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theelderhazelnut · 3 months

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Titan Ombra

Template by lovely @malicedragoness <3

Note: This is so close to “Rise of the Villains: Darker than Black” ending but it’s not the same. So yeah, minor spoilers ahead! Also, this is not proofread.

Title: Ombra the Ironhead, Goddess of knowledge and revenge

Motto: “I infect their minds like a deadly desease.”

Powers:

Ferrokinesis - Ombra has full control over iron, but she can also manipulate other kinds of metals without being able to create them out of thin air.

Gift of Knowledge - Ombra is able to manipulate the minds of those she has chosen to make them “aware”, or in other words, grant them the awakening. Once the awakening has happened, that person unearths the arcane knowledge of the universe whether in just a second (by Ombra) or a lifetime.

Call of rebellion - Ombra gathered an army of angry people all around the tealms to rebel against the cult. She can do that now with less effort.

Realm they favor: Not a realm, but Quan Chi’s timeline. Also, she tends to spend more time in Metalrealm since she used to live there most of her life.

Places of Worship: There are temples all over the realms in which people can go to and pray. At the beginning of her timeline, Ombra was unsure about whether make herself known to her creatures, or keep her identity classified. But then she realized that it’s for the best to do what the Elder Gods did in the previous timeline. So Ombra created her own cult and religion in order to control the creatures. That was exactly what she fought against in the previous timeline, but she came to realize that she was stuck in a loop. There was no escaping this eroded system. Gradually, she watched herself turn into something she used to hate with every bits of her being.

Consort: Titan!Quan Chi is now her unofficial official husband. They found each other again after eons of loneliness and anticipation. However, Ombra made sure that the Quan Chi in her timeline has the good life he deserves.

Physical Appearance: Ombra now has short hair - it’s pretty short on the left side close to her forehead, and it gradually grows longer as it circles around her head to her right side -. Her left eye is golden, and the skin around it is gray with golden edges and veins as though it was exploded. The scars on her cheeks which grow from her iron jaw are golden as well.

Armor/Style of clothing: Ombra remains loyal to the style she used to have in the previous timeline. She’s almost always is seen to be wearing a black overcoat which makes her look a bit huge. Underneath that she wears customized vest with gothic elements, a shirt or a turtleneck. As for shoes, Ombra wears knee-high punk/gothic boots.

Weapons: Ombra doesn’t really need any weapons as she is able to create a lot of them with her powers. However, when it comes to her weapon of choice, Ombra prefers a gunblade. She can manipulate the blade while also shooting those who have dared to wrong her.

How does Geras help them/regard them: They have a love-hate kind of relationship. Geras a admires her calculated and intelligent character, but he also knows what she did in the previous timeline - causing an apocalypse -. At first he tried his best to stop her from executing her new plan: killing the remaining cultists and aiding the deadly alliance. But now he feels like his mindset is gradually becoming like Ombra’s. She’s the one in control after all.

Any characters or events that have drastically changed that you would like to mention?:

1. Quan Chi is the protector of the Netherrealm because he deserves the best.

2. Her parents are alive and have a good life without her. She just watches them from afar.

3. Shao Kahn is the protector of Outworld.

4. Jerrod and Sindel rule Edenia, and Kitana is their only daughter. Then Kitana falls in love with Jade, her bodyguard.

5. Hotaru is the protector of Orderrealm.

6. Havik is the protector of Chaosrealm.

7. Shirai Ryu doesn’t exist.

8. Raiden and Fujin are Ombra’s butlers.

9. Tarkatans are a race of people who live somewhere far from the cities of Outworld. Mileena is their princess.

Backstory/Notes/Tidbits:

The whole world was pouring down my fingers, splitting in between them. The Elder Gods were clawing at the last rope of chance to save their throne, never accepting that it was already too late. Cetrion had sheltered behind her mother, begging her to end me. Little did she know that I would never be dead really. Thousands of me was born all across their realms with sharpened teeth, ready to follow my footsteps. However, I was left with no choice but to fight Kronika in combat.

After the keeper of time turned into solid stone before my eyes, and was shattered to dust, I kneeled down. The blood staining my overcoat was almost invisible. It was only Kronika’s dust which shone like stars over this black sky.

Now I was the keeper of time. This uninvited responsibility of restarting the whole timeline and creating the new one fell heavy on my already exhausted shoulders. It was true what they said about people like me. We fought with monsters only to turn into one. Now I was one of them, exactly. It was all a cycle perhaps.

But I was granted with the greatest power. The reality would bend to my will. I would keep chasing any remaining cultists, and remind them who was their worst nightmare. And I would only hope that one day, I’d shroud myself in Quan Chi’s arms with a peaceful mind.

