's like he's flicked some internal switch and raised a barrier between you.

"Then let us have each other, just this once," you whisper urgently, emboldened by desire and the fear that this chance to love him as you've always wanted is slipping away forever.

Obi-Wan touches your face and smiles sadly.

"If we did, I would never be able to leave you again, not for a single moment. I would be your prisoner forever."

"Then stay," you plead through tears, even though you already know his answer, "Stay with me."

"I can't."

***********************************************

Now

Obi-Wan Kenobi is sitting on a wall in Mos Eisley's market place. You are pleased to see that he looks much more like his old self. His head is held high and there is a look of calm on his handsome face. The clothes he is wearing are much neater than before, almost reminiscent of his old Jedi robes, and he has tidied up his hair and beard.

You walk towards him, but he doesn't notice you. You don't say his name. Instead, you quietly sit down next to him and let the back of your hand rest against his. You feel the strong tendons there tense.

He doesn't look at you. His head drops, and his eyes close as if he couldn't stand for it not to be you. Lightly, he moves his hand so that his knuckles rub gently against yours.

"Hello old friend," you say.

"Princess."

The use of your old title sounds natural and right on his tongue and you hope he never stops using it.

Obi-Wan finally looks up at you and his eyes, still dazzling shards of icy blue, gleam with tears. You reach out and touch his face, his stubble pleasantly rough under your hand. You take in the lines around his eyes, deeper now, and the distinguished flecks of silver in his beard and hair. The sight of him is more beautiful, more familiar to you than you can bear.

"You still look the same," you say, your voice shaking slightly.

He smiles and turns his face to gently kiss the heel of your palm that is resting against his cheek.

"And you are more radiant than ever."

He helps you take down your market stall early for the day and you take him into your home where you speak for hours in hushed tones and tell each other everything of your lives in the years since you were last together.

Then, as the twin suns of Tatooine set behind your little domed house in the sand, you lead him to your bed.

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

You are curled up on your side against Obi-Wan's solid, warm chest. For the first time in years you feel safe, entwined in his strong arms, listening to the steady, sonorous rhythm of his heartbeat.

"I have always loved you," he whispers tenderly in your ear, tucking away a stray lock of hair back from your cheek.

"And I you," you say and you mean it.

Still, you can't help but smile sadly as you think of the last time you saw him that fateful night of the storm of Vitis before everything fell apart.

"But of course, you already knew that," you add.

"I am sorry, truly."

"Obi-Wan..." you start to interrupt, worried that your words sounded resentful.

"For all the wasted years," he continues.

He needs to say this, you realise. So you let him.

"If I'd known how the Republic would fall, how the Jedi Order would fail, how the Empire... Well, I never would have denied us this."

He brings his lips to your shoulder and traces a trail of kisses down your arm. His beard tickles.

"No one could have known, Obi-Wan. You did what you thought was right at the time. We all did. And now here we are together again. We made it back to each other. Two old relics of a past age."

"Oh come now, we're not that old," he quips, and you are happy to hear that his tone has lightened again.

You grin mischievously and wriggle out of his arms to push him down onto his back and roll on top of him.

"Prove it," you whisper, as you come to rest on his abdomen and lean down to kiss him on the nose.

His eyes widen in surprise and then in boyish delight as he grasps you firmly by your hips. "Again?!" he laughs and he throws his head back in mirth at his own joke, his eyes squeezing shut so that they crinkle beautifully at the corners.

It is a joyful, youthful, transcendental sound and suddenly, you are back under the Whispering Tree in the green meadows of Vitis with a young Jedi, an unwritten future together stretching out endlessly in front of you.

#obi wan x reader #obi wan x female reader #star wars fanfiction #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi x female reader #star wars fanfic #obi wan kenobi fanfiction

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fairytale-poll · 8 months

Text

LOSER'S BRACKET ROUND 2! MATCH 1 OUT OF 4

Propaganda Under the Cut:

Little Red Riding Hooded Mercenary

General Propaganda:

come on just look at her shes so fucking cool

SHES SOOOOOOOO FUCKING COOOOLL ok so like. Lobotomy Corporation takes place in an SCP type facility where a bunch of abnormalities are living. She is one of them. She is a mostly undying humanoid creature that lives for the sole sake of hunting down the Big And Will Be Bad Wolf. She lives in your facility and will BREAK OUT of her containment if she feels that the wolf is near (or if too many people are dying). You can also hire her to assist you in taking down other abnormalities, and she's actually super good at it. And her outfit is just so sooo sick? She's so cool. Please play Lobotomy Corporation it goes on sale for like $7 every Steam Sale

She's red riding hood if red riding hood had a gun. Also she kisses women

Monster based on human subconscious aka an Abnormality based on the story of Little Red Riding Hood (duh). In this story, she was mauled by the wolf (Big And Might Be Bad Wolf) who is based on all fairy tale wolf villains. Little Red then got to work plotting her revenge and making Bloodborne-esque gear for herself and the two Abnos are locked in eternal combat of hatred for one another

She's literally the coolest, just look at her. For people who might not be so familiar with her: She's one of the abnormalities that remain locked in the Lobotomy Corporation. Her past is somewhat unclear, but she has some horrid scars on her face due to the Big Bad Wolf and she swore vengeance upon him because of that incident. This lead her to become a mercenary and she looks 1000% scarier and more badass than the wolf lol. Also, asides from the fact that she may kill half of your team if she escapes containment, she is quite chill and will even help you take care of your problems if you pay her.

little red riding hood but consumed by vengeance to the point of becoming an anomalous creature hellbent on completing her eternal battle with the wolf. intense desire for revenge. baller as fuck design. will help you kill other escaping abnormalities but you gotta pay her to do it. gets pissed off every time someone escapes containment except for that one annoying bird for absolutely no discernible reason. if you let her kill the wolf she gives you bonuses but if someone else kills the wolf she goes fucking bananas. truly an inspired feral creature of a woman.

Go girl!!! We love your unrestrained violence!

She is literally the absolute coolest!!! I mean, just look at her design! Everything about it screams fucking cool! Not to mention that her story has themes of vengeance, rage, and grief!!! And Lobotomy corporation is just the fucking best and soooooo underrated.

She's starting to fall behind so GO ON AND VOTE MERC WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR! (and buy Lobotomy Corp on steam it's not even that expensive!)

Vote for Riding Hooded Mercenary she's an Abnormality serving as a hired merc that means shes a hunter of her own kind and she WILL chase them to the ends of earth lest she dies herself or knows that damn Wolf is nearby. The cursor for sending hits on something is a wanted poster. She's WAW-classed too, a step below the most dangerous category for her ilk. she shares the class with things such as insane-ass magical girls, an eyeless flower horse turns people into wisteria gardens, fucked up and evil Little Prince, a bird judge that hangs its victims, the now-animate poisoned apple that killed Snow White, and of course the Wolf itself.

Loser's Bracket Propaganda:

little red wouldve gone so so hard if she wasnt against ylfa immediately… victory for our mercenary gal.

Riding Hooded Merc is a bonafide baddie & professional

She;s so fucking cool. almost got murdered by the wolf (also in lobcorp by the way) and she wants revenge so bad. cool as hell mercenary. also just look at her come on

I feel that they all deserve a bit more recognition as just about every Little Red Riding Hood is remembered for their story, but not their character. And I believe that the few I selected are truly well rounded characters, and amazing takes on who the character is.

the Lobotomy Corp one I know nothing about but who has a sick design (I also want the fans of this one to have a win because I liked watching the first round because of them)

Ruby Rose

General Propaganda:

She has a scythe that is also a high-impact sniper rifle.

She is literally just based on Red Riding Hood and she's such an amazing character holy heck

Red Riding Hood but with a gun. (Specifically a combination scythe/high-impact sniper rifle called Crescent Rose). Also she's gone through so much she deserves it. She's trying to save the world and keep going despite all the people she's lost. Grew up dreaming of being a hero who fights monsters. She knows life isn't a fairy tale and wants to make it better. Just went through a mental health arc where she had depression from trying to live up to her (presumed dead) mom and from her friend dying for the second time. Killed the Big Bad Wolf with her magic eye powers. Her sister is Goldilocks and her friends are Beauty and Snow White. also I love her <3

She’s the little red riding hood but also a powerful fighter with a massive fucking scythe that is also a sniper rifle and she’s so skrunkly and so gender. Also RWBY’s whole thing (well one of them) is that their characters are all inspired by pre-existing ones from older stories and Ruby’s the main character so like, poster child of ‘character based off [insert relevant fairytale here]’ so I think she deserves to at least get pretty far

Aesthetics, themes, meta, personality and raw coolness.

