#Deputy Dove

[suntails]

💙 best friends 💛

[quiverpaw]

if there's going to be some stupid meaningless war can we at LEAST get a conclusion to the ivy/dove conflict

[yuridovewing]

thinking about how ivypool thought dovewing got favoritism from the clan growing up and continued to enforce the idea that dove was an entitled bitch, and then she participated when the clan was manipulating and guilt tripping dovewing into a relationship with an entitled creep who didnt respect her, telling her she owed him affection

[derelictheretic]

OC KISS DAY 3: Anya Cherkov & Dove Ash — Cheek kiss

Thank you @deputyash for letting me use your lovely lady for this! <3

[perenlop]

tawnypelt and dovewing really feels like such a natural fit for a good bond between the two characters because tawnypelt has not only been in dovewings shoes in being ostracized from her birth clan over stuff she couldnt control and moving to shadowclan to feel close to family that does care about her, but i always got the impression that tawnypelt has made peace with her past, not stewing in bitterness over it. like, she knows shes from thunderclan, she knows shes the daughter of tigerstar, shes mature enough to just let all that slide now and focus on the life she’s built over there, but doesn’t hate her thunderclan family either, like she still cares about bramblestar clearly. so if she sees another thunderclan cat who left her clan because she felt ostracized and disrespected, i don’t think she’d go “EUGH ew im projecting my past onto her because i hate myself for what i did and outsiders BAD” i think she would be a good mentor figure for dove and help her adjust and get along with her new clanmates.

like if tawnypelt was apparently super bitter over all that and still hated thunderclan so much that she hated any cat that was from there, that doesnt come through in the text before her novella. she constantly goes over there for refuge she constantly confides in her brother she cares about where she came from but doesnt belong there. there is literally nooooooooo good reason for her to just hate dovewing besides the erins loving petty but boring drama that will never be expanded upon

[derelictlovefool]

Safe & Sound

Character(s): Dove Ash & Phoebe Ash-Seed (@deputyash), Caleb Sinclaire, Ace Sinclaire, Charmeine Seed & Dean Sinclaire

Summary: Dove gets a call that Dean has been captured and Caleb overhears it.

Warning(s): Cult mention, references to death

The static from the radio cuts off, Dove switching it off and putting it down on the kitchen table with her brows knitted together. Having Jerome inform her Dean had been captured by John's chosen was not how she'd planned her morning going, the knowledge spiking fear in her mind. He had been skirting the line these few months, pushing harder against the cult and no doubt irking the Herald to no end. It seemed he'd reached his limit and finally sent people after her friend and despite Dean's usual ability to evade them he'd failed this time.

A creak pulls her attention to the kitchen doorway, two wide, watery brown eyes stare back at her and she straightens up in her seat in surprise.

"Caleb," she reaches a hand out as the teens shoulders begin to shake, it was a shock to Dove's system. Caleb hadn't cried once in the whole time this mess was going on, at least, not in front of her. He seemed to be as strong as his father, always smiling and joking despite the circumstances they were all in. But right now he was shaking, holding onto the door frame with a death grip and sucking in shallow breaths.

"Hey, it's okay." She tries to soothe the boy, standing and slowly stepping towards him as his gaze falls to the floor along with the tears now streaming down his freckled cheeks.

"Are they gonna kill my dad?" He sobs, voice cracking as Dove gently rests her hands on his arms, pulling him away from the door and into a firm embrace. Her heart hammers in her chest, the same question swirling in her mind now fighting with what to say to Dean's son. She couldn't possibly know the answer but she didn't want to stress him more than he already was. 

"No. He's gonna get out of there, you know why?" She says, tone hushed to avoid the shake that would be there if she spoke any louder. Caleb's shaking hands cling to the fabric of her flannel and he can't seem to get any words out through his sniffles and sharp sobs.

"Because he knows you're waiting for him and he always comes back to you doesn't he?" Dove runs her hand through his short hair, wiping away the tears on his cheeks as he looks up at her. His face is red and eyes already puffy and he sniffles as she fixes his hair.

"Yeah… He does." He says weakly and Dove offers a reassuring smile. She tugs him into a tight hug, hoping more than anything she was right. They'd know by tonight, either Jerome would call or Dean would walk through the door. She really hoped it would be the latter. Caleb's breathing evens out after a few minutes of Dove rubbing comforting circles into his back and his grip on her shirt loosens by a small fraction.

"This isn't fair." Caleb whispers and Dove can only nod. It wasn't fair, nothing that was happening was, but it was complicated and there wasn't much they could do differently.

"Why can't he just stay here with us?" He asks, looking up at Dove and her mouth hangs open as she tries to think of a good enough answer.

"We need him more than everyone else does," Caleb continues, voice straining as tears well up in his eyes again. He bows his head and Dove sighs, resting her forehead against his brown hair. She felt helpless here, she couldn't leave them and go get Dean herself that would be irresponsible. But waiting for any news on Jerome's planned rescue was going to be agonising. For both of them.

"He's doing it for you Caleb, so you and your siblings can have your lives back. I know it's unfair but he's going to come back… And you can duct tape him to a chair then if you really want." Dove chuckles gently, trying to lighten the mood even if just a bit. Caleb giggles weakly and nods, offering a thankful smile up at her.

"Thank you… Will you tell me if…" He trails off, lip quivering at the mere thought of what he was implying and Dove squeezes his shoulders comfortingly.

"I won't have too because he'll walk through that door tonight safe and sound, okay?" Dove says firmly and Caleb stays silent for a moment before that shining resilience sparks in his eyes and he nods.

"Yeah, okay." Caleb lets go of her shirt to wipe his tear stained face and Dove walks to the sink to dampen a tea-towel. She walks back over to him and dabs at his flushed face, petting his hair as the last of his sniffles die down. As Dove puts the tea-towel away Charmeine and Phoebe bound into the kitchen, words incomprehensible as they grab at Caleb's hands and start dragging him out of the room.

Dove considers telling them to leave him be, thinking he might need the space, but the smile that blooms onto his face as they usher him out convinces her to leave it. Maybe the distraction would be good for him, she could use one of her own honestly. The quiet of the kitchen quickly gets to her, she walks out into the living room and smiles at the sight of Ace on the ground drawing on the spare paper Dean had brought back last week.

She walks over to him and sits across from him, the four year old offering a bright smile as she joins him.