#ombra the ironhead #mk oc #mortal kombat oc #mk1 #mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat 1 oc #mk1 oc #shao kahn #reiko #havik #quan chi #king jerrod #sindel #kitana #mileena #hotaru #geras #raiden #fujin

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unrepentantcheeseaddict · 6 months

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Character Intros for ASOM

Shaellyn Vethya

Shaellyn Annika Vethya is Emrys's older sister, proprietor of the Land's End Alehouse, and likes her peace and quiet, thanks very much. Her brother often teases her about being an old lady because of the last part. She's fiercely loyal to the people she cares about, a natural leader, an okay strategist, and can keep a cool head during a crisis. Even though she's got all the qualities of a great leader, she'd rather just run her tavern. She rarely gets involved in major events unless she has no other choice. Once she commits to a goal, she's relentlessly stubborn and won't stop until she achieves it.

Evylaina Khozin

Evylaina, aka Laina, is Shaellyn's best friend, a bit of a social butterfly, and their group's resident mad scientist. She's bubbly and cheerful most of the time, and has a penchant for using deliberately bad grammar for emphasis when she wants to make a point.

Emrys Vethya

Emrys is Shaellyn's younger brother. He's very gay, a bit of a goober and loves to tease his sister and anyone else within reach, but is also pretty empathetic and caring when need be. Shaellyn basically raised him from age eight and is his primary support person, but as a consequence he started rebelling against her as he got older, like a teen normally would with their parent, which drives a bit of a wedge into their relationship.

Twister

Twister is a traveling healer, storyteller, and as she calls it, "serial meddler and disturber of the peace". She has a friendly, colorful, larger-than-life personality, and uses many aliases and false identities to hide the fact that she's immortal. She became an immortal naturally rather than magically, and views it as a blessing because she has plenty of time to explore. Twister studied medicine and anatomy at the Great University in the Flying City as a young woman, but never put that training to use in a formal job, preferring to offer free medical care to those in need. She knows interesting facts or interesting people just about everywhere due to her adventurous itinerant lifestyle, and is also an avid tea enthusiast.

Albin Tork

Albin Tork is Evylaina's adoptive father, a jack-of-all-trades repairman and inventor. He uses a wheelchair, a manual one at first, but later invents a motorized version that can also fly with a bit of magical help. He's mostly very crotchety and antisocial, but has a major soft spot for Evylaina, and tolerates her friends.

Ironhead

The nonbinary mage known as Ironhead is the oldest known immortal still living. While their body is still pretty agile and spry for their vast age, being alive for so long has done quite a number on their brain. They're very smart, but they talk in riddles, have memory issues, laugh at socially unacceptable times, and harbor minor delusions such as being allergic to armor. They also tend to have odd taste in food, with sliced pickled beets being a favorite snack. They're very fond of Sasha, their skittish talking cat who's likewise immortal, and enjoy confusing and annoying most other people.

Ironhead's birth name is unknown, Ironhead themself has likely forgotten it.

They've lived in a sea stack cave near Raqut for the past century or so, long enough to have become something of a local boogeyman legend.

#writeblr #writing #my writing #speculative fiction #fantasy #my ocs #original character #about my writing #ASOM #my characters #original characters #character intro

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amechyofsorts · 2 years

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Im still working on getting my GScults done, but im kinda thinking about going full kitbashing to make retro squats instead of Votann at some point. Not that I don’t like Votann for what they are, but that Rogue Trader squat aesthetic is just the best.

Regular squat troopers can be done with Ironhead Prospectors from Necromunda.

Engineers also with Ironheads, just applying the metal stilts and weapons from the Brôkhyr kit.

Berserkers are kinda tough. Maybe Fyreslayer Vulkite Berzerkers mixed with parts from the Cthonian Berserks. Get the actual dorf look down.

No clue about Hearthguard. That egg armor is tough to replicate.

Trikes also are tough. I guess the pioneer hovertrikes could be fine as they are, but it’s hardly the goofy long front chopper bike look.

Sagitaur also a similar issue. Genestealer Goliath truck?

Land train is literally back as the Necromunda ridgehauler, just play it as a Hekaton Land Fortress.

Living Ancestor can just be a Grimnyr. Old robed dorf wizard look is perfect as is.

Warlord im also tempted to just do as a Kahl, maybe with horned helmet from somewhere, since the Kahl just looks fucking awesome.

#40k blog now I guess #warhammer 40000 #wh40k #leagues of votann #squats

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deazmonius · 3 years

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Not studio photo, need to setup my photobooth, but I have finished “Boss Machorn” for the Privateer Press Riot Quest game.

“As the former leader of the Devil Dogs mercenary company, Sam MacHorn is known for two things: wrecking face and getting paid! And with her custom-built Ironhead suit, she’s ready to put in some overtime!”

https://store.privateerpress.com/boss-machorn/

#minipainting #wip #IKRPG #riot quest #devil dogs #merc #privateerpress #blond bombshell #boss Machorn #rocketfist #teal #ironhead armor

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hotdamnhunnam · 3 years

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One Goal: Completion

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

A/N: Here’s the final installment of this fic about Ironhead with equal parts angst x smut x fluff! In which you’re helping Will heal through a time when he’s incapable of feeling love or making love. (He’s more than capable of sex – lots of hot sex – but you both know that’s not enough...) Heads up: The backstory that I imagined here is pretty different from what anyone would probably expect, but I felt that the premise of this fic called for a compelling reason as to why his heart is so totally wrecked 💔

Pairing: Will “Ironhead” Miller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, angsty angst, rough sex, fluffy smut later on, heads up: I made up some sad shit that happened to somebody close to our captain...