She is the main character of her show. The most common monster they fight is a type of wolf (its been a while since ive seen it). Her job is to hunt them down before they can eat her. this story is very much about failed fairy tales, many of the side character's inspired arcs end in failure, but (having not seen the most recent bits) Ruby is still going strong, and i really like her cape, rose petals, and use of a scythe.

She is THE RRH character of all time. She has a scythe that's also a gun and she has to be the hero because she's got super rare main character powers. She is my happy girl. Also her mom was Sleeping Beauty and her sister is Goldilocks, and she fights to stop Rapunzel from destroying everything on the world, the gods, and then herself.

Ruby as a character is literally based on little red riding hood! She has a red cape with a hood

the Red trailer is better propaganda than I could ever write

She is a badass with a scythe, inspired by her uncle and fueled by her mother's death and her sense of righteousness

She has a giant scythe

Loser's Bracket Propaganda:

ruby rose makes me go :D so i picked her here <3 hope this helps

luv them

Ruby Rose is my blorbo in law and I need her in because of that

#red riding poll #loser's bracket #loser's bracket round 2 #poll tournament #poll bracket #polls #character polls #red riding hood #little red riding hood #fairytale #little red riding hooded mercenary #f-01-57 #lobotomy corporation #ruby rose #rwby

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leahnardo-da-veggie · 19 days

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Snippets- Bad End

So i wrote an epilogue for Mind of a Mercenary, but the story's gone a different direction. But have this! It's set 50 years after the novel, when Luna's released from her indenture!

Gods, I was an old woman. My hair had gone silver, the springy curls mellowing to scraggly clumps. Lines marked me until I was more wrinkle and blemish than face. But I was free, and that was what mattered.

I had lied, straightfaced and most extravagantly, to the interviewers. I said I regretted my past actions, and my stint as a mercenary showed me the importance of the magical world being policed, and that I was going to dedicate the remainder of my life to following the lessons I had learnt from my indenturement. (That last bit was not a lie. I had a great deal of lessons I was going to follow; they just weren't the right ones.)

Honestly, the way they gobbled up my bald-faced falsehoods made me rather sad. I had a great deal of affection for the Mages' Union, and to see them be so pitifully easy to manipulate hurt my heart. Thankfully, I didn't have enough of a heart to tell them so.

They released me with a clap on the back, a medal for defending Nyctomachia (as if I had a choice), and a generous pension. I had no use for any of it. After all, I was going right back to my old ways. The world needed more psychotic hive-mind cults, and I was more than willing to provide.

I breezed out the door (actually, more hobbled, for my legs had long since lost their ability to breeze), stopping only long enough to laugh at Chris and Merida for still being stuck in there. Then I was free. Well, mostly free. I had one final loose end to tie up.

I shuffled into the hospital, leaning just a bit too much on my cane. The receptionist, bored and beautiful, looked up. “Visiting hours are over,” she told me. “Go home.”

I smiled and snuck a tendril of magic into her. _Obey,_ I commanded. _Let me through. I am an old lady visiting her deathly ill spouse. When people ask, say you had a crisis of conscience and had to let me see him._ “I need to see my husband,” I quavered in my best ‘helpless old lady' tones.

The woman nodded slowly. “Of course,” she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “What's his name?”

I didn't bother responding, simply taking control of her body. Her fingers clacked on the keyboards, and I found my destination quickly. The geriatric ward, room 11D.

I crafted myself a quick disguise, so that anyone who passed would see a tall, redheaded beauty in doctor's scrubs. This time, I didn't allow technology to get the better of me. No, my time in the Mages' Union had taught me better. I took control of a security guard and made him destroy every CCTV in my vicinity, then erase the recordings. Sure, he would lose his job, but I had plans and they would not be interrupted by pesky technology.

I swung open the door to room 11D. A wrinkled, shrivelled old man lay in the bed, eyes closed. He had to be over a hundred by now, I thought. The years had worn on him, and even the finest chronomancy could not de-age someone. He opened his rheumy eyes as I approached. “Miss Delacroix,” he croaked.

“Pullman,” I said, smirking. “I do believe I made you a promise.”

There was no fear in him when I said that, though I knew he remembered the incident. “Yes. I take it you…” He took a deep breath, as though the interaction was taxing him. “You have not changed.”

“Nope,” I said cheerfully. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” I meant it, of course. A lifetime of doing good and catching baddies had done nothing to improve my intrinsic moral compass. I had simply bided my time, making note of every error my victims (I enjoyed thinking of them as victims) made that got them caught. I knew enough about the inner workings of Nyctomachia to write a book about it.

He saw it in my eyes and my smile, and sighed. “A leopard never sheds its spots. I had rooted for you, you know. It was I who said you ought to be indentured. The others wanted you dead. I thought… I thought you were a victim of bad circumstances, that the world had forced you into a life of crime. I see now that I was wrong.”

I smoothed back the hair on his head. “You were,” I assured him. “You were oh so very wrong. It's a shame I had to wait so long to have you in my grasp. But I'll make your last moments count. Any last words?”

He looked at me. It was a Look, fully deserving of its own capitalisation. He Looked into my eyes soulfully, and I saw, with my mind-gaze, the way he saw me. He pitied me, even in the face of certain agony. He had wanted to make a difference at any cost, and he knew he had gone too far sometimes, and he knew he had hurt innocents with his hard-handedness, but he knew that at least he had not been me.

And that stung, more than the insults or indignities or hatred I'd ever faced. It stung to look into his soul and know that in the end, he was more worthy than I. He would go to the grave broken, but he would hold that knowledge to his heart until the very end. And I would hold that knowledge until my end too. “I'm sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. “I'm sorry I couldn't save you.”

I felt my shrivelled, half-dead soul crumple in my hands. But I'd had a lifetime of pushing my conscience away, and I did so now. “The gods will condemn me for this, I know. They will cast me into the deepest, darkest hells to suffer for all eternity,” I told him, shaking my head. For a brief moment I thought of letting him go.

“But there is no-one to judge me, for the gods are dead. I made sure of that myself.”

#Hehehehe she's peak evil here #novel writing #writeblr #writing #my writing #creative writing #writerscommunity #writing community #fantasy #short story #snippet of my novel #writing a novel #Novel epilogue

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troythings · 23 days

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ever notice how DC comics has an absolutely dogshit moral compass when it comes to the old cliche of “superhero liberates oppressed country” going all the way back to the golden age?

and it’s not just the industry, its the fanbase, how many times have we heard “why cant superman overthrow every dictatorship” get thrown around.

superman: earth-one actually did it right. if one person has power over everyone else and uses that power to topple governments he doesn’t like, what does that make him? not a good person

not the case with donna troy in tales of the titans#3, who steve orlando (known liberal) portrays as a overly moralistic, voyeuristic crusader with a “holier than thou” attitude that can’t even photograph atrocities in a respectful way. she acts like a glorified PMC mercenary breaking almost every international law imaginable and somehow its a good thing.

the issue itself is laden with exceptionalist propaganda (ignores the colonial origins of internment camps, for one). but hey! it’s ok! they put the baddie on trial at the ICC, so its fine! everything’s ok!

but don’t tell steve orlando that the united states isn’t an ICC member state and doesn’t acknowledge the authority of the hague. in fact, the US is critical of the ICC.

seriously don’t tell him though, because that’ll utterly destroy his idealized “i believe in the dream” romantic nationalism.

scratch a liberal, and a fascist bleeds.

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that0nespecialfriend · 1 year

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I arise with spidersona art..

This is Kinetic-Spider (yes, I misspelled it on the drawing, I am a dumbass)! They're

-On the ref, you can see that they're from Earth-4709, a universe where global warming has taken full effect.

Personal info:

-They're Demisexual, Demiromantic, and Gender fluid. They go by any pronouns.

