#char: alek cooper

[garthcelyn]

Thanks for the tag @forthesanityofstorytellers!

Rules: pretty self explanatory. include physical descriptions or pics, and propaganda. the “other” label can be used for “sexuality misalignment” (ie: oc is femme and you’re gay, vice versa or you aren’t into smashing but a specific thing you wanna do with them like perhaps hug or study them under a microscope idc)

There is only one person I can throw forward, and it's my baby bastard dead-girl-walking Dog Knight

Tagging(with no pressure): @jezifster, @dandelion-jester, @writegriffinsect, @athenswrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @mecharose, @blind-the-winds

Info under the cut

doesn't really get pronouns but uses she/her because that's what her mates assume. She doesn't care.

knows what a horse is, maybe

100% believes that she killed a child (spoiler, she is said child, she's just dramatic)

Fantasy Canadian with an English RP accent (cringe)

Despite liking being a dumb jock, she does actually have intellegence she just doesn't like using it

uhhh she's like 20 years old, 5'11. built like a brick shithouse, her eyes are naturally black but glow a very bright blue when there's magic around. Maybe rotting a little bit, but it's cool don't worry about it

canonically bit off a finger of a childhood friend

Can't read (on purpose)

has probably eaten drywall honestly. not on purpose but it wouldn't stop her.

loves sweets

chronic liar

oh I forgot that she technically has kids? like, she raised them, mostly, and refers to them as her kids? anyway she forgets that she has kids so so quick (note: they do not want to be her kids)

wears the goofiest attire when doing her Dog Knight shtick. Look at those goggles. she's basically blind with them.

[casperstits]

Lieutenant Cooper

[glyndwrgi]

The Goddess; Omera, solo(?). Kinda rushed but hey! It exists, for better or for worse.

tw for body mutilation, blood, possession, technically voyeurism

The Goddess dropped their armour, letting it clang against the cold marble floor with a disinterested gaze. The physical was unimportant - the sabrian carefully smithed to perfection materialistic at best. Gone was the golden torque she wore around her neck like a collar, a sign of ownership, flung to the corner of the room with a clatter. She positioned her large form before the full-length mirror - a rare streak of vanity within the Temple. A perk of being in charge, she supposed. The Bishop slid a hand around her neck and squeezed if only to hear the voice in the back of her head squeak in protest.

She grinned, staring deep into her blank eyes; any glimpse of humanity was forgotten in the empty pools of liquid gold. She squeezed at her throat until her head spun, eyes blurry. She released quickly, hand snapping back to her side to the relief of the voice of the Coward that lived in her head. Having a body was an amazing thing. Sensations she had once forgotten in her four centuries locked in her void prison came flooding back, overstimulating and delicious. And to think, all she needed was for the right servant to die to claim their corpse.

Unsteady hands grasped at the collar of her crisp white shirt, and after a brief hesitation split in two under rippling tendons. Flat, fantastically scarred brown skin revealed itself to her and the Coward, who yelled and screamed to no avail. The Coward knew the game by now, knew that they didn’t have any control in their shared body. One day Omera would stomp them out once and for all, but until that day she would have her fun. It wasn’t her fault that the Coward had died. Shouldn’t have been so careless. Hands ran down the flat expanse of her chest, picking at the two wiggling lines under where breasts would have sat. They had got in the way, she vaguely recalled. Through sifting through borrowed memories, she knew it wasn’t professional. Incisions made by a bartender in a drunken haze. She picked at them with sharp nails, pinching and cutting until her blood beaded from her skin. Golden blood. As it had always been. As it always should have been. She winced, but whether it was her or the Coward she couldn’t be sure. She didn’t dwell, and her hands skimmed further down.

Her stomach, thick with muscle and not much else, dipped where the lightning scars that enveloped her right side began. A crater with many thin fingers that scoped and stroked her skin. Nails scratched and pulled, flesh rubbing against flesh before moving on once more. The final scar, fresh and long like a seam beneath the pouch of the stomach. The one that had killed her a second time. In time, that had opened too, not enough to spill her contents across the pristine floor, but enough to hurt. Enough to stain her hands with ichor, which she lapped greedily as if it were the first thing she had the right to consume. It painted her lips, the wash of metal clinging to her throat.

How it always should have been.