"What are you drawing, hm?" She asks with a gentle smile.

"Bubba beating up the bad guys!" Ace replies, holding up the drawing for her to see. It has a crude stick figure of Dean in his uniform kicking a red blob of a figure in what Dove could only assume was its head. Her heart swells at the adorable drawing and she feels tears prick at her eyes as he goes back to colouring it in. 

"Your daddy is gonna love it."

Hours ticked by and there had been no sign of Dean or call from Jerome.

Charmeine and Phoebe had kept Caleb distracted by helping them build a fort in their temporary bedroom while Dove tried to distract herself by drawing with Ace. After the sun started to set and her hand began to shake from the growing anxiety however she had to step away, taking the radio with her and going up to the roof. She got a clear view of the road from there and she kept her eyes peeled for any sign of the other deputy.

Every second made her thoughts fly out of control more and more, the possibilities of what could be going on and what would happen if Dean didn't come back not letting her have any peace. She'd take care of the kids, there was no doubt about that, she cared about Caleb, Charmeine and Ace and she wouldn't leave them no matter what. But without their father they'd be wrecks and the County would be down one deputy. 

And without Dean hounding the cult, Dove had no idea how long it would take for the Seeds to hunt them down like they'd threatened all those months ago. And she'd lose the confidant she'd gained, the one person who understood the hardships of being a single parent and all that came with it. Her heart sank for all of the reasons combined, her hands clutching onto the radio and willing it to come to life for any kind of news. Just anything.

The distant sound of an engine catches her attention and Dove stands, grabbing the rifle she'd taken up to the roof with her and clipping the radio to her belt. She readied the gun just in case whoever coming down the road wasn't who she had been waiting for this whole time. Her amber eyes locked onto a quad as it came around the bend of trees, frantically trying to identify the person hunched over the handlebars.

Familiar brown eyes meet hers and relief floods through her, tense shoulders sagging as she sighs. She hurries to climb back inside, rushing down the stairs and moving the barricades to fling open the front door just as Dean stops in front of the porch. He was soaked from head to toe, covered in bruises and scratches but otherwise he looked fine. He was fine. 

Caleb rushes past her, knocking her off balance for a moment as he flings himself into his father's arms. Dean drops to his knees as he wraps his arms around his son, burying his face away in his shoulder and holding onto Caleb tightly. Dove tries not to cry as she walks over, kneeling down to rest her hands on Dean's shoulder and Caleb's back.

"I thought you weren't coming back." Caleb sobs and the sound is raw and painful, Dean's face twists into one of remorse. Obviously distraught that his son had to have such a worry. 

"I told you he would though, didn't I?" Dove says hushedly, squeezing Dean's shoulder and hopefully conveying how glad she was to have him back with them. Dean smiles at her before pressing a firm kiss to Caleb's head, pulling him back to wipe his face and press their foreheads together.

"Nothing could keep me from coming home to you, hear me? Nothing."

Caleb nods, crying freely as Dean presses another kiss to his forehead, pulling him back into the hug and grabbing onto Dove's hand to give it a thankful squeeze.

"Daddy you're back! Why are you wet?" Charmeine rushes out to join them, Phoebe close behind her with Ace holding onto her hand. Dove steps back to let Charmeine take her place, Dean wrapping his free arm around her and pulling her into the hug as well. 

"Just went for a swim in the river honey," Dean says gently and Charmeine nods, seemingly accepting the answer but her blue eyes watch Caleb's shaking shoulders with growing confusion.

"Were you fighting the bad men again?" She asks quietly and Dean shares a look with Dove, one they'd shared many times over the run on months. It was hard explaining to the kids what was going on, Charmeine and Phoebe were only seven and there was no way they could fully understand the threat they were all facing. Ace even less so.

"Yeah I was, but I had some friends helping me this time." Dean answers, brushing his daughter's hair out of her face and watching her process the information. She nods and reaches out to her brother.

"Daddy's okay Caleb, he beat the bad men!" She smiles and Caleb nods weakly, breaths riddled with hiccups and sniffles. Dean hooks his arms under his knees and hoists him up as he stands, holding him close as he walks up to Dove on the porch. Charmeine hot on his heels and Ace grabbing onto his pants when he was in front of the doorway.

"Thank you for taking care of them, are you okay?" He asks, voice gentle as Charmeine walks back inside with Phoebe.

"I'm fine, are you okay? What happened?" Dove asks and Dean lets out a strained chuckle.

"Been better… I'll tell you later, I think we could all use some rest right about now."

Dove couldn't argue with that, she was emotionally wrecked and she could only imagine how Caleb was feeling. She follows Dean back inside, closing and locking the door behind her and shoving the heavy drawer back in front of it. She follows Dean and the kids up to the playroom, smiling gently as Charmeine and Ace usher him into the crude pillow fort and he lays down with Caleb latched onto him with no intention of letting go.

"Come on mom, you can sleep next to me!" Phoebe grabs her hand and pulls her to the other side of the pillow fort, laying down beside Charmeine and motioning for her to follow. She does so and tucks Phoebe under the fleece blanket they'd stolen weeks ago. She smiles at her daughter and glances over to Dean, his eyes remained open and staring at the ceiling and she knew whatever had happened hadn't been good. When was it ever?

But he was back and for now he was alright and that had to be enough.

[minilev]

💗💞💗💞💗💞💗💞💗 :D

[direwombat]

🐤? :D

[harmonyowl]

💭💭 for Grace & Dove, and for Blythe & Dove :3

Of course lovely! Thank you for asking! 💜

┕ Masterlist

Clink. Schick. Clink.

Why so shy all of a sudden dear?

Clink. Schick. Clink.

You've been such a bad girl—

Clink. Schick.

—haven't you, sweetheart?

'Sister Grace?'

Clink. Grace lifted her eyes suddenly from her lighter.

'Oh, Brother Will.'

Said man hovered in the doorway nervously but he didn't say anything, which caused Grace to raise an expectant eyebrow.

'B-Brother John asked me to come and get you to discuss those new security changes...' His voice trailed off slightly as Grace didn't say anything, but her jaw did clench slightly.

She did not get fetched like some dog. She would come when she was good and ready, when she wanted to.

Flicking open the lid of her lighter again, Grace lit it before snapping it shut.

Clink. Schick. Clink.

'I'll just,' he started to back away from the doorway once he realised he'd get no response, 'tell Brother John you'll be there soon.'