-Their name is Kettle, they don't like sharing their last name because of their family.

-They are 17, birthday being May 9th.

-They are 5'4 with a mostly athletic build having been a competitive cheerleader in the past.

-They're afraid of spiders.

(yes, they are technically a self insert of me)

Powers:

-They have temperature based power, mostly for adaptation and can only control their own body temperature, but they can melt metal and even free helium.

-When in water, the farthest they can freeze with their body is about a 20ft radius, and can also evaporate a 20ft radius at their current max.

-When hot enough, they can make opponents hallucinate (like when it's hot in the desert and you see a mirage)

-Can survive long periods of time without food and water, bone can't break (can be pierced though), can also survive in the vacuum of space if they really wanted to.

-Their temperature can effect how well their webs work, either melting them entirely or freezing them in the web shooter.

-They get massive headaches from being in either state too long (depending on their outside environment), they have a chance of their limbs dying or their blood vessels bursting (but they have a specialized suit to protect them from this and specialized gloves and boots to help), slowed movement when cold, and dehydration.

Some backstory:

-They were bitten by a radioactive tardigrade spider, so they're really adaptable.

-The spider was an experiment that broke loose from Alchemax, that experiment being in the same vein of deep water gigantification, seeing how animals may fuse together in the hot temperatures of their world to survive.

-They're a 17-year-old who moved from Denver Colorado to NYC after becoming emancipated from their abusive family. NYC is where they were bitten by that spider (a really ugly looking spider too).

-Their canon event was when they shared their identity to their best friend's family. Their best friend's mom flew off the handle, trying to kill them, but their best friend stepped in the way, getting killed in the process. The mother was arrested, the youngest kid went into the foster system, and they buried their best friend. This left them all alone.

-Now, they're a senior in highschool, living in a shitty apartment in a shitty part of town, working a job whenever they can, paying off debts, and trying their best to afford food. All of this while still being the Kinetic-Spider for NYC.

Baddies:

-Will have the standard spiderman villains, but creepy because they're all genetic experiments.

-Alchemax in specific will be an antagonist because they want Kettle's DNA for further experimentation. So they want to catch them alive. They've done past experiments with blood samples, injecting a serum into someone. When they injected the serum, the person overheated then rapidly cooled to extreme temperatures, blowing up the room, killing everyone inside that room.

-Mercenaries hired by Alchemax to find and capture Kettle.

-Family keeps harassing them

- Obviously going to have school and work issues. They've just got a lot on their plate :(

How they joined the Spider Society:

-Was probably fighting an anomaly when someone came to help them (probably Lego spiderman smh my head).

-They noticed their powers and abilities and said "why the hell not?" And just scooped them up.

-bada-bing bada-boom, in the spider society.

-They now spend most of their time in the spider society HQ, finding it WAY better than their live back home.

-They probably spend most of their time with Pav, Hobie, Peter B Parker, Spider Noir, and Gwen, loving the chaotic energy, but they're willing to hangout with everyone.

-Probably didn't join the chase for Miles Morales because they didn't want to kill him on accident, and everyone was too close if they wanted to use their powers. (They got yelled at by Miguel for that, but not kicked out because they've never actually seen Miles).

Small headcanons/details:

-When they first got their spider powers, they probably melted through their bed and froze the melted mattress over night. Definitely didn't show up to school for a week till they understood their powers, claiming that they were at a mental hospital or something.

-They're an artist, having designed and made their whole suit over time.

-Their spider sense was horrifying at first because they couldn't feel when people were looking at them or were near them till the got the spider sense, so now they're hyper aware of it all.

-Probably almost killed a bad guy in an early fight, also being the one to call an ambulance for them.

-Has anxiety and probably AuDHD, so there's a LOT of sensory issues that they have to deal with, but being too hot is no longer a problem. They can adjust their body temperature till they're comfortable.

-On hot days at HQ, they're used as the walking AC (can also be a space heater on cold days).

-Peter B Parker and Pav have asked for them to heat up their food on many occasions (sometimes resulting in a melted storage container on bad days).

-Definitely pranks Miguel with Hobie and Pav, and definitely has had their ass handed to them by Miguel.

-Didn't realized that their costume was similar to Pav's till someone pointed it out.

-Would help out Miles once Hobie explains the situation to them.

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massivedreamer · 10 months

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THREE DAYS

Pairing: Dave York x Cartel boss Fem!Reader

Summary: The greatest thing Dave York will ever learn is to be loved… and to love in return.

Rating: E

Word count: 6,304

Warnings: 18+ NO MINORS, language and explicit content, no age gap, no use of y/n, use of a nickname, no physical description. Kidnapping and captivity (don’t worry, David's a big boy and it all ends up consensually), mentions of corruption, drugs, violence, prostitution, child trafficking, illicit activities in general, infidelity, invasion to privacy, masturbation (male/female), unprotected p in v (don't do it at home, kids), rough sex turns vanilla cause two baddies are in love, face riding, doggy style, fingering, squirting, overstimulation, cream pie, emotional orgasm. I think that covers it all.

A/N: This is some psycho killer rom com fever, I have no idea where it all came from but I'm a Pisces so there's that.

My first fic in a long, loooong time and my first Pedro's boys related tale. Encouraged to go back to the writing path by the lovely @lavendertales. English is not my native language, so please, forgive any trespassing. Written for the @pedrostories 's celebration (Did I make it before the deadline??)

Hope you like it and do let me know what you all think!

Yes, there's also a PLAYLIST

The kidnapping was the easiest part. Dave York´s daily routine must have been as predictable as his sex life with the wifey. It was disappointing, really. Your team had only surveillanced him for a couple of days and got his schedules and routes all figured out. For a DIA agent, not to mention a DIA agent-turned-mercenary, he had been sloppy. Lazy. The enemies gained through so many years of being a traitor and a greedy scumbag were all out there. Did he really think he was safe living his suburban life? Wasn't he scared his side job would have consequences at any point?

Did Dave York really consider the possibility of you forgetting him?

Of course, you sent Chet. He was your chosen brother, your lieutenant, your most loyal dog. Even though he could have done it alone, he took three of the new boys with him. He had personally trained them and thought this task as their perfect baptism of fire. The jet would be waiting. Your newest runway for the Washington deliveries, paid by unaware constituents, would be ready for the illegal flight in which only Dave would be sent to California. To the mansion/dungeon they had just finished building according to your specifications, somewhere in the desert.

-“Not again…” said Dave, rather calmly and through the hood once he could sit up and hear Chet´s voice. He could recognize that ridiculous high pitched male tone anywhere. “¿What the fuck does she want now?”

–” I don´t know, York. And it's not my place to give a fuck. But I hope it hurts”. Chet turned to the driver and whispered instructions on how to get to the private tarmac, fast but inconspicuously.

Dave chuckled and kept his cool, but on the inside, he began to worry. They had seized and crushed his iPhone as soon as they got him in the truck. Carol would soon start freaking out if he didn't answer her messages. Why the hell didn't he bring the satellite tracker today? He tried to guess where they were going, paying attention to the stops, the turns, the sounds. He could definitely recognize when they were passing Constitution Ave. But that was it. He had the feeling the directions Chet was giving the driver were solely to confuse him. After a while, the rhythm of the vehicle became monotone. They were cruising a highway. But, which one? Nevermind. It was obvious that the destination was in the outskirts of DC.

- “Out, York!”

Trying to deliver his most menacing voice, Chet yanked Dave by the arm and handed him to someone else. The highway trip was about 20 minutes and even though he was still with his head covered, it didn't take too much effort for him to realize they had arrived in some sort of an airport. She is definitely thriving.

- “I guess we´re not going to Cozum…?”

Dave didn't have the chance to finish the joke. The needle did its job perfectly. You couldn't risk your favorite bad boy using his legendary photographic memory, not even from the air.

A white room.

A bed.

A chair.

One small window.

Sunlight.

What time was it? What day was it?

Shit. Dave opened his eyes and before moving a muscle, he quickly scanned his surroundings. He had to make sure he was the only one in that cell. Because that's where he was. You had put him behind fucking bars. He´d be lying if he hadn't considered the possibility of going to prison someday. But that you were going to be his judge, jury and executor?