The Goddess' hand returned, delving lower and lower until the Coward imprisoned within her skull yelped and screamed. She’d return the body when she wished. Until then, borrowed hand made its way beneath the stiff fabric of her armoured trousers. A tight fit. The Vessel had been larger than she expected, skin rubbed raw where the waistband met her hip. No issue to a God, of course, one more thing to torment the little bastard that refused to die in the confines of her skull.

What she found was not what she had expected, not what she herself had in life. Her own body. Thick fingers ran softly over the new appendage. Uneven, chewed-down fingernails caught on the cotton of the long-legged underwear her vessel had stockpiled. It was strange, the heat. How it felt to be real, warm and hard as a body should be after centuries of living in the dark. How the flesh moved under her touch, how her breath hitched against her will. How her blood dripped hot and sticky running down her stomach, staining gold in racing lines. Her other hand made itself useful, running the fingers between the opened flaps of flesh, picking as it tried to reform against her will. Her chest ached, the skin reddening beneath her talon stubs, splitting over and over as it puked more thick rivulets of ichor that clung in her crevices. Her abdominals were a glimmering washboard, the cleft where her vessel has died the second time drinking it in as well as it had sucked in the blade that scrambled her organs.

There was, evidently, a downside to wearing tight trousers. Soaked in her own godly blood, they clung tight as an extra skin while her hand stroked at the cock - her cock - in an idle motion. What is one heated moment to a century? Looking up into the mirror, its face fogged with her efforts, plain-plated eyes shimmering all the while. Hair stuck plastered to her forehead, mouth hung open as she panted - as she watched herself pant as if she was no better than a dog in heat. One hand fingering at her chest, one stuffed down the front of her pants, writhing beneath the covers. She wasn't nearly nude enough, somehow it only added to her 'sex-driven mutt' aesthetic she had going on. Living was suffering and time was too short. With dripping fingers, she finally fought with the singular button between her and relief.

The Coward was quiet, but she could feel her in the back of her skull. A heavy weight throbbing away as it watched her through her eyes, shifting the colour from a solid dull gold to a dark brown only for the moment. The unwilling audience in the front seat, and by Sanctum she'd put on a show. Omera's fingers shook as the button fought against her, slipping through wet hands until she finally gave up, cupping herself briefly to rut against her hands for some semblance of relief. The noise that escaped her would have been unholy if not for the owner being a God. The sound of the divine at her barest, most vulnerable, performing for a dead woman inside her skin. Warm and wet and hard and human. She gasped, head bowed, breaking contact. It didn't stop the coward, the vessel, her raggedy knight in maggot-filled armour from seeing, feeling. She wanted her to. She wanted her to bleed, and let her bleed. To watch how she lost after everything. Scrabbling hands pulled at the front of her tight pinstripe, tugging and breaking in strong hands. Too strong, for a human. Not strong enough for a God. A strange in-between that tore the fabric to shreds with ease. Though, now that she had come this far she has the sore realisation that she hadn't thought ahead. Centuries of a bodyless existence, excitement running through her like a derailed train, shut off the most important part of her brain as if she wasn't any better than the animals she had hunted in life. Some things could not, should not, be rushed. Torn fabric abandoned; she reached for the pale blue briefs with hesitant hands. The hands used for wringing necks and swinging swords, shaking with the concentration of a woman whose body wasn't hers. The Vessel fought even now. Writhing beneath her skin, the dead woman screamed. Omera could hear her, she never stopped. She didn't know how much she understood.

Despite everything, she managed to shimmy down the waistband just enough, finally, finally getting to where she wanted. Gold drenched body heaving with the effort, chest rising and falling hard and fast. Fingers now dried, for now, the blood a thin crust that pulled at the top layer of her skin, ran down her length with uncertainty. The motion not quite new, though very much so from this end. Letting out a huff, she grasped herself now. She knew what she was doing, thank you, no matter the time between the incidents. As she started to work herself her mind drifted to that of her prophet. The woman who followed her unquestioningly for four hundred years. A pretty little prince who slayed in her name, her honour. Now no more. Not thanks to her Vessel. She gripped herself tighter, rougher. Less for the sake of her own pleasure and more as a punishment for her failure of a follower. Biting back a groan, tilting her head back, she pressed her eyes tight shut. That prince. Her prophet. A pretty little thing gone too soon. The one who should have been there then, at her beck and call. It wasn't long before she felt it, a pull leading her everywhere and nowhere. How embarrassingly little time it took. What a state she felt before the mirror, watching herself as she came, as shimmering as the rest of her. Tongue darted to wetten lips as she pulled back, taking in the mess she was. Trousers torn, and torso bared and bleeding, the mess rolling down her trouser leg. Eyes flickered brown, then gold once more. An acknowledgement. Whether positive or negative, it did not matter.

