broadsword_babe: (Miranda (light blue))
In thinking about the previous posts, I've realized a bunch of these are already done! *laughs*

001Immortal 002Highlander 003Chronicle 004Longing 005Lasting
006Quickening* 007Watcher 008Thief 009Years 010Centuries
011Night 012Day 013Lead 014Follow 015Blind
016Smoky 017Lair 018Travel 019Time 020Exotic
021Friend(s) 022Enemy 023Lover 024Grief 025Strangers
026Moon 027Game 028Children 029Birth 030Death
031Sunrise 032Sunset 033Ink 034Deep 035Sand
036Breeze 037Champagne 038New page 039Candle 040Blade
041Brilliant 042Shapes 043Wildflower 044Dragon 045Wolf
046Writer's Choice 047Writer's Choice 048Writer's Choice 049Writer's Choice 50Writer's Choice

* There is another Quickening post here that's flist-locked & comments (and continuations) are NSFW
broadsword_babe: (Miranda (smirk))
Where: New York City
When: May, 1977
Alias: Nickie Charles

Getting tattooed had originally been Danny's idea. He was such a girl about it that I often wondered what had possessed him to get "inked" in the first place. So, thinking it would be gone the next day, I decided to be Danny's guinea pig.

At first I didn't know what to get. Butterflies seemed so commonplace. I wasn't into cartoons so stuff like Tigger or Betty Boop just didn't do anything for me. I still believed in the old gods, so crosses were out. But that gave me an idea. I talked it over with one of the artists, and he sketched out a black and gray fehu. The only other question was where to put it?

Artisans often drew or sculpted Freyja to the left of her twin brother Freyr, so I started thinking: left ankle, maybe? No, too many people put their tattoos on their ankles and I wanted to be different. So, I opted for the inside of my left wrist, about an inch above my watch-line. It would still be painful, but it would show Danny that there really wasn't anything to be afraid of. So, with the self-proclaimed "King of Queer" by my side, I watched as the needle buzzed black ink into my skin.

Yes, it hurt. It felt like an itching burn, but compared to the various injuries and duels I'd had over the centuries, as well as subsequent Quickenings, it was tolerable. To a point, it was almost mesmerizing to watch as though the pain, and my arm, belonged to someone else.

"So, what's it mean anyway?" the artist asked. "What'd you say it was? Fay-hoo?"

"It's an old Norse rune," I answered over the buzz of the needle. "It's the first letter in the alphabet. It's the symbol of Freyja, the Norse goddess of war, love, lust, harvest. It also means luck and hope as well as wealth and success."

"All that, huh?" Danny asked, amazed. "How'd you know about it?"

Because I'm almost 2,000 years old, I answered silently. Because I was raised on the sagas of Freyja and Freyr, Odin and Thor. Because I was named after Freyja, herself.

"Oh, I had a friend before I came here who got interested in all that runic 'new age' stuff and I thought it was interesting," I lied.

"Alright, let me just add some white highlighting to this and you'll be done," the artist said, thankfully filling any awkward space.

The needle buzzed once again and as it added white to the morass of grays and black taking shape on my wrist. Just a few more quick jolts and it was finished. The artist washed off the surface ink with some water and revealed the finished piece.

"So, whaddya think?"

"Wow," I said, honestly. "Just 'wow'."

The fehu was three inches long and about an inch and a half or so wide centered perfectly on the inside of my left wrist. I had to admit, I'd actually feel sorry to look at that spot in the morning and find it gone. Except that didn't happen.

"My turn!" Danny announced proudly.
broadsword_babe: (Stock (cowgirl))
Where: Lubbock, Texas
When: August, 1982
Alias: Elaine Brown

I was standing by the trailer, brushing down Falling Water, when a child squealed happily. I looked over my shoulder to watch as a man swung a little girl up from the ground and almost over his head in one swift move. The girl, probably no older than four, shrieked with glee.

"Again, Daddy!" she demanded.

I smiled to myself as I went back to grooming the buckskin. Falling Water and I had been together almost a year and a half. He'd been named for a Cheyenne friend from long ago, and I knew he would be honored to have his name passed to such a beautiful animal.

Falling Water's last owner and I hadn't quite seen eye-to-eye. John Clark's original intention was to turn the buckskin into a saddle bronc. Anyone with eyes could see the horse didn't have a mean bone in his body, and that made training him all the easier. It had taken a few months, but Falling Water went from a skittish, abused, ex-bronc to a much happier cutting horse; once he got over his fear of saddles, of course.

"Nice horsey."

I looked down to see a small boy, probably not much older than two and a half standing close to the horse's left front leg. My back went stiff as a board. Falling Water hadn't been around kids at all and I didn't know how he'd react to the youngling.

With my heart in my mouth, I watched as he swung his head down to inspect the boy, whose shirt was covered with sno-cone syrup. The buckskin lipped at the material, but didn't bite him. The boy laughed and tried to cover up his belly.