Word Count: ~3.7k

… Continued from Part 3 [Read Here]

“Hey.”

You choose the simplest of the thousand things you could’ve thought to say. No need to even ask aloud if he’s okay.

The bed was empty when you woke today; for once you didn’t feel alone because of it. He’d cried himself to sleep last night—like, really cried—and let you hold him through the worst of it. Come morning light, he had to get away.

Not far—just cried a little more alone out in his car. He didn’t even hit the gas. Any speed would’ve been too fast. Too far from where you are. Kept it in park as rain beat down upon the glass, waiting until the storm inside and out both passed. Sometimes a soldier needs to be alone with his own scars.

Or so he’d thought until you came into his life. Light in the dark of that crap dive. Now he can never be alone, not even if he tried—his heart is yours to own. You’ve made your home inside.

The sun after the storm is always warm. Beckons him out of his cold lonely ride, all spent of tears to shed, the fallen dried. Opens the front door with a slow quiet nudge forward so as not to cause alarm. If you’re still sleeping you should stay in bed; he owes you that, after a long and restless night.

But you can hear him in his silence and you’re wide awake. You let him have a few more moments to himself just for the soldier’s sake. Warrior clad in iron armor only love like yours could break. Then wrap a robe around your shoulders, stepping out to meet your soldier, kitchen fragrant of the coffee he decided he should make. Coffee is what he does each morning and if he stops he might break.

He’s got his arms crossed over his broad chest. Wrapped in the soft blue hoodie that he zips up tight around him, every time he wants your presence to surround him. Fabric smells of you by now because he says you wear it best. You in this big hoodie and nothing else—his favorite look on you aside from when you’re spread out on the mattress, or on any surface, begging for his sex and beautifully undressed.

Whatever you may choose to wear, your heart for him is always laid beautifully bare. Whatever you may choose to say, or not to say, your heart speaks louder anyway. Today it’s just a quiet hey. Hand combing through his golden hair, the sun that lights his bright blue stare. Limbs intertwining soon enough, both of your clothes tossed off, lips locking soft yet rough, as he spreads you out on the table and takes you right then and there.

The coffee isn’t even done but for the first time in his life he doesn’t care.

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

The whispered name still hangs so heavy in the air.

Will wants to be alone with you and he’s so close. So fucking close. But can’t beat back the ghosts. Haunting him still—the kind of shit that kills, and it’s not fucking fair.

He thought maybe to finally breathe the name last night would set it free.

His name was Benny.

But instead, the name is ringing in his head, even more violently than ever and his every thrust is broken and unsteady.

Fucking hell, why won’t the ghost clear out already?

Tries to drown the demons out with dirty talk, as he destroys you with his cock.

“You feel so good, babe—fuck,” he grunts, hard as a rock, as he claims everything he wants. “I swear I’m living for this sweet tight fucking perfect little cunt.”

His mouth is hot against the smooth skin of your neck, his every breath ragged and ravenous and raging as he wrecks. Whether or not it’s making love you live for this next-level sex. Worth living for and dying for. Just as you are to him, he is to you and more: so—fucking—perfect.

Raking your fingers through the short crop of his mane, taking him to the point of pain. And past it. Every push inside reminds you why this broken love has lasted. How it carries through the trenches and continues. You’re not whole unless he’s in you.

There’s not the slightest fucking shadow of a doubt he feels it too. Still hasn’t said the word but you no longer need him to. You’ve learned the language of his silence as you’ve fallen for the flash of dark and light behind his eyes and cracked the code to every single shade of blue.

He shoves the ghosts off to the side and makes them stay, cast faraway. Only the pace keeps them at bay. Pounding you faster on the table, till the hard wood and the floor on which it stands and the whole earth beneath you feels fucking unstable. Shields his gaze to save himself from feeling shit if he takes in the view. Never mind even with his eyes closed all he sees is only you. Driving his whole length deep inside your dripping core with all his strength like it’s the one thing he was put on earth to do.

It probably was, the way he does. Your mind and his lost in the buzz. That’s how he holds the demons off. By making war instead of love.

“My fucking—perfect—little—slut,” he groans out with a feral huff, like this is just some fucking rut. You both know that it’s so much more. But there’s no shame in serving as his filthy whore. Drowning in his thick hot release as it flows into you and floods.

There is a reason, why sex has to be only about completion. It’s a basic human need. A hunger that he needs to feed. It’s biological. The urge to drive inside a fucking hole. To drill it and to fill it with his seed.

If it weren’t for that primal need, the man would never fuck again. Not after what happened. The shit that went down last time he was buried deep inside someone. Last time he thought he loved a woman. What had happened to his brother in that godforsaken moment. Will had lost himself in something that he never should have done. He loved his little brother more than fucking anyone.

Till you.

Won’t dare to say it but he feels it as his cum shoots out to fill you.