She'd give the body back when she wished.

[garthcelyn]

These two have literally just shared a cigarette, aka Cooper is Great at Lying

[garthcelyn]

Might be a prologue, might be just a fun character study thing. Either way. Wordcount: 681

The village of Southden sat to the North of Adanak, a salt encrusted fishing port too small to compete with Northbridge or Ravensport in the South, but did well enough to not be bothered by local electives that they did not elect. Rows of worn wooden shacks that rolled on for miles, centring with a town hall that outsiders would consider abandoned after its slate roof had been slowly stolen over the years. Families born and dying within that village, never moving from its chicken wire walls.

It took a village to raise a child, a fact that was a blessing to Sally-Anne whose hands grew rough from fishing nets and a face aged by the sea air. Twenty six with two seven year olds to fill her home once her mother died rather violently the year prior, the children’s father unaware of the their existence. Or perhaps aware and uncaring. Either reason did not matter, it didn’t change that she had two extra mouths to feed; two mouths she couldn’t.

As she took a knife to the gut of a Lemrys Hagfish, a small silver fish that thrived despite its small size, she looked towards her boys. Theodorian and Aleksilkandrin, names her mother had plucked from a well-worn fantasy novel with more than enough lurid scenes of intimacy that she didn’t care for. Heroes, warriors of the people. ‘Strong names’, her mother had told her, ‘unique’. Too unique. The other boys in the village were called average names, nothing that stood out. Tamlin and Iorwerth and Tomos. Nice names, normals ones. Her twins stood out like a sore thumb, identical in their small gawky frames and eyes as black as coal. Too long ears, those of the etain, not of the humans they were, teeth sharp and noses flat and animal-like. Two small beasts with never filling stomachs, babbling in a language only the two children understood.

She stabbed her knife into the wooden chopping block, knuckles white around its wooden handle. The children did not notice. Little Andrin had bruises on his knuckles again, a dark red-pink rim around his lips. Dorian was crying, sharp wails as he pressed his small clawed hand to his forearm, flowing like a waterfall. They didn’t bleed like humans. Dark pink. Not human nor etain. She watched on in silence, before finally moving. Sluggishly she pulled a rag from the scrap drawer, kneeling before her spawn and pressing it tightly against the oozing crescent. He had skin beneath his claws once more, his brother sporting deep gashes like a rake had been dragged across his little shoulder.

Andrin did not notice.

The final straw came a week later, when forcing a brush in their sharp little mouths Sally-Anne instead pulled a small white nub from where it had lodged itself deep within the crevice between Andrin’s first and second row of teeth. The tip of a finger.

It wasn’t anger that she felt, looking down at the small monster she had birthed, nor was it fear. Sally-Anne wished it was anger, anger was palatable, for all the resentment of the small boy who chewed his way through life it wasn’t a feeling she could dredge up. She was instead haunted by a sense of an icy tiredness. A heavy duty of doing what she should have a long time ago, though she could not bring herself to gut the demon herself.

With the last of her wages, she posted her cries to a country far away, her hopes that her one-time lover still remained stronger than her will to protect her son.

She almost wished she felt something as the guards entered her home. She wished she could feel something as Andrin fought against grown men who dragged him from the shack and into the street. It was not a secret she could have kept, not after he had bitten off the finger of a clan boy. If anything, the law was kinder than anything they could have done. The finger had been buried, Dorian turned away. He’d be next, she was sure.

[garthcelyn]

[garthcelyn]

Writing update! did a little under 500 words at 1am <3

[garthcelyn]

I can absolutely write this better but man I am writing again and by writing I mean bullying Cooper

[garthcelyn]

⚧️🔥⛓️for anyone you want!

Since I haven't posted about them much, have the Unrequited Risen Throuple and the Some Guy that follows them about

⚧️How does their gender influence their relationship to sex and kink?

So, gender's not a big focus in Kirus, but both Coop and Iolo have hang ups due to (ungendered but stereotyped) roles so I'm just going to roll with that

Cooper: As a Templar, she is meant to remain celibate. Unfortunately for the Temple, she likes bending rules so she gets a kick out of getting laid. So despite being a low-drive asexual, she almost makes a point of doing it as often as she can out of rebellion rather than enjoyment. However, due to seeing herself as The Big Tough Templar she refuses to bottom, not because the act itself makes her uncomfortable but because she sees it as beneath her.

