#I'm not that good at drawing firearms

[setzeri]

do you base the guns in Lotta Svärd on real ones that existed at the time? I was wondering, especially considering that one pose sheet you did with the rifles.

But of course. Outside of the few exceptions like the Lahti L-35 handgun seen in chapter 14, the most common weapon you see in the comic is the M/27 rifle, a modified Mosin Nagant for Finnish use.

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Bigfoots

Brian Keene: submitted for the approval of the midnight society, i call this the tale of crazy bear valley Keene: so these no-good outlaws are on the run from the law Keene: but Keene: they take a wrong turn Keene: into danger King: what kind of danger? Keene: bigfoots

Keene: its a no holds barred war to the death between cowboys and bigfoots Keene: cowboys, of course, have the advantage of intelligence and speed, as well as firearms Keene: but the bigfoots have the numbers

Keene: these bigfoots might just tear these cowboys to pieces Bram Stoker: oh but cowboys! Keene: whats the matter bram? you kill your cowboys all the time! Stoker: yeah but Stoker: i dunno, its different

King: how big are the bigfoots? Keene: eh pretty normal bigfoot sized, i'd say King: really? i expected they'd be bigger King: what about their feet? Keene: oh well, yeah, their feet are big Keene: like duh Keene: obviously

King: wait are their feet big compared to normal feet or big compared to bigfoot feet? Keene: normal King: so big compared to our feet? Keene: yes i Keene: you know the feet aren't really central to this story

Keene: ok so back to the story King: wait a second is it bigfoots or bigfeet? Poe: obviously, it's bigfoots Barker: what? that's insane edgar. it's obviously bigfeet King: no no i think edgar's right on this one Lovecraft: that doesn't make any sense Keene: so back to the story

Robert E Howard: howdy pardnas Keene: 2 Gun Bob! King: it's 2 Gun Bob! Lovecraft: 2 Gun Bob! Barker: 2 Gun Bob! Poe: whoa 2 gun bob! Stoker: OMG! 2 Gun Bob! Koontz: 2 Gun Bob! Howard: i reckon i got somethin' to say on the matter

Howard: when a cowpoke is a-ridin' through bigfoot country, he's gotta have his trusty six iron on his hip Howard: cuz ya might gotta wrassle some varmints Keene: you sound like you've had some experience with this Keene: with fighting bigfoots Barker: you mean bigfeet Keene: no

Howard: now if me an' my boys tangled with a posse of bigfoots, we'd give em a taste of the ol' pea shooter Keene: yeah but see, there's a lot of bigfoots Keene: way too many to shoot Howard: i ain't a-bothered, i'm a fast draw Howard: [twirling six shooter] possibly the fastest

JRR Tolkien: hello lads King: JRR Tolkien! what are YOU doing here? Tolkien: well i head something about Tolkien: BIG FEET Tolkien: big HAIRY feet perhaps? Tolkien: big hairy SMELLY feet? Tolkien: big gross hairy smelly feet with fur????

Keene: the story's not about big feet, it's about bigfoots Tolkien: Tolkien: oh Tolkien: how big are the bigfoots feet? Keene: normal sized Tolkien: normal for us or normal for bigfoots? Keene: you know what i'm just gonna call them sasquatchs going forward

[ghost-bxrd]

What do you headcanon as AU careers for Dick?

I don't much like the idea of Dick as a cop (in Wayne Family Adventures I'm pretty sure they never explicitly mention his job, so I'm gonna pretend he's not a cop there)

Gymnastics instructor seems to be a popular choice in most of the Happy Dick and Nice Batfam AUs and it sounds in character... Except his night job related injuries would be difficult to hide.

Neither Fae nor Talon Dick are likely to have the kind of falling out with Bruce which led to Dick striking out on his own, so they will likely never have the worry about earning their own living. Bruce would no doubt be willing and eager to give them cushy jobs with the WE, or they can just treat Superhero-ing as their full time job. But still, I think they will want an independent, non-nepo baby job.

I like the idea of Dick as a CPS worker, or just with social services in general. He'll be great with traumatized kids, has so much experience both first and second hand to draw on.

And if Fae Dick is with CPS... Well. The lore about fae stealing children is well known, but less well known is the lore that fae steal neglected children.

Now, that can simply be the predator going after the vulnerable, but it can also be in some stories the fae see humans refusing to take care of the children properly and getting their adoption instincts triggered Bruce Wayne style, taking them away from the parents who don't deserve them to a better life.

CPS takes neglected and abused children away from the parents who don't deserve them, to a better life.

Love the idea of a fae as a CPS worker, getting official sanction and human cooperation to do his traditional job :)

It depends on the Au!

I’m very flexible with what I read as long as the author manages to fit it into the story in a plausible and believable way. Like with the Titans TV series where it establishes very early on that Dick is rather feral and not as opposed to murder as Bruce *cough*

But over all I do agree that him being a cop doesn’t check out most of the time since most comics (at least from what I’ve read, so take that with a grain of salt. My comic knowledge is like— 3% if we’re being generous lol.) depict him as being very opposed to using firearms, and to killing. And cops have to carry guns to protect themselves and others, and sometimes also shoot people. So yeah I don’t know.

And acrobatics instructor actually isn’t such a bad idea imo! Yeah there are some pretty revealing suits out there. But if we go with what Dick is wearing in Gotham Knights in between missions it could totally work out! He’d still have to be careful tho, obviously. But honestly I don’t think people will look too closely at someone who does potentially dangerous sports as a living and comes in with a black eye or a broken arm or something.

CPS sounds like a very fun idea tho! Espiecally in regards to Fae Dick! He’s got a soft spot for children and their wide eyed wonder. And kids aren’t nearly as frightened of him if they happen to catch a glimpse of other either. So yeah, perfect!

But now I’m also thinking of the Pied Piper of Hamelin tale, because I can totally see Dick leading a gaggle of kids through the streets and out of harms way if there’s ever a Gotham wide catastrophe going on… hmmmm

Other than that I could also see Dick as someone who takes a job leading and organizing multiple charities (sponsored by Wayne Enterprises) and rising through the Gotham Elite. It would help his vigilante cover (poor and dumb Richie Wayne, always drunk and being scandalous, just like his guardian) while also serving the ulterior motive of rooting out corruption.

Idk that last one’s just a thought (cuz I love good rich people playing other bad rich people and causing their downfall… eh.)

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

The Heart of Your Home Pt 1

Summary: Arthur comes across a woman in need. What he thought was a simple good deed would take him down a much further path than anticipated.

Warnings: Cursing in this chapter, eventual canon-typical violence, eventual smut.

Word Count: 6,250

A/N: I have been working on this on the wayside for the past few months. I'm excited to continue working on this, so please sit tight!

The steady trot of the beast was all that filled Arthur’s ears. Bright sunshine warmed the otherwise cool air that blanketed northern New Hanover. His stallion’s hooves kicked up slight clouds of dust as they traveled the well-beaten path stretching out before them. The swaying trees of Cumberland Forest waited up ahead, teeming with life. 

It’d been a few weeks since he’d last come up here; originally traveling up this way to clear out a group of O’Driscolls, like flushing foxes out of a den. He intentionally kept away in case any stragglers decided to return in revenge of their fallen brethren. Not that a man like him would have trouble disposing them just as well as the former assault, however, his goal was different today. Pearson needed meat, and the northern forest was rich with elk. 

A strong gust of wind swirled around him, sending a chill down his spine and reminding him of those bitter weeks in Colter. God forbid they’d be driven into the snow again. 

As the wind calmed, a different sound carried across the terrain. An unmistakable chorus of wolves howled. Arthur tensed, knowing that was their signal of easy prey, and he glanced around while his horse’s head shot up and began to squirm apprehensively. 

No pack in sight, the haunting melody seemingly originating from the plateau to his right. It would take any man or animal more effort than it was worth to stagger down the jagged path to even reach him. He was safe, sliding his gloved hand along the stallion’s neck to soothe. 

“Easy, boy,” he cooed. “You’re alright.” 

No sooner did those words leave his mouth, a shrill scream pierced the otherwise still air. A scream of pure, utter terror. The scream of a woman. The desperate cry for help. 

He knew better than to meddle in other’s affairs. Why should he care if some stranger became a predator’s next meal? 

Perhaps he cared more than he liked to admit. 

Turning his horse toward the nearest pathway up, he snapped out a command to go, his steed jolting forward despite its previous anxiety. The stallion expertly navigated the steep, rocky terrain until the land smoothed out, peaking to a flat expanse that seemingly went for miles with the cloudless azure sky. 

Another sharp wail. His head turned, spotting the culprit just a few yards away. A pack of three timber wolves, all facing away and slowly stalking toward their prey beneath a large tree. 

Arthur had no time to waste. He whistled loudly, catching the attention of the closest. It spun around and stared at Arthur with fierce amber eyes, lips curled back to bear a hungry, toothy grin. 

A deft hand was on his revolver in a split second, drawing it from his holster and landed a bullet right between its eyes. The gunshot alerted the other two, turning away from their original prey to now target him as well. 

He didn’t give them a chance. Expertly wielding his firearm to dispatch them, their now lifeless bodies falling limp to the grass, the surrounding forage painted a deep scarlet. The gun slotted back to its home. 

The air was silenced again, barren of songbirds and woodland creatures, undoubtedly frightened by his interception. His eyes shifted, scanning the open area for any additional threats. 

There was a squeak, as timid and frightened as a mouse. His gaze settled upon its origin, the woman that was just seconds away from being mauled to death.  

Dressed in a simple button-up blouse and a vibrant skirt and hair tied back into a neat bun, you were more out of place than a rancher was in the city. Your eyes were wide with terror, hands up in attempt to defend yourself, though one fist clenched and full of what appeared to be leafy sprigs. 

“Are you okay, miss?” Arthur quietly asked. 

He watched as you slowly lowered your hands, your gaze fixated on the dead wolves. “I...” you started, before taking a shaky breath and looking to him directly. “I-I'm okay...thank you.” 

He nodded in response. With the deed done, he should be on his way, but the curiosity was beginning to gnaw. It wasn't his business why you were out here, and he should just leave it at that. He should turn and continue along his path. 

However, the thought of a woman alone and defenseless out in the wilderness didn’t exactly sit right with him. “This ain’t exactly the safest place to be,” he commented. “Why’re you out here?” 

Your eyes averted immediately, and your head hung, reminding him of a child being scolded. “Looking for herbs,” you say rather quietly, your left fist opening to reveal more of the leafy stems laden in your palm, before tucking them into a small leather satchel attached around your waist. “I don’t normally venture so far from home, but—” 

The glint of a silver ring on your finger caught Arthur’s attention. “Your husband don’t help?” he guessed, leaning onto the horn of his saddle. 

“My husband? Hah!” your demeanor changed immediately, tilting your head back in a scoff. “Please, my husband doesn’t know a dandelion from a daffodil! No,” you sighed, shaking your head in disappointment. “As the dutiful wife, I keep the house clean and our bellies full.” 

“So...you came out here jus’ to look for ingredients?” Arthur asked. “With no proper protection?” 

Your brow furrowed into a scowl, the corners of your lips wrinkling. “Had I known there were wolves out here, I wouldn’t have bothered. Like I said, I don’t usually venture from home. But our herb garden died after last week’s frost.” 

“There's supplies right in Valentine,” Arthur pointed out. “Would be much less dangerous than bein’ out here.” 

“Ah yes, that muddy little farming town,” your nose wrinkled in disgust. “We arrived there by train when we first moved out here...” you shook your head and sighed, turning to gaze across the plateau. “Guess I have no choice now...” you glanced around wildly and frowned. “Those damn wolves scared away my horse!” 

Arthur held back a sigh. The last thing he wanted to do was to traipse around New Hanover in search of a frightened steed. Poor thing is probably halfway to Ambarino by now or got cornered by something else.  

That didn’t solve the matter at hand, however. To leave you alone even after killing those mongrels would fill him with unnecessary guilt. He didn’t have to continue, but that small part of his conscience convinced him otherwise. “Would you, uh, like a ride back to town?” he offered. 

Your gaze fell to him immediately, your expression brightening. “If you would, please.” 

Arthur nodded and held his hand out, and you stepped forward to grab it, using the freed stirrup to hoist yourself onto the back of his Andalusian. As you settled behind him, Arthur took a glance at the wolf carcasses, making a mental note to return here later. Pearson surely would appreciate having some extra pelts on hand. 

He turned the horse around, spurring it into an easy lope back toward the pathway. 

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am for this, mister,” you say. “I can’t imagine the thought of having to hoof it to Valentine on foot after that ordeal. My poor horse…I hope she’s okay.” 

“Jus’ don’t make it a habit of makin’ trips out here, at least without somethin’ to protect yourself with,” Arthur pointed out. “It’s more dangerous than you’d think.” 

“I think I got plenty of that in one day,” you sighed. “You might see me as some foolish woman, and I know I am. My husband and I have been out here for two months, and I still haven’t completely adjusted,” you laughed dryly. “See, we’re from out East, him and I.” 

Arthur didn’t respond. Easterners, civilized folk that had no business being out here. Businessmen led out West with the promise of opportunities, reaping the land of its riches. 

“Was all his idea to move out this way,” you continued over his silence. “I tried to make the best of it. It’s not like back at home, some days I do miss my cozy apartment...but as my husband said, there’s no point in returning when there’s something better out here for us.” 

From the tone of your voice, Arthur could tell you rolled your eyes. “That’s what a lot of folk say,” Arthur mumbled. “In the end, it don’t always work out and they go back, tails tucked between their legs.” 

“You don’t know my husband then,” you respond with a dry laugh. “Ambition is his game, and he’s one smart gambler.” 

“For your sake, I’d hope so,” Arthur said, peering ahead to see Valentine’s rooftops appear in the distance. 

The remainder of the trip fell silent. Arthur was thankful you hadn’t strayed too far from town, since this minor detour would still allow him ample time to return to his original trip. 

The offending scent of the stockyards was the first to hit his nose to announce their arrival into Valentine. Mud slopped around the horse’s hooves as they trotted further into town, sidling along the edge to clear the path for the stagecoaches rolling past. He turned right, facing the bustling street. He stopped at the nearest post, avoiding the rest of the traffic. 

You slid off and landed delicately, smoothing your skirt out before looking back up to him. “Thank you, mister,” you say with a smile. “Um...would you mind if you took me home too? I don’t live too far from here.” 

Well, shit. Seems like this detour would take longer than he’d anticipated. He’d already done enough and removed you from any immediate danger. “Sure,” he answered, waving his hand with a half-hearted flourish. 

Your smile only widened. “Thank you again, I won’t be long!” You hurried along, excitedly popping up onto the wooden walkway and disappeared into one of the shops. 

Arthur sighed, dragging a palm across his face. He truly had no business escorting folk, especially someone who seemed so out of her element. However, he felt the need to at least carry through, provide you with safe passage home to your foolish husband. Perhaps today may be a lesson for you to stay safer, or even compel the two of you to move back East. 

