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A little taste of a chapter that I'm cooking up properly
[No Current Operation]
[Harpoon Squadron]
[Handler Signal]
[Callsign Glacier's Dorm]
The Blood Of B Stains My Hands Even If I'm Innocent But Soon Enough The Other Gallons Of Harpoon Blood Are Going To Wash Over Me Even If They Can't Understand My Choice I Have To Do This There Is No Other Choice The Rain Can Come Down On My Face But It Can't Clean Me Of This Mistake They Can't Talk Me Out Of Digging My Own Grave They Can't Talk Me Out Of Digging My Own Grave They Can't Bring Her Back And They Can't Save Me.
Four of us. There should be five. The distance between !$%@* and !#$(@) would be enough for B to stand there. Three sets of eyes boring into me. *$%%@#'s looking about ready to scream at me. But nobody breaks the silence, why would any of us? We can't bring her back, and then they're going to lose me. Five to Four. Four to Three. Harpoon would live, just gutted, living a half life like that's anything anyone could subject their long term comrades to. I take one step back. It's what sets the shitshow off.
"Running? Running!? Just like that Glacier?!" *$%%@#'s taken a step forward, I can remember their eyes, purple, enraged, flashing with grief, or was it hate? "After fucking everything? Everything! You fucking coward! Oh you lost B… We all fucking lost her! And you're not even running off you're choosing to fucking throw yourself in some fucking program that'll rip another body out of this fucking team!"
"$%%@# I don-" !#$(@)* can't even get the words out before *$%%@# wheels to look at him and cut him off.
"Don't you fucking start, she's throwing a goddamn pity party cause she saw it all fucking happen like we didn't hear that scream!" fists clenched, they'd never punch one of us but the though crossed their mind. In for a manna in for the job. I could run. I should run. It's what I'm already doing isn't it? They're shouting back and forth.
"We're down our fucking hacker and now she's wanting to leave us !#$(@) she's fucking killing us! What you're really taking her fucking side in this?" !$%@*! venom, loathing even. At the very least *$%%@# still cares about all of us. Their anger means something.
"Hey hey hey! We're not dead yet so coo-"
"Riiiight right totally just our meatshield is bailing so I'm sorry if-"
"So B was what just tac support for your worthless horny ass? Huh that it?"
"$%%@# stop antagonizing him and !$%@! stop acting like it's all over for Christ the Buddha's sake we can still put something together,"
"I'm sorry that I don't want to fucking die my second time all of a sudden this soon!"
Escalation, rage, splitting, division, fractures, watching them all tear at one another. I back up another step. My kin. Fighting in my space. My back's to the fridge.
"Signal… Signal was happy that I said yes," sure just fucking stab everyone why don't I? But it gets the rest of them to shut up. "Signal would have recommended me if they were allowed to," I stop to breathe in "I thought maybe just fucking maybe that you'd all be happy for me that hey I got a fucking chance to do something for myself just this once!" twist the knife. I can seem them all clam up. Heads turning back to face me through their petty squabbling. "But no. You all fucking disgust me. Get the fuck out. Get out of my fucking dorm," cold, efficient, they blink at me. I should have kept quiet.
Nobody moves.
"Glacier wai-" "Yeah girl ju-" You ca-" all of them cut off at once, speaking at once, order lost before I condemned them.
"Get. Out. Or I'm calling our Handler," I was bluffing I think. Maybe I'd have gotten the old bastard involved but, they believed me, they saw my hand moving, saw the Pilot not the Squadmate.
Silence. The door locked behind them all. My fingers traced the countertops. The dent in the fridge. Still and silent. B's clothes still here. Bra over the back of the couch, socks on a chair. Doesn't much matter anymore does it? Packing supplies into a duffel. meds, stims, snacks. I don't want to sleep here anymore. Need to get to Cascading Heart. It's cold here. It's cold Here. It's cold here.
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
OC checkpoint because I'm curious...
What's the physical trait you like the most on your OC's face? A little detail you love paying attention to when you draw them. Their face just doesn't feel complete until you've added that thing. Tell me
So, blanket statement, their big bushy beards are the real one.
(Also, not a visual artist, so this is about describing them)
For my Lancer pilot, Noah, it's the unsettling way that he can just... take it off. He is and thinks of himself as a brain and some extant extra organs in a fancy case that wear cyborg bodies like clothes. He's been like this for a long time and is comfortable with it, and it's fun to emphasize just how disconnected from his flesh he feels, even if his preferred presentation is hyper masculine and bearish.
For my Hrothgar Gunbreaker Warrior of Light ftom FFXIV, Mannanan, it's his scars, both the somewhat obvious, very old burns, and the newer ones juxtaposed with his bright, kind, silver eyes. He's a tank through and through because he cares deeply and intensely, and he's good at taking the hit and living to tell.