Opening the lighter again, Grace flicked her thumb and looked into the flame. She knew she'd have to go considering she suggested this meeting herself, but now that Brother John saw fit to come and get her she was going to make him wait.

The flame flickered a little, and the warmth reminded her of familiar amber eyes. She had seen those amber eyes display anger and fear before: fear was her favourite of the bunch, she did so enjoy the fear, however recent events might find some more exciting expressions—

My eyes are up here, Dove.

Clink.

Tracing her bottom lip with her finger, Grace smirked and finally stood up. She couldn't keep being late for her own meeting, and besides, the only way to catch her little bird again would be to create another little trap.

I'll be seeing you soon, Deputy.

With a sigh, Blythe sipped on her juice and watched everyone around her socialising. Her parents seemed to be having a good time, smiling and talking to people they knew from Eden's Gate.

At least they were being treated nicely she supposed, a wafer thin silver lining if she ever saw one.

Blythe took the opportunity to look around the house. It seemed like a cosy place, and Blythe thought that she wouldn't have minded spending a lot of time here if the person that lived here wasn't a brainwashed cult member.

Well at least the food here was good.

Taking another sip from her cup, Blythe felt that someone had come to stand beside her.

'It was nice of you to drive your parents here.'

Looking over, Blythe saw a slightly taller woman with dark hair had sidled up beside her with a smile, and based on Blythe's observations she seemed to be the host of this cook out. She just smiled awkwardly in response.

'Thanks for having us.'

The woman smiled at Blythe again, and there was something about it that made her profoundly uncomfortable. But then again, everyone here kind of did.

'You're the new deputy, right?'

Blythe had been fiddling with a loose thread on her dress as she watched the woman next to her, she hadn't stopped smiling since her approach, and Blythe wondered if this questions was the entire reason the woman had come over.

'Yes I am ah—'

'Dove. I'm glad to meet you.'

'Yeah, you too.'

Blythe didn't introduce herself back.

It looked like Dove might speak with her more, but the two people that had walked into her living room caught her attention and made her eyes light up, coincidentally, they made Blythe's eyes die a little.

John and Joseph Seed. Interesting.

Blythe observed Dove as she went over to the two cult leaders. She hadn't been sure what her role in Eden's Gate was, to be honest Blythe assumed Dove was just another member like any other. But the way she had walked up to John and Joseph so brazenly, and now as Blythe watched her speak to them both, Blythe suspected there may be more to this Dove than she first thought. And trusting her gut generally did her right in these kinds of situations. Finding out more about her might help Blythe with her investigation.

She wondered if she could call in a little favour down at Quantico?

[deputyash]

OC Quiz: Tragic Horror Tropes

Tagged by @statichvm @strafethesesinners and @shellibisshe to do this quiz. Thank you!

Tagging: @harmonyowl @teamhawkeye @glowwormsmith @cryptichobbit @ri-a-rose @derelictheretic​

- Dove Ash - 

The one who opened the door

You turn the door handle. You call out, "who's there?" and the crowd has the audacity to groan, to get frustrated with you. As if the gift of hindsight was something you had. How the hell were you supposed to know you were born into a horror movie? No one bothered to tell you. Say, if instead this was an action film, or a fantasy, would they still be telling you how silly of a mistake it was to press further on your quest? They would've commended you for your bravery. You thought you were going to be saving a princess in a tower, not getting stabbed in the back by a killer in the shadows. How is that fair? It isn't, and none of that was ever your fault. It is not wrong to believe things are good. Your trust, your optimism, it shouldn't ever be mistaken for ignorance or stupidity. We need more people who open doors. How else are any of us gonna move forward?

[storm-of-silver]

OK NOW THAT SLATE AND POLARBEAR GOT POSTED I CAN SHOW THIS MEME

[Image ID: Art of a meme. Polarbear, a large white tom with tan spots, is punching Maia, a orange tabby molly. Slate, a calico tom with green eyes, is in the foreground, smiling and giving two thumbs up. Art by SageTheFox on TH. End ID]

IT LIVES RENT FREE IN MY HEAD AND I LOVE IT GFDJKGHFDSKJ

[cryptfile]

✶ nuclear seasons, [ soldier boy x reader ]

summary — he was friend’s with your mom. friend is a understatement cause when he appears in the middle of the night looking for revenge in your little apartment in the suburbs, you know he’s far from being nice.

warnings — +18 minors dni, smut, dead dove do not eat, we have a last name (also a mother!), kind of porn without plot? but not really cause it HAS one okay, we call it 50/50, fem!reader using she/her pronouns, p in v, masturbation ( m! receiving but blink and you miss it), dirty talk, age gap, choking, degradation, spitting (i'm sorry), fingering, mentions of injury, cancer (not you tho), tons of tension.

side notes — i’m never experiencing the post ovulation clarity lmao, that being said english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes, also i’m a whore for jensen ackles, and i stand for what i like proudly. // 5k+

Nightshade is a hero.

You're proud of your mother since you were pretty young. The hero that fought against Vought to death during the time Payback was active, America’s Troublemaker that you only knew as Stella Nightshade, a blonde woman that talked with the death during her golden years.

Maybe it’s your mother the one that pushed you to fight crime, to pursue the bad guys and look out for the victims that can’t stand for themselves, so even when you don’t inherit much from Stella’s gifts, you joined the CIA as soon as you can so you can do something that matters.

You’re the best in your class, work your ass off to be taken serious, to be more than the look of disappointment you receive when people ask, once again, if you have any powers like your mother and you have to admit — In pure shame, that you didn’t born as a superhero but a baby who cried loudly when is too hungry.

But as years pass you make a name for yourself, one that even if differs from Stella’s job has the same noble reasons behind. You also realize you were too naive growing up, believing in heroes that don’t deserve to be called that way.

The country has made a mistake on making superhumans so openly, and it’s clear that got out of control now, backfiring as they got so much power it’s almost impossible to take accountant of any of them.

You’ve worked along Grace Mallory from the shadows, and even when Stella would not be so proud of you for helping get his kind out of the streets, the justice is enough to feed you and keep you warm on a cold night.

You like it that way. You know Grace has a team for it, a legal army of supe-haters as you called them, yet, you prefer to stay in the dark, not let your personal life get involved cause one slip and you can lose it all— Even when you don’t have nothing at all. You like to have an outside life from work, it’s the sane thing to have, so when the CIA Deputy Director asks you about joining the infamous Boys, you politely decline assuring the woman you’ve been more helpful from the outside.