Just as you promised, your venture into the shop did not take long at all. A mere five minutes passed before the door creaked open and you reappeared, making a beeline toward him. The relief was plain on your face. 

“Find what you needed?” Arthur asked. 

“And much more!” You exclaim. “I think I’ll be set for the week.” 

Arthur nodded in approval and held his hand out for you to take. Instead, you placed your hands along his horse’s rump and hoisted yourself up with one smooth motion. 

You settled behind him once again and pointed westward. “We live that way, couple miles out of town.” 

He didn’t hesitate to follow your direction, wasting no time to leave Valentine in his wake. The buildings gave way to an open field with trees in the distance, leading off to the mountains of West Elizabeth further out. It’d only taken an extra twenty minutes at a steady trot along the path until you instructed him to veer off into the trees, following a much narrower path. Up ahead, the forage began to thin out to a small field with what appeared to be a small house, and an even smaller barn sitting quaintly behind it. 

He emerged from the tree line, allowing full sight of what he presumed was your home. The outside seemed to be kept neat and orderly, with an immaculate fence offset from the porch full of greenery. As he approached closer, he realized they were half-wilted. 

“Home sweet home,” you sighed as you slid off the horse, stepping toward the house. Only to pause and look back at him. “Thank you so much, again. You’re the kindest person I’ve met out here so far.” 

Arthur chuckled humorlessly at your comment. “Ah, I don’t know about that, ma’am.” 

“Nonsense,” you brush away his refute. “You showed up at just the right time, I’m sure anyone else would have left me to the wolves, all for some stupid plants...” you glanced back toward the garden with a grimace before turning your attention back to him. “Hey, won’t you join me for dinner? I’d like to repay you.” 

Arthur hadn’t expected that. Heading back out would be ideal, at least to try and hunt before evening settled in. He also hadn’t eaten since breakfast back at camp. Even though he had some fruit in his back, it would not be enough to satiate him for the next few hours. 

Another thought crossed his mind. “Your husband won’t mind the company?” he carefully asked, knowing a face like his appearing in a comfortable homestead may be unsettling. 

“Oh, he’s not home tonight, out doing business as usual,” you sighed. “I always make more than enough, just in case, but I’m tired of letting some of my hard work go to waste.” 

Something about that statement irked Arthur. From the information you’ve told him so far, it seemed your husband was painfully oblivious to what life really was like out here, most likely having no inkling of his wife ignorantly exploring the wilderness just to make a tasty meal. 

The rumble of his stomach cut his thoughts short, and he pressed a hand to his abdomen. It’d been at least a half-day since breakfast, and with the past hour or so spent on a detour, the opportunity for a hot meal was difficult to pass. 

“Sure, why not?” he finally said. “I’ll have a plate.” 

You flashed a beaming smile at him. “Excellent. Here...” You pointed to the small barn behind the house. “You can put your horse in there for a bit, I’m sure he’s just as hungry as you are. You can come in when you’re done.” 

You turned on your heel, bounding up the porch steps to disappear behind a door. Arthur did as he was told, dismounting his horse and leading him toward the barn. He shoved the door open, peering into the tiny, two-stall building. One stall stood completely clean, devoid of any sign of use, while the other had a mess of half-eaten hay, most likely from the horse you’d claimed ran off earlier. He led the stallion into this stall, and the horse immediately dove into the hay. 

Arthur patted the horse’s neck with a small smile. It wasn’t too often that a stranger’s hospitality also extended toward his steed as well. He left the stallion to enjoy the hay, stepping back out and heading toward the house. 

He stepped onto the porch, panels creaking beneath his weight. The door opened easily, and he stepped inside, greeted by the cozy, bright interior. It was almost as if he stepped inside a dollhouse. 

You were at the stove directly opposite him, leaning over a large pot, sprinkling a few leaves into what seemed to be a sort of stew. Upon his entrance, you turned and gave him another smile. “Won’t be much longer. If you’d like to wash up, there’s a wash basin in the next room,” you gestured with a flick of your head towards the right. 

Arthur once again wordlessly followed your direction, setting his sights toward a door standing ajar in the corner. He absorbed the scenery before him as he moved. If he hadn’t known you were in the middle of the woods, he would have guessed he was somewhere like Blackwater. It was evident you were not ready to transition from your previous life, as almost every surface seemed to be meticulously kept and covered with décor. 

He pushed the door open to reveal a bedroom that was oddly plain compared to what he’d just witnessed in the kitchen. The bed was neatly made, an oak armoire sitting directly across from it. In the corner next to him sat a small porcelain and golden wash basin, already filled with water. 

He took caution when washing up, not to spill any dirty water upon the swept floors. Though he supposed it didn’t matter, given how much dust coated his worn leather boots. Once finished he made his way back into the kitchen, just in time to witness you ladle stew into two bowls. The small table was the only thing separating the two of you, and Arthur took a seat. 

Placing a bowl in front of him, you moved to sit opposite. “It’s not much, but I hope you enjoy it.” 

The savory aroma only made his stomach gurgle again. He peered down to observe the dish. The browned liquid swimming with a medley of vegetables and meat, with speckles of whichever herbs you’d added. He took a spoonful and placed it in his mouth, his tongue delightfully greeted with rich flavor. 

Enjoying it was an understatement. He would have shoveled the whole damn thing into his mouth if maintaining politeness wasn’t a factor. “No complaints here, ma’am,” he said after swallowing. “This may be the best stew I’ve ever had.” 

Your smile was bashful, but the light in your eyes told him how you appreciated the praise. “Glad to know my husband doesn’t lie to me when he says he likes my cooking,” you giggled lightly. “I appreciate it, Mister...” you trailed off, giving him a hopeful look for a proper introduction. 

“Arthur,” he answered. 

You nodded and gave him your name in response. “Thank you for not letting this go to waste.” 

Offering a small smile, Arthur then took another bite. It was tempting to ask for the recipe to pass along to Pearson for ideas. “It’d be a shame, especially after almost gettin’ eaten.” 

You giggled again, your voice ringing melodically. “Well Arthur, I’m glad you could join me for dinner after that nonsense. It gets quite lonely living out here sometimes.” 

“Your husband often leaves you alone like this?” Arthur asked. 

There was a pause. The open and friendly demeanor you possessed suddenly vanished as you sat up straight, giving him a cautious stare. “Don’t mistake my hospitality as vulnerability, Arthur. My husband may be away, but I promise you my intentions are not what you're assuming.” 

Arthur was taken aback by this, having not realized his words might’ve had another meaning. “Oh no, ma’am!” He dropped his spoon and held his hands up defensively. “That ain’t what I meant at all, believe me. My intentions ain’t nothin’ of the sort.” 

You seemed to be satisfied by his answer as the rigidity of your body eased, though the look of caution remained. “I’m no fool to the desires of men,” you say. “Doesn’t matter where I am, they’re almost always the same.” 

As unfortunate as the statement was, Arthur had to agree with you. He’d witnessed it more times than he’d cared, though never taking part for himself. It was often those who held a position of power, abusing it as such to have their ways. He despised men of the sort. “You don’t have to worry, I swear I ain’t like that,” he responded. 

The gaze you held on him was steady and scrutinizing, as if searching his face for any tale of a lie. Soon the lines of worry began to soften, your lips hinting the ghost of a smile. “I suppose I should believe you, otherwise you would’ve had me after taking care of the wolves. You’re a man of honor, Arthur.” 

A dejected chuckle left his throat as he shook his head. He cared little to argue, as you’d only seen just a fraction of what he truly was. Had you known he was a wanted outlaw, your perspective would change in a heartbeat. 

Still, he’d come across a myriad of people from different walks on his travels. Those who either welcomed him with open arms or pointed a gun to his face, most of which didn’t know his true identity, and they never had to, to determine what sort of person he was. 

Without a reply, he settled into a comfortable silence to finish his meal. You simply followed suit, leaving the conversation to rest. 

Arthur took his time with the stew, savoring every bite knowing he may not receive another one just as delicious. The sun settling through the west-facing window indicated just how much time has passed since this initial diversion. It had to be late afternoon now, had those last few hours flown by that quickly? 

With the bowl empty and his once withering stomach now satisfyingly full, Arthur leaned back in his seat and gave a content sigh. “I suppose I should be gettin' back on the road,” he said to catch your attention. 

You looked back up, and Arthur caught a flicker of emotion on your face, but you smiled before he could determine what it was exactly. “Of course, seems to be getting late,” you glanced at the window. “I hope I didn’t keep you from anything important.” 

While it certainly took away a few hours' worth of hunting, he couldn’t readily admit that. You were kind enough to offer hospitality in return to his decided kindness, much different than a few billfolds or a piece of jewelry that would normally accompany these rare occasions. A full stomach and a rested horse, however, that was rare. 

“Nothin’ too important,” Arthur assured you. While the camp’s coffer was low, there was no immediate need for fresh kill that same day. He could attempt to make it back up to Cumberland before nightfall and set up camp for a fresh start tomorrow.  

You escorted him back to the barn where his horse was still working through the remnants of hay. The stallion left it rather reluctantly as Arthur pulled him back out into the open. As he mounted and glanced up at the sky, making a note of the time. It wasn’t quite sunset just yet; the bright blues were beginning to fade into a fiery orange. 

“Thank you, again, Arthur,” your voice drew his attention. “Not just for helping me, but providing me with some company as well.” 

Arthur nodded to you. “Try to stay outta trouble, miss.” 

You giggled and shook your head bashfully. “I think today was enough trouble for a lifetime, I’ll be sticking to the safety of stores from now on.” 

Arthur offered you a half-smile. “Good luck to you.” He bid his farewells and turned his horse away from the homestead, making his way back to the worn path. 

--- 

The wooden shops and stands of Valentine were bathed in a slight golden glow, tale of the sunset to Arthur’s back by the time he’d reached the town again. He could travel just a little bit further and set up camp for the night for a fresh start tomorrow morning, but his mind had been elsewhere since he left your house. 

The idea of a woman out of her element living away from civilization without protection didn’t sit right with him. He wondered how long it’d been since you settled out here, and how often your husband left you to your own devices. Had he not been there to rescue you today, how much time would have passed until your husband came home to an empty house, without a clue what happened? 

How could that damn fool not know what he was getting himself into? A businessman had no business trying to adapt to the ways of the rugged.  

Arthur shook his head to himself. The vulnerability you presented yourself with today would hopefully harden with more time spent out here, and preferably before you landed yourself into trouble again. 

He sighed, skirting around the town rather than subjecting his horse to trot through that muck a second time. It was best to not worry about the affairs of strangers, especially those he may never even see again. 

His thoughts occupied most of the remaining journey. The sky steadily darkened as the hour grew later, and the familiar reaches of the emerald pines that outlined Cumberland once again came into view. He considered taking the path back to those wolves, if scavengers hadn’t already begun to pick. 

A yawn stopped that thought in his tracks. The day stretched longer than he intended, and the stew still sat heavy in his belly. It would be best to set up camp now. 

He pulled away from the main path to disappear beneath the canopy of pine, locating just a clearing just large enough to hold a tent. He dismounted and immediately got to work, having his campsite completed just as the last of the daylight was swallowed by the mountains further West. 

With his small tent set up and a meager campfire a striking amber against the inky landscape, fatigue began to settle in. The vestiges of stew finally departed his stomach, announcing its emptiness with a slight grumble. He wished he could have another bowl, but instead helped himself to a can of beans dug out of his satchel. 

It was nowhere near as filling, but it was enough to draw out the tendrils of fatigue, and he turned in soon after to be lulled by nature’s melodies. 

—- 

Arthur awoke with an early start; the sky a pale gray with the hint of dawn. A perfect time for hunting, he thought, and with a quick helping of coffee, he grabbed his bow off his horse and set deeper into the woods. 

He thanked Charles for the lessons in tracking; broken twigs and overturned leaf litter would have gone unnoticed by someone with an untrained eye. The trail was fairly fresh, and the wind carried the distinct echo of an elk’s call. He continued onward, ensuring his footfalls were light and as soundless as possible. It wasn’t much longer until he came upon a small clearing, a small herd of elk peacefully grazing and unaware of his presence. 

Carefully removing the bow and an arrow from his back, he set it in place and drew the bowstring back, aiming for the closest. He had a clear shot straight to the head, and— 

The elks’ heads suddenly shot up, ears pricked and eyes wide. At first Arthur thought he’d somehow startled them, but their attention was drawn in another direction. Within a heartbeat they turned and ran, heading deeper into the forest. 

“Shit,” he hissed, standing up with frustration and regretted leaving his horse behind. He wondered if he could head back quickly to grab his stallion, perhaps he could pick up the trail again without the herd wandering too far ahead. 

A flicker a movement in the corner of his eye caused him to turn his head, opposite where the elk ran. With a start he expected a predator. Instead, it was a horse. 

Wild horses were not an uncommon sighting, especially further away from civilization. As the beast trotted into the clearing, its head held high, and ears pricked forward in alert. Arthur spotted a saddle on its back, a bridle with broken reins dragging through the brush. Its black and white coat stained a cool brown with mud. 

He wondered what happened, and what poor soul was out there looking for their steed, if they were even still alive. As the horse slowed to a stop and dipped its head to graze, Arthur caught a glimpse of what looked like bundles of drying plants hanging from each side. 

Something pricked in his mind. It was a sense of familiarity about it, even though he’d never seen this horse before. Something about the plants it carried... 

And then it hit him. His encounter with you yesterday, you were gathering herbs and you mentioned your horse ran off, frightened by the pack of wolves. The chance of it belonging to someone else would be slim. 

It made sense to find the steed out here, but he was surprised it hadn’t been cornered by other predators. It’d only been a day, though it would not last much longer with the weight of the saddle and the reins dangling so dangerously low. 

He sighed, silently cursing himself for what he was about to do. He should just ignore the thing and continue hunting, but a tiny voice in the back of his mind told him otherwise. Securing the bow to his torso, he slowly stepped into the open. 

The horse must’ve sensed him, as its head shot back up, its wide blue eyes directly onto him. Nostrils flared, expelling a loud snort, almost as if it were a dragon from a story book. 

“Easy there,” Arthur cooed, his voice low and even. He watched as every muscle tensed, ready to turn and sprint off. “Easy...” he repeated. 

The horse stared unblinkingly as he approached, inch by inch, hands reaching up slowly. Arthur silently willed it not to run. He was just a few feet away, and he went to reach for one of the reins still on the ground. 

The horse flinched, and Arthur froze, holding his breath. Thankfully, it didn’t take off. 

“You’re alright...” he said softly, waiting for another second before moving again. With a stroke of luck, he swiftly grabbed the broken rein. The horse didn’t offer another reaction, though still watched with wide eyes as Arthur patted its sweaty neck. He took a cursory glance underneath, and said, “Good girl.” 