For my Mandalorian Jedi OC, Cabur (backstory variable depending on the star wars era im putting him in), it's how he holds and moves his face. He cultivates the famed Jedi Calm to a degree that even twitches speak volumes. When he puts his helmet on is when it gets interesting.
For Fergus, my Werewolf the Apocalypse/Werewolf the Forsaken OC (and Martin, his mage counterpart), it's his eyes. He's hyperactive and kind and thinks a LOT and it shows, even in horrible monster form.
For Cameron here, it's probably how pale he is. He constantly looks as if he's seen a ghost, minus any shocked expressions. I haven't gotten the chance to really emphasize how physically white his skin is yet.
For Callsign Glacier it's her glass eye and burn scars, she's got a collection of fun glass eyes ranging from ones that match her remaining eye to fancy artsy ones, she's been collecting them. The burn scars are from her piloting as she piloted with a hot core and usually suffered the consequences of that. I think it's fun portraying her as roughed up as she is but still enjoying life (even if she thinks she's haunting her own corpse)
CORSAIR Casualties: Callsign [ERROR MEMORY BANK CORRUPTED]
Dead. B was dead. One moment she's there on the comms line, the next. Just gone. Trust placed on me and I made the wrong choice. Dead. Immortality means nothing if you can't spend it with your loved ones.
We don't fear our death. But I fear the death of others. Slipped through my fingers, the way her voice hitched right before the line cut. She knew it was coming. Her jokes like the precious time wasn't running out.
Her face. Her name. Her callsign. Gone. Every memory lacking the detail of completion. Every bone in her hand could be drawn out with eyes shut. The click in that never healed just right. Mapped out in sight and sound, touch and taste, even smell and presence all there. But name? Face? Gone.
Juxtaposition of screams and tender laughter. Like rage could vanquish physics. There is no bargaining with harsh reality. But we beg and plead anyways. Like paper starships crashing against mountains. Like the hand of a frame trying to lift against crushing hydraulics.
The last seconds are the most valuable. And I raged. Raged against the dying of someone else's light as if it would buy any time instead of burning it away. Slamming myself against the unmovable force. The unstoppable object. Wasting time. Risking everything.
Total success at the cost of a single life? A deal anyone behind a desk would make. No hesitation with odds like those. But she could have come home. B could have come home.
Rates Of Friendly Fire Are Statistically Higher When There Is A Limited Supply Of The Best Food Anyone's Tasted Ever As Such It Was Prudent For Me To Break That Guy's Leg I Promise That It Wasn't Revenge For Being Hit With A Steel Chair At Full Force
Aka the working title of one of the chapters of my Lancer Short Stories Series.
[I touched the sore spot around my eye, sure as hell was going to leave a mark but still like I said before, absolutely worth it. I'd trade an eye for these fucking Tacos any day of the week.
"Glacier never seen you fight like that girl," Callsign: @)!($&^@! she laughed half jokingly but I could smell the fear on her, "Like you really, what normally you're just taking hits like a beast but…" she trailed off. I flashed a smile, something to keep the peace before ripping into my second taco.
"I wanted my fucking tacos," I swallowed the bite down. "And nobody was going to stop me from getting them," my fingers coated in sauces.
"Well yeah but," !$%@* grimaced a little as he sat across from me in the hallway. "You straight up…"
Face down. Ringing. Ringing. Ringing. My head. Pushing myself up the infinite din of the mess hall barely coherent or audible as I shook my head. Wet. Spattering down. My blood? My blood. Some fucker. Forcing myself up to my feet, there's the asshat. A fucking chair? A steel chair? Spitting on the ground throwing all caution to the wind I launched myself at this damnable S.O.G operator. Teeth bared, fists clenched. Knocking her off her feet. Bodies colliding, there's someone pinned under them now as my fists meet her face. Callsign: Walkaround, S.O.G Arquebus. Palm on my face, I can feel her fingers trying to dig in as they push.
On my back. Ears ringing, teeth… aching. I stand. She stands. I can't stop the grin. Drip. Drip. Drip. Still bleeding. I've spent too long here, I want my gods damned tacos. Bodies jostling us as we ready to beat the snot out of each other even more. She rushes first. Leg out for a kick right to my face. Step, grab, hold, and there it is. Grab, twist, bring the elbow down. Bring the elbow down. Crunch, but I want to hear that snap, I really want to hear that snap. So bring it down again. Clean. There's the sound. The howls of pain are drowned out, after all I'm one step closer to getting my fucking tacos.]
A little sample the titular getting hit with a steel chair and breaking of someone's leg.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
as a lover of Women Fighting & Killing media it's so important to me when they actually let the women look like shit. you know what i mean. like im so bored when a woman is in what's supposed to be a brutal fight and her hair is just aesthetically tousled or something and her makeup is still pristine. fuck offfff. if she's beating the shit out of someone and fighting for her life she should be covered in blood n bile she should look like she got hit by a truck and the truck exploded
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