What would Stella Nightshade would say? Now that you’ve grown older and you don’t look at her the same way you used to when you encounter her files and read about your mother. You know she has done wrong, yet with the years, you don't imagine Soldier Boy himself was going to seek for revenge first thing he does when he wakes up, his plan including your mother even when she was long time dead before he even appeared in the picture.

That night especially you let your guard down. It's been a rough couple of weeks back in work, so when the night comes you're a victim of the stress, victim of your bosses and the people that surrounded you. You pour a glass of wine for yourself, light a cigarette even when you haven't smoked in years, and turn on the TV to see something else rather than the face of Homelander in every single channel you've been tuning lately.

It's a weapon. When you leave for a warm shower and start filling the bathtub, you're not aware of what that night was really going to be for you. Oblivious as you stand naked in the middle of the bathroom, holding the glass of wine between your fingers before entering the warm current that relaxed your muscles.

It seems tension is your worst enemy, makes your muscles feel like stone as you got in the water, the cigarette that hangs from your dry lips splashing with tiny droplets of perfumed water as the silence filled the air. It's what you needed, at least ten minutes with your brain shutting off completely, the pleasure you haven't experienced in forever by being so compromised with work.

It's a much-needed break. The smoke that leaves the room by the almost-closed window, the taste of wine still lingering in your lips as you sip another taste of the crimson liquor you love. You don't happen to notice when he's breaking in your apartment, silent and deadly as you were protected by a door closed and a white curtain.

You don't happen to hear him too. The music coming our from your phone is loud enough to silence the knocks on your door at first before breaking the wood, you're too deep in the still water that smelled like roses and vanilla, to even pay attention to what was going on outside the warmth of the four walls that surrounded you.

There's vapor coming out of the water and you find comfort in closing your eyes, in letting the blow of the smoke travel through your throat before suspending itself in the air, flowing as you drank.

In your defense, you haven't been like that in ages.

It's been a long time since you last fill the tub and have a relaxing session with yourself, so it makes sense you are enjoying it a little bit too much, too much cause when the invader is making a lot of noise when stepping into your property, you still enjoy the taste of the alcohol on your lips.

The ashes fall to the ceramic floor outside the tub and you should blame the CIA to make you so tense to the point it leads you to more problems than you ever had. In the dark room of your apartment, it's Soldier Boy the one who's going through any drawer he comes across, the ones closed, the ones hidden, any slit he can find, any clue that can trace your mother back to his personal vendetta.

He's oblivious to Stella's death and her daughter, so when the former superhero hears the noise in the bathroom he's fully convinced it's your mother the one who's behind that door, that she's the one who's going to tell him the truth, if she also sold him to the russians as well in the process.

He's decided also on killing her. She must need it after all that time getting older, closer to death more than ever.

Of course it's an unpleasant surprise when you can see the bathroom door opening when you're sure you left the front door closed and lock with at least two bolts to prevent anyone from getting inside, it makes you jump in the spot, quickly covering yourself from the new stranger that enters your bathroom.

"Stella?" he asks, it's the last room that the hero needs to check for himself.

You spot the green fabric of his suit immediately as you pressed your chest against the cold surface of the tub, and when the invader notices you're naked, he doesn't look away as any person with a hint of respect would do, but instead, continue on checking you out as you try to cover yourself in the water tinted in a nonexistent transparent color red.

You can feel his gaze as soon as you recognize him too, as you happen to notice that face from your mother's pictures, the propaganda in the TV when he did almost every commercial back when you were a kid. It's a shock, and dressed in his damn suit, you don't know why an old superhero is there standing beneath the yellowish bulbs of the light your bathroom happens to have.

Your cheeks adopt this pink color as you panic, grabbing the cup of wine to throw the liquid in the floor, breaking it against the marble walls just to shatter the glass in pieces, a weapon of defense as you lifted up against him.

"You're not Stella."

Soldier Boy looks amused: it's funny that you think you'd be able to kill him with shattered glass, yet he lets you keep thinking that way when he's enjoying the view.

Is he to blame? He just got out from this giant cooking oven back with the communists and he hasn't got his way with a lady since what seems are centuries, so when he spots you in the tub he simply cannot contain himself from peaking around. You should be in what? Not more than your 20's? Soft-looking skin that asked to be marked with his hands, by the force of his lips crashing in your flesh.

The thought is compelling, you're looking all feisty with the glass in your hand, threatening him and speaking something Soldier Boy cannot catch at first — Shit, he doesn't even notice the blood in your hand that's dripping all over your small rug in the floor, the power women like yourself seemed to have now and weirdly enough, a huge turn on.

"Get the fuck out!" you scream in an authority voice, the same you use back at work when you're mad, when you're usually holding a gun in defense more than a piece of broken glass "Stella is not fucking here!"

It takes a few more words to actually get him out of there, and as he closes the door behind him you finally stand to grab a towel covering from the currents of wind, trying, really hard, to think about anything else more that the fact that Soldier Boy has entered your house and your bathroom in the worst moment, far from what you were last updated with.

To be honest, it almost gave you a heart attack, leaving the bathroom to find your home torn apart, the drawers open and all the papers you've meticulously kept in place being all over the place as Ben stands awkwardly holding a shield in the middle of your living room.

"Fucking hell" you're cursing under your breath as you gathered some important things you cannot leave on the floor even when you're still wet from the shower, expelling this nice aroma that mixed the roses and the vanilla together with your personal scent — Weirdly enough, a fucking show to the hero that's already rock-hard from the peak he had of you from before.

You don't really notice it at first, too busy being mad as you let the papers you gathered on top of the table. You lose the shame you got left as the wet drops of the shower leave a trace in the floor — And as usual, you clearly don't notice it, but Ben does when the water is running down your back, and you're barking something about calling someone called Grace, holding onto a white tower with your dear life.

"Where is Stella Nightshade, sweetheart?" he speaks out loud cause he don't understand anything you say, really fighting to be nice with you like it would give him an opportunity to get under your skin.

"My mother's dead," you stand there without knowing what to say after. You know he and your mother were close, but you don't imagine he was going to actually go find her teammate when he recently woke up in a different country. "She died years ago dude, i'm sorry."