Iolo: He feels he has to be dominant, since as his clan's prime magic wielder he's meant to take over one day. It makes him deeply uncomfortable so he avoids sexual situations as much as possible, but sees it as a duty(which he also hates).

🔥What’s the state of their sex life? Are they happy with it?

Cooper: pre-book it's occasional, not super often but also not a massive gap between sessions. In book it's once (very mediocre) and honestly she kinda likes that arrangement.

Raelyn: pre-book it's often, but she isn't super happy with it. Less of the amount, but a mix of who her partner is (Leon, vaguely mentioned on the blog), and the type of sex(she always tops). If she had more variation and she'd be happy.

Iolo: Chronically single, just him finding new and exciting ways to masturbate (lies, it's the same shit every time). Not happy about it, but he's content enough.

Val: No one's been willing to touch her in a decade. She's absolutely miserable about it.

⛓️How important is kink in their sex life?

Cooper: Cooper thinks getting ridden with the lights on is like, the height of kink, so not that important.

Raelyn: Likes trying new things, isn't obsessed with it like Val is though. It's not a dealbreaker if her partner doesn't want to do something, but she would like the option.

Iolo: The guy barely knows what the word means. BDSM would probably save him.

Val: Extremely. She loves trying new things, and tries to be open minded. There's not a lot she hasn't done in her undisclosed years of life, but she reckons there's always something else to fuck around with. Having a partner not interested in her main kinks is a deal breaker.

[garthcelyn]

Writeblr Battle Royale - Cooper and Erin

Took part in the @writeblrbattleroyale event by @your-absent-father!

This round, my favorite punching bag Cooper, going against's @the-arigen's Erin.

Naturally, a trigger warning for death, as is customary on this blog.

Nothing. Cooper awoke surrounded by sheer nothing once more. No sky, nor land, just the sterile white of nothing. Her heart pounded in her chest - she still had one of those, at least - hammering against its ivory cage in an irregular thud stop thud thud thud stop that had plagued her since her first real death.  But no God met her now. If she had slept, if she had died, she did not remember. She supposed it didn't matter - it would come soon enough. She felt her side for her sword, gripping its hilt and pulling it from its sheath. It wasn't the familiar blade she carried, the one that had killed her the last time. No magic thrummed though its core, but it made no difference. That magic had never - could never - save her.

"What is this?" she snarled, coating fear with anger. That was a safe emotion. "What's going on?" She growled, as if she hadn't had the situation explained to her already.

She squared her shoulders, facing off against her opponent - who she was very sure was not any of her Gods - defensive and wary. 

"Who are you?" she asked, voice low as she tried to appear more threatening than the very tired brick of a woman she was, "do you have anything to do with this?"

Erin’s check was complete. No gear, her connection to Aileen attenuated to almost nothing, access to her focus as normal, magic operating at full strength, and the spells she’d designed into her skull operating well enough to tell her that this was not, in fact, an illusion.

“Except insofar as I have been dragged in here with you, no.” She looked around, finding the empty void much more strange than any of the disjointed vistas she’d seen in Faerie. “I’m not entirely sure where this is, exactly, which is… worrying. Are you a super?”

"A what?" asked Cooper, "No, I'm - I'm just Cooper. Alek Cooper. Marwaid, I guess - the Gods hate me."

Her words came out like a babble. She was not prepared for real conversation - that had never happened before. Always being talked at and never to.

"I'm not dead, am I? Like, again. I'm not dead again. You aren't… fuck - you aren't Omera or something messing with me?"

"Given my complete lack of knowledge on who Omera is, I'm going to suppose we're from very different places. I can't speak much for Gods- never much been a fan, though the Godslayers take it perhaps too far. As far as I can tell, neither of us are dead." Erin looked around, remembering the voice she had heard while going reviewing their location, and winced. "Yet, at least. Though I don't know the enforcement mechanism."

"Somehow, that makes me feel worse about this." Cooper relaxed somewhat, despite this. "So! A fight to the death. That seems normal enough, unless there's a trick somewhere."

Erin watched the other woman carefully, then shook her head slightly. "If you'll give me a moment to cast, I can see if that's something I can get us out of. I swear on my magic, nothing that would do harm to you."