The mare seemed to relax at his touch, and Arthur finally noted the sheen of sweat against her dirty coat. A layer of foam outlined the breast collar and the girth. It seemed the poor girl was running for a while and had only stopped just at the right moment. 

He ran his fingers against her velvet muzzle, feeling her hot breath as she attempted to sniff him. “Why don’t I take you home?” he said to her. “I’m sure there’s someone that misses ya.” 

—- 

A gentle breeze stirred the surrounding treetops, filling the air with a soft rustle of leaves and branches. It was a crisp wind; something you had yet to get used to. The grip on the shawl upon your shoulders tightened. As beautiful as your home was, you wished it would just be a little warmer. 

You stood up from the rocking chair perched upon your porch, itching for something to do. Boredom occupied most of your time since moving out here, between washing windowpanes and cooking with the same ingredients day in and day out. You insisted on possibly finding a job, a seamstress or a maid perhaps, but your husband Frederick detested this, adamantly reminding you he would earn more than enough to support the two of you. 

Oftentimes you would cure your restlessness by taking a short ride with your mare, but even that was ripped away by yesterday’s escapades. Frederick paid a pretty penny for that Criollo coming from the beautiful livery in Saint Denis, stopping when only learning she was imported straight from South America. That mare had quickly bonded with you and became your only friend since the move. 

But now she was gone, most likely enjoying her sudden freedom, or worse— 

Slamming your hand onto a pillar severed that train of thought. You instead focused on the meager herb garden, once leafy green stalks now an ugly brown and wilted. You sighed; gardening was never your forte and prior to last week, you were quite proud of your crop. The adjustment from comfortable civilization to a homestead in the middle of the wilderness wasn’t a smooth transition. You longed for your old home, your old town, and your mundane yet comfortable life. 

A shudder rocked through your body. Until recently, you’d been immune and willfully ignorant of the dangers lurking in the shadows, stalking in the trees, waiting for the opportune moment to pounce. Though you often wished for something exciting to break the otherwise monotonous day-to-day, having nearly died at the salivating fangs of those wolves was enough excitement for a lifetime. 

You were beyond thankful for that man, Arthur, for coming to your rescue. He had no business helping you the way he did, and you weren’t ignorant of that. You caught the hesitation in his voice, the flicker in his eyes, the judgmental tone he held when you explained the situation. He most likely saw you as an inconvenience. Regardless, the pity he bestowed on you was enough to ensure you were safe.  

Although unlikely, you hoped you would see him again at least once. He was the first person to show you true kindness and didn’t dare to take advantage of yours. It was a true rarity to come across someone to possess such redeeming qualities. 

The faint rustle of bushes caught your attention, but only for a brief second. Wildlife was plentiful around here, usually in the form of squirrels, rabbits, and the occasional deer or Pronghorn. The coyote yips and yowls often sounded off in the distance during the night, but you never once saw them cross the threshold of your property while you or Frederick were outside. 

A flicker of movement swept your gaze to the side. Too large for a coyote or even a deer, your heart skipped a beat in apprehension. Was your husband home? Or worse, more wolves somehow tracked your scent? 

From the tree line stepped out a horse, its dappled gray coat standing stark against the emerald shrubbery. Its rider was an unexpectedly welcome sight. 

“Arthur?” you said in surprise, allowing yourself to relax. He seemed to have something in his hand, and what followed surprised you even more. 

Your horse. 

Your mouth fell open in pure shock. You blinked multiple times, as if the sight before you were a hallucination. But surely enough, Arthur gave you a small smile and stopped just a few feet before your porch steps. 

“Hope you don't mind the intrusion,” he said. “Found this girl up in Cumberland Forest.” 

You bounded down the steps wordlessly, your mouth still gaped. “What—” you took a sharp breath. “How did you know...” That was my horse? You finished the question without speaking. 

Arthur shrugged, turning to look at the mare. “I saw her lookin’ a little distressed, like she’d been runnin’ all night. Then I saw the bundles of herbs on the saddle, could only guess who she belonged to,” he held out one of the leather reins, which you took instantly, running your shaking free hand along the mare’s painted coat. 

You truly thought the worst for this poor creature, and if it hadn't yet again been for this kind stranger, your fears might as well have manifested one way or another. “T-thank you Arthur, thank you!” You gave him a wide smile. How could you repay him this time? The remaining stew from yesterday had been almost completely diminished throughout the bitterly cold night following, and you were sure he wasn't going to wait around for another batch, as much as you saw that he enjoyed the first. 

Your eyes wandered to the now dried bundles of leaves still strapped on either side of your saddle. While the shop trip from yesterday was enough to replenish your pantry, this addition would keep you from venturing out again for a while. Yesterday’s events definitely gave you a more wary eye. 

Eyes on him again, quickly observing the faded tan jacket and the even more worn hat concealing his gaze. A bow was strapped across his back, and the gleam of a silver revolver shone from the holster adorning his waist. This was a man well-traveled, well versed and not afraid of life’s dangers. A spike of envy roiled in your stomach, wishing you had half the nerve he did. 

It then occurred to you that it’d been a moment since you last spoke, and as if Arthur read your mind, he cleared his throat and glanced over his shoulder. 

“I oughta start—” 

“Wait!” 

Arthur froze, turning to look at you again. You surprised yourself, having uttered this word without even thinking. Quickly, you composed yourself and continued, “Thank you again, Arthur. You’ve done more than you realize...” you paused as your mare nudged you gently, as if pressing you on. “I...I don’t have any stew prepared, but you’re welcome to stop by anytime if you’re hungry. I can whip up something.” 

His hand raised as if to wave away the offer, but you continued before he had the chance. “I insist,” you add. “Between saving my life and my horse’s, it’s the least I can do! And your horse...” you reached over to pat the gorgeous Andalusian. “Is welcome to take a rest in the barn as well. I don’t mind.” 

Arthur looked as if he were going to argue, mouth opening, but paused. For a few long seconds he seemed thoughtful, and finally said, “That’s real kind of ya, thank you.” 

You smiled widely at him. Shortly after he bid his goodbyes and turned around, you watching until the silvery swishing tail of his horse disappeared into the trees once again. You turned to your mare, relieved to have her back and simultaneously avoiding that awkward conversation for once your husband came back home as to why she was missing. 

“We’re lucky Arthur came to our rescue, huh?” you say to her, running your hand along her velvet muzzle. 

[thetruearchmagos]

Probably the only two things I didn't like in Blue Eye Samurai were how 'exoticised' the guns were, and the whole castle assault thing.

The last one is probably self explanatory considering how particular I can be about screwing up military 'activities' in media, but the first one might need some explanation.

Ya see, I don't actually care about whether the gun models were historically accurate, or their effectiveness, or anything like that. What I care about is how alien they seem to have been made to appear to the 'Japanese' side of the story. Like, this is Edo Japan, they have guns, and used guns back in the day to unify the country.

While I can kinda understand them not appearing in most parts of the setting, I'm kinda ticked off at the fact that the guard of the Shogun himself, being presumably some of the best in Japan, don't either?!? In fact, they act like they've never seen a gun in their life, but that gets into the battle side of things and I don't wanna go further than drawing that connection.

Nonetheless, I think there's something more to this utterly odd portrayal of firearms here at stake. The great, long lived, and stupid myth / legend that 'Samurai don't use guns', which has existed well before BES, is itself just one facet of the common trope that 'oriental' societies are hopelessly and actively backwards in their rejection of modernity, to their ruin at the hands of those who do.

And I don't want to blame this show or anyone connected to it for the fact that this trope exists, because I don't think they mean to trade in that sorta thing. There is a genuine narrative impact achieved through so thoroughly overstating the resistance to modernity that these 'old elites' embody, but at the same time it's hard to overstate how much the zeitgeist / public 'knowledge' that surrounds foreign societies and times is shaped by the media that portrays them, 'knowledge' that sometimes leaks into perceptions of actual, current societies, though I don't consider that fact a necessary addition to justify criticism.

I guess I wanted to say that I, for one, just don't think that a good story is worth misrepresenting the actual sentiments and beliefs of times long past. It's sad to see it happen.

[grimfalcon746]

Jacob the Vicious: Chapter 2

This is part two to a story i started a while ago. Part 1 linked below Part 1

***

Demons Flee when Good Men Go to War

"What does that mean?" One warrior asked their captain.

"I'm not sure. Terralia, you have any idea?" The captain asked.

"No. Jacob never mentioned anything of the sort." Terralia replied.

Another ship had landed while the warriors were searching the wreckage. As the occupants of the other ship entered the cargo hold, one warrior grabbed Terralia, dragging her into the cockpit, he stood guard over the priestess while the other warriors received the aliens.

"Who are you." The alien demanded.

The alien stood tall, around nine feet, and was the shortest of the six. His orange skin was mostly hidden by his armor. The weapons the band carries were swords and clubs. No projectile weapons among them. These men were Vilguls, who had sworn off firearms and similar weapons in terms of man to man combat. Their ships still used them, as was necessary in terms of vessel warfare, however they preferred to disable enemy ships, and attack hand to hand, rather then rely on their ships weapons. It is easy to see why, with four arms and brute force, not many could go hand to hand with them. They loved the thrill of the fight.

It was rare of the Vilguls to attack humans, but the contract had been worth it. Twenty-five million standard credits. One human vessel may not be much of a threat to the Vilguls, however they knew the humans tendency for revenge. Still Twenty-five million standard credits was enough for them to take the risk.

The captain answered the Vilguls question. "We are warriors from the nearby village, investigating the crash."

"Warriors, you say." The alien responded, a smile creeping onto his lips. Grabbing a club and a sword from their holsters, he approached the warriors.

"We do not mean to fight you." The captain assured.

"Fight. Don't fight. Death will be the same either way.

Realizing these aliens were not going to allow anyone to live, Terralia made a break for the control panel.

"Terralia, What are you doing?" Her guard whispered.

"Activating the distress beacon. Hopefully there is another ship close." Terralia replied. "After that I will climb out the broken window, once I make the treeline, you should follow suit."

"I will cover you from here, but I will not join you. My squad needs my help." The guard replied.

In the time it took Terralia to activate the distress beacon and climb out the window, the Captain had already been slain. The second in command was locked into combat with the Vilgul leader now, losing badly. His dominant arm had been broken in three places and his chest had been crushed.

"We got a runner." Another Vilgul called out.

"Go ahead." The Vilgul leader commanded.

A bit of panic crept into the guard as he turned to see where Terralia was. He let a breath of relief out, as Terralia was almost at the treeline, they would never catch her. She knew those woods like the back of her hand, with all the time she spent with Jacob in them. They would never find her once she was made the treeline.

Standing over the beaten soldier, the Vilgul leader raised his club. Taking delight in the moment before finishing off an enemy. As the club came down, it was deflected by the blade of Terralia's guard. The club slammed into the ships floor hard, as the guard swung for the leg. The Vilguls leg collapsed as the blade cut into the flesh.

The guard backed off, as the Vilgul had squared off to him.

"You should have gone for the kill." The Vilgul mocked. "Your comrade is going to die anyways." Taking a moment to inspect the wound on his leg, a mere flesh wound, he continued. "It has been some time since someone had been able to draw blood on me. Our skin is thick, and strong. Your blade must be exceptionally sharp."

Without responding the guard attacked again. His sword being blocked with every thrust, as he did not have the element of surprise this time. The Vilgul was having fun, toying with his opponent, until the guard spat in his eye. As he recoiled from the wad of spit in his eye, the guard thrust the blade at his throat.

Deflecting the blade with his sword, the Vilgul brought the club down hard on the shaft of the sword, breaking the sword near the hilt. Not to be deterred the guard thrust the blade at the face of the Vilgul. The plate helmet got knocked off, as the blade dug a gash along the side his face, causing him to stumble back.

"I like you." The Vilgul complimented, not even reacting to the blood coming from his face. "Your sword shattered, and you cut me with the fractured remains. You should join us, you can live as a pet on our ship. See the other planets, learn to fight like a real warrior. How about it?"

"I'd sooner die!" The guard shot, charging the Vilgul again.

The club collided with his skull before he even knew it had been swung. Bone fractured and brain matter spattered the area with the single blow. Before the body had even dropped the Vilgul had already turned back towards the wounded enemy. Finishing him off with one more swing, he wiped the blood from his face.

"Kill the rest." Came the command, as he picked his helmet up, putting it back on his head.

Slaughter. That's the only way to describe what happened next. The warriors were dead before they could even draw their weapons, their corpses mangled with the brute force of the attack. The Vilgul leader made his way to the cockpit. Finding all crew accounted for and dead he left the ship, with his comrades in tow.

"I lost them sir." The Vilgul who had chased Terralia admitted as he returned.

"There is a village nearby." The leader said. "We will attack it to try and draw them out. Failing that we will scorch everything for 100 kilometers."

"Is that really necessary?" One Vilgul asked.

"We just killed humans. Do not forget what they are like. We can not afford to leave any alive who can identify us." He replied.

The sun was rising, as the Vilguls hit the village. The first few villages died quickly, as they were mere farmers. Their friends and family went running to the village to send word of the attack. The captain had to stop his men from chasing them down.

"Remember the objective. The louder we are, the more likely we draw the one who ran away home." He commanded.

As word spread through the village, the Vilguls could not believe what they were seeing. Instead of fleeing into the woods, the villagers gathered in a single structure in the village center. Those who could not fight taking shelter inside, as the warriors surrounded it to protect those inside. This was going to be easier than they thought.

While this was going on, another ship had landed near the wreckage. A small ship, carrying a band of ten humans. Terralia watched from the treeline, not sure if she should approach or not, as two entered the wreckage to investigate. As they came out of the ship, the rest left the safety of their own ship to meet with those who had investigated the wreck.

"Jacob!" Terralia called from the treeline.

"Stand down." Jacob ordered as the other men brought their rifles up towards the noise. "That ones friendly."

"We were investigating the wreckage when these aliens attacked. They have four arms, orange skin and are larger than any other species I've seen. They left in the direction of my village." Terralia blurted, in a mild panic.

"That sounds like Vilguls." One of Jacob's men said.

"Load up." Jacob ordered. "We are hunting Vilguls.

"Be careful!" Terralia warned. "They killed my warriors without any effort at all."

"We are aware of them." Jacob reassured her. "We will be fine."

As the crew finished loading up, they met Jacob at the treeline. Once they all gathered, Jacob spoke. "I know these woods well. I will be moving fast to catch up with the Vilguls before they do too much damage to the village. Stay close or you will get lost.

Sprinting through the woods with his team in tow, they made it to the village in a fraction of the time the Vilguls took to make the same trip. Several warriors around the village center had already been slain. Their mangled corpses laying around the Vilguls, who were toying with several more. The sniper of Jacob's team climbed a watchtower, setting up as over-watch as the rest of the team proceeded towards the Vilguls.

One village warrior was on the ground, a Vilgul standing on each arm, ensuring he could not defend himself, as the leader brought his club up with an evil grin.