The information gathers in his head as you take a clean oversized shirt from the laundry basket covering with it as you throw the towel to the floor, Red Hot Chili Peppers it says, but he thinks it's a place in Italy more than a band like he isn't troubled already by the fact you were Stella's daughter, the person who thought was her only friend back in the time now dead.

"Does anyone know you're here?" your mind is drifting back to work again as you wondered if anyone knew he was going to break into your apartment and choose not to send any help — "Ben."

You've read his file. Hell, to be honest you've read every single file in Payback, so it's no surprise you know his name, but to the hero, it seems to be amusing when you call him by his real name, his mind fueled in a different direction as he notices you're not wearing any underwear beneath the shirt you're choosing to wear, one whose fabric's barely covering your tights.

"What do you mean dead?" he asks, furrowing his brows "It's not been so long."

"She got cancer three years ago" you explain with a sad tone, even when you disagree with Stella, it pains you to remember what sickness made out of her, consuming her from the inside at a cruel pace.

"Motherfucker," he states clearly angry, and you cannot help but look at him with a weird face, searching for the phone you left in the sofa to call any-fucking-body in the office that could send a damn army to get you: Didn't the Boys have everything under control? That's what you're told anyway, then why the fuck is the subject of matter cursing in your little messy apartment? — "Bitch just got away with it before I could do anything, isn't it? What a fucking shame."

"Pardon me?" it catches you by surprise at first, but it hits you soon after. Soldier Boy is not there to say hello to your mother or ask for her help, but instead, he's there to get revenge and actually kill Stella by his own matters.

Fuck. Of course is something new, something that makes you feel cold all sudden, your wet hair making you visible shake as you became aware of his plans.

"You know them. You know the people from the lab" it's more of a fact than a question, letting the words feel salty in his own mouth. "The ones that let me get away."

He's quickly to gather the pieces too, not as dumb as you think he is as the puzzle is finally coming up together in his head, and it's all it takes for him to take a step closer to you, cutting that space you've created since you kicked him out of the bathroom — He's angry now.

The red globe on his hand is now holding you by the throat, applying enough pressure to cut the air flow going to your lungs almost completely, his fingertips warm against your bare skin as he holds you in front of his figure, pushing you against the cold wall.

You usually would enjoy such activities, yet in the context you are trapped in right now, you began to choke, your own hands trying to push his grip back even when he’s too strong, not even flinching when you’re squirming, gasping for some air as your face became red, tears gathering in your eyes as he let you breathe for a couple of seconds when he senses you’re too close to black out.

“Talk little Nightshade” he says in a low voice. “Or else i’m breaking your pretty neck.”

“I work for the CIA!” You explain quickly as your breathing became more labored by the seconds. “Not for the people who let you out! I promise!”

He’s going to kill you. You can see the determination in his eyes, that predator look he happens to have.

What you don’t know, somehow, is that he’s going fucking insane. Your smell coming up to his nose to make him shiver, the sight of you in an oversized shirt that barely covers your shape is more than enough to push his buttons, to make him forgot about any killing he was allegedly so concentrated in fulfill, the sight of you almost crying messing with his brain.

Little Nightshade is a fucking tease.

His eyes follow your expression, the hand that gripped your neck and choke you harshly now pressing enough to only suppress the air flow in a more enjoyable way, the tension quickly shifting from dying to pleasure all over again as he kept you in place so easily.

It’s impossible to move, to do anything more than be pressed against a cold wall. Your mother has once again lied to you and you notice the relationship she painted with Soldier Boy was more of a movie in her head than reality itself. Makes you gulp in response when you stare at his expression, the face of a trained killer as you knew, fucking knew, a bit more of force in your neck and it would snap without any difficulty.

“I don’t work with them” you assure once again, maybe it’s your survivor skills hitting when you repeat it in a low voice, catching on your breath when he lets go allowing you to fill your lungs with air just enough before pressing that very spot again, the one that actually turns you on. “Fuck’s sake.”

Is that how you end? On your lame apartment?

The next is a weird thing, cause in the blink of an eye he’s close to your face planting his own body next to yours and you’re shivering at the feeling, his armor pressed against your chest as he left the shield he was holding on the floor.

The metal is pressed against your skin covered by the thin cotton of Red Hot Chili Peppers shirt, and he is so close, so close you froze there, no longer fighting his tight grip but mesmerized by his damn face, the same you watched on TV when you were a kid, the handsome man you happen to severely crush on in secret, just because you don’t want Stella to know or she will give you a long talk about how he is her age.

But he is, handsome as fuck, and now being so close to his face you can say it with all confidence. His beard is shaved perfectly and he smells incredibly good even for someone who has spent time locked away without any kind of hygiene, his green suit protecting him from the cold air that was getting through the opened window.

“Who are you?” he asks, scanning your face with a curious look as he wanted to know what expression you would have when you know why he's there in the first place — “What do you know about Stella Nightshade, your mother, selling me out?”

Fuck. So that's why he's there. You know she did it. And it's impossible for you to lie when he's making you so nervous, away from any weapon, any form of defense as you left the glass in the bathroom sink when you notice large gash on your hand, and your silence makes nothing more than leave him fuming. If he was angry before, he now reaches a higher level as his grip turns more violent now that he knows you know what he meant, why he's there claiming to talk with your death mother out of nothing.

"Call her then. Use your powers" he demands dryly, and you're shaking at this point cause it's more shame added to the long pile, the bathroom already being a humiliation by itself. "Fucking call her."

You squirm beneath his grabbing, when he's pushing you harder against the concrete wall and you can just feel him from under the suit, hard cock pressing against your belly, green in your vision as he towers over you. He knows what he's doing, and even when you try to be disgusted by it, you find yourself enjoying his closeness, how he's pinning you with no effort at all, hands on your throat while he demanded an answer.

"I can't call her" you admit in a low voice, cheeks now red as the embarrassment crept upon your face — "I don't have my mother's power."

Soldier Boy seems to not believe you for a mere second, after that you can feel the blade of the knife pressing against your skin, a threat that now becomes more real as you can feel the cold metal stomach. One swift movement and you'd be stabbed without a second thought.

It's sick how much you enjoy it when you are squirming against him, goosebumps in the zone he threats to destroy.

A force pull his lips upwards in a smile, unable to pay attention to nothing else but the sound you made without even realizing it. "You like that, huh little Nightshade?"

