#[ between outlaws and soldiers ]

[buckets-and-trees]

Desperate [Bucky x Reader]

Characters/Pairings: Bucky Barnes x female!Reader Word Count: 3k  Summary: Enemies? Rivals? It's always been reluctant teamwork between you and the Winter Soldier, but when put in a situation where personal feelings have to be put aside, maybe actual personal feelings are uncovered.

Content Warnings: kidnapping, sex pollen ergo DUBIOUS CONSENT, sexual situations (named acts, non-explicit depictions of vaginal sex), medical elements (needles, IVs, experience of medical distress)

Thank You Notes: BIGGEST SHOUT OUTS to @sgt-seabass who beta loved this into what it is and @vonalyn who helped supply me with some of the vital energy I needed. This was SUPPOSED to be an answer to this little sleepover ask @povlvr had graced me with... but then it became this! Logistical Notes: Filling my eleventh square for Bucky Barnes Bingo @buckybarnesbingo - Y2 "Reluctant Teamwork" and @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer Week 9 which is technically a "FREE WEEK" but had sex pollen listed as one of the suggested things to play with, so... that's why we're here now.

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You were an old SHIELD contact that Steve knew before Project Insight. He didn't know you well then, but you had crossed paths a few times. You were an analyst sometimes assigned to Steve's missions. You went to work for the CIA after the Triskellion takedown, where you stayed for a couple of years, before eventually moving into the private sector.

When Steve, Nat, Sam, and Wanda were outlaws on the run, they bumped into you again, and you became an ally and valuable contact in your new area of the country - and ultimately a friend. And trusted enough that you knew about Bucky - and Bucky heard about you.

Bucky didn't love that you were an element in Steve's life. He hadn't met you, hadn't been able to get his own read on you. 

He'd been wary initially about Nat, Sam, and Wanda, but he'd been able to meet them and build his own trust - and they'd all ultimately put their lives and reputations on the line for him. 

It wasn't that he was distrustful of everyone anymore and needed people to put their lives on the line to prove themselves. Those who had sided with Steve over Tony in the Zemo affair aside, he'd also learned to trust others again in Wakanda with so many of the royal family and the royal guard building relationships with him. 

But with you he didn’t know you, and so he didn't like it.

What Bucky loathed even more? 

You didn't blip out. For five years, you were there for Steve when he couldn't be. You were apparently there so much that when Steve left, he fucking said to watch out for you. The punk.

Bucky didn’t know Steve dropped in on you, too, and asked you to keep an eye out for Bucky the day he gave Sam the shield. You promised you would.

You reached out. Not immediately, but in the weeks after.

Bucky was... less than kind.

Frankly, he was surly, ungrateful, short, and rude. 

Pieces were moving and with Bucky's reappearance in the United States, the question of his future was an immediate concern. Public and government representatives were demanding trials, pardons, and all the rest.

You told him you had found an excellent contact for a lawyer.

"No, thanks, I can find my own," the words were polite, but the tone was clipped, flat, low - almost a growl. 

Being so abruptly shut down, you decided to cut the phone call first and on your terms, so you wished him luck - managing to be more polite than him, making it sound genuine - and hung up.

You called Matt Murdock yourself, and told him about Bucky's case.

You did it only because of your promise to Steve.

And a little bit because you knew you were fucking right and that Bucky needed your lawyer contact. 

Matt chuckled, told you he knew about stubbornness, and that he'd go about approaching the Winter Soldier diplomatically and professionally.

Matt pulled off the best possible pardon deal, even if not everything about it was ideal.

When Pepper decided to get back into some of the Avenger support again - after the Flag Smashers business - so she could provide some more trustworthy resources for Sam and Bucky and the old crowd, you were one of the people she ended up scouting and recruiting to come work on the direct home support team with research and tactical support. Sometimes you went into the field with the team, but usually you stayed at home base and relayed with the agents over comms. 

This was not because you weren't outstanding, but because it was clear the less time you and Bucky spent in proximity to each other, the less awkward it was for everyone else on the team. You were both professional enough to keep the animosity out of things during a mission over comms, and that was about it. 

Otherwise, it was silent treatment and resentment.

Neither of you extended the woes of your dislike for each other actively to anyone else on the team, keeping your mouths shut about your feelings, and engaging in only occasional and minimal eye-rolling when either of you was mentioned. Bucky made a point of giving you electrolyte-enhanced waters first whenever you did go into the field on a mission with them, as if you were a toddler who couldn’t take care of yourself. 

Sitting by you at a holiday dinner at Sam’s you almost thought there was a moment of thaw between you and the Winter Soldier, but you didn’t push the almost comfortable silence between you to anything more - knowing it had been long-established he only tolerated you. It was clearly only a temporary pause, meaning very little as Bucky continued to push for you not being put into the field with them. You didn’t need to be around his close scrutiny. He made getting over any initial crush you might have had on him very easy. 

Things were fine like that for a little over a year. 

And then you were abducted on your way back from a mission outside of Paris where you had been part of the local ground team, taken and smuggled out of the airport. It was not HYDRA this time, just leftover cretins who blipped away but now were back, stirring up their own operation which hoped to double down on being even more nefarious. They were interested in testing some of their new methods and resources while also trying to extract some sensitive information.

Why not kill two birds with one stone by snatching up a well-connected and informed analyst at the heart of the neo-Avengers operation?

They recovered files from debunked HYDRA facilities (hard drives were wiped, but motivated hackers knew how to dig beneath what had been wiped to recover remnants - in hindsight, SHIELD should have taken the tech to a secure location) and developed an even more concentrated and powerful form of sex pollen. They were interested in how it would be absorbed in both the aerosol and liquid forms they had developed. Why not try out both forms on you? 

The aerosol was potent enough, but not in a way that would break you for their line of inquiries.

So, they injected it right into your veins.

Compounding with what had already been ingested into your system, everything intensified, and you - much more quickly than they anticipated - moved past what may have been a state where they could've coaxed the information they wanted out of you. 

Quickly you progressed to the point where you were consumed by this toxin, your body raging and desperate for the physical activity that will get you to a sexual release and flush the toxin from your system. You were keening and moaning and crying, covered in sweat, straining painfully against your bonds, unable to focus on anything anyone said to you. 

You were incoherent and not far from feral. 

Having gone beyond the point you could be giving them intelligence, you were still useful to provide information as the test subject, and they kept you on it through an IV drip to see the limits of what an average female body could take before it was completely broken.

You had absolutely no sense of how long this went on, only that you were not even crying tears anymore, just dry sobbing and wailing, because everything in your throat, and in your veins, and in your chest, and in your vagina burned. 

It was an agony you'd never experienced in your life. 

You vaguely registered a cacophony of sound around you, but it was like it was coming to you through a long dark tunnel, distorted and distant, and you couldn’t open your eyes to see what is going on, not that you could even think to or were capable of caring about anything other than the desperate purgatory you were enduring until you finally passed out.

Bucky and Sam were nearly back to base ops in New York from the Paris mission when the news of your abduction came through, and they turned around immediately. Teams working at home and in Paris - and Bucky in the air while Sam piloted - narrowed your likely whereabouts down to two locations: somewhere near Versailles (because of course evil operations are drawn to the ideas of opulence) or a compound outside of Brussels. 

Time already against them, Sam and Bucky made the tough decision that they needed to split up so they could investigate both options as quickly as humanly possible. Sam dropped Bucky at the well-equipped safe house less than an hour away from the suspected Versailles compound and then headed to Brussels.

After arming himself to the teeth as quickly as he could, Bucky fired up the Ducati in the garage of the safehouse that had been equipped with a noise dampener by your tech engineers, punched in his navigational coordinates, and pushed to top speeds to get to there, stashing the bike half a kilometer away so he could make the rest of the approach in complete stealth.

The operation was much smaller than he anticipated, but because of its size it was almost immediately apparent to Bucky that this was where they had you, and he was also confident he would be able to drop this operation and get to you without as much trouble as he expected.

But in no way could he have predicted the state he would find you in.

He heard your agonizing cries and keening within moments of entering the facility, and he'd already dropped four agents at that point, but the excruciating pain he heard from you was its own form of torture in itself. 

He picked up the pace, tearing ruthlessly through everyone else that came between him and you.

He got the full view of the condition you were in only moments before you passed out. He quickly undid all the bindings and removed everything they had attached to monitor your vitals. He unhooked the IV drip but had the presence of mind to take the bag for testing later. It was inelegant, but he hefted you over his shoulder, and everyone else still conscious who got in his way of getting you out was incapacitated with a single kill shot.

It was close to midnight when he reached the safe house and carefully tucked you into one of the beds. He pulled a secure laptop and some of the base medical testing equipment into the bedroom and kept watch over your catatonic form while he started running tests on the substance you’d been hooked up to and sent the base data for his samples to the bioengineering team back at HQ.

Over the next hour your body experienced a few fits of violent shaking, but you didn’t rouse until almost 2am. When you did, it was with great heaving gasps, and your arms flailed, your hands grasping at the sheets, at your clothes, and then at Bucky when he appeared almost immediately at your side trying to soothe you. He had a theory he hoped wasn’t true – that he knew what was running through your veins – but it was confirmed when you clutched and pawed desperately at him. Then your eyes met his, there was a recognition but coupled with devastating desperation, and you started babbling his name and pleading, “Bucky, please, Bucky. Need. Bucky, help. Bucky, Bucky, Bucky.”

He’d been in distress over you since he first heard your tortured cries hours before, and he knew you needed him.

He wouldn’t deny you. 

He knew the anguish of being a slave within one’s own mind. 

He worked both of you out of your clothes quickly, and then laid you back on the bed and crawled above you. “I gothcu, shh, I know what you need.” You cried, but with a glimmer of relief, when he sunk into your desperately wet cunt. He thrust diligently into you while you clung to his shoulders and wrapped your legs around his waist. 

The first orgasm was quick, and provided a glorious wave of relief that helped, but it was not enough. 

Not even close.

For nearly two hours he let you use him, pulling him into you, riding him, kneeling under him on all fours while he wrapped an arm around your waist and took you from behind. 

It was relentless fucking until you hit the point of being utterly depleted – mercifully coinciding with when the chemicals seemed to have finally been flushed from your system with enough of the endorphins released into your bloodstream from the numberless orgasms. 

If anyone but a super soldier had found you, Bucky genuinely worried they may not have been enough to help. Seeing you at the utter extreme of limits, in dangerous territory, had shaken something inside him he wasn’t prepared to discover. There had been no question in his mind that he had to get you through it. 

He smoothed your hair off your face and let your body gently sink back into the mattress, then got up and went to the bathroom, returning with a warm washcloth. He wiped your brow first, and you sighed in relief, eyes already closed in bone-tired weariness. Bucky gently wiped the sweat from your neck, continued moving down your body, and then with a second warm cloth he’d also brought, he gently wiped away the mess of slick that had seeped down your thighs. He carefully redressed your exhausted form, sliding you back into your discarded underwear and his t-shirt that was close enough to scoop up from the floor, and tucked you into the covers. You were asleep before he had finished taking care of you.

As you rested, he continued his vigilant watch from before. You stirred an hour or so later. It was still dark, but with almost a hint that sunrise would be creeping to the edges of the windows soon. He moved to your side again, this time with water, which he pressed to your lips, helping you to set up so you could drink. You began to gulp it down, but slowed when he tried to soothe you and urged you to slow your intake.

When you were nearly done downing the glass, your eyes opened briefly, but catching Bucky’s wary gaze on you, you shut them again. Not before Bucky saw the flash of anguish, however. You scooted away and turned your back, pulling your knees up and burying your head in your arms.

Bucky wanted to reach out and touch you, but settled for softly uttering your name, trying to coax you to look at him.

You refused, consumed with shame and horror.

Your throat was thick with a different kind of agony. 

That episode of pain and innate need had ended, but this? 

This was a new hell you would have to endure. 

“Bucky, I’m sorry, and I know I owe you my life and probably all of my sanity, but please, please go. Please leave me be and don’t put me through the humiliation right now of being here only because you were resigned to helping me despite hating me. I’ll have to bear that forever, but please, just… please at least leave me to myself until we get out of here.”

He was silent for a moment.

“Fuck, I don’t hate you – I never truly hated you,” he said. It was quiet, but perfectly audible in the silence of the pre-dawn.

You raised your head tentatively.

He took a deep breath and continued. “I only kept it up to save face since I drove you to despise me and was too proud to turn it around.”

You were truly overwhelmed. You wanted to say something but had no idea how to respond to that admission, especially when you were already wrung out to the very edges of your emotional state.

“I’ve respected you for a long time now.” Bucky broke the silence.

“You have?”

“Probably more than respected you, if I’m being honest.”

You were still exhausted despite having slept for the past few hours, but you pushed your mind to think… you started to reconsider the thaw from hostility to civility, that he argued with you in group settings less, how everything had become less grudging. But you knew you’d put up your own protective walls to shield you from his scrutiny because it had hurt too much to have been spurned by him when you’d reached out to try and forge that relationship with him after Steve left initially. 

And so much of tonight had been a feverish haze, but you had small pieces that were stained into your memory, some of which were him and things you couldn’t categorize as the actions of anything less than someone who cared. 

“How do you feel about me?” you ventured. 

The two of you looked into each other’s eyes for a few long moments.

“I don’t know that I can explain it all yet – I don’t think I know the words for it, but… let me show you? No chemicals, just us, see what’s really here?” He reached out a tentative hand to cover one of yours.

You nodded.

You let him move in.

You let him kiss you.

You let him lay you down beneath him again, and this time you sunk into each other. 