Jacob's gunshots cracked through the still air, as the Vilgul standing on one of the warriors arms dropped. The rest scattered, recognizing the sound of gunshots. The rest of the team open fired as they fled for cover, in total four of the six had been killed before they made cover. Jacob and his team then approached the village warriors.

"How bad is it?" Jacob asked.

"Ten dead here, we also sent a team to the wreckage to investigate that has not returned." One warrior informed Jacob.

"That team is dead, except for Terralia." Jacob updated him.

"That makes fifteen dead then." The warrior said solemnly.

As Jacob talked with the warrior, one of the remaining Vilguls had circled around, and came out from behind a building behind the team. Charging in with a weapon in each hand, The Vilgul had intended to slaughter all the humans before they even knew he was there. The sniper killed him before he even made it within range, dropping the corpse behind the team who barely reacted. They had, after all, turned their back to entice that kind of an attack.

"It could take a while to find the last one in the village." Jacob's comrade pointed out.

"The warriors could help search." The village warrior offered.

"No, they would just pick your warriors off, or worse go after the villages in the shelter. I have a better idea," Jacob replied, grabbing his radio, he walked away from his team, throwing his assault rifle to the ground. "All men stand down."

Pulling short spear and a shaft off of holders on his back, Jacob screwed the two together, making a long spear. He then called out loudly. "Vilgul, You have to know you are going to die here! However, I know your kind likes a good fight. Come out and face me, I will give you a fight with my spear."

"Your men will shoot me as soon as I step out." The Vilgul called back.

"I have ordered them to stand down. You will have your fight." Jacob reassured.

"Do we shoot him when he comes out?" One of Jacob's men asked their lieutenant quietly.

"No. He ordered us to stand down." The Lieutenant replied.

"He really want's to fight a Vilgul hand to hand?" The soldier asked.

"You know why he was given a captain rank as soon as he joint the XIV Regiment?" The lieutenant asked, chuckling.

"No?" The soldier replied.

"His name carries that much weight." Came the reply. "That is Jacob, the Viscous."

"Oh come on, that is a myth." The soldier replied in disbelief.

"I thought so too. However, apparently not. You are looking at a man who killed fifteen Vilguls on Sade 57 with nothing but a rock in a sock." The lieutenant said.

The men stared in disbelief at that information, as the Vilgul leader came out to face Jacob. Equipping a large shield in his left two arms, and a sword and club in his right two arms, the Vilgul squared off against Jacob.

Opening his mouth to speak, Jacob cut him off with a thrust of the spear, aiming straight for his face. Knocking the spear to the side with the shield, Jacob spun the spear, striking the side of the shield with the back in, trying to knock the shield out of the Vilguls hands. Failing to do so, Jacob shoved the shaft into the torso of the Vilgul several times. The force of the blows causing the Vilgul to loosen his grip on the shield, Jacob was then able to strike the shield again, knocking it out of his enemies hands.

Spinning the spear so the blade was in the front again, Jacob trust again, this time aiming for the torso. Knocking the spear away with his sword, the Vilgul swapped the club to the left hand, swinging it towards Jacob. Blocking the blow with the shaft of the spear, Jacob was knocked back at least five feet, before stumbling back another couple steps to regain his balance.

The Vilgul had charged at Jacob at that point, swinging his sword in an effort to decapitate Jacob with one swing. Ducking the Sword, Jacob swung the shaft of his spear, catching him in the wound the warrior had given him on his leg earlier. The force of the blow easily buckled the leg of his enemy, who, for a moment, dropped his guard. Swinging the tip of the spear in the helmet, Jacob knocked it off his opponents head, causing another deep wound to the face of the Vilgul. Pulling the spear back, Jacob thrust again, aiming for the face of his opponent.

Knocking the spear away with both weapons, the Vilgul punched Jacob in the stomach. All the air left his body, even as his armor absorbed most of the blow. Nearly losing his grip on his spear, Jacob tightened his grasp on it, as the Vilgul got up and body checked him back. Landing on his back, Jacob rolled away from his opponent who had charged him. Drawing his sidearm, Jacob took aim.

Six shots fired from his sidearm, one in to each of the limbs of his opponent. Collapsing to the ground dropping his weapons, the Vilgul looked up just in time to see Jacob shoving the spear at his face. Grabbing the shaft of the spear with all four hands, he managed to stop the spear after it had dug through his cheek and pressed to the back of his throat. Stepping forward, Jacob jumped off the arm of the Vilgul, kicking him in the face as he rose. The force of the kick loosened his grip on the shaft slightly, then with the added force of gravity, Jacob was able to drive the spear all the way down through the body of the Vilgul. As the tip left the butt of his opponent, Jacob drove it into the ground, pinning him in place.

A few minutes of struggling was futile, before the Vilgul succumbed to the wound, going limp.

"I was wondering if you were going to use your sidearm." One of Jacobs men said.

"Didn't really need it, but the fight was dragging on to long." Jacob replied.

The village cleaned everything up, gathering their fallen to honor them with ceremony. Jacob and his men lingered on the outskirts of the village for a bit, Jacob catching up with the villagers, Terralia among them. Just as he was about to depart, Terralia asked him about the slogan from the ship, also printed on the chest of Jacob's armor.

"It's the slogan of the XIV Regiment." Jacob informed her. "A mercenary group I joined after leaving here."

"I don't care what the other species say." One elder said to him. "You, and your kind are always welcome here. This is only our second encounter with humans, and we have been helped tremendously both times. Other species clearly only fear you as they are looking for a fight."

"I appreciate that. I will spread the word through the other human fleets." Jacob replied. "There are so few places we can stop with the reputation of our species."

With their final goodbye's said, Jacob and his team left the planet once again. Wondering if his business was truly done, or if fate would bring him back to this place yet again. Only time would tell.

[famouskidpainter]

Terrifying Wrath

Call of duty modern warfare 2

Included characters: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick, Simon 'Ghost' Riley,John 'Soap' MacTavish, John Price

Warning: Violence and mention of violence

Pov: Second point of view

You were a gunsmith who has repaired, customized, modified, designed, and even built many various types of firearms for Task141 for many years. You were known for your skills, dedication, commitment, and hard-work during your time surveying as well as always having your face concealed behind a hyottoko mask-causing many recruits and some of Task141 to wonder what your face might look like without the mask-but you're far more well-known for one thing and that is..your short yet utterly terrifying temper, making the toughest and hardest solider in the base to tremble in fear.

Price:

He highly respects and admires your work and dedication as well as hard-work.

Every so often, he would stop and pop by your workshop to merely say hi and see how you're doing or to just simply leave a plate of food on your desk as you often attend to forget to take care of yourself due to getting caught up with work.

When you're not working on something in your workshop, you and Price would usually go to a nearby Cafe and talk about whatever and enjoy a coffee with one another, but you didn't speak a whole lot and he didn't mind at all if you didn't speak as he also attends to not speak alot often, preferring to merely listen. So, you both would just simply drink one another's coffee in comfortable silence as people chattering in the background filled the Cafe.

You both have a modest and good relationship due to spending time and working alongside one another for many years. He may or may not know what your face looks like ;)

And..he knows of your infamous temper as he experienced first-hand..Due to losing a firearm you built for him after a mission in the Artic back in his younger years.

Let's just say..he learned to take extra care of the firearms you delivered to him till to this very day.

"YOU DAMN UTTER FOOL! HOW DARE YOU LOSE MY PRECIOUS COLT M-4 SOPMOD! DON'T YOU KNOW HOW LONG IT TOOK ME TO MAKE YOU THAT KIND OF FIREARM!?" You roared, jabbing your index finger against Price's cheek with brutal force. "Owowowowow! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to-" Price tried to explain himself, but was promptly cut off by you now screaming in his ear, nearly causing his eardrums to bleed. "DIDN'T MEAN TO?! DIDN'T MEAN TO MY ASS! YOU RUINIED A MONTH'S WORK!" You proceeded to jab your index finger against his cheek, but with more force than before while chewing him out alive.

Later, Laswell was able to calm you down after buying and giving you your favorite food, mitarashi dango-Price was mentally thanking whichever God in his head as Laswell unknowingly or knowingly saved his ass that day.

Laswell sometimes would tease Price referring to the incident and he would go silent as his face turns a bright shade of red of embarrassment.

He even shudders at the mere memory of it, praying that he doesn't relive that incident again. But, his prayers weren't heard as..one day, he again lost a firearm of yours during a mission.

Soap:

He also respects and admires your work and dedication as well as hard-work.

He would come and barg in your workshop, almost daily..Much to your dismay.

He would also stand beside you beside you while you worked on repairing or building a firearm as well as constantly asking you questions of every little thing you do..You remember the many times you had forcefully kicked out Soap from your workshop as you couldn't work in peace without him getting on your neck.

He has drawings and doodles of you in his sketchbook..Not exactly as he would normally use or make assumptions on how your face looks like without the mask due to that he has never seen you without it.

And..He also knows of your infamous temper..As he may or may not have lost or damage far to many firearms to the point where he had to beg you on his knees to make him another because he either lost or damaged it.. He still remembers the letter you sent him and it wasn't entirely pleasant..

"Hey Ghost, has Y/n come by as I'm still waiting for that new gun." Soap said, folding his arms over his chest as he stood in front of Ghost's desk. "Hmm..they did and they told me to give this to you." Ghost responded back as he placed his pen down on top of the slightly scattered papers, reaching down and pulling open a drawer from his desk and taking out an envelope from within it, handing it to Soap. "Thanks.." Soap stated, grabbing the envelope from Ghost and opened it. After Soap pulled the letter from the envelope and read it, he stared at the letter with a nervous and terrified expression as bits of sweat began to form on his forehead. "What does it say?" Ghost asked, briefly glancing up from the paperwork on his desk while continuing to fill them out. Soap didn't responded back as he merely stared at the letter in his hands before finally being able to speak once again.

"Hey Ghost..do you happen to know what is y/n's favorite food?"

It took a lot of convincing, begging and mitarashi dango to get you to forgive Soap and to give him a new firearm..after giving him a threat if he even lost or broke it, then you'll make sure to make his death slow and painful as well as appearing like a mere accident.

He promised that he wouldn't break or lose it..he hoped that you wouldn't do exactly what you threatened to do to him as he might of lost it..again.

*Pretend it says "I have no gun for you".*

I'll make a part 2, but with Gaz and Ghost. Please be patient with me and have a good day/night.

[astrophileous]

Let's Put On a Show

Part 2 of 4 from The Countdown series.

The above image does not indicate the reader's physical appearance.

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Female Reader

Synopsis: As his undercover life begins, Derek finds that the biggest enemies he has to battle are past memories and resurfaced feelings.

Word Count: 7500-ish

Warning(s): 18+ NSFW CONTENT (minors dni); penetrative sex; vaginal fingering; alcohol consumption; derek might be a little bit of an asshole in certain parts; talks and/or implications of illegal trades (narcotics, firearms, explosives), human trafficking, past trauma (child abuse), reproduction, infertility (mentioned), coercion into sex (not by Derek), attempted rape (not by Derek), degrading nicknames (cocksle*ve—not by Derek), noncon strangulation during sex (not by Derek), physical violence, physical torture, violence against a child; pls lmk if I missed anything

Author's Note: this one is..... y'know what, I'll let you judge by yourself. pls be mindful of the warnings I've listed above. DON'T READ IF YOU THINK ANY OF IT MIGHT BE TRIGGERING. another special mention to @avis-writeshq for beta and for bearing with me 🥺💞 with that said, don't forget to LIKE+COMMENT+REBLOG <3

Criminal Minds Masterlist

It was a couple of weeks later when Temples called for another meeting at the factory.

"Everything's set and good to go," Temples informed almost as soon as you had stepped into the threshold. "Derek Miller will be reporting for duty in two weeks."

Temples handed you the tablet containing a digital file filled with documents about Derek Miller's life. You were instantly reminded by the memory of receiving a similar looking tablet, scrolling through the endless documents of the persona you had been living with for the past few years.

"How do you wanna initiate contact?" you asked as you handed the tablet to Derek.

"I called in some favors from Bastoni. He's gonna vouch for Miller," Temples explained. "I trust you can handle the rest?"

You confirmed with a solid nod.

"It's happening," Derek muttered.

"You ready?"

Derek's eyes flew towards yours. "As I'll ever be."

"Good." A gentle breeze blew against your face, as if preparing along for the inevitable storm ahead. "Let's put on a show, shall we?"

"Derek."

Wrapped in your breathy moan, Derek's name was a world-class symphony. The soft expanse of skin glided against his own in a dance that he had known all too well. Above him, you were a goddess reincarnated, writhing for pleasure and setting flames to every nerve-ending in Derek's body.

"Derek, fuck. I'm gonna—"

"I know. I've got you, sweetheart." Derek's arms circled your waist, pulling you close until your chest was pressed against his. "Feel so good around me. Shit."

It took less than a minute for Derek to finally feel you coming undone around him, the sensation of your pulsating walls triggering his own release. Derek kept rutting up against you even as he was emptying himself into the condom, drawing tiny circles on your bundle of nerves and holding you tighter as your body spasmed some more from overstimulation.

Derek's lips brushed a feather-light touch on your cheek, tasting salt where sweat and tears of pleasure had mixed. You got up from his lap as soon as you regained the first bit of strength in your limbs, pretending that your legs weren't on the verge of breaking like sticks as you teetered towards the bathroom.

He was just returning from the kitchen with a bottle of water when you finally re-emerged.

"Let's put on a show," you suggested, now clad in your wrinkled shirt that was buttoned merely halfway.

Derek handed you the bottle before settling back under the duvet. "What do you wanna watch?"

"I don't know. What's on?"

You found your way back easily to Derek's side. It was muscle memory by now, the way you gravitated towards him and the way he'd welcome you easily into his arms. The bedroom lit up in the presence of your giddy smile when you saw one of your favorite Law & Order episodes playing on the TV.

"Hey," Derek spoke after ten full minutes of silence. "A buddy of mine is getting married next week."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"That's great."

"I wanted to see if you'd come with me."

The offer caught you off guard. Derek knew it from the way you tossed your attention so fast from the courtroom scene on the TV and towards him.

"Come with you to the wedding? As... your date?"

"Do you want to come with me as anything else?" Derek deadpanned.

An intangible weight shifted in the atmosphere when you decreased the TV volume all the way to zero. Derek didn't like the way you were examining him at that moment, as if you were trying to find a crack in an otherwise immaculate ornament.

"I thought you were fine with our arrangement the way it is."

"We've never even discussed it. You avoid me every time I try to bring it up."

Your chest swelled around a shaky breath. Derek never thought a few inches could feel like an entire ocean until he stared at the distance between where the two of you were sitting against the headboard.

"You don't wanna do this with me."

"What the hell does that mean?"

There was no mitigating the hostility in Derek's voice. He thought it must have been an act of fortification when you opted to leave the bed and began pacing the room, stepping further and further from him until the previous ocean finally metamorphosed into a freaking planet.