It seems to be a joke for him, bitting your inner cheek to prevent you from saying something stupid, from letting out a moan in response to all the sudden desire.

Despite all conditions you stay silent, holding his gaze like it's a game you're not going to lose. He didn't respond either, trapped in a second that seemed longer than the usual when time stopped around you, eyes looking like he can surpass the old fabric of the white shirt you choose to wear.

It's the tension what makes you mad. You're so into getting people like him, that your ego is bruised now that you notice you are actually attracted to all of that, to the way he's pressing you against the concrete, how all falls into place when he's pushing himself against you, invading any private space you could require.

He's kissing you soon after. Ben crumbles against the tension as the hand on your throat demands a kiss now, pulling you closer to his face without any warning nor concern as he crash his lips against yours in a rough kiss. You try to push him away in response even when you don't want to; see, it's hard to even admit you have interest in Soldier Boy in any other way more than the professional, but when he's bitting your lower lip you're letting your defense down: When is the last time you've been kissed like that?

You remind yourself you're tired from work, that the CIA has done nothing for you more than fuck your over and over even to this point, losing sight of one of the most important heroes of the word, and it's making you encourage to let go just for a mere hour.

"Lookin' so good takin' a bath" he says, and the sound of his deep voice is enough to send an electric wave through your spine, like he’s talking to himself as the hand on your hip is now tracing the curves of your body, taunting you from over the shirt he now learns to love. His beard is now scraping against your skin and you can feel his lips going down, tracing an invisible path to the crook of your neck as his hand is no longer choking you.

Jesus. Was that even happening or was that your imagination? Did you feel asleep on the bathtub? Maybe it’s a reflection as you are close to drowning, your brain doing that happy thoughts shit. You’re tilting your head to the side just to give him more space to work with and you’re just letting it be, enjoying how he’s sucking and nibling on your skin to leave a red mark behind, all teeth and no fucking control as he uses a good amount of force to make you moan in the process, the pain enough to remember who’s really on charge.

Ben forgets about asking any more questions, he’s too busy when his hand are taking decisions by themselves as they slide under your shirt, body still cold from the bath you just took, water still drying in your flesh when he’s like he usually is — An invader.

His hands are big and they’re capable of holding your whole tummy as he caress the soft skin that seems to expel a warm sensation, how it leaves goosebumps in any place he touches. You remember you’re basically at his mercy now that his hands roam with all liberty under your shirt, the look he gave you in the bathroom mistaken you for Stella, his eyes looking at any exposed skin he could look at.

“What the fuck,” you try to say under your breath, to keep on this facade you have of a composed person, one that won’t give in to be manhandled “What the fuck do you think you are you doing?”

“Well, i’m not seeing any complains” The blade cuts through the cotton leaving a large hole you know you won’t be able to sew after yet he’s right: There are no complains, nothing but eager that makes him go further as the seconds passed “In fact, can see that you’re pretty much enjoying it, Doll.”

You hate the nickname, that old man way of speaking when he’s squeezing one of your breasts with more force you can even handle, cursing at how easy it seems to be for him, how he wants to see you simply destroyed.

“You’re loving this isn’t?” he ask all sudden, studying you with his hazel eyes — “You love being a good whore f’me? My little Nightshade.”

He’s hard under the suit, covered in a green material you don’t know how to call as your hand searches for him, crave for him, convincing that it's what you must do as you trace the invisible lines his muscles made.

Soldier Boy’s messy, much like an animal when he’s groaning beneath your touch, his own body seeking for yours as your fingers grew bolder, demanding for a deeper contact — “Careful there sweetheart, i’m still fresh out of the oven. May be a little rusty."

You laugh at his words cause you know what he means, yet your hands work by themselves as you barely even touch him from over the suit, the hard feeling of his cock against your palm, hips buckling against your hand seconds after seeking for you, eyes shut for a couple of seconds.

“M’being careful” you say, catching yourself stealing a look at his reaction, taking your time on pleasuring him , gulping as he experiences the torture of your touch “Taking it slow for an old man.”

“Old man, huh? Now you're talking” He teases, and the sound of his laugh just fucks you up. Maybe it has to be with the fact he’s placing two fingers in front of your lips while looking at you, swollen pink lips he’s so fixated for a second, or it’s because he is, indeed, way older than you are — “Spit.”

It’s not a command, but it sounds like one as you’re unable to disobey, quickly spitting in his hand as you can visibly see the traces of saliva leaving a wet residue in your chin, one Ben looks at it for a good amount of time: How is something like saliva is so damn erotic? He doesn’t know it, but it’s enough to send him into a spiral.

He’s strong you think, cause he’s a superhero. He’s Soldier Boy by any meaning, so it’s not a big effort to hold you in his arms and lift you in the air as you let out a gasp of surprise, spanking your ass as one of his hands separates your legs for him, holding one up as you stand in the other.

“Relax, 'got you, doll” he says, your back against the wall as he kept a bruising grip in your hip, holding you in place so you don’t have to keep your balance — “Fuck you smell so damn good.”

The roses and vanilla aroma lingers on your skin as you finally understand what he's doing now, his hand close to your cunt as he taunts you, torturing you like you did so eagerly before, his personal pet as his digits get lost in your entrance now, your folds spilled with juice he can physically feel in his fingertips, your arousal's so nice against the palm of his hand he cannot help but kiss you, a feverish desire taking over his actions, the lewd sound his fingers made when he finally pushes his digits inside of you, velvety walls welcoming him as they seemed to squeeze him already — He has made such a good job on turning you on, it’s impossible to not react when he’s finally touching you, pumping into you in a constant pace.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he says, the look on your face is enough to make his cock twitch in his pants in response, imagination running wild as he thinks about that very same feeling in a much deeper way, how you’d look now stretched out, crying just like you did when he choked you asking for information — “Such a nice cunt, so wet f’me.”

He's looking at you, holding the image in his mind forever: Pink pussy displayed for him, white t-shirt rising over your chest, lifting your leg over his arm as his muscles flexed by the force he's using to fuck you deliberately, your lips parted as you ask for more in between erratic moans as his fingers curved inside you so he can hit that nice place he can reach with no effort at all, that one spot thats makes you moan louder.

"Ah-fuck" you let out. Ben's all about touching you for what it seems an eternity, thumb grazing against your clit when he's plainly torturing you, testing how much patience you have left now that he has full control of you.