That’s the feeling then—that kills him, in the time before it heals him. Wracked with guilt. Like something sacred in him spilled. His heart was ironclad in dedication to the memory of his brother. Closed for so long to the love of any other.

Only now he comes to realize that to lose the ghost would be to lose the memory. Or at least that’s how he sees it in this moment as the ghost begins to fade and suddenly... no longer seems to be the enemy.

His name was Benny.

So it was. But there’s another name that’s carved into his heart, and love has carved it hard, the way it always does.

Can’t fathom why this long-awaited triumph of your love feels like a loss.

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

Apparently the table broke.

Just as he’s done filling your cunt one of the wooden legs gives out, and with a frantic little shout, the two of you clumsily tumble to the tile floor and end up tangled in each other laughing till you choke.

He pauses for a second just to make sure you’re not hurt because oh God, there’s nothing worse. You’re not, of course; just still impaled on his big ironheaded dick and fucking soaked.

Will Miller fucking you so hard furniture breaks is a whole kink.

“I know what your next mission is, I think...” you tell him with a playful wink. “Next time you fuck me in that dive bar better break that little sink.”

He chuckles quietly and nuzzles in your shoulder, ever proud to take the task like a good soldier. “Mmm, I’m on it.”

“If I’m being honest, I’m shocked you’ve not already done it.”

He shrugs, already hardening just at the thought of your next fuck. “I didn’t know that’s what you wanted.”

“Yeah, you don’t know shit,” you tease him, arms wrapped tight around the battle-hardened muscles of his frame to hold and squeeze him. “My ironheaded idiot.”

The fluff and stuff gives way to kissing soon enough.

He’s still not in a place to whisper words of love.

So the inevitable silence follows, and it’s haunted and it’s hollow.

Heavy with the weight of what he’d dared to say, just yesterday. So heavy.

His name was Benny.

You urge him, silently, to tilt his face to meet your gaze and let you hold him even if it hurts him. “Thank you for telling me.”

He’s so afraid of how with you he feels so safe.

“Will, that was really brave.”

He’s deep in your safe harbor now and can’t escape. “You don’t have to baby me, babe. All I gave was a name.”

Name that carries a world of self-hate and self-blame. For what he gave, part of him feels fucking ashamed. And you can tell, because you know him so damn well. But you stumbled into his life to share the burden that he handles. In the dark to light a candle. That was always why you came.

“You gave me what you could,” you murmur, back against the broken table though your loving hands are stable as you cradle his broad shoulders. Harboring your soldier. Broken isn’t always bad. Sometimes it’s good. “I never asked for more than that. I never would.”

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

Two weeks later.

The shade of Will today is bitter, for one reason or another. Maybe none at all. It’s better to admit when there’s no reason than to try to slap a label just to take back some control.

This bitterness—it’s not directed against you. It never is. Everything but you. Bitter at the overburnt crust on the pizza you two just ordered for dinner. Bitter at the fact that his last name is Miller. Stupid shit that you can’t even fucking figure. You don’t try to. Thankfully the bitter turns to sweet and hot when he’s inside you.

But the bitter taste is still there when the epic sex is over.

And for some reason or no reason, with this mood he’s in—having just fucked you to the one goal of completion, on the kitchen floor—the bed is often too far, for the animals you are—he’s finally compelled to say a little more. Bitter about everything other than his lover. Suddenly spills all the shit that he’s been keeping so long under iron cover.

“His name was Benny,” he repeats the words from just a couple weeks ago, that first invoked the ghost, evoked the memory. “My dumbass kid brother.”

You turn to look at him where he’s lying beside you on the cold hard tile. Obvious it’s been more than a while.

“Her name was...” Pause. Maybe he just heard your heart trying hard not to shatter. “Doesn’t matter. I was the one who fucked her. But he was the one who loved her.”

Find some comfort, knowing that the only person in the picture was his brother.

Blue eyes void of any feeling, locked somewhere beyond the ceiling. “Look where that got him.”

Easily read from his mind the unsaid words. Six feet under. Fight the urge to try to calm him—hold the words in, knowing shit like this would only hurt him—trust me, love wasn’t the problem.

Clearly struggling, against trusting anyone, anything, ever again. Shit gets dark at rock bottom.

“I was inside—” Every word off his lips is a fight. “I was inside of her the night my brother died.”

You’re here to fight with him. Holding on tight to everything he’s giving.

“I was fucking the love of his life. ‘Cause I thought she was mine.” You can feel the chill in his soul down your own spine. “He had gone for a drive. Wasn’t even drunk, should’ve been fine.”

Can’t fight the impulse now to stop the tears before they fall. “Will, it wasn’t your fault.”

“How could you know that?” he says it as if you don’t know that he’s hurting so bad. “You weren’t even...”

The bitterness isn’t directed against you, but still in the crossfire sometimes it gets you. His eyes are still on the ceiling as he stops for a second to steady his breathing, chest heaving.

“He had gotten her a ring. I didn’t know it till—” his voice trails off. This shit is tough. Memory sharp enough to kill. “Even if he’d told me it wouldn’t have been worth believing.”

The truth is coming out in halted bursts; you piece together broken words. But you can’t fault him for these fragments when he’s grieving.