Despite herself, Cooper nodded, stepping back in order to give her space. She knew magic, and knew how dangerous it was - as least back in her world. Her eyes glowed a soft blue, sensing what was to come, her only magical ability absolutely useless in the situation.

"I'll trust you, for now." she said, as if she had a choice.

Erin flicked her hand, summoning the electronic tablet she used as a focus to it and rapidly selecting options on it, then flipped it over, placed her hand on the back, and pushed a tiny fragment of magic into it, activating the ritual within. 

All around her, the lines and nodes of magic blinked into existence, bits of knowledge about their purpose and direction flowing into her mind as fast as she could process it. "For... Damn. I hate curse magic. Hate it so much. Such a stupid tool. Fools and maniacs, the lot of them."

"I'll take your word for it." Cooper had never cared about magic, and she wasn't about to start now. Dying be damned. "I suppose this means we have to fight?"

She readied her blade one more, curious more than anything. This was different to fighting at the temple, from fighting someone she would have called a friend, or fighting a God - though, technically she didn't fight a God, just bit one in a hell similar to this one. She couldn't consider that last one a win, she was already dead. 

"Y'know, I'm getting real sick of things like this."

Erin gave her a lopsided smile, watching for a sign of actual hostility and not finding one. Part of her wanted to treat the situation with the gravity it deserved, but it was more than overcome by too-similar situations she'd been in before. "It happens all too quickly, doesn't it? I can see you've got your own experience with curses. I'm a subject of this greater working, and it's defended from me, but yours..."

"Mine is frankly the worst family heirloom," she said, letting out a dry laugh. "All it took was one ancestor I never knew about to mess with the local witch, and here we are. Undying, mostly." 

She almost shuddered thinking about how she became when this first started, lying broken in the woods filled with carrion grubs. Maggots. She hated them, but had yet to have another encounter. 

"I don't know how exactly it works, if it's magic or God stuff or both, I just know that I'm stuck."

Erin paused, looking over it to make sure she was reading it right. "Well, there's some God stuff in there. It links to something I can't see, but it doesn't look functional. It looks like someone smacked you with all the worst features of the vampire curse and left most of the good threads hanging. Cursewrights are quite awful like that. It... I can't take it off you. But I might be able to reconnect some of those strings."

"What, to make me powerful or something? That doesn't seem like it would benefit you in this situation." Cooper swallowed, before regretfully adding, "I've killed enough without it. Would you risk that?"

"Powerful? No. But some idiot screwed with the healing. I might be able to make the next time you die..." Erin thought for a moment. There wasn't much that would make dying a pleasant experience. "Not quite so terrible."

"I think I'd rather you didn't. If I'm dumb enough to die again, that's on me." Cooper rolled her shoulders. "Besides, this has been in my bloodline for four centuries, do you really think you can tweak something that ingrained?"

Erin shook her head. "I understand. Notably, for you in the future... except in cases like the Oracle, a single successor selected by appropriateness,  generations typically loosen the grip of magic, not tighten it. As of now, though, are we to fight?"

"You say that like we have a choice." Cooper smiled, jagged canines glistening in the white light. "For what it's worth, you seem alright."

At the comment, Erin's face fell. "I'm sorry to give you that impression, nice to hear though it is. And I suppose we don't."

Erin released the magic on her back, letting her wings, five meters across and iridescent, fade into reality behind her. "I do apologize, but I will be trying to win. I don't know how long it will take to get back, or if an opportunity to end it will appear in the future."

Cooper stared, not quite in awe, not quite in fear, but something she couldn't yet describe. Dread. "Oh."

She swallowed and steeled herself, readying her blade once more. "Don't worry, I won't hold back. I do not want to die again."

"Good luck." Erin gauged the distance between them. Without a Light-boosting ritual in place, it was going to be much harder than usual to do any appreciable damage at all. Not that it was impossible.

She opened with two beams of light, firing from her left hand while navigating the screens of her focus with her right, trying to get to the spell that would summon a weapon before Cooper had made up the distance between them.

Cooper winced, dodging awkwardly, then ran. She was not especially fast by any means, not like the rest of her ilk, but she hoped it was enough. She had relied too much on her war dog, Idris, for most of her combat, but he was not here now. Neither was her squadron. Internally she cursed whatever force brought her here, and pulled back her arm to ready a swing as she made her way across the arena.