You cried again, but this time from the immense emotion. You could feel it rolling off of him and pouring into you, a balm starting to fill in the anguished pieces of your soul. Your spent bodies pushed through any tiredness and desperately moved together again, relentlessly motivated this time to slake the emotional hunger growing between you. Touches that explored, that carved into memory, that expressed. 

This time when you were both only finished by exhaustion, you curled into each other and slept, feeling the beginnings of solace and true peace, a turning of the tide, and maybe the acknowledgement that emotions that had run so deeply between you two were only felt so strongly because you truly valued the other even from the beginning.

READ THE FOLLOW UP DRABBLE: UNCERTAIN AND SURE

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[twola]

idk if this is too vague, but arthur/f!reader in the classic trope of, oh my god I can't believe we both almost just died sex? did they both almost drown? Was there a fire? did he save her life? who knows! i feel like arthur would sees the woman he loves almost die and immediately fuck about it

Okay this has been in my asks for WAY too long and it’s such a good one and I wanted to do it justice.

Left Unsaid

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

When he think's he's almost lost you in a run-in with a rival gang, Arthur quickly gets over his nervousness in approaching you.

The bloodcurdling scream jolts him from sleep, making him stumble up from where he was sitting on a rickety chair in the main room of the old cabin. At first, he thinks it's a dream, but when the sound of breaking glass pierces the night, Arthur shoots up; the chair falling to the ground in a clatter as he quickly shakes the vestiges of sleep from his mind.

This abandoned cabin off of Eris Field seemed the perfect place to spend the night instead of making the trek all the way back to Shady Belle tonight - your yawning from behind him on his horse had him chuckling as he made the decision to stay - doing the gentlemanly thing and giving you the bedroom with the old single bed. As much as he’d like to be sharing it with you - he remained externally aloof - proclaiming that he’d sleep on the chair in the main room. He certainly did not dare to ask to share your bed - not now, probably not ever. 

But the rustling and thumping behind the door where you sleep has his heart racing - his hand flies to his revolver as he readies himself to throw his shoulder into the door and shoot whatever it is that is making that noise, but the door bursts open before he gets the chance.

A man stands on the threshold - dirty, and grimy, with a faded gray woolen military uniform and a yellow bandana around his neck.

Of course, goddamn Lemoyne Raiders.

The raider holds up his knife in front of him, and in the din of movement and chaos around them, Arthur can see the liquid sheen over the steel in the man’s hand.

The knife, dripping with blood. The man, seemingly unharmed. The door, slightly ajar, to the bedroom where you slept.

A cold stone settles in Arthur’s gut as he puts the pieces together. In an instant, he snarls, diving toward the man with little regard for his own person, tackling him to the ground and ready to rip him apart with his bare hands for what he’s done to you. As Arthur mounts himself on the man’s chest and begins to strangle him, the movement knocks the oil lantern off the table, crashing to the wooden floor and immediately bursting into flame.

The man’s neck snaps between Arthur’s hands and he immediately leaps up, moving toward the bedroom where you were sleeping.

Another body crashes into him, a Lemoyne Raider dressed like he is straight out of a Civil War battle tackles Arthur to the ground, the two of them tumbling along the floor and breaking through the rickety door to the porch. Arthur rolls backward, unsheathing his hunting knife as he grits his teeth, ready to slice this damn bastard into shreds.

Of course, the wannabe soldier is no match for the hardened outlaw. They sure as hell don’t make them like they used to. Arthur easily dodges a swing of the man’s fist and throws his weight forward. He sinks his knife into the raider’s gut, and immediately shoves him to the ground. He gurgles blood from his mouth as Arthur rushes over him, back toward the house.

The flames burst out the windows as he barrels back toward the door, grabbing at the handle and cursing aloud as it burns him. 

The constriction in his chest has settled into a churning in his gut as he prepared to kick the door in. At this point would he be finding your charred, lifeless body, having bled out on the floor because he couldn’t protect you?

“Arthur-!”

He steps off the porch, not sure if he is lightheaded or hallucinating, but you move toward him, hitching your skirts, blood covering your blouse, your hair wild.

“Jesus-” He crashes into you, having nearly leaped the final few steps, crushing you into his chest, nearly causing you to stumble.

He yanks you back, large hands on your shoulders, and looks you up and down, eyeing the blood patch on your blouse.

“N-not mine.” You breathe, but he does not move his hand from your ribcage. It presses inward, against the wet cotton, splaying across your side as if he did not believe you, checking for where the knife would have marred your flesh.

“Arthur-” You whisper, your hands tight on his biceps, “I’m alright.”

His eyes dart back up to yours, searching, pupils dilated, breathing heavily.

“Ar-”

You’re cut off completely as he pulls you against him and presses his lips desperately against yours, muffling your surprised yelp as his tongue demands entrance into your mouth. After a moment of shock, you melt into his embrace, fingers tightening on his shirt sleeves as you open your mouth to him.

He kisses you like you are the air he breathes. Like you are some kind of salvation… like he thought he almost lost something.

Arthur pulls back, breathing heavily, a flush having taken over his face, “Christ-” he goes to unwind his arms from you, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

It’s his turn to be cut off as your hands immediately travel to the collar of his shirt and you pull him down to your lips to kiss him again, needy as you moan into his mouth.

His arms immediately recircle you, hands moving down from your ribs, down, down to your waist, your hips, your rear. Hooking his arms around the back of your thighs, you’re lifted up, squealing in surprise into his mouth as you wrap your legs around his waist. 

Continuing to press into each other's mouths, you barely notice him walking the two of you back, further from the flaming cabin, into the woodline, and finally against a tree trunk a safe distance away. He pulls back, panting as you recline against it, his arms tight under your thighs.

He gazes upon your kiss-swollen lips; your heaving chest as you breathe heavily, your pupils blown wide in arousal. Arthur takes the opportunity to roll his hips once, his hardening cock pressing against your cunt, and your eyes flutter closed as a needy, breathy whine escapes your lips.

“Arthur-”

He does it again, maybe for his sake as much as your own, the blood rushing to his groin and filling his cock properly. He grits his teeth as the rolling becomes rutting, your gasps driving him insane.

Before he gets to the point of no return, he slows his hips and leans over to recapture your lips in another kiss. As he pulls his 

“Thinkin’ you was dead back there-” He pushes his lips to yours again, “Christ- I… I never told you-” 

One of his hands leaves your thighs, but you have no fear he’s going to drop you. He buries it in layers of cotton, pulling at your skirts to move them from his way, reaching your bloomers and pressing against your cunt, watching your face intently as you moan, the cotton separating you quickly dampening against his fingers.

He leans in again and groans against your neck. Grabbing the cotton tightly, he yanks until he feels the seams give way, the tearing sound ringing in his ears as he delves within the ruined fabric to your soaking folds. You jolt against him and whine loudly as he slides his fingers along the seam of your body.

Arthur covers your mouth with his own as he sinks his fingers into you, working you open as you clutch desperately at his shoulders.

After you’ve cried out several times in the night, his hand leaves you and you sigh at the loss, he shushes you gently as he works at the buttons of his trousers, finally freeing his cock from his pants after moments of fiddling. His hand returns to your thigh as he adjusts you in his arms. The head of his cock presses gently against the rim of your cunt.

Your hands move from his shoulders to cup his face, your thumb tracing his lower lip gently before he sucks the tip into his mouth, his eyes trained on yours.

He pulses his hips and his cockhead slips inside you. Your brows crinkle with the first vestiges of the ache of penetration, and he leans forward again to press his lips upon your forehead.

“What did you never tell me?” You whisper as he holds you on the cusp of joining, the precipice of sheathing himself into you.

One of his hands leaves your thigh, though you are completely unafraid of falling with your legs wrapped around him and the strength of his other arm. His fingers brush back a strand of your hair from your forehead, tucking it gently behind your ear before his rough and calloused palm rests on your cheek.

“You’d have died and I woulda never told you I’m in love with you.”

Your eyebrows raise in shock as you clutch at him, and while you remain silent, after a moment, you pull him closer with your legs, nudging his back with your ankles, and he slowly slides himself inside you, inch by inch, until your hips touch and you mewl with the stretch. He hums softly before slowly, gently, rocking his hips, starting a slow rhythm as you get used to him.

His powerful arms keep you suspended against the tree trunk with each roll of his hips, each glide of the inches of him in and out of you, well glossed and hot with your slick.

Arthur’s lips press to yours incessantly, muffling your gasps and whines as he presses into you. After one particularly deep thrust, you throw your head back in ecstasy, bumping against the trunk of the tree.

“Careful there, darlin’,” Arthur slows his hips, and tightening his grip on your thighs, he pulls you away from the tree, you yelp and tighten your legs around his hips. He chuckles softly as he walks you, still joined, a few steps from the tree and slowly lowers the both of you to the ground on a patch of grass. Spreading himself out over you, he buries his head against your neck as he lets go of your thighs, his forearms on either side of your shoulders, rocking his hips into yours again.

The staccato whine of the syllables of his name escapes you as you hook your ankles around each other over his back. Carding your hands through his hair, your fingers interweave between his honeyed strands, his hat long gone in your desperation to join yourselves.

He presses himself up above you as his thrusts become more erratic, his breathing loud and heavy as he pounds you into the ground.

“God-” you cry out as your hands grasp his shirt, “Arthur, yes-”

He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, looming over you as he careens toward completion.

You arch your back, your thighs wrapping tighter around him as you begin to babble - “Yes- Arthur… I love you too-”, another gasp as he hits that spot within you, “God - I love you so much-”

That’s it. There it is, stripped bare and bleeding out like an open wound, his heart catching in his chest at your confession, and his amazement leaves him speechless as he thrusts into you once more, holding himself as deep as he can possibly get into you, feeling you pulse and clutch around him, wailing your pleasure into the night. It’s only a moment more before he has the wherewithal to yank himself from you, in the nick of time as he spurts his seed over your cunt, dripping white into the dark curls at the joining of your legs.

He’s gasping, you’re gasping, and he groans as he settles himself to the side of you, barely able to hold himself up with the exertion. Your legs hang open as you pant, flushed from your cheeks down your neck.

One of his large hands spreads out over your chest, against your racing heart, and you turn your head toward him, breathing out through your nose as a smile graces your lips.

“Probably should get outta here before any more stragglers find us.” He says, out of breath as he removes his hand to tuck himself back into his trousers. You nod and sit up, pulling your skirts down over your legs.

“D’ya think…” you trail off as you watch him rebutton his pants before he pushes himself to stand. His hair is ridiculously ruffled from the amount of times you've run your fingers through it.

“Mm?” He holds out his hand to you to help you up. 

You take it, and he pulls you up into his embrace, his hand secure on your lower back.

“Was wondering if we could spend the rest of the night in Rhodes or somewhere instead of heading all the way back to camp…” You ask as you lay a hand on his chest.

He squeezes you closer to him. 

“Sounds mighty nice… certainly wouldn't mind a stay in a hotel room tonight.”

[syoddeye]

last

gaz-centric, 141 gen. | ~800 words. tags: pure, heavy angst. alcohol. several major character deaths referenced. abuse of italics and parentheses. a/n: so i was thinking about gaz being the last to die. decided to ride the big sad wave into whatever this is.

he gets word that price finally kicked the bucket, upright and boots on. the old man pushed his luck to the cliff’s edge and camped there, years beyond when he should’ve retired.

the news forces him to look back down the long and bloody road to his current gig, desk jockey for laswell. (–analyst, cap. –a pencil pusher.)

it was kate’s hand—the only hand—that reached out after riley decided to run a suicide mission and died a ghost. a task force can’t be two people, she said.

he remembers thinking on the flight to the DMV about whether the american outlaw felt like that, felt the loss when the civilized world, the old west, decided they didn’t want men like them anymore. didn’t want men who took on the world, gloves off.

he books the trip. he returns to a town and landscape barely recognizable to him anymore, but he knows it like the back of his hand. could navigate it with his eyes shut. (he was the best at that, once.) a town where a clock tower looms with the names of his predecessors and his friends etched into its surface. he avoids it. avoids as much of the pomp and circumstance as he can. they–they aren’t his people. not anymore.

he wanted you to have this.

a cigar box. weathered, old. still reeks. in it, memorabilia: a clutch of ID tags with more of those dreaded names, cap’s favorite lighter, and a scrimshaw knife. he doesn’t look at the clip of photos. not right away.

he thanks the soldier tasked with tracking him down, tucks the cigar box into his bag when he returns to his hotel and hops a plane home. his other home, the one he shoehorned himself into at kate’s behest.

it takes the better part of a month to work up the nerve to open the box. to unclip the photos. a torrent of memory held back by a piece of flimsy metal. unleashed and saturating the room.

(they’ll leave a waterline, an impression that decades of life still left to live won’t be able to erase.)

most of them are candids. quick shots someone took, developed, and printed. probably left on the corner of price’s desk.

one of soap, mid-story, something raunchy—he can tell by the man’s smirk. one of riley’s chin, tucked over kyle’s shoulder with soap’s stubbly cheek pressed to his. all drunk and bleary-eyed, fresh off a fucked op. one of price, asleep with his heels kicked up and riley attempting to balance an unlit cigar on the tip of his boots.

a polaroid of nik and price sat in the corner of some bar. both men big and intimidating, faces stern and ringed by smoke. probably chirping like two old hens—the gossips. god, poor nik. they never found him.

an old, pristine copy of the photo of him, price, farah, and alex. all standing tall and proud. triumphant. hurts to look at them for too long. both gone before their time.