“Didn’t even have the money. Must’ve stolen it from somebody. But that same night before the poor kid could get down on one knee… she showed up at my door and told me she was leaving.”

It doesn’t make sense, but you cling to the truth in the fragments.

Carries on with this head-spinning story. “Leaving him for me.”

So then... that’s how shit went? But Will Miller is not the man who steals his brother’s girlfriend. He’s just not and you know it. He’s pure and he’s good, and he loves and he honors what’s sacred to him far more fiercely than anyone else ever could. Even when—especially when he can’t show it.

“We didn’t know about the ring until they pulled it from his personal effects. The car was fucking wrecked.” And so is he now as he tells it back, bitter at every brutal fact. “The diamond didn’t have a scratch on it. The box was busted and the pieces of his hand were in his pocket when they found it. Wrapped around it. As if his last fucking wish was to protect...”

Iron voice cracks. Breaks like the table in this kitchen you still haven’t got to fixing. Train of thought veers off the tracks. Can’t steer it back. This was what he had meant years ago when he said that you shouldn’t go looking for anything broken or missing.

Right now shit feels all shades of bad but deep down he’s still so glad that you didn’t listen.

You reach out in hopes that your touch on his chest will ease his heart to feel just a little less guilty. “Baby, I’m sure it’s much more complicated than your conscience remembers it to be.”

“It’s not. It’s carved into my memory.” And kills him at the thought. Yet still on some level some part of him won’t dare let go the memory of Benny. “Exactly how it happened. He was planning to pop the damn question. And I was on top of her popping a fucking erection.”

“You don’t have to reduce it like that.”

“Truth hits the same no matter how you slice it.”

But he’s slicing it wrong, ‘cause he’s weak and you know he needs you to be strong.

“You can’t fix me, Y/N. Kills me to see you trying.” Dares to turn his face, to meet your gaze, on instinct since it’s what he longs to look upon when he feels like he’s dying. Harks back to the word that you’d said, on the night you first met. Night he’ll never forget. “I just thought you should know, what got me so… so ironclad.”

For now the truth only exists in his head and he’s going to slice it like that.

But you’ll wait till the guilt of his conscience gives out and can paint the shit clearer. Stay right fucking here. Look him straight in the eye and let love be the mirror.

“You’re right. I can’t fix you because you’re not broken.” Won’t ever fault him for his ironheaded way of coping. “Was just hoping… maybe you’d let me inside. And I’m so glad you’ve done it. Can’t thank you enough for it.”

“Hell, I tried,” he mutters as he rolls over onto his side. Swiping tears from your cheek with a sweep of his thumb soft and slow. “I’m the one who should be thanking you though. Besides... pretty sure I’m the one inside of you most nights.”

When shit gets heavy make it light.

If only fucking through the wrong could make it right.

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

The more he lets you in, the more you understand why he’s so ruined.

Every piece that he gives, of himself, is a reason to live, and you hold them together so well that he can’t even tell what you’re doing.

And now that he’s working toward whole he can finally hold you.

The past that he shares is a glassy mosaic of fragmented shards. Piecing them together is a labor of love and your life’s work of art. The real truth slices differently from the self-hating tale he had first told you.

At some point he tells you her name but that still doesn’t matter.

For a long time she’d been with his brother, as on-and-off lovers. Benny was a good man but she needed him to be better. Felt like she was waiting forever; decidedly tried to leave him but he wouldn’t quite let her.

On the other hand the elder Miller was so kind and caring to her from the day he first met her. A friend who felt like family whenever they were together. Always there to help her.

So Will was the one who comforted her though it; of course she fell in love with him before she even knew it.

Looking back now Will admits he didn’t love her. At the time he thought he did but wasn’t sure. Of course he’d never meant to steal her from his brother, but he’d come to care for her in a sincere and selfless way that Benny never really did. And it was everything she needed.

Countless times she’d told the younger Miller it was over. Countless times he had denied it. Tried to fight it. Then one night he got a ring in a desperate attempt to own her. But that same night—when she didn’t have a clue about the diamond, in a twisted stroke of timing—she decided… to declare her love to his older brother.

Will had only meant to hold her. At the time Benny had no claim over her but even so it didn’t feel right. Comfort was the only thing he should’ve offered, on that godforsaken night. But as it often goes one touch led to another, and he ended up on top of her. Inside.

And then his baby brother died.

Missed calls and texts, after the miserably mistaken sex. Ten minutes later standing on the highway by the car wreck. Benny had made more than his own share of mistakes in his young life, but this was not a case of drink and drive. Was stone cold sober through the ride. On his way to his big brother’s place with no clue that said brother was balls deep inside the girl he hoped would someday be his bride.

The roads were slippery that night. Maybe he was a little high on his own rush of alpha male pride. To this day Will pictures Benny in those final moments as this bright-eyed boy giddy in love and shit, hoping for approval from his big brother to pop the question to the woman they’d both known since they were kids. Hell if that image doesn’t make him feel a hundred shades of guilty.