In the upper left corner of the locked room, there was a discreet, up-to-date camera that definitely recorded sound. Two speakers, matching the color of the walls, were hanging at each side of the bed. It was a California King Size. All of the sudden, Donna Summer’s “Love to Love You, Baby” started blasting through them. Dave sat up and some obscene flashes from the recent past slapped his memory. And, unexpectedly, fueled his groin.

-”There´s not coming back from this. Did you know that, right?” – Dave spoke over the loud music, not sure if you were able to hear him. “You kidnapped a federal agent. You´re fucked!”

Donna stopped abruptly but you continued the singing. You always had a lovely voice. In another life, you could have been a terrific singer. “IIIIIIII… love to love you babyyyy…!”

“Did you change your number?” – you asked, with a fake curiosity. “I cannot seem to reach you anymore…” You sighed, almost moaned.

“I only updated my spam call list” – Dave answered, nonchalantly. “What do you want, Killer Q?”

“ I can’t stop thinking about you”

“ Awww... You’re breaking my fucking heart, baby…” – Dave laughed.

That laughter hurt. Look at what this motherfucker does to you. One year ago, you were the most ruthless woman that had ever set foot in the drug trafficking industrial complex. As a boss. And in the US, of all places. Your facade of a succesful businesswoman, though a cliché, was more than efficient. The reality was that you had become the cocaine Godmother, the meth Empress, the Goddess of opioid. Your name had started to be known across the substances’ world, with a reputation forged under seas of blood. Every single poor devil, with so little brain to disrespect you and everything you had to go through to get where you were, was either impaired or underneath some surface.

And you were a witty bitch. While supervising the traditional kneecapping session reserved for dealers with dreams of entrepreneurism, you love to deliver some really funny lines. And yet, Dave York mocking you, left you speechless.

“Well, if the mountain will not come to Muhammad, then I guess Muhammad must kidnap the mountain…” – You were back.

“I thought we were done doing business” – Dave started losing his confidence. Not knowing what the hell you wanted started to have its effect on him. Deep down, and after all he had seen and heard, he had to admit he was a bit afraid of you.

“Business?” – you tried to disguise your vulnerability. “So, I’m just another deal to you, huh?

“Yes…" –Dave looked at the ceiling – "And no? I thought you and I were benefiting from each other AND having fun.”

There was a silence that, by no means, you intended to float so heavy in the air.

“Well, I guess for me… it turned into something more than entertainment…”

You had to close the mic to drink from the Evian bottle. You hadn’t planned to spill your truth in the first minute of conversation but there you were. Finally, admitting it. Out loud.

Were you going to say the word though? One thing was for sure: you had never felt like this. Let's be honest: a 13 year old, lured out of her miserable home, from a miserable town, having her soul ripped by men and their huffs and grunts, every single night, for a decade, was never meant to be the fairytale princess archetype. And other 10 years of her life, just surviving, lowering her head, listening to the important conversations, connecting with the right people, even escaping slavery through a marriage of convenience with a kingpin, didn’t contribute much to her personal knowledge of what love was. Or is?

“Well, aren’t you gonna say anything?” – you demanded.

“What do you want me to say?” – Sat at the edge of the bed and in the absence of the woman confessing such feelings for him, Dave just kept staring at the wall. “That I still don’t know why I’m here?”

“Oh you do…” – you sounded darker – “Think”

“Wait… Do you wanna have sex with me, Killer Q? Is that it?”

Now you were the one laughing.

“Oh my God… Men. Why are you all so basic? – You were enjoying this – Do you really think that if I only wanted to fuck you, you’d be in that cell, without me all over you? C’mon, try harder, York…”

“Do I really have a choice…?” Dave mumbled.

He sighed and stood up, his brain trying to come up with what scheme could be the closest to the one in your mind. You made it clear it wasn’t sex. Money, maybe? Extortion. You were infatuated and planning to send some incriminating material to Carol. You surely could have set up the equipment to record your encounters. Vegas? Last Spring? That’s when Donna played over and over, right? Memorable.

You watched through the monitor and smiled at the sight of the supposedly cold mercenary, slightly blushing.

“What do you feel for me, Dave?”

“Right now, I hate you.”

“I doubt that, baby… I got a better idea. It’s getting late, I’m tired and I need to go to bed. It’s sad we can’t share it yet. We will. But first you´ll have to seriously examine your actions, thoughts and, most importantly, your feelings in the recent time" – you took a long pause – "so you can be more honest with your responses in the next three days we’ll spend together. Night night, David”

"What? Wait! Three whole motherfucking days here?!” Dave was equally outraged and concerned. “I’m hungry! And…” - he hesitated and lowered his voice – “What about going to the bathroom and…?”

Two sliding doors opened almost in unison. One, small and by the bed, produced a tray with some delicious seafood dish, a glass of Chardonnay and a generous portion of Creme Brulee. The other entrance, bigger and near the main gate, showed him a luxurious bathroom, with a change of comfortable clothes and toiletries.

“You have two hours until the lights are off”

Day ONE

Daylight bathed the cell and Dave was surprised by how soundly he had slept. It must have been some residual effect from whatever tranquilizer they gave him before getting him in the jet. Or was it maybe that he felt comfortable? Bullshit. He was the renowned CIA agent David York and this was a dangerous situation. Even infatuated as you claimed to be, you were a threat. And, come on… you didn’t mean anything to him. He’s had his pretty decent share of affairs and he had come to terms with his cheating asshole condition. You were no different from the parade of office girls who begged on their knees for one more night of cuffs, lube and discarded condoms, right?

Right.

Still in bed, Dave looked longingly in the direction of the food door, mentally begging for a black coffee, no sugar, scrambled eggs and bacon. Not knowing the time was slowly driving him crazy. He trusted his appetite and the sun elevation angle to say it was close to noon. Of who knows what day but it was something. He went to the bathroom and freshened up.

“Uhmm.. Hello?” — Dave talked to the air, in the hopes you presented once more, vocally. Not that he was particularly interested in hearing your voice again or anything. “I could use some breakfast, you know? By the way, dinner last night was awesome. If you tell me where we are, I would highly recommend this place on TripAdvisor!”

Nothing.

Nada.

Wait.

There was something.

Suddenly, and as if he was in a real hotel and some nextdoor honeymooners were doing what honeymooners usually do in hotels, Dave started to hear some lewd sounds coming from somewhere nearby. At first, it was barely audible, which made it difficult to pinpoint the source. But it rose to a crescendo, getting higher, clearer. Hotter. Dave realized it was not coming from any place near the cell but from the speakers crowning his prisoner bed.

“Give it to me, daddy…! Ohh…Fuckfuckfuckfuck… Yesyesyesyeyes!”

It was you. You were fucking some random dude and broadcasting it live and in stereo. For him to be the only audience.

"Ooooh Gooood…Yeaaah… Harder! Please! Please! Pleaaaase! I’m so close! Make me come! No one can make me come like you, daddy…!”

Dave was standing in the middle of the room, hands on the hips, smiling and shaking his head in disbelief. If this was your strategy, it was beyond pathetic. The skin slapping skin sound was getting louder and faster. You sounded so satisfied, kept moaning and begging. Dave had to admit that the guy was doing a great job. He wasn’t saying a word, he was just panting and grunting. There was something about him though. The noises he was making, the pace he was fucking you… The only sexual activity Dave had eavesdropped in his life was his dorm roommate, back in college, 25 years ago. And after all that time, he still recalled it was a lousy job. So, even though there were no parameters to be based on, in this case, Dave could strangely tell, just by listening to his performance, that for this guy it wasn’t just sex. What a loser, putting so much care into making you come, probably watching your face in ecstasy, proud of himself, thinking you’d adore him afterwards…

You came. Hard.

“What are you doing?” – Dave was done.

A giant screen popped up from one of the walls, revealing some truly NSFW scenes. So it was not just audio after all. There you were… and Dave York, fucking you senseless, chasing his own high in that Colorado cabin, last time you were together.

“You mean, what are we doing?” – you sounded so full of yourself.

“Take it off” – He was watching the video, weirdly mesmerized. - “Take. It. Off”

“Oh but here comes the best part! - You imitated a little girl who didn’t want to go to sleep.