"I can't be somebody's girlfriend, Derek."

He ignored the resonant snap in his chest. "Can't or won't?"

"I won't because I can't. It's complicated. You don't understand."

"Then explain it to me." Derek rose from the bed, erasing the distance that had stolen you away from him. His chest felt thirty pounds heavier as he stood in front of you. "Help me understand. I want to understand. Please."

You sank on the edge of the mattress, with Derek kneeling before you as though prepared to launch himself forward if ever you would need him to. His hand hovered above your knee, dithering and unsure, petrified over the possibility of you pushing his hand—or worse, him—away.

"I've never had anyone in my life aside from my brother. Nobody before you." Derek perched his hand on your thigh at your revelation. "I don't know how to be with someone. How to care for them. How to love. I've been alone most of my life, and I work better that way. I only know how to be alone."

"That's not true," Derek denied abruptly. "You know how to be with me."

"That's different."

"How is that different?"

"Because you haven't needed anything else but sex from me up until now."

Derek faltered in shock.

You didn't think you ever saw him looking so wounded.

"That's what you think? That I've only ever used you for sex?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Sounds like that's exactly what you meant to say to me." Nothing could be more fragile than the voice that roused when he next spoke, "Is it something I said? Did I do something to make you believe that sex was all I wanted from you?"

"No, Derek. Of course not. Dammit, I told you I didn't mean it like that." You ran an agitated hand over your face before continuing, "We've never spent time with each other that didn't start or end with our clothes off. That's how it's always been between us, and I'm okay with that. I'm good at sex. That's why everything has worked out so far. But a relationship?" You laughed sardonically. "I don't know how to do it. What will happen when you need me to be there for you, and I'm constantly letting you down? What will happen when you start needing more than just my body, only to realize there's nothing left inside of me to offer?"

The air thickened around your throat.

You peered up to see whether or not Derek had caught that last bit of slip-up in your extempore speech. You hadn't meant to divulge it. You hadn't meant to articulate your fear so plainly in front of him like that.

What will happen when you start needing more than just my body, only to realize there's nothing left inside of me to offer?

Slowly, as though trying not to startle an easily-spooked rabbit, Derek took a seat right beside you on the bed. The scent of sandalwood attacked your senses instantaneously.

"You have so much to offer than you realize, sweetheart," Derek murmured. "You're every good thing in my life, can't you see?"

You shook your head in rebuttal. "That's the thing. I'm not good, Derek. You can't see it now, but you will eventually."

"Sweetheart—"

"I'm gonna hurt you, you know?" You looked up at him through the pooled tears in your waterlines. Derek decided right then and there that he despised the sight of you crying in front of him. "Maybe not today. Maybe it won't be tomorrow either. But someday, somehow, I will do something—or say something stupid, because that's what I do—and you'll hate me for it."

"That's fucking impossible."

"You don't believe I'm capable of hurting you?"

"No." His hand flew to your face, dragging a comforting thumb on the anxious lines that had embellished your forehead. "I don't believe I'm capable of hating you."

You loathed being at the depot in the middle of the day, especially underneath a scorching summer like this one. It was an uncommon occurrence that you found yourself there while the sun was still out. After all, whatever business was going down in that place called for discreet logistics, and since secrecy was a nighttime affair, you rarely visited the container yard during the day.

Alas, a big package coming in from Bolivia was supposed to arrive one week ago but found itself shipped elsewhere instead. This unexpected hiccup had drowned you in a copious amount of paperwork for days, followed by a substantial scoop into The Big Boss' personal vault. The delay also meant you had to do everything in broad daylight to catch up with the tight schedule on your hands. Kreczmar wasn't happy about the whole ordeal, and frankly, neither were you.

As you stood with your back against one of the disposed wooden crates, you kept an eagle eye on the men unloading the contents of the Bolivia containers out to the yard. There were three in total: two carrying the hottest illegal substances on the market, and another one filled with smuggled explosives and weaponry.

The men were pushing off the last crate from the second container when a figure plopped next to your right.

"We need to talk," Derek announced without so much as a greeting.

"Hello to you too."

You could feel his eyes on the side of your face as he spoke, "I'm stopping by your room later tonight."

"You can't. I'm expecting Kreczmar tonight."

Derek's stare was sweltering on your cheek. Even after the two months he had spent under, Derek couldn't warm up to the idea of your arrangement with Aleksander Kreczmar. In fact, he constantly scorned it at any given chance.

"Fine. I'll stop by after you're done."

"What is this about, Derek?"

"Not now, sweetheart. Later."

You watched as Derek walked away towards the other men, leaving you yearning alone over his retreating back.

In the span of two months, Derek had managed to fit in better than you initially thought he would. Miller the Stiller, they had dubbed him. Derek told you it was because he sent any room into a standstill due to his domineering presence—to which you had rolled your eyes blatantly to his face—but chatter from the back rooms told you that the nickname came from his good looks that, apparently, never failed to render anyone speechless.

As it turned out, Kreczmar's crooks were just as vulnerable to Derek Morgan's charm as the average women were. You didn't blame them. You, too, had fallen victim to that same charm many years ago.

Derek moved with authority among the sea of men, molding into the perfect puzzle piece to slot himself in between Kreczmar's thugs. You watched every inch of his movement like a hawk, stopping only when a rugged voice slashed through your pristine reverie.

"Ghost." Jan Borowicz stood to your left with the same signature frown across his graying eyebrows. His eyes, as always, were uncharacteristically warm for a man of his repute. "Something you should see."

You followed the middle-aged man to the back of another container, where you saw a figure crouching down with a hunched head between their knees. You didn't need to see their face to know who it was.

"Paolo." The 13 year-old looked up at the sound of his name. You rushed over to his side, your hands going straight to the fresh cuts and bruises smeared on the boy's face. "What happened?"

Paolo's eyes flared with fear. The answer you searched for eventually came from Jan, "I saw him with Ralph Grader earlier."

You recognized the name almost immediately. Grader was one of the new recruits from a few weeks ago; a petty thief who worked for one of Kreczmar's smaller branches before being transferred to the headquarters. You hadn't bothered memorizing anything else about the bastard—not even his face—because you thought he would be smart enough to realize his insignificance to never cause any trouble.

Well, you definitely got that one wrong.

"Is that true? Did Grader do this to you?"

Paolo never granted you a verbal answer, but the way he recoiled at the name told you everything you needed to know.

You turned to Jan with a newfound ire in your chest. "Where's Grader now?"

"Unloading with the rest of 'em."

You helped Paolo to his feet before marching over towards where the men were working. Most of them stopped in their tracks as soon as they saw you approaching, Jan and Paolo hot on your heels.

"Grader." Your voice was ice as it traveled throughout the group. "Ralph fucking Grader."

A scuffle at the back of the crowd caught your attention. It was a few seconds later when two of the men appeared in front of you, holding up a scruffy man—whom you could only assume as Grader—between the both of them. They shoved Grader on his knees, earning a rather loud hiss from the bastard.

"Let's not waste anyone's time and get straight to the point, shall we? You know why you're here." You reached for the gun in your holster, pulling it out before aiming the barrel to Grader's forehead. "You're gonna give me the answer I need before I finish counting to three, and I may have just enough mercy to let you keep your life."

"What—"

"One."

"Wait. Wait. Wait a second—"

"Two."

"I don't—"

"Th—"

"Okay! Okay! Fine, I confess!" Grader exclaimed. "It was me. I did that to him."

"You're not fucking stupid. Tell everyone what you did."

Grader trembled like a leaf before your eyes. You could read the forgiveness he sought with his gaze—no doubt similar to the one Paolo had flashed to him before he charged at the boy—and your chest glutted with relish to see the scoundrel grovel at your feet.

"I did it. I beat up Paolo," Grader confessed.

Tension fulminated in the air. Everybody was holding their breath as they waited to see what you would do next: show compassion or assign Ralph Grader an even worse fate than death?

The moment you lowered your gun from Grader's forehead, everyone knew that you had chosen the latter.

"You know what to do," you declared towards the two men—Vin and Al—who had brought Grader to you.

The two of them each grabbed Grader's arm before dragging him away from the scene. You didn't cast a single look towards Grader's direction even when he started pleading for his life.

"You can hold down the fort on your own, yeah?" you asked Jan, to which he gave you a single agreeing nod. "Good. Everyone else, back to work."

The crowd dispersed instantly upon your command.

As you were taking the first step to your leave, your eyes caught Derek's dark ones from the distance. Without another word, you turned around and followed Ralph Grader's drag marks on the ground, shunning the weight of Derek's stare that seemed to bore a hole straight through your skull.

"You okay?" Derek murmured in your ear.

Your answer was a stern nod—one that would satisfy any other person—but Derek Morgan was never any other person to you.

The man didn't hesitate to bid a quick goodbye to the host—claiming that there was an important errand the two of you needed to take care of, despite your incessant complaints—before pulling you along to the lot where his car was parked.

"Are you gonna tell me what's going on?" Derek questioned as soon as the car left the vicinity of Jennifer Jareau's house.

"Nothing's going on."

"You underestimate my ability to read you like an open book."

In the corner of his eye, Derek could see you staring out the window as if the city billboards were playing a non-stop rerun of your favorite movie. JJ's house shrinked in the rearview mirror with every yard the car sped through, and Derek thought he would suffocate in the silence if it continued any further.

He pulled up next to a curb as soon as he saw an empty spot he could park his car in. Confusion pranced in your eyes when Derek grabbed your hands in his.

"Talk to me."

"About what you said to JJ—" you evaded Derek's eyes, choosing to glout at your connected hands instead, "—did you mean that?"

Derek's forehead creased. He tried to pinpoint exactly which conversation with JJ you might have meant.

"About having a baby," you continued before Derek could ask you to clarify.

Understanding dawned on him in an instant.

JJ and Will had called for a merry celebration with the baby shower for their second child. All of Derek's dearest friends were in attendance, and he couldn't think of a more perfect opportunity to have you officially introduced to the team that had been his found family for the past several years. Some of them had met you in passing before, but this was the first occasion Derek could finally introduce you as his.

It was a joyous occasion, and in the midst of it all—after Derek had wished JJ a safe delivery and healthiness for both the mother and the baby—his blonde teammate had eyed the two of you cheekily and blurted out, "You guys are next, right?"

To which he replied without thinking, "Hopefully."

It was a lapse of judgment on his part, but Derek never expected the repercussions to be afflicting you this greatly.

"Hey, look at me." Derek's knuckles brushed against your cheekbone until your eyes leveled with him once more. "Don't take it to heart. I was making lighthearted conversations. I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it."

"Maybe." You pushed his hand away from your face, and Derek nearly groaned at the loss of contact. "But it's still something you want to do, right? Maybe not now, but later down the road?"

"Sweetheart." Derek tried to coax you into looking at him again, sighing heavily when you refused. "Do you not want kids?"

Derek's question crashed like a sinking ship in the air; slow and painful, catastrophic and dreadful. The firm grip he had on your knee would usually suffice as a life vest, but at that moment, the touch was nothing more than a stack of stones weighing you down even further.

"It's not about what I want."

"What do you—"

"I can't have kids."

There was no concealing the shock on Derek's face.

Out of everything he expected you to say, nothing could have prepared him for that admission. He didn't know how to respond to such a vulnerable confession. The way you were sitting right then, though—pressed against the door with your knees pointed away from Derek, as if you were an impala cornered by a lion—told him that any physical gesture he could present wouldn't be responded in kind.

"How long have you known?" was what Derek ended up asking after a while had passed.

"I think I've always known. It's not that I... I don't... There's no medical reason behind it. It's just something I can't do, Derek. Do you understand?"

He did.

Derek didn't think he could understand anyone better than he understood you at that moment.

As he watched your fingers trifle with the hem of your top, the abstract doodles in his head rearranged into a much clearer picture. He knew, then, that your incapability to have children wasn't caused by any physical factor. You simply wouldn't permit yourself to believe that you were capable of doing it.

It didn't take a genius to understand that this incapability was nothing less than a fear in disguise, stemmed from the years of abuse you had to endure as a child.

Derek hated to be profiling you during times like this, but the skills he had harvested from years on the job didn't exactly come with an off button. He had seen cases like this; where constant disappointment from loved ones gradually evolved into disappointment of one's self. Where the threat of projecting that same disappointment on others often led to drastic measures being taken.

In this case, the fear of turning out like your parents led you to believe that you didn't deserve to be a mother.

And that couldn't be further from the truth.

When Derek tried telling you this, you automatically shut down his attempt.

"Please, Derek. I know what you're trying to say. And I know that technically, you're right. But I just... I can't, okay? This isn't up for debate. I'll never be able to have kids. Not now. Not ever."

The finality of your words was indisputable.

Derek appraised you in its aftermath.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Not now. Not ever," Derek emphasized, grabbing your hand to circle a soothing touch on top of it. "You're in charge here, baby. We won't do anything you don't wanna do. You should know by now that I'd follow you blindly anywhere you lead me to."

"But I thought... Don't you want kids?"

"I want you more." Derek kissed you as though he was foregrounding his promise. The residual apprehension in your body evaporated at the first taste of his lips. "You're all I need, sweetheart."

The sight of your smile awakened something in Derek's chest. As he basked in your luminance, Derek could feel the shape of three little words consolidating inside of him. They frolicked around as if waiting to be said out loud, but Derek bit his tongue before they could slip past his lips.

The three little words could wait.

After all, there would be other opportunities for him to confess his undying love to you.

There were two rapid knocks on the door, a pause, a knock, a pause, and then another knock.

Derek Morgan was at the door.

It was already the third time Derek had ever been in the comfort of your bedroom, but it was the first time he stepped in there so soon after you had just finished your appointment with Kreczmar. The evidence of your time with the crime lord was still palpable in the unkempt state of your bed. Derek never thought the sight of ruffled bed sheets could feel like hot coals being shoved forcefully down his throat, and yet here he was.

"Drink?" you suddenly asked from your place by the liquor table.

There was no chance for him to respond before you thrusted a glass of whiskey in his face.

"It's not poisoned," you quipped after seeing the reluctance in his eyes. "I just got it as a gift. Old Fitzgerald. Good stuff."

Derek's jaw hardened the moment you mentioned the word gift. He didn't need further clarification to guess from whom "the gift" had originated.

"No, thanks." He put down the glass back on the table. "If you don't mind."

"Suit yourself."

The robe you were wearing spread out the second you sat down on the ottoman bench, revealing the naked length of your legs. Derek used to memorize every inch of those limbs better than he could memorize the lines on his palm.

"You said you wanted to talk?" you questioned.

Derek watched as you leaned back against the foot of the bed. Your navel was nearly exposed to him from this new position, but you crossed one of your legs over the other before you could flash him a peek. With the golden drink in your hand, you were the definition of a sinful temptation.

Derek buried his hands in his pockets and looked away. "I'm hearing chatter about a shipment coming in a couple of weeks. It's not listed in any of the existing manifests."