(price and laswell didn’t talk for weeks after he reamed her out. —shit intel. makes you wonder. the insinuation was the death knell for the 141 and riley going rogue was the nail in the coffin. after that, cap took his news as a personal affront. hard not to, in hindsight.)

defecting? don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

that insinuation led to months of radio silence between him and price. broken by an insured, over-packaged bottle of single malt that appeared on his desk one day. shit was worth more than his monthly rent.

(never mind he doesn’t even drink whisky. just like price to send a piece of himself in apology instead of picking up the phone.)

the gut punch is soap’s last identification photo. john mactavish. the smiling, joking oaf with his pressed mouth flat in a grim line. eyes wild, probably thinking of something filthy to say to the poor photographer. on the back, his birth and death dates. gone way before his fucking time.

the true catalyst. made them all more reckless. his lieutenant, most of all, grew hungrier and hungrier for the long sleep.

shuffling through the rest makes the ache worse. reopens wounds. grinds against his ribs and tunnels a hole to his gut. it takes a strength he hasn’t used in years to put them away, forced to draw from a well long covered.

he buries the box in the back of a closet and digs out an old bottle. pours an ample amount and chokes it down. goes to bed smelling smoke, praying he doesn’t dream.

he does, of course.

he dreams of chaos and a padlock in piccadilly. of olives and motor oil in urzikstan. of canals and juniper in amsterdam. of the tunnels and blood beneath london. of a bar in chicago. a pub in hereford.

in the morning he wakes. visited upon. heavy.

the last man standing.

[twinterrors29]

Codywan Merlin AU

once upon a time, King Jango made a deal with the Sith for sons; however, that magic came at a price, and he lost all his living Knights and nearly his own life to maintain the balance

in response to this perceived betrayal, he outlawed all Force-senstives from his Kingdom of Mandalore

Crown Prince Cody therefore grows up with his horde of little siblings, with no knowledge of the Force and a learned distrust of all Force-sensitives, be they Sith or Jedi alike

Obi-Wan Kenobi, on the other hand, grows up on tales of a prophecy he is to play a part in, that he must one day travel to the Kingdom where the Force is banned but the Sith grow in power in secret, find the Chosen One, and train him so he can restore Balance to the Force

he thinks he knows how his story is destined to end: with him dying on a pyre in Keldabe's square to protect the boy he will have raised

when he comes of age, having completed his training with the Jedi in secret on the edges of the Kingdom, he travels to Keldabe to meet the Chosen One

but when he arrives, he finds no sign of the boy he was told to look for: created through no natural birth, but glowing with the light of the Force

and accidentally finds himself...entangled, with a young man he later learns is the Crown Prince himself

as he falls more and more in love with the brilliant prince, who is so beautiful and so heartbreakingly kind, almost seeming to glow with the brilliance of the sun for the force of his own compassion, and without any trace of the boy he's meant to train, Obi-Wan begins to doubt the prophecy more and more

when Cody proposes they marry in secret, Obi-Wan agrees, choosing to close off his connection in the Force for good to seize this chance at a happy ending for himself and Cody with both hands

only for Anakin to show up at long last, forcing Obi-Wan to choose between fulfilling his promise to his beloved or answering the call of the Force to fulfill the prophecy by training the boy, as he's been prepared to do his whole life

Obi-Wan resigns himself to the idea of giving up on his own happiness after all

Anakin has ideas of his own about the need for training in secret with Obi-Wan, having been found serendipitously by Advisor Palpatine several years prior, who has been teaching the boy discreetly and convinced Anakin that he shouldn't have to hide as the Chosen One of Prophecy

as they argue about Anakin's training, King Jango is abruptly assassinated, and war immediately breaks out with the Force-imbued soldier constructs of the neighboring County of Serenno; Count Dooku claims that Jango had promised him the throne as part of their deal for his sons so long ago, and that he is now staking that claim

the newly-crowned King Cody is forced to answer that challenge with his own claim and forces

Obi-Wan cannot bring himself to abandon his love in such a moment, and fortunately, Anakin is insistent that they stay and aid the fight in secret, allowing Obi-Wan to begin training him in earnest, albeit with a more martial focus than he would prefer for the younger man

so they hold their positions through three long years of armed conflict, with Obi-Wan discreetly placed among Cody's household guard and Anakin growing closer to the young noblewoman Padme Amidala, all while Palpatine continuing to whisper his poisoned promises to Anakin in secret

finally, Cody's forces manage to corner the Count's, and Obi-Wan's secret support allows Cody to kill the Count and disengage the remaining constructs in one blow

only for Palpatine to show his hand at last during the celebratory feast

the Sith had managed to convince Anakin that he has the power to save his secret noble wife and strongly Force-blessed unborn child, and the two of them together manage to wrest control of the Force magics that created Cody and his siblings to control them, using them as puppets to install Palpatine's new regime

Obi-Wan is forced to flee, leaving his love and his apprentice behind as he tries to keep at least the infant twins safe from Palpatine's control

for a year and a day, Palpatine maintained control over the King and his younger siblings

but on that day, Cody turned and cut off the snakes' head the moment he was free, with his brother Rex taking out Anakin

Cody had known that Obi-Wan was a Jedi almost from the beginning, and had accordingly done his own research on the Force and Jedi, planning to surprise his beloved at their wedding with his knowledge

in the course of his studies, he discovered the nature of the deal his father had made, and what that same magic could be used for

so he found a way to put failsafes in place, in case his origins were ever used against him: a traditional limit, of a year-and-a-day

once he was free of the Sith's control, Cody was left with the knowledge that Obi-Wan had been declared dead by Palpatine, and that Cody had been the puppetted to order his death

he decides to abdicate the throne to Rex, the next in line, to mark a new beginning after both the war that marked the start of his reign and the year of suffering under Sith control that he couldn't easily explain to his people

Cody dies less than a year later, having lived just long enough to see his people thriving under his beloved brother's rule, but the war and the control and the loss took their toll on his body and psyche

it would be another three years before Obi-Wan got word of the change of regime in Mandalore, and another five after that before he felt the twins were old enough to make the journey back to their birthplace to investigate the matter

Obi-Wan meets with Rex, hearing Cody's account of his actions and reading the former King's journals, and sinks further into his own despair; he becomes convinced that Cody was the true Chosen One after all, having learned of the Force because of Obi-Wan himself and having defeated the Sith and brought balance to the Force through use of that knowledge

Rex agrees to foster the twins, helping symbolize the new era of Light he's hoping to begin for their people

and Obi-Wan dedicates the rest of his life to keeping watch over Cody's tomb, certain that some day his beloved will return to finish fulfilling the prophecy when his kingdom is most in need of his aid once again...

[rayveneyed]

cw: mentions + depictions of death, crime, alcohol.

it's difficult for nanami kento to leave behind the life of a cowboy -- but, truth be told, he's only ever wanted to live a quiet life.

god as his witness, he’s seen his fair share of trouble — train heists and bank robberies and turning sheriffs topsy-turvy, mostly at the behest of his more excitable companions. he's seen blood and guts and bullet wounds the size of his fist, and he’s damn sure seen too many good people bite the dust far too soon. the adrenaline and the money weren’t ever worth it -- but haibara had wanted to stay, and so he did.

haibara dies. it's no glamorous death. it's shitty, and dull, and it happens in the blink of an eye -- shot from his horse as he galloped down the side of a train, hitting the sand with a sickening crack. they hadn't even been able to recover his body, and it ruins kento beyond anything. haibara was his brother. they'd known each other since they were old enough to know what knowing someone meant.

his heart was never fully in it, but that was the nail in the coffin. he couldn't smile. couldn't find the will to continue on as he had before, like nothing had happened. what was it that made him survive, when so many died? why did haibara die -- good haibara, ditsy, smiling haibara -- while nanami lived? why was he seemingly deserving of life, when others weren't?

he didn't know. he doesn't know, but here he is, with a beating heart and a furrowed brow and a pistol that doesn't fit all too well in his hands anymore.

it's all enough to have him yearning for a home and a bed and the country, with it's silence, with it's peace. the country, like he lived in when he was a boy. the country, where haibara had run through the grass and caught cicadas and geckos.

if he can't swap places with haibara, he thinks, then surely he can try to repent for all he's done. turn his life around. live as an honest man.

so — with a heart as light as a lump of stone — he retires from the outlaw life. says goodbye to the crew. sets himself up in a quaint town with a little cottage to himself, some land to farm on and some cattle to wrangle. it’s far away from the big cities, but there’s a train station the next town over and everything he needs a short horse-ride away: a general store, a saloon, a doctor. he can live simply. he can live honestly.

and so it starts. no use in making a name for himself as some sorta recluse, he reckons, so he forces himself to get to know the town, settle in. he’s a quiet man by nature, but they’re kind as most small-town folk are; the doctor is a weathered old man whose daughter is married to the town sheriff, and their niece helps out at the general store. the sheriff himself is stout and balding, with little experience in shooting a gun, but he's a good man. there’s a group of old, weathered farmers that seem to take him under their wing, though he tells them time and time again that he’s no spring-chicken when it comes to tending the farm — that was his father’s work, after all, before he died. and there’s families and kids and men his age, mostly farmers or sheriff’s deputies or soldiers. girls just barely women, tittering and blushing when he nods a good day to them.

life is good. he can live like this, he thinks. he milks the cows and sheers the sheep, hoists lambs over his shoulders and sweats, sweats, sweats. gorges himself on whisky and beer and hearty food, spares some money for a little piece of toffee if he has it. walks himself home from the rowdy saloon with his jacket over his arm and his cheeks flushed, eyes counting fireflies in the evening sun. it’s all hard work -- he's left aching and sore each day -- and it’s good work, anyways. at least out here no-one’s hankering to put a bullet between his eyes.

and yes — he gets lonely sometimes. he’s so used to running with a pack of seven or eight, staying up ‘til dawn, trading stories ‘round the fire. laughing more than he knows how to, hiding smiles around the rim of a cup of moonshine. now, his nights are filled only with the calls of cicadas, the sound of dried grass brushing against itself in the wind. the days are long and hard and he has little to return to by its end.

probably why he spends all his time at the saloon, drowning out the quiet with the noise of it all.

probably why he spends all his time glancing at you out the corner of his eyes.

now, look here: kento doesn’t consider himself the kinda man deserving a wife — but you’re… you’re kind. kind and pretty, serving up drinks and putting the town drunkard out on his ass when he gets too riled up (if kento doesn’t get to him first). slipping the kids sugar cubes when they sneak in past their bedtime.

his first day in town, you never made strange; you remind him of his old crew, in some ways, with your open brightness, your ability to welcome him so easily. you’d told him that his first drink was free of charge, a smile on your lips like a secret. and you walk past his home on your way to work, your dress swaying ‘round your hips, your face all dewy and plump — you're a summer evening, strawberries sweet and syrupy, and he can't help himself: he glances over sometimes, and you always call his name in greeting, like you were expecting it.

(in the back of his bad, no-good mind, he wonders if you talk about him the way the other town girls do — if you giggle over the size of his arms, or the colour of his hair, or his voice. he shakes the thoughts away with a disapproving grunt.)

but it doesn’t matter — it doesn’t matter that sometimes you end up late for work, stuck standing at his fence and talking for far too long; doesn't matter that you bake him loaves of bread, using the excuse that there's too much at home. it doesn't matter that he fixes the porch of your house and you make him lemonade, batting away your younger siblings with a tea-towel and scolding them for bothering him -- doesn't matter that, for a second, he imagines a life like that.

and it sure as hell doesn't matter that, when the old doctor swings an arm around his neck and teases him something terrible, drunk off his head and slurring — “i reckon you’ll be wantin’ a wife soon, big man like yourself!” — that his eyes cut to you. and it doesn’t matter that you’re already looking at him, knowing.

men like him don’t deserve lemonade or apple pie or sweet summer strawberries. not now, not ever.

[archangeldyke-all]

Pilot sev and flight attendant reader

Soldier sev and army nurse reader

I see your outlaw sev and tavern owner reader and raise you outlaw sev with a crooked sheriff reader

lastly produce farmer reader and dairy farmer sev

omg mars the last one... so so sos so cute

men and minors dni

you wake up to the sound of bleating outside your window.

you live on a small strawberry farm, known for having the juiciest, sweetest berries in town. it's just a few acres of land, but it's your pride and joy. besides the strawberry fields, you have a tiny pond for your ducks, a patch of wildflowers for your bees, and a backyard garden for yourself. it's your sanctuary.

your bedroom windows look out onto your sprawling strawberry fields. you blearily push yourself off the bed and rub your eyes to see what's going on outside, and shake your head in disbelief when you see three sheep in your strawberry patch, having the time of their lives as they feast on the fruit.

you groan and roll your eyes.

this is the third time this month.

you quickly pull a robe over your pajamas and shove your work boots on, running out to the strawberry field and trying to scare the sheep away. waving your hands and yelling as you run at them, you're making a fool of yourself, and clearly, the sheep don't give a fuck. they know you, by now, they know you're harmless. they just stare at you as they continue to chew your plants. when you try shoving the 200 pound animals, they stay standing, solid and unbothered. you groan.

behind you, the sound of a sputtering truck grows. you chuckle as you turn around and watch sevika's beat up pick up pull into your driveway.

she scrambles out of the car, her hair a mess, her pants unbuttoned and unzipped over her boxers, her wife pleaser on backwards and her shoelaces undone as she stumbles over to you with a bashful smile. you laugh at the sight of her.

"i'm sorry!" she exclaims as you give her a faux-scolding look. you just roll your eyes as she runs over to you.