I couldn't help smiling as Falling Water gently blew into the tyke's face before turning away. I breathed a sigh of relief and looked around for the child's parents. Luckily, I didn't have to look too far.

"Scotty!" I heard a man call out.

I turned to see the father and daughter I'd spotted a few minutes before. The little girl was now on his shoulders as he hurried over to his son.

I had to admit, he was kinda cute. He wasn't really all that tall, most bullriders weren't, and judging from the belt buckle, he'd won a few go-rounds. He was wiry, another characteristic of a good bullrider, with bright blue eyes and a chiseled face. Yeah, he was definitely cute.

"Scotty!" he scolded the young boy, as he set down his daughter. "You know better than to wander off like that!"

Immediately, the boy's face fell. "Just wanted to say hi to horsey."

"I know, but not all horseys like little boys," his father replied, then turned to me. "Sorry if he's been any trouble."

"Don't worry about it," I replied, tossing Falling Water's brush into a bucket that I used for all his currying things.

"By the way, I'm Wade Jameson, and this here's Erin," he said, patting the little girl on the head, "and you've already met Scotty."

"Elaine Brown," I replied, shaking the hand he'd offered.

"Nice to meet you," he said smiling.

It was a nice smile that lit up his face under the dark brim of his cowboy hat, and I found myself smiling back.

"You too."

"You from around here?" he asked.

"Nah, Colorado," my mouth lied easily. "Manitou Springs."

Well, it was partially true. I'd lived near there under the alias Kate Darcy for awhile, but that was over a century ago.

"So, what brings you out on the circuit?"

"Woman's gotta make a living," another lie. "Trained Falling Water and if I can make a name for myself as a trainer, I'd like to start up some kind of ranch. Maybe do a bit of stock contracting."

Sometimes, I just don't know where my mouth comes up with things like that, but as my head thought about it, I realized it wasn't such a half-bad idea after all. Wade, in the meanwhile, looked impressed.

"What about you?" I returned the question.

"Got these two to feed," he answered, looking down at his kids.

"Where's their mama?" I asked impulsively.

"Gone," Wade answered simply, looking back up at me.

I could tell by the look in his blue eyes that she wasn't "dead gone" but definitely wasn't around anymore. I felt an upsurge in anger that anyone could throw away not one, but two, kids she'd given birth to. For someone who couldn't have any kids, it just pissed me off, but I quickly got my temper back under control.

"Sorry to hear that," I replied.

"Not your fault," Wade answered. "You gonna be in town long?"

I shook my head. "Heading up to Pueblo after tomorrow."

Wade smiled, and I could see a bit of mischief behind it. "Alright, we'll probably see you there."

Just then, the loud speakers blared with an announcement for all the cutting entries to make their way over to the arena.

"That's me," I said, picking up Falling Water's saddle from nearby. Wade nodded.

"C'mon, let's go find some seats," he said to the kids, then plopping Scotty down on his shoulders, he took Erin by the hand.

"Bye, horsey!" Scotty called, waving.
broadsword_babe: (Miranda (laughing))
Set during this

So, Confession wasn't as exciting as I was thinking it'd be, and Wes didn't get off work until later. Which left Aidan and I at loose ends, and with both of us being Scottish, and in a bar, we were bound and determined to try and drink each other under the nearest table. That's when the game of "Truth or Dare" started.

"Dare," I said, my mouth getting the better of me.
Read more... )
broadsword_babe: (Miranda (b/w tear))
It was a bright, clear, albeit windy day, and Quinn needed to get out of the house and away from her computer. She'd stumbled across a post of Gavin's where he'd asked for advice about possibly asking Lady Croft to move in with him, at least she assumed that's who he meant. Were she bluntly honest, she'd confess that it hurt a lot more than she thought it ever could. Grabbing her windbreaker, she headed out the door. Quinn knew that Brutæ would have a right fit about being left behind, but she just wanted to be alone for awhile.

The breeze off the North Sea wreaked havoc with her long, red hair, and Quinn vaguely wished she'd tied it back in a braid, but there was nothing for it now. Her feet took her through the small village of Stromness, past shops and pubs, and up the turn that would take her to her favourite "thoughtful spot" atop Brinkles Brae. From there, she could watch the ships in the harbour and the comings and goings of folk in the village.

The Norse and Vikings had been there in centuries gone by, and Orkney had often been her sanctuary after life's hardships. She had first come to the island in the five years after her first death, and again after Arthur's passing. Quinn loved the solitary beauty of Orkney as well as it's isolation from the rest of the world. Perhaps it was a wee tad too isolated.

Sitting herself on a granite outcropping, Quinn pulled her knees to her chest and brushed a flaming red strand of hair out of her eyes. She'd rarely ever let herself feel so bloody alone, but she knew she always would be. It was the curse of Immortality.