“Take it off. Or I will “ – Dave grabbed the chair and walked in a menacing way towards the screen.

His movements in the video were frantic. His beautifully formed butt, hammering between your legs, was the star of the piece. He was about to watch himself reaching orgasm, with a woman who wasn’t his wife. What a piece of shit he was.

“Ooooh fuuuuuuck… unnngh… I fuck…ing.. I... fucking LOVE YOU…”

Dave dropped the chair and the screen went to black. It’s not that he didn’t remember saying that. The problem was that he had been trying to forget that he said it. He composed himself.

“You gotta be kidding me…” – he chuckled and calmly returned the chair to its place – “Really? What’s your point with all this?”

“I think it’s quite obvious, David” – you lit up a cigarette and reclined in your leather armchair.

“You know? I thought you were crazy, but with this, you’ve exceeded my expectations” – Dave didn’t try to conceal his rage anymore – “Do you really believe that the shit we say during sex is meaningful?!”

“I have a question for you, Dave. If this thing between us was nothing, why didn’t you stop calling me? Because let me remind you that it was you who looked for me. Not the other way around”

You were right. He desperately tried to find a plausible answer to your question. “Well, I guess it´s because you´re a great fuck, Q.”

“I am. In fact, I absolutely excel in bed. ” – You paused – “And yet, none of all the men I’ve been with, not a single one of those motherfuckers really wanted to see me again after a couple of times”

Dave remained in silence.

“Oh but you were only ‘having fun’ with me for, what? Almost 2 years now? – Yes, you were counting – “Until you cut me off completely, last week. Excuse me for only being sensical at reading this situation, York"

He had to admit you were right.

“So tell me… What happened? Little Carol found out about your feelings?”

“Don’t you bring Carol into this…”

“Oh but she already is! What was it? – You fake a gasp – Did you say my name while making love to her tenderly…?”

“Shut up!” – Dave almost growled.

“Sorry” – you said, sincerely.

“What?”

“I don’t want to antagonize you, Dave. It’s just…”

“Yeah. I guess that’s why you kidnapped me…”

“You gave me no choice, Dave. Look, I know you think I’m a heartless woman. I myself thought I was. This is my desperate measure, to my desperate times. I love you. – You fought the impending tears with all your strength – And call me crazy all you want, but I know for sure you love me back. That’s why you ghosted me. It scares the shit out of you feeling something like this for someone like me.”

Dave couldn’t think of any explanatory response. Because, in fact, he had none.

The little door suddenly opened, showing a bistec with a colorful salad, his non-optional lunch offer for the day, that went uneventful after your mic turned off.

Day TWO

Nothing had happened since the dawn of that second day. Dave hoped you were having second thoughts and maybe were planning on releasing him. He also questioned himself if that’s what he wanted. After a quick shower, he noticed night had finally fallen in whatever place this majestic prison was located. He had no clue what time it was and, honestly, he didn’t give a fuck anymore. While laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, which was the only entertainment he could find, Carol and the girls suddenly came to his mind. What would they be doing right now? He felt for them. Even though he had long come to accept that he didn’t love Carol anymore, he truly valued her. She was a great woman, a perfect mother, and at this point, a resilient wife. And his daughters… They were the most beautiful beings he could have produced and the only decent footprint he will leave on this Earth. What would they think of him if he divorced their mom? Dave mentally punched himself for considering that.

Complete darkness swallowed the cell. Of course, it was getting late for the daily event. All lights went dead except for the big screen that suddenly started showing some CCTV images. It was Dave’s street.

“Have you been to my home too, Q? Pfff, I don’t know why I’m surprised…”

There was not a comeback from your part.

After a few minutes, it was clear that the footage was an edition from different days, but at similar hours. Dave realized that in those cuts there was something concerning. The same man appeared to be jogging, but discreetly glancing at his house. Everyday. He was wearing different sporty outfits and anyone could think he was simply a neighbor trying to be fit. But for the trained eye of Dave York, it was easy to understand that that guy was something else. Something dangerous.

“Do you remember the job I got you, 6 months ago, for that Qatar minister? You and your men failed, Dave. They launched an investigation over the dude. And he eventually had to resign. Guess what? He isn’t the forgiving type. He came to me and asked for your personal inform…”

“You put my family in danger, you fucking psycho?!” Have you lost your mind?

“Do you really think that your family would still be alive had I done that, York?

“Q, you have to let me go” – Dave didn't want to joke anymore – “I need to warn them. Please, let me just do this and I promise, I swear on their lives, you can do whatever you want with me afterwards. Please.”

That pleading made you fall even more in love with him.

Dave kept watching the footage, terrified of what could be coming next. The video was fast forwarded and he could see as the jogger, who was running his usual target street, crouched and pretended to tie his shoelaces. All of the sudden, he disappeared behind a white van that passed by him and slowed down right where he was. He never reappeared after the van kept on going. A knife was left abandoned on the pavement. Exactly 15 seconds after that, the Mercedes with Carol and the girls turned around the corner, coming back from school. Now Dave remembered the night his wife had commented how weird it was finding that knife in the middle of their street. Dave didn't think anything of it.

"Sometimes I ponder how easy and convenient it would've been for me to let that "tragedy" to happen"

"What about Al-Salim? He could send more people…"

"He fell into depression. And sadly took his own life back in Qatar, the very afternoon this healthy man suffered a heart attack, at the entrance of the George Washington hospital. Dark coincidence, don't you think?"

Dave was at a loss for words for the longest moment. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around what you’d done for his family. For him.

"I guess… you don't need my services anymore. It seems like now I can hire you for this kind of job. Thank you, Q"

The screen went dead and it was pitch black again. Dave didn't know what to expect anymore.

"Aren't you curious about how I hacked your security camera? And your home intranet, DIA agent?" – your tone was playful again.

Your voice wasn’t coming through the speakers anymore but from right outside his cell. Like in a theatrical performance, the beam of a projector somehow lit up only you and your body. There you were, no make up, loose hair, sitting on a kitchen chair and wearing nothing but a white long dress. The powerful lightning made you look like a sexy specter.

“How are you Dave? Comfortable, I hope” – You crossed your legs and adopted the pose of a therapist who was about to have her first session with a new patient.

“I’m sitting in the dark. I like it” – Dave was not lying.

“I suppose you do. Tell me, do you also sit in the dark at home, late at night, when you Google me?

“Oh, please… Don’t flatter yourself, Killer Q”

“Please, your Honor! I have some unmistakable evidence to substantiate my case…”

You stood up and the projector revealed, over your curves, recordings from a computer screen, where your name appeared, over and over again, in searchings with a variety of word combinations that ultimately lead to the same topic: your romantic life. Your name + the terms “boyfriend”, “dating”, “partners”, “love life”, “marriage plans”, “past relationships”.

Dave felt his face on fire and thanked the darkness for concealing it.

“That could be anyone's computer”

The images of the hacked screen then changed to a divided layout of his deceitful puppy eyes, his hands on the keyboard in which he was entering the terms, all matching the dates and times of the searches you previously and sensually had helped showcasing.

“I think that’s your computer, agent York.”

You got up and came closer to the cell, took down the dress straps, one at the time, and let it fall to the floor. You could barely see Dave but you could sense his eyes roaming your naked body. Neither of you said a word. You ceremoniously came back to the chair and sat again, feeling the wetness that had been accumulating since he had thanked you for saving his family.

“I just know it, Dave. Please, just say it” – you begged with hooded eyes.

The projector was now bathing you with a soft shade of pink, matching the glistening between your legs, on full display for your prisoner to see. When you started circling your clit, your nipples rock hard even before getting undressed, you knew you were not going to last. On the other side of the bars, Dave was breathing heavily and his bulge began pulsing. He didn’t want to, he couldn’t give in to the need to pull his cock out and get himself off to the magnificent scene he was witnessing. He had always thought your body was glorious, even with your scars. Maybe, because of them.