"Don't cum," he demands, your heartbeats are louder by the seconds as he lifts you slightly, lips attacking your neck before the words escape from his mouth "Need you to come undone in my cock first."

He's leaving marks, marks you don't remember how to hide but don't bother you at all, touching you as he pleases you, taking all the time in the world cause it seems like the night belongs to him — Getting started as you shake your head in an improvised yes.

Yes. The thought is pure electricity, the sudden need to please him as you shake your head once again.

“Please Ben,” you don’t recognize what you’ve become now. “Please let me cum in your cock.”

"Go on doll, put on a show f'me" the supe says with a grin you cannot resist. "Bend and show me that lovely ass."

It’s all it takes. His fingers are now away from you, but you’re now facing the wall as you obey, bending until your cheek is pressed against the concrete and you can hear how he’s now unzipping his pants, the green fabric of his suit now to the side.

You look at him from over your shoulder, bitting the your lower lip as you check him out, his slightly curved dick pointing upwards, precum already leaking out.

“Like what you’re seeing or what?”

“Yeah, but there’s no fucking way.”

You’re feeding on his ego now, but you can’t help it when his size is far from what you consider it’s common — “Common’ doll. You can hadle it.”

You gulp in response cause you know you’re more than eager to try, just the sight of his own hand holding his lenght as he strokes himself making you drool in response. Fuck. It transforms in a need now. When he positions himself beneath you and he’s spitting down to that very place where he’s pushing against your hole, saliva coating his cock before just letting the tip inside.

Lubricated, he pushes a bit more and it feels just damn right. Even when it begans to hurt as he’s thick enough to force himself inside you.

Benjamin knows you’re in pain so he waits a second before shoving his cock inside one more time. You need some time as he stretches you out, clenching your teeth while he works.

"You're doing it s'good" he praises, hand massaging your back as he prevents himself from fucking you at his liking, “Takin' me like a champ."

"God" you let out a sharp moan moments after, crying when you felt the pain more than anything else — "Can't-"

"No doll" he hums as he pulls slightly more. “You can do this” he forces himself in until he's finally balls deep inside your cunt, letting you adjust to his size as he can feel fucking everything. Your blood flow, your velvety walls that squeeze him unused to someone as big as he was, your face distorted in what seems an intense mix of pain and pure, devastating pleasure — "Atta girl."

Strikes like lighting.

Soldier Boy's bitting your shoulder-blade as he waits, waits for it to switch into pleasure, to become intoxicating to the point you cannot longer remember your own name.

"Please move," you ask sooner than he thinks, and when he moves, you can feel it in your belly, melting your fucking brain as he repeated the process again, burying his cock as deep as he could go without any previous warning — "Ah, just like that, please-"

"Do you like how my cock is stretching you out now?" Ben's voice is way deeper than what usually is as he laughs, grunting behind you as one of his hands reach a fistful of your hair, grabbing it with force to pull your head backwards "Good girl, keep huggin' my cock."

You're drunk on the feeling, on the vibrations his voice sends every time he's saying something dirty for you, when he laughs victim of the pleasure.

"Gonna' keep you as my personal slut," he thinks out loud, pushing you against the wall every time he fucks you, using his other hand to spread one of your ass cheeks to the side so he can hit it harder. "Use you as my fucking pet so I can cum on your pretty face whenever I want."

He's moaning, your body’s sweaty as he pulls your hair without caring, not concentrated on the pain it produces as his hips continue on collide against you.

"Would you like that, little Nightshade?" he asks then in a low voice, his thumb pressing against your asshole as he fucks you harder now that you're used to his size. "Could get used to this pretty cunt. Promise to keep my cock whore nice and full."

It doesn't take long. Soldier Boy's moans are now filling the room as his pace becomes faster, slurred words between his erratic breathing when the hand on your hair comes up to finally grab you by the neck, like he can read your mind cause it's exactly what you need to get there, to experience by first hand a set of crashing waves that were getting more and more intense on your stomach.

You're close to the edge. He can smell it in the air when the sound of your skin slapping against his is loud enough to be all you can hear, mixing with the lovely moans you produce when he’s pounding into you with no mercy, fingers pressing the side of your neck with enough force you’re running out of breathe.

It’s messy, violent and you love it, love how he’s ruining you all sudden, fucking you up from the inside, making your vision turning dizzy in response. You’re immersed in the haze he’s driven you into before admiting:

“God i’m so fucking close.”

“Cum on my cock,” it sounds like he’s begging you to do it, fingers finding their way to your swollen clit to move against the sensitive flesh “Come on doll, leave me full of you.”

He’s making you move now, hands now controlling your hips as you take him as his liking, mere seconds until you’re finally crumbling, violently shaking as you finally reach your peak. He keeps on fucking you through your high, long enough so he’s pulling out all of sudden, stroking his lenght over you as his cum finally lands on your back leaving you convered with his load.

Fucking hell.

When you’re coming down from your orgasm shame seems to hit you hard, however for Ben is not enough when he’s kneeling on the floor, eyes on the mess his cock made out of you.

“Wanna go again, little Nightshade?” he asks curiously, and the question makes you laugh in response, forgetting about formalities and the trouble it meant you were intimate with Soldier Boy out of all the supes in the world.

“Hm,” you seem to think about it for a second, his breathing close to your wet pussy as he’s still wearing his clothes in contrast of you being so exposed — “But you’re keeping the suit on.”

He don’t have any complains when he’s the one pressing his face against your wet folds.

Funny thing is now when you’re forced to join the Boys days after that very encounter — A bad joke when you’re now babysitting Soldier Boy himself.

“Been missing you s’much little Nightshade” he admits after a couple of minutes alone in the filthy motel “Thinking about how cute you are, how you felt taking my cock so nicely in your living room.”

“Fuck off, Ben.”

“We’ll be quick” he promises “That stupid assholes back there wont even notice.”

You seem to think about it for a second before lifting your middle finger in response — “I said fuck off, Ben.”

For now, it’s enough for him that you’re thinking about it.

my masterlist

[camijust]

Dovewing based on a common pigeon!

To be honest, a more "messy" fur suits Dove better. I'm all for Dovewing being that cute gal, but i believe that she and Squilf have the same energy when it comes to being "tomboyish," so expect a messy Squilf from me as well (as a bonus for when i draw Ivypool cause, you know, Squirrelstar and her deputy Ivy)

[warrior-cats-rewritten]

Original plan for A Starless Clan ending:

Berryheart votes Tigerstar out.