She admitted she wanted Gavin to be happy, and by rights, should be find himself a mortal woman who could give him the family he craved so dearly. But, dammit, it shouldn't have to hurt so much to be reminded she wasn't the one for him. Gods knew she loved him, but as much as she tried to think of him as a brother and a grand one to knockabout with, she couldn't. Not when she could still see the mischievous look in his expressive eyes and the cheeky quirk to his grins.

Aye, they'd talked about things at that blasted awards show last year. It hadn't been at all easy for her to see him and Lady Croft together, and she supposed that's what made her tragic: always watching mortal folk fall for each other and go on to live happy lives together, while she herself was forever watching from the sidelines. That was just how life was.

Seemed most every bloke she talked to already had someone else in their lives, including Lance. He'd been the closest thing she'd had to true love, but if it hadn't been for her almighty hatred of Romans, she might've been happy. She damned herself a thousand times a fool for being so bloody pigheaded about it.

A sea scented gust dried the tears on her cheeks. Tears she hadn't wanted to admit she'd shed. Things were all so blasted unfair! For once, she'd like to be on the pitch, playing the game. Instead, all she could do was stand by and watch. Watch as the men she was attracted to find other women because she was either too much or not enough.

Quinn watched as several dark heads broke the surface of the harbour: seals. She chuckled as she remembered a conversation she'd had with Gavin about selkies. Oh, she knew the old tales. She'd heard the stories that all a woman need do was cry seven tears into the sea and a selkie bloke would come for her. And though they were reputed to be skilled lovers, they would always love the sea more than any lass.

She didn't care if she was being selfish, but dammit! She wanted to be the one a bloke was crazy about. She wanted to be the one asked to move in with someone. She was bloody tired of being in the reserves, watching the game. She wanted to be out there, running, playing, having the time of her life. Maybe Gav was right. Maybe this island living was making her a tad demented.

Quinn sighed and rubbed her hands over her cheeks and through her tangled hair. As much as she loved Orkney, maybe it wasn't the place for her anymore.
broadsword_babe: (Miranda (Freyja))
April 16, 1746
Culloden, Scotland

A lone figure, wrapped in a drenched woolen cloak stood on a small hillock overlooking the battle, watching the dream of a free Scotland crumble under English cannon and musket fire. Shouts of men were drowned by the raw April day full of fierce winds and driving rain, and it was suicide to do battle in such conditions. Something had drawn the figure to the site. One of her kind was caught up in the fray, she could feel it. An hour, one bloody hour, and Scotland was changed. She knew what the victory meant: death to the old ways. The English would make sure the independently-minded Scots would be brought to heel. She watched as the English redcoats moved among the fallen, slicing and stabbing with their bayonets. She felt that tingling flicker and fade and waited to see a subsequent lightning storm. The figure breathed a sigh of relief when it never came.
Connor waited until darkness to rise from the spot where grapeshot had lain him down, and the Clansman glanced about bitterly at the death and destruction that surrounded him. The MacLeods had been at the front of the line, the very center of battle where the fighting had been fiercest. His countrymen had fought bravely but had been outnumbered and outgunned, and now the sessenach would make sure there would be no more risings out of the Highlands. "What a bloody waste," he muttered, disgusted.
Read more... )

…To be continued…

Connor's parts written by [ profile] immortal_connor's mun
broadsword_babe: (boudica)
A rewrite of this.

{For Immortal Knowledge Only}

The white ribbon the Romans called “Wæcelinga Stræt” coursed through the landscape. I scowled. It was yet more proof of Roman intrusion into lands that were not theirs. They defiled the land just as they had deflowered my husband’s daughters. Nothing was sacred to them. They made their Emperors into gods and made my people pay for their temples.

The Iceni they had claimed as “savages” had systematically ruined three of their precious settlements. And the one and only Legion that had dared stand against us was slaughtered. Still, I wouldn’t rest until every last Roman left Britain without a backward glance. I would be free of them, or I would die trying.

At last the dawn came. I took to my chariot, my husband’s daughters beside me. With a flick of the reins, I urged the two horses to ride to the front of my forces. 230,000 strong; it was a sight to behold. I raised my voice to the clear morning air and spoke to them not as a Queen but as a mother avenging her daughters and a woman fighting for her freedom. Although Immortals couldn’t scar, my back still twinged at the memories of being flogged for trying to keep my husband’s daughters intact. That fury added power to my voice.

“On this spot we must either conquer, or die with glory. There is no alternative. Though a woman, my resolution is fixed: the men, if they please, may survive with infamy, and live in bondage.” I raised my voice to the dawn, praying the Gods would hear my cry. “Nothing is safe from Roman pride and arrogance. They will deface the sacred and will deflower our virgins. Win the battle or perish, that is what I, a woman, will do!”

To their credit, each raised their arms and roared with battle lust. Men, women, Iceni and Trinovante alike had answered my call. Rome must know that their deeds would not go unpunished, and we would not be conquered easily.

“Fight the foe!” I cried.

“Fight the foe!” Over two hundred thousand voices echoed in the dawn.

The Battle )

Quinnleigh Kincaid
Highlander OC
351 words (not including wiki info)


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