“Baby… Mmmm… can’t you see? This is… all… yours… Oh… I… am yours…”

You were stabbing your cunt with two fingers, curving them at the right place, at the right rhythm. The sounds you were making, increasingly wetter, desperately faster. One foot on the ground, the other stepping on the spindle, you had definitely used that wooden chair for sinful exercises before. And your moans echoed in the room where Dave was. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, gulping and palming himself, fully erect and finally doing what he very much had resisted. You could hear him and it turned you on even more. Almost standing up, you went back to your clit, frantically rubbing it, keeping your eyes fixed in Dave’s direction. When he saw you come, it was like looking at some goddess sculpture, with a gaping mouth expression, frozen in ecstasy for a few seconds, screaming his name right after. Spitting his hand and fisting himself, once, twice, thrice, Dave spilled his seed all over the tile floor. Panting and slightly sweating, still in the dark, he watched you approach the cell again, still naked and with a satisfied grin on your face. Your hand, still covered in your juices, went straight to grab one of the door metal bars and smudge it with your flavor. Then, you picked up your dress, gave Dave one last look and left. Everything went dark again. But before any light would turn on and gave him away, Dave rushed to the door and licked what you had left for him.

Later in the shower he had to take care of himself for a second time.

Day THREE

A huge smash woke Dave from one of the best sleepings he had had in a long time. The lack of proper rest in the past 48 hours had been highly balanced out by the self pleasure activities shared with you the previous night. In his haze, he could hear that there was some commotion out there but, again, he was unable to determine the source. “What is it gonna be today…” He rubbed his eyes and then rolled them.

Dave stood up and walked to the door, grabbed the bars and listened closely. There were two voices. They were arguing. And it didn’t sound pretty. “You don’t understand! It’s not because of you! That was definitely your voice. “Why the fuck do you even bother? With him? I always stood by you, you ungrateful bitch…!”

Chet.

Wait. Was that a lovers’ quarrel? Dave was baffled. He had always thought your loyal lieutenant was a rampant homosexual. “Chet, stop it, please!” You sounded more and more scared, on the verge of tears, almost. Dave’s heart started racing, his knuckles turning white while squeezing the bars of the door. It was like Chet was bringing the whole house down. Glass crashing, furniture flying, walls being punched. Then Dave heard a slap and a muffled gasp. And he lost it.

“Cheeeet! You coward piece of shit, leave her alone!!! You want me??? Here I am!! Come and get me, fucker!!!”

Dave started furiously kicking the bars, of course, to no avail. He searched and searched, for some sign of a door opening device, while he kept hearing your screamings. He scanned the cell and looked at the chair. The window. He probably was not going to be able to break it, or fit into it but at that point anything was worth trying. He stepped on the chair when suddenly everything went quiet. Fearing the worst, he stepped down. The screen turned on and there it was your face. Dave York never thought the day would come when he’d get to see you in such a state. Your hair in disarray, reddened puffy eyes, bloody lips and sheer terror plastered in your expresion. Still so beautiful. You were whispering to the camera installed in the control room from where you clearly operated all these days, looking to your side every five seconds, afraid of Chet entering any minute.

“I’m so sorry Dave! – you were sobbing but quickly tried to get yourself together – “There’s a panel… uhm… hidden, on the inside wall… it's the right side… No! Sorry! Sorry! Left side by the cell door! You give it a little push and…” – you froze and glanced at your flank – “It will show a big red button…You push it and it will open the door. Please, you gotta help me, please! He’s gonna kill me, Dave…! Forgive me, I was so stup…”

Suddenly, a giant hand grabbed you by the hair and yanked you out of the frame. The screen went dark.

Dave heard three gunshots somewhere nearby.

He rushed to the door and followed your instructions. Once he was free he ran like a madman. He didn’t recognize himself, feeling a desperation so uncommon for a cold mercenary like he had been for so long. It was corridor after corridor, and they all looked the same. The walls were slightly curved, lacking any pictures or decoration. The little windows above his head, just like in his cell, provided great lightning, but he couldn't help thinking it was like being inside a pantheon. He tried one door, then another. And another. They were all locked. It resembled a mental facility, Greek style. At last, Dave reached a T turn and when he looked, it was a long corridor on both sides. But to the left there was something he hadn't encountered so far: an opened door. In fact, it was ajar. Dave came to the frightening realization that Chet could still be around, armed. While he only had his bare hands. He cautiously entered and came across your control center. A dozen monitors, a camera, a microphone and a tumbled armchair. Some screens were still transmitting video from different parts of the house and Dave instinctively looked for the one broadcasting from his dungeon. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw you, laying still on the California King. Dave didn’t stay to check on your state through the monitor but ran through the door and raced the corridors again, trying to remember the path back to the place he had been for the past three days. Were you passed out? Or were you dead? Focus, Dave. Hurry up.

“Wow. For someone who only had fun with me, that’s… pretty moving, baby”

Dave had run so fast the last part of the hallway leading to the cell, that he virtually bounced on the ending wall. It would’ve been almost comedical if he hadn’t launched like an animal to the now closed jail door. When he desperately looked inside it, there you were. Unharmed, gorgeous, laying on your belly holding your head with your hands, looking at Dave with innocent eyes. Naked. He was trying to catch his breath, holding the metal bars, looking down. A smile, one that you had never seen on him, appeared on his face when he lifted his head and gazed at you.

“Let me in” – Dave said in a deep whisper. His smile was gone and his eyes were almost black.

“Have you had enough time to think about our conversations…?”

“Let me in”

“You know? I’m not so sure… What are your plans to spend this lovely afternoon in this cozy space with… me?”

“I want to eat”

Your cunt pulsed at those words. Dave looked indeed like a vampire.

You stood up and went to the opening panel, taking your time, walking painfully close to Dave, cold metal as the only barrier preventing him from pouncing on you. You finally gave a push to the red button and the cell was open. Dave stood still, leaning on the threshold.

“This isn't what I signed up for when I joined the DIA”

“What? Consorting with criminals…?”

“Falling for the fiercest of them”

Dave charged and lifted you in one powerful move. And you held onto him for dear life, your mouth colliding with his, so happy you could cry. You locked your legs around him while he carried you until you both crashed against the nearest wall. Dave stopped for air. He caressed your cheek and took a good look at your face, every inch of it, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. He once again tried to devour your lips but you put your fingers on his mouth.

“Wait... Can I ask you something?

“Fire up”

You both giggled.

“I don’t want you to fuck me…”

“But…”

“I want you to make love to me”

Dave's perplexed reaction turned to a sassy one.

“How many orgasms do you think you can handle?”

“Five”

“I like those odds”

He put you down, laid back on the bed and went upwards in the direction of the headboard.

“Up, Q”

You moaned loudly when you sat on his face and Dave started his attack on your pussy. His tongue had been there hundreds of times now. And yet it felt like it was the first time he was licking and sucking your folds like that.

“Oh my.. God… Dave… Keep going, like that, please, oooh please…!”

His brown eyes alternated between being open and fixed on you and closed due to the pleasure. The noises he was making, how your juices began dripping down his stubble, the way he was gripping your thighs, everything had you riding him like there was no tomorrow.

“Dave, baby… Unnngh… I’m… Mmmmcoming… Please, make me come…”

Instead of fulfilling your wish, he pushed you away, making you lose your balance and falling on your back. But you didn’t even have time to protest since Dave was on you again, turning you around, on all fours. You felt his still clothed erection grazing your ass.

“Are you ready to receive my love, Q…? – He cooed in your ear.

“Yes, yes, YES!”

“All of it?”

“Give it to me…” –you sounded almost pathetic.

You heard him taking off his shirt and sweatpants and then slapping his cock. Ass up, your wetness was now going down your legs. Proudly licking his lips, where he could still taste you, Dave teased your entrance with the tip of his length and you squeezed the sheets in desperation. You cried his name when he entered you and couldn’t breath when he started his thrusting. Slapslapslapslap. His big hands sank in your flesh, keeping you in place so your face was pressed to the mattress, muffling your whimpers. Dave then lifted you, tenderly embracing you from behind and also reaching your clit and circling it with expertise.

“Are you close, baby? Hmmm? Talk to me…”

“Yes baby, I think I’m… explode… am” – you weren’t coherent anymore.

“Lay back…”

He gently pulled you back, making you lean on him, both now seated on the bed.

“Open your legs, Q. Open them wide”

You obeyed. Dave put one hand on the bed for support and the other one went straight between your legs. When you realized what he had in mind, you granted him more access, placing your hips forward.