"Have you checked with the ones still awaiting approval?"

"I did. None in there as well."

"Hm. Interesting." You took a sip of your drink, savoring the burn while you lost yourself in contemplation. "Is the intel legit?"

"I heard it from Lascano."

You hummed thoughtfully at the name.

Mateo Lascano was one of Kreczmar's trusted right-hand men, though you'd argue that his loyalty resembled that of a guard dog just to see the man tremble with rage. You never liked the guy, and fortunately for you, the feeling was very much reciprocated. He harbored a nasty gash on his left cheek courtesy of your pocket knife from that one time he had challenged you to a spar after questioning your competence in front of Aleksander Kreczmar himself.

The taste of victory from that day was still sweet on your tongue, even underneath the bitter note from the whiskey you were nursing.

"He's an asshole, but his words do warrant some substance." You rose from your seat and headed for the liquor table to top up your glass. "I'll see what I can find out about it from Kreczmar."

"You think that's wise?"

"Why wouldn't that be?"

"He may get suspicious."

"I have my own ways with him. Trust me."

Derek's fists clenched against his sides.

You should have known by now that Derek's objections were never a matter of trust. He might still be leery about trusting you with his heart, but there was no question whether or not he would trust you with his life. Derek knew you would dive in front of a bullet for him if given the chance; a sentiment he both shared and requited in kind.

He did, however, have a strong disapproval of your so-called ways of handling things with Kreczmar.

"What's your plan, sweetheart? Fuck the bastard until you loosen his tongue?"

The drink in your hand stopped swirling. The glass fell with a loud thump when you slammed it back on the table.

"What the fuck is your problem?!"

"My problem?" Derek gritted his teeth. He stalked forward as though you were a convenient prey, blocking every possible exit until the only respite you were left with was the wall against your back. "You want to know what my problem is?!"

The next thing you knew, Derek had gripped your robe in his hand, yanking on the collar until you let out a reflexive shriek.

"This—" Derek began, his voice suddenly taking on a more gentle edge, reiterated by the touch he brushed against your neck, "—is what my fucking problem is."

You didn't need to look in the mirror to know what Derek was seeing in his eyes; to know what kind of marks you would glimpse if a reflection of you were to spawn in the middle of the room at that exact same second. After all, those bruises on your neck were pretty much identical to the ones that had tarnished your skin so many times prior. They always appeared in the ugliest splotches of blue, red, and purple, encircling your throat in the shape of Aleksander Kreczmar's hand.

You flung Derek's hands away before securing the robe tightly around yourself. There was a reason you liked that robe. It covered up your dirty little secret from any prying eyes.

Except for Derek's.

"How long has it been going on?" he asked.

You couldn't answer him.

What would Derek do if he found out that Kreczmar had been hurting you that way for as long as you had known the man?

The first time it happened, you hadn't seen it coming. Kreczmar left you gasping for air in the middle of your bed as soon as he was done, paying not even the slightest attention to the fact that you had nearly lost your life in his hand.

After numerous times going through the same thing, though, you eventually managed to learn how to ensure your survival by the time Kreczmar was done having his way with you.

It was a fucked up situation in an equally fucked up life. You made your peace with it a long time ago. This was merely an occupational hazard that you needed to learn to live with.

When you told Derek as much, the man proceeded to glower.

"Occupational hazard? That's all your life amounts to you? A fucking occupational hazard?!"

"What the hell do you want me to do here, Derek?"

"To stop being stupid, that's what."

"Stupid?" That single word was a blade through your chest. Red, fiery anger filled the gaping wound it left behind with every second that ticked by. "You're calling me stupid for doing my fucking job?!"

"It's not your job to offer yourself up as a punching bag for that bastard!"

"Yes, it is! My God, Derek. Of course, it is. You and I both know that it's part of the job description. It's a sacrifice I have to make for the greater good."

"And I'm telling you right now that you don't need to make that sacrifice. Nothing is worth putting yourself up as a sacrifice." Derek's voice fizzled to a low murmur, leaking desperation where his previously intact vigor had been punctured. "There are other ways to do this, sweetheart. I can help you find another way."

"Another way? You don't think I've thought of that after more than four years in this hell hole? Do you seriously think that letting myself be used by Kreczmar, keeping my life and my body at his disposal, was my first fucking choice?!"

Derek couldn't hide the physical reaction he had at your words. He couldn't help it. The thought of what Kreczmar had done and could do to you pained him more than what any type of injury could inflict on his body.

The man saw your knees buckle, but he could only watch you fall onto the edge of the bed after you smacked his hands away when he sprung forward to help. Derek swallowed down the bile in his throat. In front of him, your shoulders drooped as if Atlas himself had bequeathed his burden for you to bear.

"Miller the Stiller. That's what they call you, right? Tell me, who came up with the name?"

Derek frowned at the unexpected question. "Why?"

"Just fucking answer me, Derek."

"It was McCloskey."

"Justin McCloskey?" The scoff that fell from your lips echoed in the heated room. McCloskey was a drunk and a pervert who constantly begged to have his mouth taped shut. It didn't surprise you to find out that he had been the one responsible for Derek's nickname. After all, assigning nicknames to other people seemed to be one of his favorite downtime activities. "Do you know the story of how he lost the tip of his pinky finger?"

Derek could hear the blood surging in his veins. "Did you do that to him?"

"I did. Right after he tried to rape me." You rose from the bed languidly, as if you didn't just drop a bomb that obliterated every piece of Derek's whole sanity, and headed back to the liquor table to snatch the drink you left behind. "He wasn't the first. Others had groped me, sneaked into my room when I wasn't looking. McCloskey just happened to pull the short end of the stick. He used to make everyone call me a cocksleeve, did you know that?"

Of course not. Derek had no way of knowing it, and you knew that. Still, you let the question hang in the air out of pure spite.

"Those same people who worship your ass now, Derek, are the same dickheads who used to treat me like garbage. What I did to McCloskey didn't even hinder them. It wasn't until Kreczmar implied his claim over me did those bastards finally leave me alone." You ambled back towards the bed, now with a much-needed drink in hand, before sitting back down on the soft mattress. "I know you think that I brought myself into this situation, and you're right, I did. But only because it was the only way for me to survive."

A temporary silence settled in the room. Derek allowed it to simmer because he didn't know what to say.

"We're stuck in the same game but in two completely different playing fields, Derek." You smiled ruefully. "I didn't have the luxury to pick my own battles as you obviously do. If being known as The Big Boss' side piece was the only way for me to get my foot in the door, then I was completely willing to do it. It took me four years to garner the same amount of respect that you've gained after being here for only two months. So don't talk to me about finding another way, because whatever it is you can think of, I've done it. Believe me."

With everything off your chest, you gulped the remaining drink in the glass, savoring the burn it ignited all the way down your throat. The pressure solidifying in your ribcage traveled to your head at an agonizing pace. You closed your eyes to brace yourself for the incoming headache.

It felt like hours later, when in reality, it must have been mere minutes when you eventually heard the first shuffle of feet. Even without opening your eyes, Derek's presence was incontestable as it circled your bedroom. Your ears followed his movements until he stopped by the bed, directly in front of where you were sitting.

Gentle fingers hooked themselves beneath your chin, tugging upward and urging your eyes to open once more.

"What are you doing?" you asked as Derek sat down next to you. In his hand was a bottle of ointment that you had previously stored on the vanity table.

"May I?" Derek asked as his other hand reached forward, skimming above the neckline of your robe without actually touching. "Please."

Two frail nods from you were the only confirmation that Derek needed.

His touches were butterfly wings against your skin. They fluttered until the left sleeve of your robe pooled around your elbow, revealing your shoulder and decolletage, dangerously close to where the curves of your breast began.

When he rubbed the fragrant ointment on the odious bruises specking your neck, your chest deflated in an exhale.

"Does it hurt?" Derek asked.

You shook your head no.

In fact, Derek's ministrations were the exact antonym of pain. He handled you as if you were porcelain, infused with fragility and in need of utmost care. You couldn't remember the last time anyone had touched you that way—so tender and loving, without an ounce of malevolent intention buried underneath—but you were willing to bet that it had also been Derek who gave you those last few soft touches before you were rammed into this belligerent life.

You were lost in the rapture, only realizing that a moment had gone by when Derek finally shook you back to reality.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Your responding sigh was music to his ears. "Don't stop."

Who was he to deny the plea of a reincarnated goddess, anyway?

Instead of withdrawing after he was done applying the ointment, Derek opted to lean in, kissing every patch of contusion and condemning the abysmal memories tied to it away. A flicker started in the pit of your stomach for each one of his kisses, but once Derek slid further down your body, those same flickers turned into fireworks that erupted in tandem with the drag of his lips.

"Derek—"

He shushed you against your collarbone. "I'm sorry for what I said, sweetheart. Let me make it up to you. Let me make you feel good, hm?"

You were barely able to nod before he lurched forward and tugged your robe further down.

You couldn't quell your moan when Derek's mouth latched onto your nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud until you felt it standing taut. Your other breast became the object of his fingers' attention as they toyed with it, squeezing and massaging before his mouth decided to switch places between the two.

After he successfully transformed you into a panting mess, Derek pulled back and captured your lips in a desperate kiss.

It thrilled you, peculiarly, to find that Derek's lips tasted just the same as you had remembered it. Not only were his kisses the same, but the way he handled your body like a fiddle was also the same. You lost yourself deeper in the abyss of Derek Morgan, surprised to find yourself volunteering to dive deeper into him even when you knew consequences would be waiting for you once you decided to resurface.

With a heaving breath of his own, Derek murmured against your lips, "Tell me to stop."

"No."

"Good." He pressed you back until you were lying on the bed. "Because I'm gonna worship you exactly like you deserve."

At the first stroke of his thumb over your clit, you couldn't do anything else but mewl.

Derek teased your bundle of nerves while keeping loyal attention to the gasps you let out and the tics in your countenance. Your hands gripped his biceps tighter with each swipe across your clit, feeling the arousal pool bigger in your belly, but also noting it from the obscene sound of your wetness on Derek's fingers.

When he started to prod around your entrance, you couldn't contain the loud moan from spilling past your lips.

"Fucking hell, sweetheart," Derek muttered once two of his fingers were sheathed inside. "So warm and wet. This all for me?"

"All for you, Derek. Please, please, I need you to—"

"Hm? What do you need, baby?"

"Move." As if emphasizing your plea, you ground yourself down against his hand. "Please, need you to move."

With a kiss on your temple, Derek pulled his fingers back out—marveling the way your wetness coated them—before plunging the digits back inside and curling them against the spot that knocked the breath straight out of your lungs.

It didn't take long for Derek to find his rhythm, pushing you further to the brink of exultation with encouraging whispers against your cheek. You clawed at his face to pull him closer—as though his whole body wasn't caging you in already—and despairingly seized his lips in a kiss. Derek welcomed you with a groan, swallowing the needy sounds you made as his sensual ministratration picked up its pace.

"So good... Derek, please—"

"I know, sweetheart." Derek's fingers inside you never relented. He angled his hand slightly without ever leaving your heat, letting the heel of his palm smother your clit until you cried out in delight. "Can feel you squeezing me. Shit. Gripping me like a vice, baby. You'd feel so good around my cock."

Derek's words triggered another loud moan from deep within your throat. The thought of him driving into you only spurred on your arousal. This newfound excitement wasn't lost on Derek. He could tell that you were close from the way your walls were drawing him deeper.

"C'mon, sweetheart. Wanna feel you cum for me."

"Oh my God, Derek—"

"I know, baby. That's it. Gonna make you feel so good. Let it go, sweetheart."

The coil in your belly finally snapped. It jostled you into the pit of pleasure where your whole body convulsed in euphoria. Derek embraced you through it all, mollifying you with his voice, touch, and kisses, never once stopping until you were finally back down on earth.

"Where are you going?" you rushed out almost forlornly, raking the hem of Derek's shirt when he started to get up from the bed.

He smiled at your clingy display. "I'll be right back. Promise."

Derek returned less than two minutes later with a small towel in grasp. He cleaned you up carefully, his touch never a breadth too wide or an inch too deep as the towel swept over the skin of your inner thighs.

You extended your palm when he was done, and Derek accepted it happily with a kiss.

"It doesn't hurt," you said once you saw him fixated on your scraped knuckles. "You should see the other guy."

Derek brushed entirely past your lame attempt at a joke. "I did. I saw Vin and Al carrying Grader to the med ward."

"I know you don't approve of my methods—"

"If anyone had it coming, it's Grader. Especially after what he did to Paolo." The mental image of the boy's blackened eye made you shudder. "You care a lot about that kid."

It was an understatement rather than anything else. Everyone within ten feet could see how you regularly doted on the boy. Derek knew it was because Paolo reminded you of yourself; shoved into a life of violence too early in his youth, stripped of the childhood he so profoundly deserved. You never even hesitated to adopt the protector mantle for the boy, because in a lot of ways, it was something you wished someone would have done for you when you were a child.

"I know you used to have reservations about kids—" Derek continued, "—but I've seen you with Paolo. You're good with him."

"Right. Because I'm such a champ when it comes to being a good influence, right?" You rolled your eyes, skittering to sit on the edge of the bed and wrapping your body with the robe still on your back. Derek followed you silently. "I threatened a man at gunpoint in front of his eyes, Derek. You can't possibly say that witnessing something like that isn't gonna fuck him up for the rest of his life."

"Maybe not. But you're making this life less grueling for him, and that's something."

"I don't like where this conversation is going."

You stood up from the bed then, walking towards the windows of your room and popping them open to let the evening breeze in. When you spun around to face Derek on the bed, you had your arms folded defensively across your chest.

You were hiding again.

Two steps forward and three steps back.

That seemed to be the only thing Derek was capable of when it came to you.

"The incoming shipment," you began nonchalantly, as though Derek hadn't just made you orgasm until you could see stars mere minutes earlier. "What's your theory?"

Derek inhaled a deep breath before answering, "Gotta be something valuable if he goes to such lengths to keep it lowkey, even to the point of hiding it from you."

"More valuable than bombs and machine guns?"

"Precisely. Something that would make him a lot more money than those two combined."

"What? Like missiles?" Your eyes widened when realization bloomed in your head. "People. That's what you're insinuating, isn't it?"

"It makes sense, and it explains why you've never caught wind of any trafficking activity even to this day."

"They can't be using the depot, then. Too many witnesses. They must have another facility where they detain those people."

"Somewhere secluded but easy to control," Derek agreed. "And most likely, you know where it is."

"Me? What are you talking about?"

"Kreczmar profiles as a classic egotistical sociopath. It's not in his nature to do things quietly. He would want to boast, and you're the person in his life he'd want to do it to the most." Derek got up from the bed once he finished his statement. His stature somehow grew more officious as he stood in the middle of your room. "Think, sweetheart. You know the answer. You've had it all these years. You just didn't know that it was right there in front of your eyes."