"third time this month sev! i'm not gonna have any berries left to sell by the end of the month!" you complain as sevika starts wrangling her sheep.

"can you really blame them though? your strawberries are the best i've ever had." she says as she starts walking her first sheep back to the truck. you walk with her.

"whatever." you say.

the two of you have been friends since she moved on the property next door, starting her own sheep farm. managing a farm is hard, and managing a farm by yourself is harder, and the two of you became fast friends as you bonded over the unique struggles that come along with being a solo farmer. you're not mad at her when her sheep get out-- you can barely keep up with your farm and your plants can't even walk-- you have no idea how sevika manages as well as she does.

she makes up for the lost berries due to her sheep in plenty of ways. in the winter, sevika chops wood for your fireplace, delivers a fresh stack every morning on your front door along with a fresh bottle of milk, or a wool sweater or scarf she knitted herself. in the summer, you always get first pick on her home brewed wine and cheeses.

plus, you get to ogle her doing physical labor anytime her sheep wander over to yours, so you really can't be upset.

you giggle as sevika loads her first sheep onto the truck. the back of her head is a rat's nest-- she clearly slept well last night. she turns around to glare at you.

"what?" she demands.

"you're a mess." you say, approaching her and gently running your fingers through her hair, trying to tame it. you give up-- not wanting to tug on any knots, and bring your hands down to flick at the tag sticking out of the front of her shirt between her collarbones. "your pants aren't even zipped." you say with a laugh.

sevika huffs. "i was in a rush. i know how protective you are of your precious berries." she grunts. you laugh.

"you're cute." you say.

sevika blushes, her brown cheeks transforming into a lovely dusky rose as she ducks her head and scratches the back of her neck. you grin.

this is probably your favorite thing about sevika-- nice as she is for all the other favors she helps you out with on the farm-- she's fucking adorable. and she's clearly got no idea.

you've been trying to get her to ask you out for six months now. you see the way she looks at you, especially when you're out in the fields in just a tank top, shorts, and some sunscreen. you see the way her eyes linger each night she walks you back to your home after you share dinner at hers, like she wants to duck down and kiss you goodnight, but just can't.

so you've started laying it on pretty thick. strawberry pies on her porch, the crust in the shape of a heart; shamelessly groping her biceps while she's working; keeping your bedroom curtains open when you change, knowing the only one who can see you is sevika from her bedroom across the way.

she's been a clueless, stuttering mess. it just makes you want her more.

sevika's grunting as she wrangles the second sheep, and you bite your lip as you watch. she's so fucking hot it drives you crazy.

"wh-- fuckin' watchin it billy-- what are you smiling at?" she asks as she starts leading billy to the truck. you shrug as you follow her.

"how stupid you are." you say. sevika glares at you.

"it's not my fault they keep breaking out of the fence, okay? i'm trying to get the guy to come down to fix it but--"

"no, not that." you say with a giggle. sevika pouts.

"well what then?" she asks as she wrangles billy in the back of the truck. you laugh, and sevika stalks back over to you, glaring at you. "tell me." she demands.

"you know if it was anyone else's sheep comin' over to trample my plants and eat all my berries i'd be pissed." you say. sevika gulps.

"i really am sorry--"

"no, sevika." you cut her off. "i'm trying to tell you that i'm not upset." you say as the two of you walk back to get the final sheep.

"...why?" she asks. you roll your eyes.

"why do you think?" you ask. sevika blinks.

"i dunno, 'cause your arms are too wimpy to chop wood on your own?" she asks as she wraps her arms around the sheep's neck. you laugh.

"could be that. could be that i gotta crush on you, though." you say.

sevika's grip falters, and the sheep gets loose, pushing her onto her ass as it escapes her grasp. she falls into a puddle of mud, her eyes wide and locked on you, completely uncaring about what just happened.

you double over in laughter. sevika stays on her ass, blinking up at you.

"wh-- really?" she asks. you smile and reach out to help her to her feet. when she's standing, you don't let go of her hand.

"yeah." you say. sevika blinks.

"oh." she says. then, "i'm a fucking idiot." she groans. you giggle.

"yeah, a bit." you say. "i've been... really fucking obvious."

"i thought you were just being friendly!"

"were you being friendly when you knit me that heart sweater?" you ask. sevika blushes again.

"well... no. but i thought i was being subtle!"

you grin. "you weren't." you say. sevika bites her lip.

"oh. well." she clears her throat. "uh, if you give me an hour to get the sheep back home and feed 'em breakfast and take a shower... maybe we could... eat breakfast together?" she asks. you giggle.

"you mean like how we've been eating breakfast together like three times a week since we met?" you tease her. sevika huffs and rolls her eyes.

"i would take you into town if you weren't in that feud with the fry cook at maria's diner!" she says. you laugh.

"breakfast sounds great." you say. sevika grins, big and cheesy, and you squeeze her hands. "but only if i get to make out with you once we're done." you say. sevika's eyes go wide and her cheeks darken again.

"...we could do that before breakfast, too." she whispers. you grin, then lean in to pull her in for a quick peck. sevika sighs against you, wrapping her arms around your waist and holding you tight, not letting you pull away as she deepens the kiss.

when she pulls away, ten minutes later, she's got stars in her eyes, and you've got a puddle in your pants.

the sheep she'd loaded into her truck have escaped, back to munching on your berries.

you don't care. especially not when sevika leans in for another kiss.

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian

[dailyadventureprompts]

Adventure: Countess Ledrick's (Re)Doubt

You were warned about bandits in your travels through the Kingsfault mountains, but you didn't expect them to be such gracious hosts. It's about after your third stein of ale at their leader's high table that you start to think they might want something from you more than coin.

Even monsters can change, or so thinks Ledrick as she wipes the blood of her latest kill from her blade. A little over a decade ago she was at the vanguard of a mercenary force pillaging through the land clearing the way for an invading army. After the fighting was done while most of her companions were either going home or turning bandit she decided to take over the keep of a minor noble she'd help to butcher.

It was mostly a joke, a commonborn killer like her declaring herself a countess and presiding over a court of outlaws as they drank a dead man's wine. Presiding turned into setting down rules for her gang, which turned into negotiating for food with nearby villages in exchange for protection from monsters and whoever didn't want to follow her rules. Fast forward eight years and Ledrick's being cheered by the people she once came to conquer as she stands between them and and ettin looking to break down their village gates.

Time has a way of changing everything... grudges are buried, children are born, and necromantic cults of dragon worshippers emerge from their tomb sleep... all part of the great cycle.

Adventure Hooks:

Tracking a bounty into the mountains leads the party to the countess's court, where their quarry has thrown himself on Ledrick's mercy as someone who fought alongside her in the early days of securing her lands. Lendrick will let the party plea their case, but conflicted between a soldier's honour and wanting to be a lawful lord will instead send them out searching for the local priestess of Tyr, god of hardwon peace, who has offered the countess wise council in the past and has been missing of late on pilgrimage to a shrine in the wilderness.

The party may also fall into Lendrick's company after their quest or patron sends them to defend against a threat lurking in the mountainous wilderness, where they'll use her fort as a forward operating base. Learning to live alongside the Countess and her retinue of semi-retired killers may take some getting used to, but if the party can win their trust they'll have no truer allies when the threat comes calling.

There have always been drakes roosting in the Kingsfault mountains, but in recent months the countess's domain has seen more attacks than it has in the past twenty years. Something is driving these beasts to attack, and the former merc has put out a call for aid to , knowing herself ill equipped to investigate the causes and that her people would be better served with her managing the monsters.

Background: It was a little over a year ago when one of Ledrick's old warbuddies came calling, a battlemage named Hess who in recent who's post-retirement delving into the more esoteric side of magic has led him down a dark road. Showing up all smiles and grand stories of their shared suffering, Hess convinced the countess to let him and his acolytes apprentices delve an old ruin in her territory, promising to share some the riches they unearthed as repayment.

Hess was good on his word, tribute to the countess's court arrived after just a few weeks of delving and maintained at a steady trickle ever since. Part of this tribute happened to be a cursed idol that unless properly contained attracts the violent attention of dragonkind. Hess neglected to include care instructions when he sent it along, hoping to use the countess's defence of her lands as a means of harvesting drakeflesh under the guise of helping to search for reasons behind the attacks.

Further Adventures:

Several of Ledrick's underlings are beginning to fall under Hess's sway; sure the drakes have killed a few dozen peasants but merchants are willing to pay for their horns and teeth hand over first, to say nothing of the drakescale armor some of the more gifted armorers have been knocking together after their hunts. Would they really let all this stop to all this just because some do-nothing farmers got hurt?

Behind his jockular attitude and harmlessly crass jokes, there's something deeply wrong with Hess. War left wounds in his psyche and now something festers beneith his scars eating away at who he is, driving him to delve deeper into the tomb and unlock its secrets. Pretending to help with the party's investigation, he'll send them on a wild goose chase into the mountains towards a dangerous ruin claiming it as the origin of whatever's causing the drakes to attack.

By the time they realize the deceptio Hess and his followers will have cleared out of the ancient tomb, leaving behind a series of spells that will lock the party inside and reactivate all the traps and guardians the cult spent months disarming. Perhaps most dangerous of all is a construct of Hess's own fevered design; built of drakebone and sinew grafted into armor, a half finished war machine that will stalk the party through the darkened halls.

Art 1 Art 2 Art 3

[lillified]

regarding your piece “outlaws” is it intended to be like an apartment or a spaceship? until corrected, and probably still after, i’m choosing to believe that swindle is doing the equivalent of living in his van

that being said, where *do* the other (they don’t let him inside 💔) decepticons live? I don’t think it’s been shown thus far

hey, that’s a great question!

the “outlaws” piece you see is from an earlier point in the war, and the location is Swindle’s passenger ship, The Knave. It isn’t meant to be a living space, but he’s converted it and uses it a bit like an RV/motor home. Since he spent most of his time (and kept a lot of his stuff) in there, it was one of his prized possessions. In the Outlaws pic he has it parked in a mostly Autobot occupied part of downtown Protihex, where he operates it like a caravan to sell weapons and things to patrolling soldiers.

This actually brings up a great opportunity to talk a bit more about locations, specifically airships and spaceships (I promise it’s relevant to the main Cons);

So, there are many different types of aircraft (beyond the Bots who can physically fly, obviously). On the smallest side you get tactical drones and fighter craft, which are either remotely manned or manned by one Bot, who physically controls the ship by hooking up to a sensory chamber-style pod. These are much less ideal than having a flightforme, but were developed out of necessity, given the central Cybertronian government and fliers have tended to be on opposite sides at different points of history (this trend remains true for the Autobots, who are at a severe deficiency).

Next up are scout ships, which fit a small squadron of Cybertronians (think the size of the X wing in starwars).

After that you get into passenger ship territory, where aircraft have multiple rooms. Swindle’s ship fits this category. They aren’t intended as mobile residences and moreso exist to carry large quantities of ‘Bots over a longer distance, like a train or a cruise ship with basic amenities, but as the war progressed it was hard not to find different uses for them.

Passenger ships can be very specialized, and the only major difference between the larger varieties and true warships is that passenger ships aren’t outfitted with guns or any other involved defenses. Ferry ships are extremely massive passenger ships designed in Nova’s expansion era with the intent of carrying nearly a city’s worth of people across space, to populate new colonies. As suggested, most of these ships were built well before the war, so their defense capabilities weren’t geared for conflict.

The last category, as suggested, are warships. Most warships were manufactured during the war, but there are some that were recovered from pre-Quintesson era. These can range in size from the capacity of a small hotel to an entire military base, or even a city. Their scope is only limited by the ability to fuel them, and many warships were designed to act as mobile camps in the event of crisis and exodus.

As of the current day, the Decepticons have essentially been exiled. The last major conflict on Cybertron put the Autobots in control of most major territories and left both sides materially decimated. Until they can regroup and establish resource control again, the only real strategy the Decepticons have is to lay low and survive.

This leaves Megatron, Starscream, Soundwave, Lockdown, Ravage, and Knockout on the Determination, which is a small scale warship. Like many slapdash offensive craft, it is flimsy and unreliable, but currently their only real option.

You haven’t seen most of it, but I can give you some sneak peeks:

you’ll see what these are for very soon…

As of right now, that’s all I have for you on spacecraft! I hope that answered your question :) thanks!

[cowbeeboy]

“dutch and hosea groomed arthur (and john) into the outlaw life” yes definitely, but here’s the difference between dutch and hosea☝️

hosea did it with genuine, from the bottom of his heart, good intentions. hosea saw two orphaned children that had absolutely nothing and nobody and wanted to care for them, to give them something, a resemblance of a family, and yes that was the life of an outlaw but that’s all he knew, that’s all he had to give them. dutch however, saw an opportunity. an opportunity to raise those two kids and mold them into exactly what he needed; two soldiers. something he could use to his own benefit.

and it worked too, because that’s what arthur grew up to be; an errand boy.

[drabblesandimagines]

Careless

Clive Rosfield x female reader Minor FF16 spoilers as per, Gav says a swear or two

The boat ride back to the Hideaway is silent – odd considering the cargo onboard is a reason for celebration. Obolus is at the helm as usual and hasn’t dared to grumble once at the additional weight. The rescued Bearers – eight adults, one child – are curled up under blankets and sack cloth, the gentle bob of the water having lulled them to sleep. Gav is sat near them, keeping his eyes cast down in his lap. Torgal is fast asleep at your feet, snoring lightly after the exertion of the day. A number of Cursebreakers had stayed ashore, but there are a few onboard who are either admiring their boots or keeping their gaze on the horizon.