“Two. Or three?”

“Three… is my lucky… number”

He then started fingering you. He went in and out frantically, making sure he was properly hooking his fingers to get to the patch of heaven inside your vagina. Your eyes went to the back of your head and you were unable to make any sound. Dave wished there was a mirror in front of the two of you so he could witness your cute O face. All of the sudden, a loud squelching echoed across the room and Dave grinned in anticipation.

“Here it comes, baby. Alright baby, alright, baby. Come on now”

“Ooooohhh mmmm... Ghhhhhhhaaaaah!!!!!

You felt indeed like something had exploded out of you. It was liquid pleasure like you had never experienced before. It kept on leaking, down your legs, down the bed, down Dave´s hand. You weren’t sure how to feel or what to do next. Dave continued encouraging you, kissing your earlobe and cradling you in his chest, waiting for you to get down from your high. When you were back on Earth again, you turned around and looked him in the eye.

“Love me, Dave”

He flipped you over, kissed you lovingly, fist himself a couple of times and entered you. His pace was now slow, with a calm he had barely known in his whole life, in any aspect of it. How long he’d pretended you were merely a substance trader who happened to cross his path of illicit choices. You kept your eyes open. You wanted to make sure he was there, that he was real. That he was David York. The mercenary, the federal impostor, the cheating husband, the lover you never thought you deserve. That this wasn’t another of your sex fantasies at night.

“I love you, Killer Q”

Dave increased his rhythm.

“Say it again”

“I. Fuckin. Love. You”

“Come for me, daddy”

Dave thrusts became erratic, his breathing increasingly difficult. You held his face, forcing him to look at you.

“I’m here, baby. Look at me. Give me everything you got. Fill me in”

Those words did the job. Dave groaned deep and long, as he spurted his hot load inside you. But he was not finished. With what was left of his magic, he intended to make you come one more time. In and out, in and out, in and out, just at the right angle, to burn your clit one more time.

And it happened that you burst into tears as you orgasmed. Dave kissed them dry.

“Don’t cry, Q.” – Dave stared at you adoringly –”Thank you”

“For what…?” You used the pillow case as a Kleenex.

“To show me what an idiot I’ve been all this time. I really deserve being hurt by Chet. Hopefully, he’s not around...”

You laughed.

“He’s with one of the new boys”

“Training him?”

“I don’t think so…”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #dave york #the equalizer 2 #murder daddy #suburban bad boy #dave york x f!reader #dave york x you #dave york smut #dave york fanfiction #pedrostories1k

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roleplay-evil · 2 months

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Resident Evil The Mercenaries 3D Starters

"Get your act together if you wanna live!"

"Alright, rookie. Let's see what you've got."

"How you holding up? The baddies have taken a liking to you."

"Oh, good. You're still alive and kicking!"

"This is dangerous. I won't lie."

"Focus on the enemies in front of you. There's no room for error!"

"Make sure you don't become part of the collateral damage."

"You waiting for an invitation?"

"I can't believe you've made it this far already!"

"If you wanna survive, then you better listen up and do as I say."

"Show me I wasn't wasting my breath when I trained you!"

"It's time you showed me what kind of soldier you are!"

#resident evil rp #resident evil the mercenaries 3d #roleplay meme #roleplay starters #rp meme #sentence starters #sentence starter meme #rp inbox meme #rp ask meme #rp starters #re rp #starters #inbox starters #rp action starters

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dinoburger · 11 months

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...man the Classics arent even very cool antagonists, a lot of them just kind of die without doing much of anything, they get like, an odd few cool kind of moments but on a whole these super tough baddies that the Administrator says they should "just run" from kind of. drop like flies. when push comes to shove. with Heavy and Virgil maybe being the two exceptions. even Bea doesn't do a whole lot of actual fighting when, you know, she's only dealing with tied down mercenaries. I still cant wrap my head around why they did that with the Classic Soldier and Scout. I feel like I can't entirely believe that they had a canon gay couple and managed to like, make it awful like that.

I keep thinking like, the least they could've done with Fred is maybe play up how he's kind of like CHeavy's floundering minion if they weren't going to let him do anything cool, at least he could be funny.

I really enjoyed reading the comics but like. Sigh. There was a lot of potential to have them do more with the characters. Like, if your antagonists go down that easy there's no stakes. Granted, the "super built up villain who gets killed nigh instantly" gag can be really funny too but that's not even it, none of them really get to have that much suspense before they go down.

sorry I think like. in a way it's kind of a nitpick really but like. when I think about how much time is spent moving the characters here and there just to have these long, absurd gags play out that are fine on their own but like, in the context of a story don't necessarily contribute a whole lot, it makes me yearn for a bit more cohesion...

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ask-arachne · 10 months

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Heya Folks! Got a sick suit upgrade, and It's been a bit, so I figured I'd reintroduce myself.

Name's Audrey Krentle, A.K.A. Arachne. I've been Portland's friendly neighborhood anarchist for about 2 years and counting.

I got superpowers after being bitten by some weird spider while stealing stuff from Alchemax with my then girlfriend at the time, MJ. The stupid things you do to impress a girl.

You know how it goes. Became a superhero with MJ's help, she became a supervillain called The Vulture, and we had a messy breakup (to say the least). Since then, I've joined a punk band with my best friend Gwen and have been trying to balance my semblance of a life between helping people, fighting baddies, and playing shows.

A while ago, a mercenary hired by Alchemax calling himself Spider-Slayer (real name Kraven) used an experimental teleporter that bugged out and briefly sent me to another universe. I came back not a minute later and noticed my phone was acting strange. The bugged teleporter had made it so I could communicate with people across the multiverse! So, of course, I decided to make this blog to chat with folks and answer questions!

Pretty standard DNI. No bigots, no pervs, etc. Be civil. While I am pretty openly in support of various causes, I'll try to keep politics to a minimum. That goes for you too. This blog is mostly just for fun 🤟 That being said, <3 ACAB <3 BLM <3 Eat the rich <3 Trans Rights <3

Also here's the ref for my new suit 💜

#spidersona #spiderverse #into the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #arachne speaks

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corsair-princess-nenime · 9 months

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/ last time on neni'N'D... (dragonlance edition)

battle episode! my bad feeling before the reenactment was well founded. the battle reenactment was gona be played out by the town militia going up against mercenaries paid to play as the baddies.

i asked if these gents seemed trustworthy - our characters reasoned that since we knew their captain (an acquaintance of our dead mentor) there was nothing to be worried about

but there was. as the reenactment started, the mercs started attacking the militia for real (big shock). for once, the contrarian players (elves) got their ass in gear and started saving people after not wanting to take part in the reenactment (paid to be spectating judges).

perception checks proved that the merc captain was just as shocked about this as we must have been. me, minotour, and glass cannon monk elf? regrouped at the top of the hill as riders came at us (a fun discussion about caltrop effects ensued).

anyway, my little character jumps up on this stone fence and... rolls too low, fuck that, i used inspiration and FINALLY BRAINED IN a mercenary with morningstar at nat 20. FINALLY!

I kept doing some decent damage, but i just couldnt finish off my enemies. i have a +4 mod but i keep rolling like 11 or under, so monk guy had to kill em off for me, felt a bit kill stealy but good for him (i killed one guy, he three).

second wave included an ogre and some more guys, so i once again had to solo like three dudes, WHICH I DID.also taunted a lot, i was actually ok, i didnt loose more than half my health, so im thinking i should take a more tanky roll in my party (im basically a sponge monster after leveling up) minotour also killed one, the ogre (desc as goring the ogre with horns)

anyway, when the battle ends, merc captain rolls up with a captured merc. so we'll be questioning that guy next session (they wanted to play starfield). I talked with minotour guy, and i think we can't be the good cops bc charisma is our dump stat. so we'll be bad cops ... the kender and the nice minotour

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fairytale-poll · 8 months

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LOSER'S BRACKET SEMI FINALS! MATCH 1 OUT OF 2

Propaganda Under the Cut:

Little Red Riding Hooded Mercenary

General Propaganda:

come on just look at her shes so fucking cool

She's red riding hood if red riding hood had a gun. Also she kisses women

Go girl!!! We love your unrestrained violence!