Derek gauged every micro-expression zipping past your face. The wrinkle on the bridge of your nose was concentration, and the frenetic darting of your pupils was your mind flipping through the pages of memories about Aleksander Kreczmar. When your earnest gaze found his, Derek knew that it must have been the light bulb appearing right above your head.

"His guesthouse."

"Kreczmar has a guesthouse?"

"Well, a guesthouse might be a bit underwhelming. It's a freaking mansion that stands in the middle of at least two acres of land. He'd host parties there. Entertain important overseas guests or clients anytime they come by. He'd take me to the woods at the back of the property sometimes, and then he'd... well—" You cleared your throat and looked away. Derek didn't need to hear the rest of that sentence to know what you meant. "Secluded but easy to control. That's what you said, right?"

"Yeah." There was no guarantee that the guesthouse would end up being the place you were looking for, but Derek still deemed it necessary to pursue the lead. "We need to check the place out asap. Think you can set something up as a cover?"

"Don't need to, 'cause it must be your lucky day, Mister." The corner of your lips slanted upward, giving Derek a front row view of your pretty smile. He had to fight off the urge to march over there and taste the smile directly on his lips. "Kreczmar's throwing an exclusive party there in three weeks."

"He is?"

You nodded. "And it looks like you just got yourself an invitation."

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[i-heart-yellowstone]

42 - Family Business

Part 43

Raised Fair Share of Hell

Please leave comments ❤️

Faith’s pov 

I groaned slightly stretching out my arms but not opening my eyes yet trying to get comfortable and go back to sleep until my phone started ringing off with notifications causing me to shoot upright awake at the sounds.  Reaching over to Cooper’s nightstand table I snatched my phone seeing that it must have been dead and he put it on his charger for me because I received 20 missed calls and nearly 30 text messages from members of my family or the bunkhouse gang all asking where I was and If I had been kidnapped by someone. 

“Shit, shit, shit.  Cooper.  Cooper! - what the hell?” Scrambling out of the bed I tossed the blanket off flinging opened his trainer door only to see a bunch of the oil crew guys and Cooper look like they're about to fight. 

“Faith, stay on the steps.” Cooper raised his hand back towards me walking down the small steps of the trailer seeing two Mexican guys walking over to us.  “I know you?”

“You're about to, motherfucker.” The first guy raised a fist punching him right across the face where his red ball cap fell off his head.  Cooper and the two guys start fist fighting the other until Cooper throws one down on the ground holding him by his throat and the other guy draws out a gun. 

I screamed seeing the firearm.  “Cooper, gun!” 

“Let him go!” The first guy shouted seeing my boyfriend had the other guy on the ground in a choke hold. 

“Get this motherfucker off me!”

“I'll break his fucking neck.” Cooper threatens. 

“shoot him!” The guy on the ground begs. 

Cooper tightens his grip on the guys throat not backing down.  “I'm about to put this son of a bitch to sleep, then you can shoot me and spend the rest of your life in prison. But you won't make it long, you don't hit hard enough.” 

“Oh, shit, you fucking killed him?” The second guy on the ground began closing his eyes nearly losing consciousness. 

“Not yet, but I'm fixing to.” Cooper shouted up at him.  “Put the fucking gun down!”

“Let him go!” The first guy demanded still aiming the handgun at him. 

“Put the fucking gun down, I'll let him go.” Cooper said another time. 

“You ain't making the fucking rules!” The guy holding the gun shouted.  

Coming down the steps I called my boyfriend’s name.  “Cooper - agh!” The gun with the gun grabbed me quickly, holding me against his chest.  I gulped feeling the cold barrel of the gun to my head. 

The rest of the workers began coming out of their trailers hearing the commotion going on outside.   Cooper got up, dropping the unconscious guys body on the dirt.  “Faith! - You want to fight? Let's fucking fight!” He charged at the guy holding me when I kicked him in the nuts with one of my legs.  Running in the opposite direction I watched my boyfriend tackle the guy to the dirt, snatching the gun up that he had dropped onto the ground. 

A black guy came through the crowd seeing what was happening outside chuckling at the two guys on the dirt. “That MMA sure did fick up a street fight, didn't it?”

Cooper reached inside his pocket waving his wallet down in the guy's face.  “You want my wallet now, motherfucker? Huh? Come take it.  And if you ever lay a hand on my girlfriend again I’ll put your ass on the ground again.” 

“They was our cousins.” The first guy got up further dirt. 

“Who's your cousins?” Cooper asked moving to stand in front of me protectively 

The second guy snapped back, finally waking up.  “Your whole fucking crew. Now they dead

and you still standing here. How's that happen? How's that well blow and burn up my whole family and you ain't got a scratch?” 

“I don't know how.” Cooper softly explained feeling my hand touch his forearm holding the handgun.  “They sent me to the truck

for a pipe wrench. Woke up in the dirt. It was raining fucking fire. I got no idea what happened.” 

The black guy who was obviously the boss taking the handgun from Cooper’s hand eyeing the two men when he asked.  “We good?”

"We good"? fuck is that supposed to mean?” The first guy got in his face. 

Cooper explained shifting his gaze to the other two guys. “I don't want to be

looking over my shoulder every time I come back to my trailer.” 

“You should be doing that anyways.” The second guy warned him. 

Cooper asked a second time. “But are we good?”

“You ain't got no problem with us.” The second guy said walking away with the other guy. 

The big boss chuckled, holding out the handgun.  “Pretty fancy moves, worm.”

“I wrestled at Tech.” Cooper replied. 

“No shit.” His boss smiled. “That's gonna come in

pretty handy around here.”

Cooper shook his head looking over at me still standing behind him.  “I ain't trying to get in no gunfights.”

“But sometimes those gunfights trying to get to you. You Tommy Norris's boy, ain't you?” 

“Yes, sir.” He nodded.  “Cooper and this is my girlfriend Faith.” 

The boss responded.  “Had a pretty rough first week.”

“Second week's not starting much better.” Cooper sighed heavily. 

“Well, listen. This ain't the last time you're gonna see somebody get burned up around here, or thrown off a rig, or electrocute themselves, or any other ways

death got for us out here. Devil cooking up new ways every day.” The boss started to walk away but paused looking over his shoulder eyeing me closer.  “You said her name’s Faith.  Does that make her Faith Dutton?” 

Brushing hair out of my eyes I answered back.  “Yes, sir.  Why do you ask?” 

“There’s a missing person report out for you.  You must be pretty important to someone.  And it looks like they just found you.” The black guy walked away the minute a truck came barreling into the area.  Cooper and I ran off to the side watching it slam it’s breaks before the passenger door got thrown open. 

“Faith! There you are.  We thought you had been kidnapped.” 

“Caroline.” I gasped not expecting to see her.  “Wait what do you mean by we?” 

The back seat door got pushed open and Cooper’s father got out shouting towards the person in the driver's seat.  “I told you she was here and she’s not harmed.  Now please let me go. I have to pick up my crazy ex wife from the airport .” 

“Dad, what’s going on here?” Cooper asked, confused. 

Tommy stared at me , pointing his index finger at the truck.  “This crazy fucker broke into my house and shoved me against the wall.  He demanded to know why your sister and I kidnapped his rodeo buddy which is your fucking girlfriend!” 

The driver door finally got slammed shut and I instantly recognized the cowboy coming towards me.  “Travis, what the hell are you doing here?” 

“I’m looking for you.  Your family has been trying to get into contact with you for almost 48 hours.  I needed to make sure this boyfriend of yours didn’t fucking hurt my little Montana Rodeo Queen.” 

Rolling my eyes I hated that nickname he had given me.  “You know how much I despise that nickname.” 

“Why weren’t you answering your phone, Faith!” Travis stomped over to me. 

Holding up my phone in my other hand showing him the screen.  “It died last night when we fell asleep.  I didn’t think my parents would lose their mind if I didn’t call them one night while I’m at college.” 

“When the niece of the former Governor of the state and the daughter of the Livestock Commissioner goes missing that causes enough panic that you should always call your parents!” 

Cooper shoved his ball cap back onto his head hearing what the cowboy had just said.  “What is he talking about?” 

“I’ll explain everything later.” I glanced over in his direction grabbing my former trainer by his arm and into Cooper’s trailer with my roommate following us inside and locking the door. 

Cooper dropped his hands at his sides with his mouth hanging open in shock.  “What the fuck just happened.  Did you know that about her family?” 

“Oh look at that, your sister and I have to get to the airport.  Ainsley come on!” Tommy hollered helping his daughter out of the backseat of the vehicle and the pair borrowed one of his friend's work trucks to avoid having that conversation with Cooper. 

Tag list @bvbwestfall @hcwthewestwaswcn @child-of-of-the-sunshine @elenavampire21 @keep-the-wolves-close @kmc1989 @tallrock35 @whatelsecouldgowrong @lover-of-books-and-tea

[aussiepineapple1st]

What is Happening to Me?

Leon x F!Reader

Words: 1,580 Contains: Injury, blood, fluff, angst.

Part 2

"How many times have I told you that dress looks perfect on you?" Leon said with a sigh as he saw you checking yourself out with a pout as you stand outside a hotel restaurant, waiting for the both of you to be escorted in and to your table Leon had booked a week Prior to tonight's dinner. You look up to Leon with a small smile and reach up to hold onto his arm as you leans against him. "Thank you, Leon." You say feeling giddy at his compliments, you had been dating for years now, both of you D.S.O. Agents and you still get butterflies when he looks at you with pure love in his eyes or gives you simple compliments.

After about a minute of waiting you were both met by a young late teen girl, this was probably her first job as she seemed nervous, yet seemed to know what to do as if having practiced her lines of greeting and asking for a name before leading you both to a small square table in the back of the hotel restaurant. "I love pub meals." You comment as the young girl leaves both of you at the table to make a decision on what you would like to eat and drink.

"I know, you never want to go anywhere fancy." He comments with a slight pout in his tone. "But pub food is sooo much better than the fancy, expensive stuff you get which is also only a mouthful most of the time." You said smiling and reaching a hand to rest on his as you sit across from each other. "But if you really want to take me to a fancy restaurant I don't mind going. Food is food." You shrug pulling your hand back and holding the menu in your hands.

"The schnitzel looks like a good option..." You say quietly to yourself and Leon only gives a small chuckle, shaking his head. "Whaaaat?" You say feeling your cheeks blush slightly. "Of course you went for the schnitzel, why not try something different? Like... The Carbonara, or even the steak with hot chips, gravy and an egg on top? Actually that sounds good..." He said trying to convince you but ended up figuring out what he was going to be eating.

Smiling up at your partner you want to savour this moment when of course... you heard a racket happening in the main dinning room, both of you share a look and stand to your feet making your way down the small hallway and to the dinning room. The power turning off in the hotel and looking outside you don't see any street lights or any power in the buildings across the road. Both of you reach for your firearms, yours on a strap under your dress around your thigh and Leon reaching under his jacket to the holster on the back of his belt, not drawing yet unless it was just a normal power outage and the commotion was nothing you needed to worry about.

Scanning the darkness you both allow your eyes to adjust when you see the young lady kneeling next to what the commotion was all about, a bloodied man had stumbled into the restaurant and fallen unconscious on his back, his t-shirt soaked in blood as the young lady was on her phone calling for an ambulance. Leon runs over and pulls the young girl up away from the man on the ground you follow and stand between Leon and the girl giving her an extra layer of security. Leon takes out a small torch from his pant's pocket, turning it on before touching his fingers to the pulse in the man's neck. "Every body get to the second level of the hotel.. NOW!" Leon calls out in the low mumbling as he looks up to you. "I'm going to check around and shut to doors and make sure no one else is infected.

Giving Leon a nod you turn the young girl around and lead everyone to the stairs, you knew what rules to follow as this was probably your 100th time dealing with this. Leon's gun goes off and tried to keep everyone calm, pulling out your own gun and walking up first to quickly check around the second level, ushering everyone up and into a large sitting room allowing everyone to be comfortable. "Did he kill him?!" The young girl asked in a shouted whisper not wanting to say the obvious out loud. "He wasn't alive when he stumbled in." You explain in a calm tone as you make sure the bar tenders and chefs join the group knowing Leon had sent them up.

You could see the gears turning on the faces of all the people and the young girl standing in front of you. "Oh my god... It's an outbreak.. isn't it? Are we going to die?" She asked clearly becoming distressed. "No... You'll be just fine, Leon and myself are professionals who deal with these outbreaks and monstrosities all the time." You assure, seeing your calmness and words seeming to give the young girl more confidences that she will get out of this alive. You give the most capable man of the small group of dinners and staff the duty to make sure no one comes in or out, unless you or the man you are with is with them or ask someone to leave the group. Confident they are alright you make your way through the halls, knocking on every door you come across and end up finding 6 people, taking them back to the lounge room.

Leon was there to meet you, taking your arm gently and pulling you out into the hallway talking in a quiet voice as not to alert the civilians. "I have contacted Chris and Hunnigan, damn it... why can't we just have some time out and not have to deal with this stuff." He sighed in frustration. You take his hand and lean up on your tippy toes to press your lips to his. "It's frustrating, but I would rather being here to protect everyone and catch it quickly rather than not." You say smiling up at him as you lick your thumb and wipe it on his jaw to get rid of some blood splatter from shooting the undead man downstairs. "We will keep everyone safe until Chris or whoever can get her and get everyone out safely." You nod as you pat Leon's chest and make your way to the civilians and check on them all one by one.

᛭᛭᛭᛭᛭᛭᛭᛭᛭᛭᛭᛭᛭᛭᛭᛭᛭᛭᛭᛭᛭

After checking on everyone and making sure no one else was infected and calm about 10 minutes had passed, Leon standing from a squat as he was finished checking on a 7 year old boy per his parents requests to make sure their child was going to be alright. Leon looks over to you but your attention was taken by the dark hallway across from the lounge, walking over to you Leon takes out his gun and torch before pressing a gentle hand on the middle of your back before walking towards the same noise he could now hear.

He follows the sound of scratching on plaster or brick and metal, making his way around corners quickly, holding his gun out in front of him as his hand holding the flashlight was held under his gun, giving him more stability in his aim. Coming to where there was a spot on the carpet now wet, a dripping coming from the ceiling when suddenly it collapsed above him, sending plaster, brick and wood atop of him as a licker burst through the ceiling. You hear the crashing sound and shots being fired as you order everyone to huddle in the far corner and race out of the lounge.

“LICKER!!” You hear Leons voice shout as your eyes widen seeing the creature running across the floor and walls towards you, shooting it you draw it away but end up in a dead end. Shooting at the creature before it leaps at you, a shout leaving your mouth as you are tackled through the window and fall down to the street below. You feel a sharp pain shoot from the back of your skull and down your spine as you the dulled sound of assault riffle fire was shot in the air to bring the creature off of you as Leon runs to the window you had just fallen through. "(Y/N)!!!!" His voice shouts from the second floor as he sees Chris standing with a few other members of his team, now leading the Licker away and shooting it so you weren't caught in any cross fire. A few men run into the hotel and make their way upstairs to the civilians as Leon hurried downstairs, leaping off the side to allow the others to make their way up and make his way to you faster.