You picture it a little differently. Can’t imagine Benny didn’t have suspicions—you envision him in those moments, as having got the ring to shove it in Will’s face and stake his claim to his woman, cementing his position, willfully denying she’d been trying to leave him desperately.

No doubt the real picture is somewhere in between.

No doubt the pain hits just the same, no matter how you try to paint him in a paler shade of blame. But that won’t stop you from trying, to keep his heart a little bit alive when he lives every day so close to dying. Farther from it every minute that he spends with you. Inside of you. In love with you. Even when he couldn’t make it love was always why you came.

His name was Benny...

Will has now given you more than just a name.

And with each door that opened up, you’ve now become his love, his family, when he’d thought that for the rest of his damn life he’d never have any.

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

Two things: family and diamond rings.

For years that shit had been off limits, but that ironclad time in his life is finished. After years of love and healing he is capable of feeling. Everything.

It’s only your name on his lips and on his mind and in his heart and fucking soul. It’s just the two of you alone each times he fills and floods your holes. That’s always been the one true goal. And when it’s done that’s when it starts; he pulls you close and holds your heart. He loves you hard. Fucks you to pieces just to love you back to whole.

Tonight he brings you back to this shitty old dive for a few reasons.

You had given him a mission: fuck you in this bathroom past the brink, until he breaks the fucking sink. Will Miller always sees the mission to completion.

And once it breaks, for fuck’s sake, from the power of the love he makes... granted a dive bar bathroom may not seem the most romantic place on earth to pop the question. But for you and him this place is fucking perfection.

The answer will always be aye to your captain.

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

Hope you enjoyed this, and would love to hear if you did! 🤗❤️

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brandyllyn · 3 years

Text

War makes thieves, and peace hangs them (pt5)

Told from POV of Triple Frontier characters and while it’s an OFC she is never described. Her “name” is a radio handle (Wildcat).

Summary: Getting ready for the op, Wildcat and Santiago find themselves on a private channel. (Santiago Garcia x Reader)

Other chapters... My Masterlist

Word count: 2100. Read it on AO3.

Rating: R? NC-17? (Explicit) language. dirty talk.

"Here," Wildcat presses a small piece of silicon into Santi’s hand and he held it up. "They work off bone conduction, can just about pick up your thoughts." She hands him a cell phone. "I’ve got everything wired right now through this handheld. It should automatically temper the sound so it won’t matter what volume we’re talking at - it’ll modulate it into a narrow range." She grins, "Don’t want to blow out your ear drum."

Santi turns the earbud over in his fingers before pressing it into his right ear. "Comms check?"

She glances up at him, "Loud and clear."

It’s an odd sensation, he hears her voice like normal, but also simultaneously like she’s right inside his head with him. "What’s the range on these?"

"About a hundred yards." She taps a button on the phone in his hand and he no longer hears her echoing. Then she pulls a black beanie out of her bag, settling it on her head and making sure all her hair is tucked away. "Please remember that I won’t be on main comms. If there’s anything I need to know you’re going to have to repeat it to me."

"Yeah, about that-" he starts but she cuts him off.

"One of your giant radios is going to be too obvious. No way. I need to at least be capable of blending in."

Santi looks her up and down. She’s got on a pair of dirty jeans and a grey t-shirt. The jeans are loose, falling straight down her legs and hiding the curves of her body. The t-shirt… "What did you do to your-" he gestures at her chest.

She squats at her bag, slipping a knife into one boot and another behind her belt. "Left them back at the hotel." At his raised eyebrow she grins. "Didn’t you know all boobs are detachable?"

"We talking about boobs in here?" Will’s voice precedes him into the room.

Wildcat turns to him with a smile. "We should always be talking about boobs. They’re amazing."

"I don’t like it," Santi grunts.

"Boobs?" Benny asks with an incredulous look following behind Will, Frankie a few feet behind him.

"This," Santi gestures at Wildcat. "I don’t like you not being on primary comms. The delay could cost you." He looks at her once more, "I also wish you’d wear some armor."

She sighs, heavy and strained. "If someone sees me from the corner of their eye I need to look like I belong. One of your radios and a flak jacket will ruin the mirage."

"Ain’t no one mistaking you for a narco Wildcat," Frankie points out and Santi gives him an approving look before looking back at her.

"Yes. Exactly," Santi agrees vehemently.

She kicks her bag under the nearby table and then stands up to her full height, hands on her hips. "Look. You hired me to do this because I’m really fucking good at my job. So back off and accept I know more than you about how to do this." She holds up the keyset she lifted just fifteen minutes ago, "Unless one of you wants to gather the intel from an active safe house? No? Then I’ll say it again. Let me do my fucking job."

A quick dip of his chin is all he gives her and she doesn’t say anything in return. Instead she checks her watch, leaning to look out a crack in the papers covering the window. "How long we got?"

"Hour, give or take." Ben replies, sitting and leaning a chair back against the wall.

Santi pulls his 9mm out of its holster. Checks the magazine, checks there isn’t one chambered, and then hands it and the holster to Wildcat. "You’re going in there with more than a knife on you. And you can’t tell me a gun will be out of place. It will look odd if you don’t have one."