Tigerheart says that he is done. He had been met with hatred and judgement at every turn, and that nothing he does is the right thing. He is leaving.

Tigerheart, Dovewing, Lightleap, Shadowsight, Pouncestep and Rowankit leave Shadowclan and head to The Guardians.

While Tiger, Dove, Shadow, and Rowan are okay with being Guardians, Lightleap grows restless, as well as Pouncestep.

The two leave, and begin a resistance in Shadowclan, held with Grassheart, Gullswoop, Flowerstem, Cinnamontail, and Crowfrost.

Cloverfoot is poisoned by Berryheart, who took the leadership position for herself. The new deputy is Sparrowtail.

Lightleap and Pouncestep integrate themselves back into Shadowclan, Lightleap doing her best to get closer and closer with Berrystar. She gets to see her as a person at her lowest points, hear about her dreams and hopes for other cats. Berrystar considers Lightleap to be her best friend, despite the age difference, she is the only one Berrystar can trust. Like a daughter to her, more of a daughter than Sunbeam...

Lightleap lets her in too, in a way, sharing her own fears. How scary the Dark Forest was, how much she misses her family, her failed relationship with Blazefire, even the silly things like how she hates spicy food and likes Magpie feathers in her nest.

Sparrowtail is killed by Pouncestep and Grassheart. It looks like an accident. What a shame that the branch in that tree happened to land where he was.

Berrystar is at her lowest point. Her mate is gone. Her daughter is gone. Hollowspring has been killed too, a sneak attack from Lightleap herself Lightleap blames Thunderclan's new deputy Lilyheart. It's too much for Berrystar, her mind unravleing under the pressure of leadership and tragedy of her family. Screw the code and screw Starclan's opinion, she thinks, I'm making the only cat left that I trust my new deputy, she'll get an apprentice when the next kit is made into one. Pouncestep, in her quietness, was given Whisperpaw. Berrystar is a horrible le person but she gets that a quiet kit could often use a quiet mentor.

Lightleap is made Deputy.

War has been raging between Shadowclan and the other Clans, Berrystar's lives have been whittling down. A throat wound here, an infection there, she has to be running low by now...

Lightleap arranges a plan with Sunbeam, who's been staying in Thunderclan to get away from her mother...

A raid lead by Hollyleaf and Sunbeam begins, in the heart of Shadowclan's camp. Confusion and panic fill the air, no one is paying attention to the rotting leader's den.

In the chaos, Lightleap, faithful deputy born of Berrystar's enemy, the only cat Berrystar will speak to, the cat Berrystar sees as her own daughter, corners the paranoid, snappy, hateful leader in her own den...

"Remember me all the way to the Dark Forest, Berrystar."

"Lightleap, what is this? I'm the leader of Shadowclan, or have you forgotten?"

"Not for much longer. I'm going to kill you, and then kill you again. As many times as it takes to send you to the Dark Forest, forever. I am taking back my home!"

Berrystar was reported have to have been killed in the chaos by a Thunderclan warrior. Theories launch about who did, but the culprit is never found. Pouncestep is made deputy.

Lightstar puts an end to the war.

[derelictheretic]

Heyo!! @deputyash and I signed our Single Parent Crossover AU up for @group-oc-tournament and here is why you should vote them when the polls come out!!

Dove and Dean are single parents who have overcome many trials and tribulations, it takes a lot to raise kids on your own, even before the County they live in fell under the rule of a religious cult.

Said religious cult took interest in both of them and their kids, which made a horrible situation all the more stressful. When they first ran into each other they were both on guard, Dean's oldest son Caleb standing in the middle of them being what ultimately diffused the tense meeting. It wasn't easy deciding to stick together, but with the looming threat of their kids being taken or hurt they agreed being allies would be beneficial.

So the little group formed, on a dark night with a shaky handshake and weary eyes. They found an abandoned house with a bunker and made base in it, Dove and Dean reinforced and barricaded it to the best of their ability and it's served them well since.

The kids, Phoebe, Caleb, Charmeine and Ace got along much quicker than their parents. As an only child Phoebe was ecstatic to be around them and Charmeine was happy to have another girl her age to play with.

Charmeine and Phoebe became a sort of glue for the group, the two becoming best friends and sharing their secret stashes of candy and pins. Their ability to remain optimistic makes the chaos more bearable for their parents.

Caleb, Charmeine and Ace warmed up to Dove very quickly, appreciating her motherly presence and seeing her and Phoebe as welcome additions to the family. Dove of course cares about them in turn, especially as time went on on and she took care of them when Dean was out trying to help rid the County of the cult.

Dean naturally takes care of Pheobe like she was one of his own as well, sneaking her any candy he finds while he's out.

Time passes and while tensions rise with the cult their little group only grows closer, Dove and Dean opening up to each other and even sharing tips they've learnt over their years of parenting. They become pillars for each other, the normalcy of being able to swap recipes and funny childhood stories much needed in the insanity they were living in.

In conclusion they are a sweet little found family in the midst of a holy war and they keep each other sane and safe and deserve your vote!!

[sparklingemeralds]

ALRIGHT SO,,, I can’t draw cats for shit BUT,,,,

Please have like probably the third DoveClover art in existence!!!!

This one was born thanks to a funny little HC I spoke about with to @harveymooon (don’t mind me tagging you, lmk if you want me to untag)

I wasn’t a fan of Dovewing with a mask until I saw Harvey’s design,,, I made her lil mask two wings 🥺🥺 also a four-pointed star bc prophecy cat!!! Still not satisfied with this design though so I’ll tweak it later (codeword for never tbh 😭😭)

I’m a HUGE, HUGE fan of Cloverfoot becoming leader and then appointing Dovewing as her deputy and having the BIGGEST crush on her!! Dovewing needs a wife who will TREAT HER RIGHT!!!

Notes on the bottom, I tried giving Cloverstar a smug little look. Who’s she looking at??? Tigerheartstar up in StarClan probably 😭😭

Still can’t decide if Dove’s going to be super oblivious or she’s going to marry Clover. I’ll figure it out 😭😭

I also added a smidge of gray to their muzzles bc they’re old,, i have old woman yuri on my feed now.