You’ve kept your eyes anywhere else but the two stormy blue ones that have been fixed solely on you since boarding the vessel. Clive is sat opposite, arms crossed, legs spread wide and you swear you can feel his glare burn.

Making any sort of prolonged eye contact with the outlaw before had done little else but cause your cheeks to flush. He was attractive, there was no denying that – even enemies had commented on it in fights, for Founder’s sake. The two of you had always got on well since he joined the Hideaway over five years ago and you’d been a liar if you hadn’t entertained the possibility of something more.

Not now, though.

Not with how furious he is with you.

It wasn’t even meant to have been a mission. Gav had accompanied you to Northreach for a supply run. He hadn’t been out scouting for a few days and had itchy feet, so he’d jumped at the chance to leave the Hideaway for a couple of hours, even if it meant acting as your pack chocobo. There were requests in from the Tub & Crown for spices and always an endless request for more herbs for the infirmary, so you’d headed to Northreach for the market there. The two of you had been walking down a less travelled path towards Clairview when a unique accent had caught your ears, heading your way.

Royalists.

Gav’s eyes widened and the two of you ducked back into the undergrowth, thankfully free of fiends. For a couple of weeks now, there had been unconfirmed intelligence that the Royalists had been abducting Bearers and shipping them out to Ash at an alarming rate. A couple of Cursebreaker groups had been out trying to scout possible docking locations, but nothing had ever been confirmed.

But what else would a small group of Royalists be doing in the Empire? From your hiding place, three soldiers quickly march by, a Branded child of no more than eight in their grip. Tears streaked the young girl’s face and it broke your heart, flinging your mind back to when you’d been young and sold between master and master…

“Do you think…?” Gav doesn’t finish his sentence as they walk out of earshot.

“It must be. Come on, we need to follow them.”

Gav’s hand grabs your arm and holds you in place.

“Look, I admit we’re decent with a blade but we have no idea what we’ll be walking into.”

“This could be our only chance – this is the first concrete evidence we’ve had.”

“I know, but there’s two of us. There might be a whole battalion of soldiers where they’re headed.”

You bite your lip – you agree, but there must be something you can do. The terror in the little girl’s eyes will haunt you the rest of your life if you don’t. Maybe, if one of you could go and get back-up, the other follow the Royalists and leave a trail… Gav. It would have to be Gav.

“Go get back-up, then follow the scent.”

“Wait, you’re not-“

“They want Bearers. I’m a Bearer, aren’t I?” You swiftly take off your leather armour and sword belt, handing them over to scout who is staring at you in disbelief.

“Aye fucking right!”

“Clive had a missive from the Dame early this morning, so he should be in Northreach by now. There’ll be more Cursebreakers there too. Fetch them and then put that scouting nose to good use. I’ll leave an excellent trail for you to follow.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“I am. Trust me, Gav. I trust you.”

“Oh, pile the pressure on, why don’t you?” Gav sighs.

“You’re the best scout in Valisthea, no such thing as pressure. See you soon.”

You jog off before Gav can get another word in, leaving him in disbelief. It doesn’t take long to catch up with the Royalists ahead on the path and, without much thought of what you were doing, you dash past, stumbling on purpose and crashing to the ground in front of them.

They curse, two drawing their weapons immediately and the third keeping a tight grip on the child already in their custody. You hold your hands up in front of you, looking up at them, and begin to draw aether in deliberately slowly before a blade is pointed towards your chest.

“What’s this – a Bearer without a Brand?” The sword-wielder sneers, leaning down and pulling you up to your feet by your collar. “I’d say what a pity, but you’ve stumbled straight into our lap.”

“No,” another blade is held against your chin, forcing your head to the side. “She’s had it removed.”

“Isn’t that clever?” The first soldier circles you in interest. “Doesn’t matter if you’re Branded or not to us, though, you’ll still do.”

He grabs you by the back of the neck and forces your head down, his other hand twisting your arm around your back and pushes you forward in a march. It’s hard to see where to walk so your footing is clumsy as you try to remain upright. It helps in a way as you’re trampling the plants underfoot  – hopefully enough for Gav to follow easily.

Eventually, you step out into a clearing and although your neck is still held, they allow you to raise your head at last to allow you to see a small carriage and a Chocobo waiting, with more Royalist soldiers mulling around. The carriage itself is tiny – it’s not one for passengers but for a small trader pedaling their goods. The doors are open, revealing a number of Bearers crammed already within its confines.

There’s a soldier with a pile of shackles and metal collars at his feet, waiting to prepare his cargo. You and the child are marched forward before you’re spun round and your hands are shackled tightly behind your back, swiftly followed by a metal collar fastened around your throat. A chain is then linked between the two, taut enough that it’s uncomfortable to find a balance. If you let your hands hang behind you, the chain goes tight and the collar presses tightly against your windpipe. You’re then pulled forward and shoved into the dark carriage, trying to shuffle yourself upright around the other captives.

The little girl is shoved in next and, as the doors close, plunging the carriage into darkness, you consider that this maybe wasn’t the best idea.

--

It’s hot – too many bodies crammed together in this cramped space. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth – what you’d do for a sip of water. It’s hard to try and get comfortable or anything resembling that. If you lean wrong the chain between the collar and the shackles tugs at your throat. The carriage is silent besides grunts of pain, gasps and soft sobs. One of the adult Bearers is doing their best to comfort the little girl, at least.

You want to reassure them, tell them you have a plan, your friends are coming… but you can’t quite find your voice in the moment.

After an unknown period of time, the carriage eventually sets out on its journey, rocking you and your fellow captives from side to side. You can only hope Gav picked up the trail you left, desperate as it was.

No – you know he will. There’s nothing you can do now you’re within the carriage, but you take solace in the fact the Chocobo and carriage wheels will leave trail – the amount of Bearers crammed in the small space will definitely gouge the earth underfoot.

It's hard to tell how long it’s been, but you’re hungry and even more thirsty by the time the carriage comes to an abrupt halt. The door is swiftly unlocked before the arm of a soldier reaches in, grabbing a Bearer at random by their shirt and pulling them out, causing them to wheeze as the collar presses at their throat.

The process is repeated until it’s your turn and you find yourself in a small cove at sunset, where a vessel bobs besides a dock far too small for it. The dock is obviously meant for fishing or rowing boats, but the Waloeders have improvised a narrow gangplank to board.

It’s a small merchant ship, shipping out Bearers right under the Empire’s nose.

You’re penned in by a group of soldiers and pulled forward one at a time to go up the narrow gangplank. Bearers are shaking and sobbing at the sight of the vessel – some know they aren’t going to survive the journey over and those that do will surely face a worse fate the other side.

Your stomach flips – you’re scared. The procession of Bearers continues at a pace. You are only a small group and the Royalists are obviously well-practised – it’s a professional operation. You dread to think of the numbers of Bearers they’ve shipped over so far.

You’re one of the two left on the cove when you’re yanked forward again by your top with such ferocity you nearly fall, being pushed towards the dock. If you get on that ship, it feels like it’s over.

Come on, Gav.

You’re only one step up the gangplank where there’s a yell from further up the cove.

Without warning, a cyclone of fire envelopes a group of soldiers standing guard, filling the air with the smell of scorched flesh and pained screams. As the fiery vortex dwindles, Clive emerges, sword aloft and looking mad as hell.

From behind him, Gav swings his own sword before the other Cursebreakers run into sight, engaging the remaining Waloeder soldiers. The guard escorting you on the ship pushes you forward, shouting something in an Ashen tongue to his brethren on the shore.

Green tendrils of light wrap around your captor and yank him back with the strength of Garuda onto the beach where Clive slices him down. You can see that the Cursebreakers have made quick work of the rest – the sand of the cove now stained a rusty red.

“You found us.” You breathe out in relief, walking back cautiously onto the dock and the sand where Clive stands, panting slightly in exertion. He sheathes his sword quickly and places his hands on your shoulders, his eyes scanning you.

“Are you hurt?”

You go to shake your head but then decide against it, worried about the collar pressing against your windpipe again at the movement.

“I’m fine.” Your voice is a little hoarse from the thirst and constriction. “There’s seven on the ship, including a child – we need to…”

“On it!” Cole calls, darting past onto the ship.

Clive looks relieved for a moment.

“What were you thinking?” He growls, frustration etched all over his face. “No, you can’t have been thinking because if you had been, you would’ve realized this was irrational.”

“It was our only chance.”

“No, it wasn’t. This was reckless, foolish-“

“I, er, found these keys on one of the bastards.” Gav interrupts, holding them out in evidence. “Thought you might want those off, like.”

Clive grunts in appreciation, taking them from Gav’s outstretched hand and stepping around the back of you. He makes quick work of the shackles around your wrists and you immediately bring them round to your front, rubbing the feeling back into them. Despite Clive’s obvious frustration with you, he gently brushes your hair out of the way and places a firm hand on the back of your head as he inserts the key in the collar. The relief at the sound of the lock releasing is indescribable as the metal ring is finally removed from your neck. You imagine it had been to keep the Bearers compliant on the journey across the strait.

“Thank you.”

Clive steps back round to the front of you, mouth open, obviously ready to continue with his lecture but Gav gestures behind. “You should get the others out of those chains, Clive.”

“Right.” He nods at you, though with how high his shoulders are you know it’s not the end of it. He turns and meets the first Bearer cautiously walking back down the gangplank, speaking to them in a gentle tone.

Gav flings his arm around your shoulders. “Come on, let’s get you some water, eh?”

--

“Sit.” Clive points at the bench and you obey without hesitation. You thought you’d be sent off to the infirmary with the other Bearers, but as soon as you were on the loading dock Clive had placed a firm arm around you and escorted you directly to his chambers without a word.

You’re not sure you’ve ever sat on the bench before – any business between the two of you was conducted standing at his desk, hovering over a map or a missive.

He removes his sword from his back, leaning it against the wall before detaching his sheath and cape. He then starts to pace back and forth, obviously wrestling with what to say. You want this over with already – your mind is already thinking of how nice it’ll be to lie down in your bunk - so you decide you’ll break the silence.

“Clive,” you start cautiously, “I understand it wasn’t a well-thought through plan, but it was the only option.”

That makes him stop in his tracks and he meets your eyes, his fists clenching by his sides.

“You could’ve died.”

“Aren’t we fighting for a world where Bearers and Dominants can live and die on their own terms? I knew what I was doing, I knew the risks.”

“That ship was moments from setting sail.”

“I know.”

“What if we hadn’t have found it in time?”

“You did, though.”

“What if we didn’t?” He growls.

“I did what I had to.”

“You did not have to do that.”

“I couldn’t stand by and watch them ship those poor people off, especially that little girl. And I knew Gav would be able to track them-“

“What if he didn’t?”

You sigh, exasperated. You’re going round in circles. “It’s foolish playing these ‘what if’ games! I’ve already admitted that, yes, it wasn’t the most solid of plans, but I did what I had to do. You go out there every day and risk your life, the Cursebreakers do the same.”

“You could’ve been shipped off to Ash.”

“So could’ve all those Bearers.”

“That is not my point.” He growls again in response, turning his back to you and placing his palms flat on his desk.

“Then what is your point, Clive? We do this every day.”

His palms curl up into fists once more.

“My point is that I would’ve never seen you again!”

He slams his fist down on the desk – not in anger, but frustration.

“That you would’ve been stolen away to Ash and Founder knows what would become of you there. That…”

His voice cracks.

“That I would’ve spent the rest of my days chasing what happened to the woman I love!”

There is a long pause as you digest his words. You must’ve misheard.

“Did you… did you say love?”

His shoulders sag in the moment.

“I’m in love with you.” He’s still talking to the desk. “I have been for months, maybe years – I don’t know.” His fists uncurl again.

“But when Gav told me what you’d done, I couldn’t breathe. It took all I had in me not for Ifrit to come out there and then and destroy every being in my path until I saw you safe and unharmed.”

He turns then, strides over to you and drops to his knees, taking your hands in his own and looking up at what you can only imagine is your shell-shocked expression.

“I cannot lose you. Not you.”

“Clive, I…”

“I have tried to contain my feelings.” He continues. “I promise you I have tried, but I cannot do so any longer. Not when you are being so careless with what I hold most dear.” His eyes are watering, unable to hold his emotions within. “I understand that you do not feel the same but, please, do not break my he-“

You lean forward and cut him off, placing your lips on his own in a quick, chaste kiss before pulling back, leaving him speechless.

“You’re wrong.”

Clive does not need another word, wrapping his arms around you and kissing you almost frantically, like it might be his only chance. You run your fingers through his hair as you nip his lip, slipping your tongue in his mouth and matching his relentless pace. He stands, suddenly, bringing you up to stand with him. Barely another moment passes before he slides his hands down to your thighs, hoisting you up in his arms. You wrap your legs around him and he takes a step back…

The doors to Clive’s chambers fly open.

“Whoa!”

You and Clive pull apart, stunned. Gav is stood in the doorway, covering his eyes with his hand at the scene before him. “Sorry, I should’ve knocked. Erm…” He takes a blind step back, trying to find the doorway again to exit. “Tarja wanted to see the two of you for a check-up, like, but I’ll… I’ll tell her you’re taking care of that yourselves.”

“Thank you, Gav.” Clive nods, smirking, as he drops you gently back down to your feet. “I owe you a drink.”

“Many drinks.” The scout turns swiftly, and the door clunks shut behind him.

“Now, my lady,” he grins, placing a hand on your cheek, “where were we?”