Chris was beside your body calling over medical as he sees Leon making his way over. "Is she alive?!" He asks as he kneels down beside your body. "She is... but unresponsive, My men and I have it from here, you go with (Y/N) to the hospital." Chris assures as he places a hand on Leon's shoulder and looks down to your body before standing up and leaving the two of you with the paramedics so he can finish the job here.

[lobotomy-lady]

hello ms lobotomy. i'm a woman who is interested in owning a gun for self defense (and getting proper gun training). however everyone i have talked to about gun safety has insisted i am 100% more likely to shoot an innocent person than ever successfully defend myself, that guns are useless at close range, that carrying a gun would make me more likely to get killed, etc etc, all around just making it seem like it's not worth it at all. what do you think?

These people fail to realize that just bc a ton of absolute fucking morons with 0 training & a paranoid personality type own guns & misuse them, it doesn't mean /you/ will. Your risk of shooting an innocent person is not nearly as high as those morons risk is if you are a smart, cautious, responsible, & trained individual rather than a trigger happy lunatic who drinks moonshine all day & thinks they're being gangstalked. I'd be interested to see the gender breakdown also bc I have a feeling as usual men are the ones most likely to shoot an innocent person by accident bc they are most likely to be impulsively violent in other regards as well.

An analogy for this would be someone saying "everyone has a 1 in 15 chance of dying of lung cancer" just bc 1 in 15 ppl will die of it, as if an individual person has no possible way of minimizing (or increasing) their personal risk, like choosing not to smoke. It's just a product of people misinterpreting statistics.

As for guns being useless at a close range, that's the dumbest shit I've ever heard bc the whole point of a gun is NOT LETTING THE ATTACKER GET CLOSE IN THE FIRST PLACE. Yes, if an attacker who is physically stronger than you gets close, they can take your weapon. This is true of knives, tasers, pepper spray, mace, brass knuckles, etc-the difference is all of those weapons are USELESS at a long or mid range-but the long & mid range is where women can fight the best way against a man, bc they can't use their strength against you until they're close enough to grab you.

Obviously it isn't foolproof. An attacker could sneak up on you and restrain you before you can draw your gun, that's a real possibility (& that is why it's incredibly important to develop a good sense of situational awareness & always be vigilant). There is no weapon or self defense strategy that will prevent 100% of attacks or dangerous situations, but you can make yourself more of a threat by training with a firearm. Don't pay attention to what other people say, if YOU think you can handle the responsibility of owning a lethal weapon & are willing to put in the work then that's all that matters.

[wordsandrobots]

To exorcise another thought that is distracting me, last week I got terribly annoyed at Robert Evans on the Behind the Bastards podcast describing the Bedouin people as having changed very little over the centuries save for the addition of firearms, in the context of episodes on TE Lawrence.

There are a couple of layers to this. First -- brought into sharp focus by having just finished Edward Said's Orientalism -- is that dismissing peoples as unchanging over the centuries is a useful tool of racism that should always be avoided. There are no living fossils; we all exist within the same contemporary world regardless of how we live and by and large we are not isolated from one another by any impenetrable boundaries. This is especially true of people living alongside massive empires. I don't see any malice in Evans' characterisation but it was careless in the context of talking about a situation charged by imperialism and racial hierarchies.

The second axis of irritation was treating the addition of gun as 'the only thing that changed', as if the addition of guns itself would not have effects and implications. Even setting aside that Arabic peoples have had access to firearms *for centuries*, more than long enough to adapt to and incorporate their presence at a cultural level, why the assumption that guns represent some . . . add-on, isolated from the rest and merely proximally augmenting it? That isn't how that works.

And then I realised, oh. This is probably a British vs American thing.

Let me explain: I saw a post on Tumblr at about the same time as this which was gushing over learning the misconception that staircases in castles are built to rise clockwise to give defenders an advantage drawing their swords. A little web searching easily reveals this to be nonsense. But it was one of those things I nodded along to at a glance, because I'd heard it before when I was a kid and I'd never thought to double-check (bloody Edwardians and their misinformation). That in turn is because I'm from England. Where we have -- let me be clear -- an imperial ton of castles. We're taught about them as a matter of course, partly because they're important to our history and partly because they're good school trip fodder.

And do you know what factors quite significantly in the development and ultimate end of castles as a military institution?

The development of the cannon.

Learning about the effects of introducing firearms to this country is standard. I am therefore already primed, even if I don't necessarily notice it, to think about the ripple effects of dropping guns into a culture. I just have to remember what happened here and consider similar knock-on changes in other circumstances.

Do Americans have anything like that in their history education, given their country started after firearms were already very much a thing in Europe? That is a genuine question. Are people over there taught about the development of firearms at primary school level, with the kind of concrete example that is 'this giant structure was built to deal with a completely different kind of warfare and got neutralised by the invention of bombs'? (Which is a whole separate strand, involving the origin of the phrase 'hoisted by one's own petard.')

If not -- and the assumed American poster commenting on spiral staircases is a good reminder that they don't have castles, something I take utterly for granted -- then I wonder how that affects their view of guns per se (I don't mean 'gun culture' so much as appreciating the impact of such a thing's very existence). Does the fact that guns have always existed in your culture alter the way one thinks about the *introduction* of guns elsewhere? Does me having my background knowledge make it easier to see that you can't having something 'unchanged for centuries expect for new weapons' because new weapons inevitably force a transformation of tactics? Which is true for guns as a category as much as the finer, more devastating improvements to the concept made over the years.

Hunting, defence, offence, trading, the valuing of materials and objects, all these shift with firearms, and those shifts go back seven centuries, at the least. To be clear, I know vanishingly little about Bedouin culture (something I should change if I can). I'm not levelling a counter-argument based on greater understanding. I am simply noting a factor I'd not stopped to think about before. A further nuance to 'oh you guys just don't have these' reaction to that staircase post.

Or perhaps this is entirely irrelevant and I'm just getting caught on the irony of someone making a thoughtless cultural generalisation in episodes attempting to break down flipping Lawrence of Arabia.

[phospadparadscha]

Is fusing considered vaguely intimate in the AU? Harry having fused a bunch and Black Opal being Kim's first fusion kind of mirrors Ruby and Sapphire, and the idea that Kim gets a bit bashful or embarrassed about it in front of other people is kinda funny to me.

I'd like to think that because of the general lack of intimacy in Disco Elysium and Martinaise (people seem to almost never hug or kiss each other / engage in pda and the hug with the working class woman is treated as a very rare interaction), fusion can be intimate for some or at least somewhat taboo. Not necessarily frowned upon by the people of Martinaise but moreso uncomfortable and surprising. I guess it would be less that people are surprised that there's a fusion and more that anybody likes another person in Martinaise or Revachol enough to want to fuse out of anything but utilitarian purposes. All of Martinaise is touch starved and its pretty unusual for that to be proven wrong by anyone. Fusion is definitely frowned upon by the Moralintern and generally by the RCM as a complex, but is still done nonetheless (within C Wing however fusion is less frowned upon). The RCM is based on a partner system after all. Its bound to be that the partners fuse for combat or even recreationally but in the police they are expected to unfuse after their mission is accomplished. I think of how the RCM officers are so limited in their firearms and ammunition and I think fusion is treated like a weapon that needs to be monitored and controlled. Permafusions are incredibly uncommon, though they are more common amongst communist circles and the underground (as a commie pansexual myself I think I speak from the heart). More of my ideas and reasoning under the read more!

I think Harry and Jean could have experimented before with fusing on their good days. Or alternatively, they could have rushed to fuse in a stressful situation or to apprehend a suspect. However, its risky to do so because when a fusion poofs, all gems that make up a fusion poof at the same time. Its seen as a last resort on the field.

It's possible that Jean could have fused with Harry when he poofed, since Harry's RCM cloak has some bullet holes implying he was shot / poofed before in the line of duty, to draw him forcibly out of his gem after unfusing. Like in the Change Your Mind finale of the show where to reform the crystal gems quickly Steven fuses with their gems, and they reform after they unfuse. In Harry's case forcing him out of his gem before he's ready to reform could be what contributed to his damaged psyche and unhealthy view towards fusing, as gems need to recuperate while poofed which is why it takes them so long to reform. The less time a gem takes to reform the more unstable their form and abilities are and Harry would definitely have experienced the consequences of never taking care of himself when he's down since Jean or someone else would force him right back into the ring again.

I think that Jean and Harry's fusion would be a fairly volatile and negative being, prone to humorless self deprecation. A bit like Smoky Quartz is prone to self deprecating jokes in Steven Universe, but here its genuinely toxic. Their fusion usually brings out the worst of them both. I don't think they're Malachite levels of unstable and toxic, but that their morbid humor and combined depression can have poor results. However its not all negative with them as when Jean and Harry are able to synchronize enough to maintain their fusion, the brotherly camaraderie is able to shine through and they cheer each other on with more confidence. I'm not sure how different the fusion would be before and after Harry's retrograde amnesia, but I have some general ideas I'll share at a later time.

I definitely think Kim would be most likely to unfuse first with Harry, less because he doesn't enjoy fusion (he really, really does), but more so that he is more anxious to be caught by surprise or to stand out, which is kind of what fusions do lol. In Martinaise people may not care so much as its a place largely abandoned by any kind of real repercussions, but he still has a reputation he cares about more than Harry does. And Harry has a somewhat unhealthy view of fusion, where its something that is becoming a better person than he thinks he is and disappearing into another person, rather than a mutual dance or union of partners. So this leads to Kim being hesitant to fuse with Harry unless he is able to convince him that their fusion isn't an excuse to disappear into a better half but to instead become someone that represents the joy they both share with each other, as equals.

And yes, Kim is bashful to be a fusion and it is his first time fusing. He may have wanted to fuse with Eyes in the past but never did and regrets not fusing. He thinks its crazy that anyone would ever want to fuse with him. But over time Harry and Kim fuse more often and it starts to represent their love for each other.

[reds-ultrakill-brainrot]

i am begging for some v2 content, they're my little meow meow and i need more content with them

Beside You, I'm a Loaded Gun

V2 general relationship headcanons

x reader content (read platonic or romantic)

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- i imagine meeting them would have been a tense ordeal, it would have taken a miracle for them not to shoot first and think later. safe to say the fact they gave you time of day was impressive (go you!) - V2 isn't what most people would call a good listener, they won't interrupt you but then aren't very good at staying still for long times unless mentally occupied by a difficult task (bring subway surfers up on your phone) - they don't take me as the type to enjoy physical touch, at most you might be able to convince them to give a half hearted high five. don't take this as them not wanting to touch you, they often physically pull you towards points of interest or shake you if you aren't paying attention - with that in mind for both of your sakes avoid ignoring V2 intentionally, they constantly crave attention and are willing to do extremely dangerous things if it will get you to notice them (they will take any type of attention, even you scolding them for doing potentially stupid things) - they are more than happy to show you their firearms, even letting you handle them (with their supervision of course, they aren't stupid). they love to show off any tricks they learn wether than be rocket surfing or punching coins, you are always the first person to know when they've figured out something new (the resulting praise is a requirement, their ego isn't sky high for nothing) - their idea of a fun time generally involves mass murder of both machines and demons, and they are more than willing to bring you along for the ride. if you aren't as enthusiastic about mindless violence than they will begrudingly go alone. you may find them bringing back souvenirs though... - while V1 has their pupy dog eyes, V2 has an incredibly expressive frustrated state, it's hard to explain but it is impossible to mistake when their lense goes from impassive to drilling metaphorical holes into their target. they are almost inable to sit still, their wings twitching and hands tensing. such a state is almost never directed towards you, but is hilarious to watch as V2 loses their mind after failing to punch the same husk several times - expect to be roped into their shenanigans, they love doing trick shots and will enlist your help in setting up incresingly random targets for them to shoot. distracting them from the shot will momentarily gain you a legendary frustrated glare, but V2 takes it as an increased challenge, almost taunting you to try your hardest to distract them (please don't get in the way of the gun though, they draw the line at firing at you) - they don't particularly have any hobbies, but if you have a more active activity to suggest they are all ears. i imagine they would be partial to things like skateboarding or basketball, where skills they already posess would be integrated. don't expect them to go easy on you, they respect you enough to take you on as a challenge and will expect enthusiastic performance - V2 isn't especially good at comforting people, it will take several guided attempts for them to eventually learn how to help you when you aren't in a positive emotional state. eventually they figure out just silently being there for you and letting you vent is a workable solution, and if you are especiallly upset they may initiate a a gentle hug - while they do struggle to express affection towards you because of their ego, you will notice that they make sure to both keep you safe and do things for you (such as helping you up onto things, grapping things out of reach without you asking). just don't point this out, they tend to get a little embarrased that you notice

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thanks for the ask! i hope i did your meow meow justice

[sweetshelluvaau]

Here he is, the special boi, Moxxie. Thankfully he didn't take as long as Mille's redesgin did being he was gonna have a more simpler design. Anyways to the notes:

I wanted to go for a professional yet causal look for Moxxie considering his personally. Much later in the story he likely dresses a bit more relaxed once he kinda feels more comfortable and confident with himself. He also looses up a bit much later personality wise as well as I.M.P become much closer to each other. When we get therein the story I'll likely make another redesign to show that.

In my AU, Moxxie was already a trained assassin before joining I.M.P, being taught at a young age and has done plenty of hits for his father and his business (I'm likely gonna rewrite the whole Mafia thing into something that makes sense because um...). One job however made him start questioning what he was doing being how these hits weren't just 'competition' he was taking out. You'll see once I post his profile up.

The tip of his tail is suppose to be a spade, not a heart (because ya know, greed ring, greed imp, gambling) but I don't think I did a good job with that.

Moxxie is Knowledgeable about firearms but fuck if I'm gonna draw them often.

I still can't draw hands.

So here yo go, our discount Imp John Wick. Plan on drawing some M&M things later just because. Rewrite for Mox will come when it comes but basically got all his notes done. Just gotta write words.

Made with Clip Studio Paint and Photoshop CS6 for final touches. Okay to reblog, Feedback is encourage.

[modeus-the-misanthrope]

I've seen people be excited for the fallout show. Good for yall, this post ain't for you.

I sincerely want to know if the "Assault Rifle" from Fallout 4 being used was because the companies associated with most of the more iconic guns in the series wanted money amounts greater than 0$ for their inclusion in the show.

Or

Did they use this gun along with the Brotherhood power armor design because fallout 4 was the most recent game when filming started.

Because fuck that mix-matched, middle school drawing, generically named, insult to firearms. I'm not even that big of a gun nerd and I despise it. It's got a water cooled barrel, anti-aircraft iron sights, but is chambered for 5.56? If you want a better breakdown of everything wrong with it, look at Zach Hazard Gun rant, in the link he tears this thing a new asshole.