The other woman's normal running was slow enough to keep the beams fairly steady on her body, beginning to burn skin they were held on even as Erin managed to summon a weapon in the air above her head. Tossing her focus to the side to let it disappear, Erin grabbed the weapon and prepared to receive the charge. Cooper's weapon didn't look magical, but she still watched it carefully, wary of being tricked.

Cooper didn't let magic deter her; she closed the distance with gritted teeth and swung. The lack of her typical dog aided height was jarring, but her aim was true.

Erin blocked the blow as close to the base of the sword as she could manage, stopping it before it managed to cut into her skin. The other woman's extra near-foot of height worked against her, but the strength enhancements were just enough to keep it from being overwhelming. 

From so close, the burning of the beams intensified, starting to actually melt flesh as Erin kept the focus narrowed onto Cooper's stomach.

Fighting through the pain, she let out a low growl before pushing against the blade before retreating back a few steps. She felt at her front with a shaking hand, before grunting and lunging forward once more. Relying on strength, she swung her sword in a wide arc, back and forth, hoping to parry or at hit the blade with enough force it would be jarring.

Noticing Cooper's change in strategy when it clipped her arm, Erin leaped back, relying on her wings to extend the distance while she kept the beams focused. As soon as she landed, barely avoiding stumbling back, she added the two beams from her wings. It wasn't the cheapest way she had to fight, but caught without any of her magic items and with a non-magical opponent,  it was the best she could manage. Still, that miniscule bit of flight cost more than the light. "Dangerous, that. Helps that you're so much taller than me."

"If one of us has to die, I'm not leaving it up to chance." Cooper already felt gross from the little battle she had fought. Her shirt stuck to her skin and her face resembled more of a waterfall. She squared herself in case of impact, staring up. "You gonna come back down or what?"

Erin stared. It was possible for her to fight from up close, but it would largely be giving up all of her advantages... She shook her head, dropping the beams and dagger to summon her focus, flipping through the options to summon a spear, instead. "I suppose that would be fair."

Erin advanced carefully, on guard against a sudden rush in case the other woman suddenly decided to change her mind. In her head, she started preparing one of her more complex disabling spells- she knew enough about melee combat to not die in it, but it was hardly something she considered herself good at.

Cooper began to walk in a wide circle, slowly and with purpose, like a sheepdog to it's flock. She twirled her sword in her palm, before gripping it tightly once more. Being a show off was in her blood, wound nearly as tight as her curse. Live or die, she knew how to make a spectacle, she knew how to draw out fights to her benefit. With her free hand, she wiped the sweat from her brow, baring her teeth in a grimace. 

Her eyes darted quickly, looking for openings. To attack, to flee, the feint. Finally, after making a wide semi-circle, she closed in. She darted forward, sword held low behind her, almost dragging across the ground. Then, suddenly, she brought her sword arm up into a wide, diagonal arc, ending with a block in front of her face and chest, backing away once more.

Being on the attack was uncomfortable for Erin, a position she'd gone to great lengths not to be in recently. Striking out at Cooper was about finding the balance: far enough away that she couldn't get on the inside of the guard, close enough that she had control over the weapon and a single missed strike wouldn't mean losing it.

The spell finished in her head, she just needed an opportunity to release it. She couldn't guarantee it would end the fight if she did, but unless Cooper had some sort of resistance to it, it was the strongest, though short-lived, non-lethal measure she wouldn't have to invent on the spot.

Cooper was very aware that she was toying, and that she should probably stop. Knowing this, she gave another two quick swipes, and backed away once more, pushing her luck, pressing forward to see what exactly would happen. 

It was a game she played out of curiosity, the same kind as a child ripping the wings off of flies. Cutting forward, swiping, staying just out of reach. She began circling once more, eyeing for any real weaknesses so she wasn't just jabbing at random. It was not how she was taught, but it was how she survived.

Erin could see in the way Cooper was fighting that she was looking for weaknesses, now. Trying to find a way to deal with her specifically instead of just using natural advantages like before. She found herself conflicted for a moment: she knew that Cooper had to get in close, but she wouldn't do so unless she saw a weakness. 

And feigning additional weaknesses was something she'd never quite bothered to learn. Erin decided to risk it. All she needed to do was make physical contact. She activated the enchantments on her back, sending the wings away once more, and started advancing, trying to keep her opponent at the end of the spear as much as possible to obscure her actual goal.