--

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

[thinkingotherwise]

He's so cheeky, my little outlaw - I adore him

I'm your idiot

Cidolfus Telamon x reader

As the leader of Hideaway, Cid took it upon himself to provide the equipment needed for their base. And so, he frequently visited cities to barter with people and also have something to relax after the tiring days of work. You somehow tagged along to a couple of the trips feeling a little too trapped sitting only in the Hideaway.

Cid knew that taking you with him to the city would be a mistake. You were like a magnet bringing trouble wherever you appeared. You always told him it was because others were too dumb and couldn't take on constructive criticism, and well you just weren't that patient with them. But in reality, you were his troublemaker. The little spark of excitement and chaos in his already adventurous life.

It was so easy to predict how the whole outing would turn out even before he saw you running towards him. He was almost fooled by the grin on your face but when he saw a couple of soldiers behind your back he relented. A sigh left his body and smoke filled his vision momentarily. He put down the cigarette from his mouth and quickly downed the rest of his drink, some of it spilling on his leather glove. The cup made a distinct sound as it touched the counter.

The sound of footsteps grew louder and your chuckle echoed in his ears. He turned in your direction only to be immediately swept as you grabbed his hand and pulled him behind you. "Well, hello. Please do enlighten me, why are we running this time?" His voice was playful but also unimpressed as he kept up with you moving through the streets. "Later, now we need to lose them." You replied sending him a swift wink which made him snort.

In front of you appeared a crossing and your eyes followed the different ways to decide which one would be the best but just before you made up your mind your arm went flying toward Cid as did your body. He pulled you to his side and through a little alleyway to a wooden bridge that proved to be a good enough hideout.

Your back touched the side of his chest as his hand sneaked around you and covered your mouth. The sound of surprise that you let out was quietened by the leather covering his palm and he sent you a cheeky grin when you side-eyed him. "Just a moment." He muttered quietly in your ear. When the footsteps of the soldiers that were following you disappeared his glove left your face and you wiped your lips with your hand right after. "Did you drink again?" You looked at him with a grimace that he didn't invite you but sent you out to do his job.

"Just a little taste while I was waiting for you." He replied swiftly but when your eyes still bore into him he added. "I couldn't start working with my mouth dry." You hummed at that and opened your mouth to say more but he continued trying to change the topic. "So tell me now why were the soldiers following after you?" His grin appeared again and he leaned his back against one of the wooden poles that were holding the bridge.

"Pff.. Don't think I'll forget about it when you change the topic. But just so you know they were playing around making more work for the people here." You told him shortly omitting most of the stuff that happened and he knew exactly why. Cid was very aware he would be listening to you talk about it on your way back to the Hideaway so he was the one to give up on the topic. "You're such an idiot." He summarised but his voice was full of affection and teasing. His eyes met yours and you waited for him to continue. Waited for the famous 'but'. Yet it didn't come and you furrowed your brows. "But..." You started wanting him to continue on.

The silence was getting louder and you looked around becoming more impatient before your gaze fell to him. His smirk made you even more irritated. Your eyes squinted and you slapped his arm to make him talk. "What?" He let out in between his deep chuckle. Seeing you irritated like that brought him joy and paid him back for getting you out of trouble. Not wanting to let him win fully you pursed your lips. "But I'm your idiot." You stated and leaned closer to him sending him a little wink.

Keeping you still in suspense he brought out a cigarette placing it in his mouth. Your hand went to snatch it but he grabbed it between his own fingers moving it to the side. His face then closed in on yours and he placed a quick kiss on your lips. "Yes yes, my idiot." The words were muttered keeping the distance to you as close as possible before he pulled away. The cigarette found its way back to his mouth and he lit it easily before emerging from under the bridge and moving deeper into the city making you follow after him with a pleased smile on your face.

[hand-written-dreams]

CRIMSOM SHADE

Prologue

The Monster in the Shadow

How can such an innocent women have

Such dangerous hands?

- ( The song of the Chapter is "Dangerous Hands" by Austin Giorgio.

2 Weeks ago

A shadow loomed in the dark stillness of the night.

A pair of eyes gleamed.

The eyes of a predator.

Eyes like fire and thunder, laced with venom.

Multiple computers flickered to red all of a sudden. Someone had dared to invade the monster's lair. He was at once thrilled and in awe of the audacity of the intruder, "TheSwallow."

TheSwallow had breached the first layer of firewall the monster had built around his empire of dark web.

And the monster was no stranger to TheSwallow.

He knew her.

He had stolen from her.

How did the monster know the intruder was a "her"? Experience. Years of navigating in the dark corridors of hacking taught him to distinguish between a "he" and a "she". The "she"s usually had a specific style in writing code. These codes in his screens were so damn gorgeous to be written by a man.

The "she"s were very rare in the hacker business, but when there was a "she", it was a fucking spectacle to behold.

Just like what's transpiring right now.

The monster could kiss her dainty little fingers for the show she was putting on. So sexy, so sensual.

A smile curved in the corner of his lips.

His smile was a blade wrapped in silk.

A sinister mixture of danger and delight.

It was time to lay a trap for the little bird. Let’s see how the swallow fared in the sky of the eagles.

Chapter 1

A Serpent in the Eagle's Den

Did you really think

I'd just forgive and forget.

- ( The song of the Chapter is "I see red" by Everybody loves an outlaw)

TheShadowMonster

It's the name she hates the most in the whole universe right now. Who is TheShadowMonster? She doesn't know. No one knows. He is a notorious hacker on the dark web, the lord of that shadowy world. Hackers all over the globe admire him, some worship him and others wet their pants at the mere mention of his name. He is a name of admiration, reverence, and fear in their world.

Khushi Sen Gupta used to admire him, even worshipped him in certain weak moments, but not anymore. Right now, she hates his guts.

TheShadowMonster is a thief.

He has no morals.

As if growing up in a notorious mafia family in Kolkata wasn't bad enough, now she has to deal with this setback in her secret life as well.

Yes, Khushi Sen Gupta is a hacker.

A highly proficient one.

A childhood full of mommy issues and daddy issues does that to you, when you find computers more emotionally available to you than your own parents.

And, Khushi Sen Gupta is a born genius. She discovered the language of computers when she was 8 years old, and since then, she never looked back.

Her father, Sashidhar Sen Gupta is the Deputy Commissioner of Police in Kolkata. Behind that badge, he is also the most corrupt in the country's history, not that anyone knows about his crimes. He is a member of 'The Serpents,' one of the three families that established the mafia in this country in the fifties.

The infamous 'Triad.'

Three powerful families came together to form an organized mafia syndicate that have been dominating the country for decades. These families swore to follow the laws laid down by The Godfathers and to stand by each other in times of need.

In every family, there’s The Boss, often called The Godfather, the unquestioned head who rules the entire empire. Just beneath him is The Underboss, The Heir, waiting in the shadows to take the throne. On par with the Underboss in power is The Consigliere, the trusted advisor who, though not bound by blood, holds the family's fate in his hands.

Beneath this triad of authority are the captains, who oversee specific operations and territories, managing their own teams to ensure the family's orders are executed with precision. At the end of the food chain are the foot soldiers, who carry out day-to-day tasks on the streets.

When territories were being distributed, the then head of the Serpents, Samol Kumar Jha, claimed West Bengal and its borders. They started operating from there. The Sen Gupta family had the honor of being The Consiglieri of The Serpents from the very beginning and they have held that position ever since.

A Consigliere is someone who is not related to the family by blood.

An outsider to the family,

But not an outsider to the mafia society.

He offers legal and financial counsel to The Boss while shielding them from impending threats.

That is Khushi's father now.

The Consigliere of the Serpents.

The Serpents have been ruling West Bengal for decades, but a few years ago, they moved to Delhi when The Boss of that time, Prakash Narayan Jha, decided to dip his toes into politics. As a result, the Sen Gupta household also relocated to Delhi. Even after The Boss was mysteriously murdered, they didn't move back. The Serpents now operate their business in Kolkata from Delhi, as the brother of the deceased boss took over that part of the business a few years ago, giving The Heir a chance to pursue his other interests. The Heir wants to venture into even more dangerous games.

The Politics.

The son of the deceased boss, Shyam Manohar Jha, is eager to try his luck in the political arena, just like his father.

People call him "The Viper".

A fitting description of his nature.

The second family of The Triad is the Mumbai Wolves. As the name suggests, Mumbai is their territory. Khushi knows very little about them. She never had to. In her entire 22 years of life, she hasn't crossed paths with any of them. But she could vaguely recall that the boss's daughter was killed last month, brutally and brazenly, in broad daylight, such an insult to the power the Wolves possessed. The news sent shockwaves through the underworld, leaving everyone on edge and wary of a brewing storm ahead.

And the last but not the least, the most notorious of them all.

The Black Eagles.

Here she stands, right in the heart of their territory.

It’s not that people from one family can’t visit another’s territory. The Serpents have basically been living in Delhi, which is the Black Eagles' domain, for the past two decades. However, a rule has been established. The Serpents can’t meddle in The Eagles' affairs. So, Khushi being here wouldn’t be an issue if it weren’t for two facts, first, the Serpents and the Black Eagles don’t see eye to eye, and second, she came here to stick her tiny nose in their business.

The serpents and the Eagles are enemies, they have been for a long time, bound by a fragile alliance that forces them to tolerate one another. What turned once-friends into bitter foes? That’s a long story, one best saved for another time. For now, there's a more pressing issue to focus on.

Her whereabouts.

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.

It is a mistake.

It can't be nothing but a mistake.

A grave one in nature.

Entering enemy territory like this!

But it is a mistake she has to make.

There's a party going on, a costume party with masks, nonetheless. At least it will be a tad bit easier to hide her identity.

The knives strapped to both of her thighs are biting into her skin, adding an extra notch to her already frayed nerves.

Ignoring the pain in her thigh, Khushi simply observes the scene in front of her. She has been preparing for this night for days. She has meticulously transformed her appearance for the evening. The long black sleeveless gown conceals the knives. She's paired the dress with a simple black lace mask. Her dark hair is curled into long waves with lips painted a vivid red.

It is anything but her.

But it is absolutely essential for her plan to remain unrecognizable.

She forces herself to maintain an air of nonchalance. She feigns drinking from the wine glass in her hand, but her eyes are locked on the crowd, never losing focus. A few sips of the drink might have soothed her jittery nerves, yet she refrains. A crystal clear focus is more crucial than any illusion of liquid courage.

The party is being held in the sprawling lawn of a grand mansion owned by a businessman associated with the Black Eagles. The mansion comes alive with the vibrant energy of the party, where twinkling fairy lights drape the trees, casting a warm glow across the night.

Laughter and music fill the open space, a lively symphony of chatter and clinking glasses. Guests mingle in elegant attire, their faces hidden behind an array of intricate masks, each more ornate than the last.

The scent of fresh blooms from the immaculately manicured hedge fills the air. She scans the softly glowing lawn area from the shadows of one of those hedges, observing faces she recognizes from the news over the years. She watches as the soldiers of the Eagles parade around with women mostly decorating the arms of the men they are with, just like those lavish centerpieces, adorning the beautifully arranged tables.

"Mr.Rathore, so nice to see you."

A man's loud greetings draw her attention. Khushi studies the man being greeted. He stands tall, his slender yet agile frame filling out the sharp lines of his tailored suit, a classic black that contrasts with his neatly combed white hair. The burden of age is visible on his face, etched deeply with wrinkles.

Vikrant "the Butcher" Singh Rathore.

The Boss of The Black Eagles.

Everyone in her world has some sort of crimson stain on their hands. But his hands bear the darkest stains of blood, deeper and more haunting than anyone else, the darkest shade of crimson.

They call him "The Butcher" for a reason.

His cold-blooded attitude is a thing of admiration in their world. Khushi has been around men like him in her life long enough not to let that shake her, or at the very least, to ensure none of it betrays her perfectly stoic face, carefully honed through years of practice.

Standing beside him is his son, the Prince of the Rathore Empire, Akash Singh Rathore. A tall, leanly built, lanky man. His role within the Eagles is still uncertain. Rumor has it that the Junior Rathore wants to leave the mafia world, not a promising prospect for the Rathore family, with an heirless empire hanging in the balance.

Those men in the eastern corner of the lawn care very little about the masquerade, standing barefaced while others conceal themselves behind masks. Good for Khushi. Nonetheless, she has studied them so much over the past few days that she will recognize them anywhere whether masked or unmasked, veiled, or unveiled.

Khushi finally lets herself take a little sip of the red liquid for the first time that night. The bitterness of the wine burns her throat, a spark compared to the burning hate prickling her skin as her eyes wander to the man who stands silently beside Junior Rathore.

The man she has come here for.

Arnav Singh Raizada.

The Consigliere of the Black Eagles.

The Vulture.

Her eyes trace over him, lingering on every detail. He stands tall in an all-black suit. The black shirt underneath has its top three buttons open in absence of a tie. His black hair is slightly messy, as if he has just run his fingers through it. He has his gaze fixed on the man in front of him with the most bored, expressionless face she has ever seen. It’s hard to see his eyes from this distance.

But she knows they are brown.

Light chocolate brown.

Like caramel and chocolate mixed together, sprinkled with a hint of orange and green if you get the right angle.

Eyes like shadow and flame.

Eyes that could kill you, literally and figuratively.

She's observed pictures of him in great detail, just for research purposes to be absolutely clear.

Purely and absolutely.

Not because she finds him attractive or anything. Like right now, she can't take her eyes off the handsome man, not because his well-built body is flexing in all the right places as he shakes someone's hand, but because of the stories she has heard of him over the years since he returned from the States seven years ago.