She wrinkles her nose but nods, repeating his motions and checking the safety before hooking the holster onto the back of her pants.

"Might as well have kept the bullets Pope," Ben says with a smirk.

"You can fuck off," Wildcat mutters, looking out the window.

Pope raises an eyebrow. "What’s this?"

"Wildcat can’t shoot for shit," Ben laughs.

"Really?" This from Frankie who had finally stopped blushing every time he looked at her.

Wildcat grunts, turning away from the window and back to them. "I have a different skillset."

"How bad?" Will asks.

She shuts her eyes for a moment before shrugging. "Bad."

"Hey didn’t you wash out of SEAL training 'cause of it?" Ben asks.

She spins on him, "Why are you asking questions you already know the answer to?"

"How did you even make it out of basic?" Ben continues to needle.

A thunk echoes in the room and Ben turns his head slowly, his cheek grazing the knife that had appeared in the wall next to him. Frankie gives a low whistle and even Will gives her a more appraising look. Santi hadn’t even seen her move.

"I said I have a different skillset," she grits out before walking over and pulling the knife out. Santi is watching but as soon as it comes out of the wall it just… disappears. Somewhere.

"Enough," Santi snaps and everyone stands up a little straighter. "It’s time to get into place." No one needs a reminder, the moment the words are out everyone starts moving. Wildcat takes the phone out of his hand, turning the screen on and showing him the earbud controls before turning everything on and tucking the phone into his vest.

"Be careful," he tells her and sees her brows draw down but she nods and slips out the back door.

Santi grabs their gear and heads up to the empty apartment. The narcos knew his face which meant he was stuck running ops. From the apartment above he had a good view of the street out the window and Will and Frankie would be placing cameras. Ben would be on the corner, doing a much better job of pretending to read the paper than Frankie had. Will would be with Wildcat, ready to boost her up and then move to the extraction point. Frankie was on getaway car.

-Pope Pope, Ironhead.-

Santi reaches down to his radio. -Ironhead go.-

-Wildcat is up, moving to secondary.-

-Copy that Ironhead.-

"I see my babysitter has already contacted you." The voice purrs inside his head and Santi shifts his weight on his feet, looking down at the building across the street. He can’t see her, knows he can’t. Until Will got his camera setup he wouldn’t be able to see her.

"Shouldn’t you be keeping quiet right now?" he asks, scanning the street for signs of her anyway.

A low laugh, "I’m twenty feet off the ground. And I’m whispering. I can barely hear me."

"Well, you shouldn’t be distracting me," he says.

"From what? We’ve got at least fifteen minutes to kill." A pause and he can almost hear her brain working. "I can think of some fun ways to spend fifteen minutes."

He groans, "No. Absolutely not."

"Aw, Pope, why so serious? Don’t you ever have fun on these jobs?"

"No," he says again, even more firmly.

"That’s too bad," he hears a low hum and can feel it travel through his body, curling his toes. "I guess I’ll just have to entertain myself."

"Do not," he warns but she just laughs, low and dark. "I’ll turn your channel off," the note of caution in his voice should be enough to scare anybody.

"No you won’t. You won’t risk something happening to me while you’ve got me muted." Fuck she was right. Had called his bluff. "Which means that you, sexy man, are at my mercy."

Santi leans his head against the windowpane for a second, careful not to disturb the curtain he was peering around. "Didn’t you get enough of me last night?"

"Oh no," she is definitely purring now. Her voice low and sensual. "I don’t think I did. In fact, I think tonight you should let me tie you up."

"Not a chance," he says, shifting to look at the three camera feeds, of which only two are up. As he watches, the feed from Will’s camera comes through and now he can see her. Tiny on his screen and squeezed into a corner where two buildings meet, near a window. He tilts his head, trying to figure out the logistics of what she’s doing. She got one foot wedged into a crack, the other on maybe a half inch of exposed brick, her hands pressed out to each side. Her legs at an angle he’s never seen from a human before. Just looking at her makes his knees hurt.

"I didn’t know you were that flexible," he comments and sees her lift her head, eyes scanning until she spots the camera Will set up across from her. The camera is too far away to see her expression but he can somehow tell that she grins at him.

"Oh honey, this isn’t even half of it."

He groans and then tries to stifle it when he hears her low chuckle. Damn these earbuds are sensitive. He’s not used to them. Not used to having instant communication with the team like this. It’s nice, or at least would be if she weren’t using them for evil.

"You know I still have marks on my wrists from last night."

He did in fact know that. He had forgotten to untie her for far too long, until his belt had chafed her skin and she’d actually had to ask. He also knew better. He’d played these games before and generally wasn’t so careless. There was just something about her that made him want to push. Push things just a little further than was safe.

"I’ve also got a scratch on the inside of my thigh. I think it’s from your zipper."

He bites back the groan this time, clenching his fist so hard his knuckles hurt.

"I’m sad I didn’t get to see you. You have a beautiful cock, don’t get me wrong, but I’d’ve liked to have seen the rest of you."

The cock in question was already half hard. Santi grits his teeth.