She's starting to fall behind so GO ON AND VOTE MERC WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR! (and buy Lobotomy Corp on steam it's not even that expensive!)

Loser's Bracket Propaganda:

little red wouldve gone so so hard if she wasnt against ylfa immediately… victory for our mercenary gal.

Riding Hooded Merc is a bonafide baddie & professional

She;s so fucking cool. almost got murdered by the wolf (also in lobcorp by the way) and she wants revenge so bad. cool as hell mercenary. also just look at her come on

the Lobotomy Corp one I know nothing about but who has a sick design (I also want the fans of this one to have a win because I liked watching the first round because of them)

Bugs Bunny

General Propaganda:

So the story is that the Three Little Pigs sell Bugs their straw and wood houses, the Big Bad Wolf blows them down, and Bugs decides to get revenge - by dressing himself up as Little Red Riding Hood, getting the Wolf to play his part in that story, and then messing with him as only Bugs can. Here's the video if you've never seen it: https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x6vk41x

Bugs Bunny is an icon and he was so good for his role in this short. When he and the wolf realized they could work together against the pigs... oh my God. Come on Tumblr, you have to admit they had a little gay tension between them. Besides, at the end, when the brick house comes down and the wolf, so surprised and proud of himself exclaims "I did it!" and then it pans over to Bugs with the bomb and he slyly adds "We did it!" communist Bugs canon.

I love Bugs but badass little girls with the personality of a gruff action heroes are everything to 12 year old girls.

Loser's Bracket Propaganda:

Bugs Bunny winning would just be really funny

#red riding poll #loser's bracket #loser's bracket semi finals #little red riding hooded mercenary #f-01-57 #lobotomy corporation #bugs bunny #windblown hare #looney tunes #red riding hood #little red riding hood #fairytale #poll tournament #poll bracket #polls #character polls

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jayahult · 11 months

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Spell Alignment in TTRPGs

So. a while back I saw a post about D&D (and close cousins Pathfinder and similar games) and the sort of implicit problems with the morality systems of those games as it relates to magic. As a really basic example, a lot of spells are cordoned off as being considered basically, fundamentally evil, particularly if they relate to necromancy. From a meta perspective this sorta makes sense. The default party is assumed to be either explicitly on the side of the righteous or at the very least mercenary enough to realize that the Cult of the Demon of Backstabbing Machiavellianism are not good business partners, or some combination of the two. You cordon off certain spells to be "baddie only" and you can essentially tweak those abilities however you please and not really upset player balance, while still keeping the option open for an "evil" party.

The problem comes with how spells are labeled as "evil" and the sort of underlying implications of those labels. The classic example is raise dead. You take a corpse, and turn it into a mindless servant that does whatever you tell it to for a period of time. The underlying assumption here is sort of obvious: you're desecrating a corpse and using them as a slave, which is always an evil act. The problem is that this creates a dissonance with basically any contact with reality. The soul has already quit the body, left it behind, and the corpse is a shell. Animating raw clay or iron to serve you is a morally neutral act, but when that raw material used to be a person, it suddenly becomes taboo because of underlying assumptions the creators have about corpses, not because the act of using those raw materials is inherently immoral. And this isn't even getting into the fact that, theoretically, someone could willingly consent to have their corpse brought back as a servant. After all, in real life, people donate their corpses to science or to donate organs all the time. Plus, that servant could easily be used to do good or neutral acts. Nothing really prevents you from running a farm or building a house with undead servants besides maybe the fact that they've got bad ability scores for it. I guess you could argue that you're undercutting the pay of living workers, thus it's evil, but you get the idea.

This dissonance only gets amplified when you start looking at combat-oriented spells and classes that are cordoned off for being evil. To really get into the highest level of this disparity, we can look at The Book of Vile Darkness for 3rd Edition D&D. TBVD was designed explicitly as a sourcebook for more options for evil characters, whether in the party or on the DM side of the screen. Some of these spells make sense for why they're explicitly considered evil. For example, befoul and despoil poison and kill water and food supplies on a mass scale, something often considered a dick move across cultures. However, a lot of them are just... cartoonishly violent? Slash tongue is an eeeevil cantrip that instantly cuts your opponents tongue. It deals one whole point of damage and makes them take some penalties for a few rounds from pain. Sorrow is an eeeevil enchantment spell that makes someone really sad so they take a -3 on all rolls for like, a minute or two at most. Drown is an eeevil spell that makes a target's lungs instantly fill with with water, which you might think would instantly kill them but rules-wise it just makes them start to drown on dry land, with associated penalties to anything to do with speech using their lungs. My point is, when you look at a lot of these spells, they aren't inherently more evil than a lot of the stuff you'd give to players. Acid splash is a very basic spell available to a lot of spellcasters in most editions of D&D that does what it says on the tin: you splash magically-conjured acid onto a target, dealing acid damage to them. In real life, that would be called, you know, an acid attack, and is widely considered to be one of the more heinous forms of assault that can be performed on someone because in addition to being potentially lethal in the right circumstance, it can also leave someone with permanent, visible and disfiguring scars. Fireball, a mainstay of wizards throughout D&D history, is essentially an incendiary bomb that turns enemies into charcoal. The ways in which you could abuse dominate person or polymorph barely need mentioning. Perhaps most weird out of the bunch is the vermin lord - essentially a prestige class who functions sort of as a druid, but for bugs. And they're evil!... because bugs are gross? It's really unclear why vermin are inherently more evil than other animals besides sole, out of universe disgust factor on the part of the creators.

So, how do we resolve this problem in D&D? I dunno. I mean, let's be real here. D&D is not really the best TTRPG for the fineries of moral debate over whether your wizard is breaking international law by casting cloudkill. It's not really that sort of game in any edition. There aren't really hard and fast rules in the base game for determining what alignment particular actions fall into, just general ideas and concepts that are nebulous and shift from edition to edition and even adventure to adventure. The game, mechanically speaking, is not particularly interested in the exact morality of a character, and it's become less interested in this over time across editions. Paladins in 5e, for example, are no longer limited to being lawful good, instead having a specific code of conduct that they adhere to. And from a pure play perspective, I think this change is probably for the better. Without both a strong mechanical system and consistent outlook, all alignment does is 1) delineate what targets are acceptable, 2) delineate what mechanical options are available to certain kinds of players and 3) create arguments at the table with no answer in the rulebook that grind play to a halt.

(This whole myopia did incidentally inspire the only real D&D adventure that I'd like to run someday. The core hook is that one of the player's friends is being attacked by devils, and no one is quite sure why. The players do some fighting, try to figure out the mystery, and then eventually a higher-up from Hell intervenes. He apologizes and explains that the friend in question was targeted as part of a clerical error; a person who was trying to avoid damnation got confused with the friend, and he'll gladly pay for any damages - this sort of thing rarely happens anymore, the first slip-up in a few millennia. When the players inquire further, or get mad at his failure, he will explain the actual structure of the universe. It is, inherently and irrevocably "just." Every good person gets a good afterlife. Every bad person gets a bad afterlife. Every neutral person gets a neutral afterlife. In history, no good deed has ever gone unrewarded and no bad deed has ever gone unpunished. The gods actually engineered the exact scenario that allows adventuring parties like theirs to proliferate. This is because adventuring parties are able to deal with things like vampires, ghosts, liches and other semi-immortal creatures, which are seen as basically trying to "cheat the system" and get out of their just desserts. And then he reassures them that they're doing great work, leaves, and lets the party sort of stew in that revelation. Their reaction - hopefully to try to overturn the system - then becomes the overarching metaplot.)

There is something there to the design element of "action / morality tied abilities" in the context of TTRPGs, though. I think if you really wanted to go all out with it, you'd have to crib a bit from White Wolf-style morality bars, where players have sliding scales representing where they are morally, but instead of relating to humanity, it could relate to different kinds of and levels of magic. As you unlock more powerful abilities and magic, the restrictions you face are more and more stringent. A level one life magician can only take a life if it would prevent another person's death, whereas a level ten life magician has to literally watch where they step lest the crush an insect beneath their foot and lose some of their power. I think there's something there as a design idea that naturally plays into roleplaying.

#ttrpg #dnd #my writing #design thoughts

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