The words have it that after Senior Rathore's retirement, he will be the boss of The Black Eagles, not Junior Rathore. They say Vikrant Singh Rathore favors Mr. Raizada over his own son. In parts, Mr. Raizada even bears a closer resemblance to Senior Rathore than to his own father.

Arnav "The Vulture" Singh Raizada.

He is The Vulture among The Eagles.

In the mafia world, he is known as 'the vulture'. Whereas in the business world, people refer to him by the acronym, ASR. He is the son of the former consigliere of The Black Eagles, Arvind Singh Raizada. Arvind Singh Raizada and Vikrant Singh Rathore were best friends. After Arvind was murdered, his wife tragically ended her life by taking matters into her own hands. Soon after that, Senior Rathore sent the only surviving Raizada to the USA to study at Harvard.

At the age of 25, Mr. Raizada took over the reins of Rathore Industries. It primarily consists of high-end fashion houses, garment factories, and various other business ventures. He transformed the once-dying company into a Fortune 500 corporation. People say his net worth is over 500 million dollars, with some even claiming it is more.

But the more impressive thing is how he got his nickname. He cleared away all their illegal affairs and whitewashed all of their black money, giving them the squeaky clean reputation in the entire mafia world in the police database. Under the shade of the massive wings of The Vulture, The Eagles can now easily operate their business without any hitch.

Such a waste of a Harvard education, Khushi huffs.

There's a saying in her world that became popular in the last few years, "When the vulture surrounds you, try not to die."

He has the reputation of being the deadliest Eagle of them all, the most predatory. He rarely goes on a hunt though, but when he does, it's said to be over in the bat of an eye.

He goes straight for the jugular.

No distractions.

No playing around with the prey.

But no one ever saw him in action. Her bodyguard-turned-driver, Mohan, thinks they are all just rumors The Eagles have spread to instill fear among the masses regarding the next in line.

She fakely smiles at a waiter who offers her some desserts. Slightly raising her wine glass, she pretends to take a sip once again. She keeps her inspection ongoing from under the rim of her glass. She is right. Mr. Raizada does run his fingers through his hair a lot. The tattoo on his hand catches her eye.

He has a tattoo of a swallow on his right hand. Her favourite bird.

She even named her hacker ID "TheSwallow." She yearns for the freedom of the bird and wants to fly away to a far-off land one day. She doesn't want to be frowned upon like the peacock or the swan. She wants to be free, lost in the crowd like a normal human, not caged away in a castle.

She feels bad for the bird inked into his skin. Such a pretty bird to be trapped on the hand of such a despicable man. Just as he has caged the swallow forever in his skin, The Vulture has robbed her of her freedom as well.

She worked tirelessly throughout her years at IIT Delhi to gather information and evidence about the crimes committed by his father and the Serpents, so that by the end of her graduation, she could share them with the police in exchange of protection and escape from the country. She also coded a deadly virus that could evade any high-end security system, which she intended to sell on the dark web for a high price. But as she was transferring the data to the CBI, it stopped at the 10% mark, and all her data and the virus she created were gone. Abso-fucking-lutely gone. Not a single file remained on her computer. To make matters worse, her computer was formatted.

She was hacked by none other than TheShadowMonster. Why did the infamous hacker in the history of all hackers need to target someone like her? She has no idea. She was in the dark then, and she’s still in the dark now. She doesn't care about the 'why's, 'how's, or 'who's anymore.

She only knows that the information he has hacked is dangerous. It can demolish the entire mob world if it falls into the wrong hands. They can use it as leverage against the mob families, especially the Serpents, to achieve anything. And it has ended up in the worst hands possible.

The hands of an enemy.

She has been tracking the data and TheShadowMonster relentlessly for the past few days. She even managed to hack TheShadowMonster's server. All of this tracking has led her to Mr. Raizada. TheShadowMonster has sold the information to him. She discovered text messages, transactions, and every detail that pointed to the fact that the information was sold to Mr. Raizada in exchange for a huge amount of money.

And with that, all her escape routes have been blocked. She is trapped in this hellhole.

However, the thing is she can't stay in Delhi any longer. She can't afford to wait to collect more information against them as the day of her wedding approaches rapidly. She needs to retrieve the information tonight, at any cost, from none other than Mr. Arnav Singh Raizada.

She is going to kill The Vulture.

She knows it seems foolish and utterly illogical, but she has no other choice. Either she will kill him and obtain the information, or he will kill her and put her out of her misery. Either way, she will be free.

There is one more reason behind her desire to eliminate The Vulture.

Her only friend from university, despite her father's hovering and overprotectiveness, has vanished after the hacking incident. She doesn't want to assume the worst, but her efforts to track him down and her inquiries among other students led nowhere. Neil Kashyap, whom she calls NK, has vanished without a trace. She knows NK can remain untraceable if he wants, as he is skilled with computers and adept at erasing his online tracks as well. But Khushi is Khushi. She discovered a number NK shared text messages with before his disappearance, and that number belongs to Mr. ASR.

Khushi doesn't have time to cry over her pathetic life or the fact that she befriended someone sent by The Eagles to keep an eye on her. She not only befriended him but also made him her best friend for life.

The pathetic, lonely, friendless life that she has.

That is indeed a solid reason to kill Mr. Raizada, for giving her a best friend and then snatching it all away.

Author's note:Thank you for reading! Don't forget to leave your thoughts, I love hearing what you think! Stay tuned for more!

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@featheredclover @arshifiesta @phuljari @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @chutkiandchotte @arshisrabbaves @titaliya

[marveltrumpshate]

September 2024 MTH fills

Counting down the days until Preview Week? Here are some MTH fills to tide you over while you wait. :)

The best way to see all the fills that have been shared with us is our monthly roundups tag or our #MTH-fills channel on our Discord, but you can also view them through the following methods:

Our Tumblr tags: 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022, 2023

Our AO3 collection (only has works posted to AO3; see "subcollections" for specific auction years)

Completed works tag list

To find specific content, use our completed works tag lists above which includes instructions on how to search for a particular character, gen or romantic relationship, universe, and fanwork type. 

GEN/PLATONIC RELATIONSHIPS

Alpine & Bucky Barnes

Yavannie/@heyitsyav - Art of Bucky on a motorcycle with Alpine on his shoulder and Nat swinging in on a rope for @callmekayyyyy (MTH 2022)

Alpine & Bucky Barnes & Clint Barton & Lucky

@3twindragons - Bucky/Clint art of Bucky back hugging Clint on the couch as Alpine and Lucky try to catch and eat pizza slices tumbling out of Clint's pizza box for @hannahshattuck

Bucky Barnes & Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov

@uofmdragon - "Home on the Range (Where the Raptors and the Compeys Play)" (Western with dinosaurs AU fic featuring Bucky/Nat and Clint & Bucky & Nat with some minor Peggy where outlaws Clint and Nat find an amnesiac Bucky) for @drivingyelenabelova (MTH 2022)

Clint Barton & Loki

@iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid - "The Devil You Know" (post-Avengers canon-divergent fic where Clint and Loki are forced to team up) for kerravonsen (MTH 2022)

Steve Rogers & Morgan Stark

Lady Gigi - An MCU comic page of Steve spending the day with Morgan for @magicasen

Yelena Belova & Natasha Romanov

@kerravonsen - "Hugs and Kisses, Barbed Wire, and Fireflies" (Yelena & Natasha-themed necklace and earrings showing their love and sisterhood) for @moonyroony

Yelena Belova & Liho & Natasha Romanov

Sanctuaria/@aleksandrachaev - Art of Natasha, Yelena, and Liho chilling on the couch watching a movie for @skarabrae-stone

SHIPS

Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton

3twindragons - Art of Bucky back hugging Clint on the couch as Alpine and Lucky try to catch and eat pizza slices tumbling out of Clint's pizza box for hannahshattuck

Bucky Barnes/Howard Stark

@ruquas - The third installment of a wartime epistolary fic in the form of handwritten letters between Bucky and Howard for @fuckyeahhowardstark

Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov

Yavannie/heyitsyav - Art of Bucky on a motorcycle with Alpine on his shoulder and Nat swinging in on a rope for callmekayyyyy (MTH 2022)

uofmdragon - "Home on the Range (Where the Raptors and the Compeys Play)" (Western with dinosaurs AU fic featuring Bucky/Nat and Clint & Bucky & Nat with some minor Peggy where outlaws Clint and Nat find an amnesiac Bucky) for drivingyelenabelova (MTH 2022)

Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers

@buckybarnesdeservestobehappy - "Corporate Shill" (grumpy Steve/sunshine Bucky COVID-19 pandemic coffee shop AU fic) for @sofreakinmanyfandoms (MTH 2022)

BritBrit99 - Red and yellow gold star wrapped in green thread based on controlofwhatido's Steve/Bucky fic for @controlofwhatido

@cristinuke - "peace, beneath" (MCU D/S Steve/Bucky fic where Bucky has a complicated relationship with his designation) for @zepysgirl (MTH 2022)

@messypeaches - "Fearful Symmetry" (post-CA:CW AU fic where Bucky is a werecat and Pepper has Extremis) for Dogsled

@zenaidamacrouras1 - "A Passel of Backhoes" (non-powered Steve/Bucky AU fic featuring Appalachian Bucky's OC sisters from the "Backhoe" universe) for @thegirldetectivesblog - "Only the Good Die Young" (paramedic Bucky/Captain America Steve AU fic) for @gloromeien

Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

buckybarnesdeservestobehappy - "The Coffee Goes Cold" (Before the Coffee Gets Cold-inspired AU boxer Bucky/soldier Steve/CEO Tony magic AU fic) for @capsgirl1990 (MTH 2022)

Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark

@sivan325 - "Buck by any other name" (Bucky/Tony 9-1-1 fusion fic where Bucky meets Buck while doing physiotherapy and they talk about their boyfriends) for @tehroserose

Carol Danvers/Maria Rambeau

onthecyberseas - "Finding Our Way" (post-The Marvels Carol/Maria Rambeau fic where Carol and Kate make significant discoveries as the Young Avengers go on their first mission) for @puzzlebean

Clint Barton/Phil Coulson

@ghostcwtch - Clint/Phil Star Wars AU art for uofmdragon

Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow

Dogsled - "How Does Your Garden Grow?" (post-CA:TWS Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow fic where Brock has to come to terms with his past after being burned in the fall of the Triskelion) for Mech (MTH 2022)

Nixie DeAngel/@nixies-creations - "What A Delightful Find You Are" (werewolf Jack Rollins/vampire Brock Rumlow AU fic and accompanying mood board) for @kalika999 (MTH 2022)

Matt Murdock/Foggy Nelson

Marvel_Kitten/@marv-with-a-v - "Blinded" (MCU Matt/Foggy fic where Matt struggles with resurfacing trauma after discovering how Madame Gao's disciples are initiated) for @kimmycup

thelonebamf/@amazing-spiderling - Illustrated fic cover of Foggy shaking vigilante Matt's hand for the MCU Matt/Foggy fic "All in Good Fun" for @missmoochy (MTH 2022) - Comic page of "Toy With Feelings," a Daredevil/Toy Story Matt/Foggy AU featuring an outraged Wilson Fisk porcelain doll as well as Matt, a fashion doll, and Foggy, a troll doll, hugging for missmoochy (MTH 2022)

Natasha Romanov/Original Character

zenaidamacrouras1 - "A Passel of Backhoes" (non-powered fic with Steve/Bucky in the background featuring Appalachian Bucky's OC sisters from the "Backhoe" universe) for thegirldetectivesblog

Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson

Yavannie/heyitsyav - CA:TWS Nat/Sam soulmate AU art of Sam showing Natasha her name on his arm in a bunker for @secondalto (MTH 2022)

Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

messypeaches - "Fearful Symmetry" (post-CA:CW AU fic where Bucky is a werecat and Pepper has Extremis) for Dogsled

Sam Wilson/Original Character

zenaidamacrouras1 - "A Passel of Backhoes" (non-powered fic with Steve/Bucky in the background featuring Appalachian Bucky's OC sisters from the "Backhoe" universe) for thegirldetectivesblog

Steve Rogers/Thor

@daisytarget - "Godlight" (Steve/Thor genderbent fic where Steve is a fallen Roman god and Thor stays on Earth after the Battle of New York) for @bulkyphrase and @alwaysabrighterdarkness

Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

@burntheedges - "Deal" (MCU Steve/Tony fic where Steve mother hens Tony when Tony gets a minor injury and needs to take it easy) for alwaysabrighterdarkness

hkandi/@hkandiu - "A little bit you, a little bit me" (MCU Steve/Tony fic where schedule conflicts interfere with their relationship) for @captainneverever

Nixie DeAngel/nixies-creations - "Always Have A Backup" (MCU Steve/Tony fic where Steve and Tony take Morgan trick-or-treating and accompanying mood board) for @gottalovev (MTH 2022) - "Be My Only Hope, I Beg Of You" (Steve/Tony AU fic where king consort Steve, married to Brock Rumlow, will do anything to sway warlord Tony to spare his people) for @sabrecmc (MTH 2022)

Yelena Belova/Kate Bishop

onthecyberseas - "Finding Our Way" (post-The Marvels Yelena/Kate fic where Carol and Kate make significant discoveries as the Young Avengers go on their first mission) for puzzlebean

[maddie-grove]

Most Common Problems Faced by My Childhood Dolls (Grouped by Type of Doll)

Baby/Companion Dolls: life-threatening diseases; bullying by other dolls at school; my dubious discipline style; my divorce from my imaginary husband Jake.