Cooper let out a yelp of a laugh, side stepping out of the way and swinging without real purpose. Testing. This was more of the fight she wanted, familiar territory. She held her blade out straight ahead, as much of a taunt as it was to keep some distance. It wasn't enough to rival a spear, but enough to make her feel decently safe.

"You going to hit me?" she grinned, having the time of her undeath.

"It's a bit difficult. I'm accustomed to the defensive, at this point, and it's hard to break that paradigm." Erin moved forward, trying to spin the sword out of the way with her spear before stabbing at Cooper's shoulder.

Cooper stepped back with a wince. "Okay, that was a free shot."

She retaliated with a harsh hack towards the haft of the spear, putting her strength behind it.

Seeing her chance, Erin released the spear entirely, letting Cooper's swing knock it to the floor with no resistance while she dashed into the momentarily off-balance guard and reached in, grabbing Cooper's sword arm around the wrist and finally releasing her spell.

Cooper didn't have the time to look confused. As soon as the hand touched her wrist, she felt as if she was melting from the inside. She fell to the ground in a thud, the breath being knocked from her lungs. Try as she might, she couldn't force her legs - leg - to move, much less to get a grip on the ground below. She was gelatinous, unable to move in anyway that mattered. Jaw slackened, arms folded in an awkward position beneath her that would surely mess her up later. She almost wished for death over this. At least then she wouldn't be awake for it. It was embarrassing. Luckily, no folk from home could see how she had been taken down so quickly in the end. If she could, she would have buried her face in the dirt and simply end it once more, but alas, nothing ever went the way she wanted.

Erin released the arm. The spell would still be in place for ten seconds, so she had a moment to pull her focus out again, finding the spell she wanted. One that would knock Cooper out entirely and could be channeled through a weapon.

She found it quickly, then stood over Cooper's limp form within eyesight. "I know you can hear this, so... I hope next time you come back to life, things go better for you." 

She stabbed down just enough that the spear entered Cooper's skin, knocking the other woman out, then bent down, tracing the still-visible lines of her curse with her eyes and now her fingers, just over the skin. It was a complex curse, one of a type that she hadn't seen before, but she could see many similarities to vampirism- though, the low form of a ghoul instead of the true completion.

It helped that she had that particular curse loaded into her focus. A line shifted here, one or two added there, and a new node attached to the healing... everything she knew about magic told her that the next time Cooper woke up, it would be less damaged than this time. And would continue down that path. It was the least she could do.

Erin grabbed the spear from where she'd dropped it, then lined it up with Cooper's heart. "I hope you would forgive me."

She stabbed down, into both of their hearts.

[garthcelyn]

yeah anyway Cooper got hit by a car and I don't feel bad about it in the slightest

[garthcelyn]

:)

[garthcelyn]

Cooper(Left): trans lesbian, military cult, dog knight

Teddy(Right): trans pansexual, ex-dockworker, current film star

Only two options, bonus points if you give a reason lmao

[garthcelyn]

Thinking about whatever's up with Cooper and Raelyn again

[garthcelyn]

Uhhh....

Thoughts?

[garthcelyn]

Cooper found herself on her knees as if worshipping a loveless God. Hunched over, fingers deep down her throat as she tried to purge her sins. She gagged, choking around each thick digit, but no corruption was as easily purged. She was a monster. It was as if it were second nature. It may have been, lurking beneath the surface underneath her training. A cannon loosely secured. She had lunged at the stranger, pinning her with too-big arms with a new dexterity. She dug her teeth into soft flesh and drank. Seconds passed by in what felt like hours as she drained the woman of everything she was. A trail of spit followed her fingers as she finally released them, wiping them on bloodied trousers. For all her years in military service, she had never killed anyone. Not like that. She thought that when the time came, when she took her first life, she’d feel detached. Unshaken. Regret couldn’t cover what she felt now. They hadn’t taught that at the Academy. It wasn’t beaten into her at the Temple, either. And now she knelt at the altar of her own shame, the body lay before her in a bitter offering. Her breath came out, shaky and raw. Fingernails dug into her scalp, gripping so hard that her ears rang. She wanted to cry. She wanted to curl up and sob, but she was better than that. She had to sort this, hide the body or give herself in. Neither option sparked enthusiasm. Still, she dragged her unholy body towards the corpse.

This is my favourite bit in the entire book rn