"I mean, I barely even got to touch you. That’s really a shame. It is. I like touching. And tasting. Running my fingers and tongue over someone’s skin."

Why was she doing this? He’s watching the cameras, he really is, but he keeps coming back to her. The way her body is twisted against the building. She can’t move. Not really. But she doesn’t seem like she needs to. As uncomfortable as it looks to him, her voice in his head doesn’t seem at all fazed.

"I really enjoyed sucking your cock you know. I would do that again for you, anytime you’d like."

"Fuck," he breathes and he hears a low hum from her.

"Maybe you’ll be nicer next time. Let me take my time. Go slow. Draw it out for you. Suck on you til my lips go numb."

"Cat," his voice has an edge to it.

"Are you touching yourself Pope?"

He grunts, shifting in his chair. "No."

"Do you want to be?"

He doesn’t reply. Lets the silence stretch between them before he hears her sigh. "I wish I could touch myself right now. I’ve gotten myself all wet thinking about you." Another sigh, as heartfelt as the last. "Or even better, I wish you were here touching me."

He can imagine it easily. The way her legs are spread and the angle of the camera mean that he’s looking right into the V of her thighs. Hell, if she weren’t wearing pants he could probably see inside of her in this position. But she is, and he can’t, just sees the tight stretch of denim. His brain is more than happy to fill in the rest.

-Pope Pope, Catfish.-

Santi groans, shifting his attention to his radio. -Catfish go.-

-I’ve got eyes on the delivery truck.-

-Copy that.- The next bit is as much for Wildcat’s benefit as his own. -Eyes on the delivery truck. Allcom sound off.-

-Catfish go.-

-Ironhead go.-

-Benny go.-

"Wildcat go," a whisper in his ear.

"What do you hear Wildcat?" An old litany. One he’d said a thousand times before.

This time he doesn’t imagine her twist towards the camera, the grin she gives him. "Nothing but the rain Pope." Then she’s twisting against the building, a small jump and her hands catch the lip of a window just above her.

"Drop zone is clear," he tells her, watching the cameras. He can see her body sway, she’s holding herself by eight fingers and a single toe-hold. The delivery truck pulls up and he waits just a second longer before speaking one word.

-Go.-

Pt6

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x ofc #triple frontier #writing

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theelderhazelnut · 2 years

Note

To Gizem,

"Here is a gift basket with fruit and pastries from The Serene Garden. Some macarons, cupcakes, cookies, etc. Also you wanna come dancing with me and Liu Kang Saturday night? It'll be fun!" 🍎🍉🧁🍰🍪🍩🥧🍫

~Princess Sienna~

For Ombra,

"Plz enjoy this fruit basket, with an addition of some sandwiches made by moi truly. We should have band practice sometime and jam together. How's that sound? ^_^" 🍎🍇🍉🌯🥪🥙

~Princess Sienna~

To dear Sienna,

"I am truly blessed! I shall thank you with these small gifts. As I've seen you usually prefer to wear outfits in all shades of green I assumed this color is your favorite, so I bought you this green, autumn-themed mug. And here is this juniper lightweight ceramic-metallic hybrid chest armor I crafted for you. You're far too strong to need it, but I wanted you to have a piece of my soul with you. And of course! It's a pleasure to have a dance with you two! See you!

~Gizem~ "

To Lady Sienna,

"You can find me heavens until I ate all of these. Thank you so much! I thought you may like reading "Shahnameh" which is an epic poem written by the Persian poet Ferdowsi. And I made a small iron sculpture of you. I hope you like them. Also why not? We will have a fun time together. (And I've never had a band practice outside of Metalrealm)

~The ironhead~

#mk oc #gizem #ombra the ironhead #sienna #ask #loverofthewindgod #these two would stay in the serene garden all the time if they could

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unrepentantcheeseaddict · 6 months

Text

Character Intros for ASOM

This post covers most of the central characters in A Shard Of Memory, my only finished novel. It's not published yet but I'm working on that.

The Story Blurb

She never meant to be a hero.

Shaellyn came to the bustling port city of Raqut at ten years old, a parentless refugee leading a band of other children who’d survived the same attack. Now twenty, she’s built a new life there for herself and her brother Emrys. Then a traveling friend arrives with dire news: the dark mages who took their original home have set their sights on Raqut.

But this time, she’s done running.

Shaellyn and her friends have a rare immunity to some of the enemy’s magic. This makes them instant targets under the new regime. It also means they might stand a chance at taking the mages down and saving their second home. If they can pull this off without dying, it's going to be a miracle.

The Characters!!

Shaellyn Vethya

Evylaina Khozin

Emrys Vethya

Twister

Albin Tork Qanim

Ironhead

They became immortal by accident through putting on a cursed iron crown, which has been stuck on their head ever since, giving them their name. Ironhead's birth name is unknown, Ironhead themself has likely forgotten it.

They've lived in a sea stack cave near Raqut for the past century or so, long enough to have become something of a local boogeyman legend.

#writeblr #writing #my writing #speculative fiction #fantasy #my ocs #original character #about my writing #asom

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