Groovy Girls: bullying by other Groovy Girls; life-altering gymnastics accidents; feet too unwieldy for go-go boots.

Barbies: false witchcraft accusations; real witches; tuberculosis; kidnapping; the time Ken and his brother Adam started a polygamous cult; bullying by other Barbies (whether in a normal high school or a beauty pageant or a cult); basically anything bad that happened to female movie stars in Hollywood under the studio system; the challenges of raising a million Chrissies and Kellies and Stacies and Skippers and similarly sized off-brand child dolls with little help from Ken or Adam; sibling rivalry (including an East of Eden-style mess between Ken and Adam).

Dollhouse Families: my friend Emily C. (I was Emily S.) stealing the mom doll from my old Fisher-Price family, leaving John (the dad) a widower, so when I got a new family a few years later, I decided that John should marry Patricia, the mom of the new family, which made it necessary for me to interpret Robbie (almost certainly meant to be a dad doll) as Patricia's teenage son, which was obviously very emotionally confusing for Robbie and exacerbated the usual tensions of a newly blended family.

Clothespin Dolls: Nancy, Alice, and Lily, the three charming clothespin dolls made by my genuinely talented great-aunt Beth in the 1960s or 1970s, were grown-up sisters who had a complicated dynamic (both Nancy and Lily had serious psychological and/or substance abuse issues, so Alice had to take care of them and Nancy's children and her own children) and also experienced nineteenth-century-literature-style problems, like diphtheria and ice-skating accidents and bear attacks. The clothespin dolls that I created myself as a tween/young teen were not as well-made, but their problems were generally limited to normal high school bullshit (not even the kind where you get poisoned or kidnapped!).

Miscellaneous Medium-Sized Figurines (mostly fast food toys of Disney characters and mini-Barbies): various passive-aggressive rivalries between groups (mini-Barbies vs. movie/TV characters, Disney vs. non-Disney, movie vs. TV, protagonist vs. non-protagonist, etc.); a lack of eligible bachelors (leading to unwise marriages, such as Belle from Beauty and the Beast marrying a temperamental Space Jam monster); ennui.

Playmobils: the Playmobils had a nearly utopian society, relatively free from poverty and class snobbery, and generally this diverse group of Union soldiers, stuffy Victorians, pirates, outlaws, royalty, horse girls, milkmaids, and fairies were able to work out their differences peacefully. However, all that progressive modernity had a dark side, most clearly illustrated by the Kafkaesque ordeal of Oliver, a boy who was imprisoned for no discernable reason by an evil psychiatrist and his social worker girlfriend despite the desperate efforts of his mother to free him. Intense wartime romances and infectious disease outbreaks were also common themes.

Fisher-Price Great Adventure Action Figures: these rather hideous but very fun toys (consisting of an anachronistic mix of knights, pirates, cowboys, and Robin Hood's Merry Men) belonged to my seven-years-younger brother, so we would play with them a lot while I was looking after him. Naturally there was a lot of military conflict and criminal activity built into our play (will Robin Hood and his friends be able to steal the treasure from the castle? Will the golden knights or the black knights win the big battle? Who will stop the stagecoach robberies?), but, to entertain myself, I would introduce storylines such as "the Golden Sword Knight is tired of being bullied by the other knights, so he runs away and goes to live in the forest with Robin Hood's gang, where he falls in love with a female outlaw" and "Little John starts a AC/DC-style rock band with two of the black knights and everyone hates it."

Fisher-Price Little People: easily the most provincial of the doll groups, the Fisher-Price Little People struggled with extreme class/wealth inequality, widespread adultery, child abuse, teen homelessness, practically non-existent resources for the disabled, sexual repression, a character known only as "The Pervert," and a killer clown. Every day they went to school and work, and every night they tried to find someone to hook up with and maybe got kidnapped. I only wish my brother and I had been in possession of the motel playset. Think of all the extramarital affairs and drug deals that could have happened there!

Polly Pockets: the Polly Pocket community was dominated by two wealthy factions, a nouveau riche pair of brothers with a beach party house and the royal family. Due to a severe job and housing shortage, plus the local men's habit of not acknowledging their natural children, ordinary Polly Pockets had to struggle and scrape. Compared with the Barbies, there was a lot of solidarity among women (and also Josh, the one working-class boy Polly Pocket). Many of the Polly Pockets were very fragile, including the alcoholic Cowgirl Becky and the agoraphobic piano player Penny.

Paper Dolls: intense status jockeying over who had the most/best clothes, mainly. They also fought about friendships and (if there were any of them) boys, but it ultimately came down to clothes.

[annwrites]

—born in the usa

got in a little hometown jam. so they put a rifle in my hand. sent me off to a foreign land. — vietnamvetbiker!billy x flowerchild!reader ; ☮𓍊𓋼𓍊☼

Billy sneers the moment his eyes settle on you.

You, who's wearing a short floral-print dress & sandals, with your hair in braids—small flowers littered throughout & a cream-colored headband above your brow—a small peace-sign necklace hanging between your soft breasts.

He drains the last dregs of his beer, standing, then throwing it on the asphalt, causing the bottle to shatter.

One of his fellow bikers jerk in surprise, turning toward him from his seat. "The hell, man?"

He points to you, who's occupied talking to your friend—Jean—who's been here before. She's been going with Jerry for the last few weeks.

Had Billy known she kept company with dirty tramps like you, though? Her first time visiting would've been her last.

"You know about this shit?" He asks, temper rising.

Danny holds his hands up in surrender. "Know about what, Billy?"

Billy shakes his head, stepping around the picnic table. "I've had enough of this fuckin' 'flower child' bullshit."

He makes a b-line toward you, large hands balled into fists, heart pounding as he stares you down, even if you are still yet oblivious to him.

"Hey!" He shouts.

You jump in surprise, turning to look at him.

Instead of getting the expected reaction of alarm from you, though, you instead smile warmly at him. "Hi."

He towers over you, hard eyes staring into your own as he roughly grabs your arm, squeezing. "You're not fucking welcome here. Get. Out."

"Why?" You ask softly, eyes flitting between his own.

His nostrils flare, his grip tightening.

"Because the sight of you makes me fuckin' sick. So, either you leave, or I'll make you. And you're not going to like it when I do, you stupid cunt," he spits.

You don't flinch. You don't bristle. You don't even so much as look at him in fear.

Your eyes slowly trail down, studying the various patches and pins on his kutte, until you raise a dainty hand, settling it over the patch of his Army rank.

Your eyes return to his.

"You're a vet," you state, with a tone of understanding.

He grits his teeth. "Somethin' you want to say about that, you fucking—"

You rise on tiptoes then, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing your body to his own as you run your fingers through his curls.

You turn your lips toward the shell of his ear.

"Welcome home, soldier," you whisper quietly.

He stills—his mind, along with his body.

Him—Billy Hargrove—VP of the Exiles MC & E-5 in the Army—dumbstruck like a goddamn fool by some young, starry-eyed hippie.

You pull back slightly, pressing a firm kiss to his cheek, cupping his right one in your left palm, your other holding the back of his head comfortingly, your fingertips gently massaging the back of his scalp.

You breathe in the scent of cigarettes and gasoline that seem to cling to his tanned skin. Your perfume, which smells of wildflowers, mixing in.

A moment later, you pull back yet again, looking at him—pleased to see the previous rage-filled look on his face to now be replaced with that of utter surprise.

And then you press your lips to his, smiling slightly when you feel his rough hands sliding into place against the small of your back, holding you close.

the year is 1968 & billy serves as vp of an outlaw—1%er—motorcycle gang, a title he quickly earned after climbing his way through the ranks after returning from vietnam the year prior; searching for a like-minded family which would understand the things he'd been through in the vietnamese jungles & paddy fields, all in the name of trying to make something of himself.

still angry & reeling from the war, however, he has a deep, seething hatred for any 'peace-loving' hippy he comes across—which is the epitome of who you are at-heart. the mantra of 'make love, not war' are words you strive to live by every day. including the one where the two of you meet at his mc's clubhouse.

you stoke his ire immediately—as he can tell just by your attire what you are—but when he confronts you with his explosive temper, you take him completely by surprise with what you do next, near-instantly wrapping him around your finger.

& so begins your summer of love...

headcanons:

reader has nothing against vets. she understands their anger. she is wholly about trying to heal others through love—which very much includes love-making. she simply sees all of them as her fellow human beings. that they were/are tools that were ground up & spit out by the inhuman machine that is their government.

she'll honestly sleep with anyone, bc she sees 0 shame in sex, nudity, vulnerability, etc.

a lot of the time, it is actually vets that she has relations with, bc having "moments of intimacy" means a great deal to her. such as those that come back missing limbs, or who have lost some part of themselves. she wants to give them that moment of manhood back.

she's 100% pansexual.

but the moment billy hesitantly asks her to be his girl? she's his. she will be faithful to him & him alone. just like that.

gentle & loving & affectionate as hell.

acts of service & physical touch.

just squeals & yells with glee the first time billy takes her for a ride on the back of his bike.

she's unlike anyone he's ever met. she's just so warm & open from the start.

wild flowers, cassette tapes, records, bell-bottoms, sneakers, headbands, sandals, peasant blouses, smoking joints, having sex in the sun, etc.

billy? guns, bikes, booze, bullets, leather, jeans, tattoos, fist-fights, rock music, boots, etc.

[carterstarlight25]

Hi everyone! So I been thinking hard on a rather unique 3way crossover that I been considering about writing. Please feel free to give me your input.

The 3 way crossover consist of DC x DP x Halo Infinite. With the ships being Jason and Danny (Obviously). Master Chief and Bruce as the second ship to be included. And Tim Simping for Katrina. (Cortana 2.0 from Infinite)

I see these possible dynamics being cute as Chief will learn how to be human, and how to love. Him and Team Phantom Finding Family. Also I don't mean the bull Chief pulled in the god awful Halo TV Show!

Bruce will learn that killing isn't an act of God. It isn't you kill once, and become a mindless murderer. That there is a difference, between a Soldier doing his duty to protect humanity and his loved ones. And a mindless killer, enjoying the horror of its victims as the bleed out with please for mercy. Effectively stealing their innocent lives... Oh also learn to not be as emotionally constipated after Katrina effectively out smarts him into a therapy session with Jazz Nightingale. (Last name changed after she saved Danny from the their parents lab…)

Danny will learn what it means to be apart of a family. And how screwed the GIW are.~

Jason, finds out he’s ghost pregnant and a heavy underdeveloped Halfa. All while the Pit becomes a full ghost that he ends up birthing. Which is gonna be a Dinosaur that will be Jason’s “Nightmare.” To his Fright Knight. (I am really wanting to go for Altispinax, or Spinax Vivosaur from Fossil Fighters series. But idk, might just use the Giga from Jurassic World Dominion. Just to change it up from what I seen people have the Pits become.

How Chief comes into the story however, would be introduced via Clockwork leaving a very obviously placed Halo Infinite Xbox Game case with a unmarked disc inside it. In an Alley Danny was taking refuge in. With a sticky note of course. And a few chapters in, when he was alone in Wayne Manor decided to play the game. And by Play. I mean go ghost and jump into the game. But of course. With his Fabulous Phantom Luck (trademark pending.) A new power began to make itself known as the code latched on him on his way out. Bringing Master Chief and Katrina to life in the real world, with all his memories and Katrina with the entire UNSC Database.)

While that’s how I plan to bring in Chief and Co. the main gist of this will be an all out battle, to destroy the GIW. Outlaws, Sirens, Chief and the entire Batfam Team up.

Despite the JL repealing the Anti Ecto Acts. A few Private donors continue to find them to get their hands on Ectoplasm. The League of Assassin’s, Lex Luthor. And of Course Vlad Masters will be the main villains connected to the GIW.

I can see Jason and Chief getting along like wildfire. And when Bruce finds out Jason is one leading the squad his kids, trying to get them to go on a date with Master Chief. It leads to some funny moments I would think. And of course can’t forget Chief reluctantly surprise appearance in Civies at one of Bruce’s Gala’s. (I kinda wanna make him wear Olive Green suit and dress pants. Black Bow Tie with a white under suit. Black belt. And an Olive Green Military Cap to hide his Neural Implant. Maybe having all his Medals from the service pinned to his chest. At least the ones that match ones in this universe. So not all of them obviously.

And Jason would absolutely catch his father freeze up when he sees the handsome Spartan.

For looks regarding Chief’s face since we don’t know what he looks like. I was thinking Caucasian Male, short brown hair that could be the right height to spike it up at least. Not a complete buzz cut. Rather bright blue eyes. That do not glow like Danny’s. But at least around that color. Of course he will have some scars on his left Temple, his lip and across his right eye. Freckles too. His muscle mass would of course be a bit more built then Jason. Which says something. But, you know. Super Soldier and all. (Update: I did in-fact Draw it ^^. If you want to see. Let me know if you wanna see Master Chief in a suit at the Gala ^^)

The Ages I was gonna go for was as follows.

Alfred: Immortal (Thanks Clockwork!)

John (Master Chief): 46yrs (I know it’s not his cannon Age. But it’s what I want for the story.)

Bruce: 45yrs

Barbara: 29yrs

Dick: 26yrs

Jazz: 21yrs

Jason: 21yrs

Cass: 20yrs

Sam: 20yrs

Danny: 19yrs

Duke: 19yrs

Steph: 19yrs

Tucker: 19yrs

Val: 19yrs

Tim: 18yrs

Ellie: 14yrs

Damien: 12yrs

Katrina: 6 months old

And that’s the little Fanfic I been thinking about. Of course it’s just an idea. but I think it would be fun to write.