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mostlysignssomeportents · 4 months ago

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Tech’s benevolent-dictator-for-life to authoritarian pipeline

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/10/bdfl/#high-on-your-own-supply

Silicon Valley's "authoritarian turn" is hard to miss: tech bosses have come out for autocrats like Trump, Orban, Milei, Bolsonaro, et al, and want to turn San Francisco into a militia-patrolled apartheid state operated for the benefit of tech bros:

https://newrepublic.com/article/180487/balaji-srinivasan-network-state-plutocrat

Smart people have written well about what this means, and have gotten me thinking, too:

https://www.programmablemutter.com/p/why-did-silicon-valley-turn-right

Regular readers will know that I make a kind of hobby of collecting definitions of right-wing thought:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/29/jubilance/#tolerable-racism

One of these – a hoary old cliche – is that "a conservative is a liberal who's been mugged." I don't give this one much credence, but it takes on an interesting sheen when combined with this anonymous gem: "Conservatives say they long for the simpler times of their childhood, but what they miss is that the reason they lived simpler lives back then wasn't that the times were simpler; rather, it's because they were children."

If you're a tech founder who once lived in a world where your workers were also your pals and didn't shout at you about labor relations, perhaps that's not because workers got "woke," but rather, because when you were all scrapping at a startup, you were all on an equal footing and there weren't any labor relations to speak of. And if you're a once-right-on tech founder who used to abstractly favor "social justice" but now find yourself beset by people demanding that you confront your privilege, perhaps what's changed isn't those people, but rather the amount of privilege you have.

In other words, "a reactionary tech boss is a liberal tech boss who hired a bunch of pals only to have them turn around and start a union." And also: "Tech founders say things were simpler when they were running startups, but what they miss is that the reason no one asked their startup to seriously engage with the social harms it caused is the because the startup was largely irrelevant to society, while the large company it turned into is destroying millions of peoples' lives today."

The oft-repeated reactionary excuse that "I didn't leave the progressive movement, they left me," can be both technically true and also profoundly wrong: if progressives in your circle never bothered you about your commercial affairs, perhaps that's because those affairs didn't matter when you were grinding out code in your hacker house, but they matter a lot now that you have millions of users and thousands of employees.

I've been in tech circles since before the dawn of the dotcoms; I was part of a movement of people who would come over to your house with a stack of floppies and install TCP/IP and PPP networking software on your computer and show you how to connect to a BBS or ISP, because we wanted everyone to have as much fun as we were having.

Some of us channeled that excitement into starting companies that let people get online, create digital presences of their own, and connect with other people. Some of us were more .ORG than .COM and gave our lives over to activism and nonprofits, missing out on the stock options and big paydays. But even though we ended up in different places, we mostly started in the same place, as spittle-flecked, excited kids talking a mile a minute about how cool this internet thing would be and helping you, a normie, jump into it.

Many of my peers from the .ORG and .COM worlds went on to set up institutions – both companies and nonprofits – that have since grown to be critical pieces of internet infrastructure: classified ad platforms, online encyclopedias, CMSes and personal publishing services, critical free/open source projects, standards bodies, server-to-server utilities, and more.

These all started out as benevolent autocracies: personal projects started by people who pitched in to help their virtual neighbors with the new, digital problems we were all facing. These good people, with good impulses, did good: their projects filled an important need, and grew, and grew, and became structurally important to the digital world. What started off as "Our pal's project that we all pitch in on," became, "Our pal's important mission that we help with, but that also has paid staff and important stakeholders, which they oversee as 'benevolent dictator for life.'"

Which was fine. The people who kicked off these projects had nurtured them all the way from a napkin doodle to infrastructure. They understood them better than anyone else, had sacrificed much for them, and it made sense for them to be installed as stewards.

But what they did next, how they used their powers as "BFDLs," made a huge difference. Because we are all imperfect, we are all capable of rationalizing our way into bad choices, we are all riven with insecurities that can push us to do things we later regret. When our actions are checked – by our peers' social approval or approbation; by the need to keep our volunteers happy; by the possibility of a mass exodus of our users or a fork of our code – these imperfections are balanced by consequences.

Dictators aren't necessarily any more prone to these lapses in judgment than anyone else. Benevolent dictators actually exist, people who only retain power because they genuinely want to use that power for good. Those people aren't more likely to fly off the handle or talk themselves into bad places than you or me – but to be a dictator (benevolent or otherwise) is to exist without the consequences that prevent you from giving in to those impulses. Worse: if you are the dictator – again, benevolent or otherwise – of a big, structurally important company or nonprofit that millions of people rely on, the consequences of these lapses are extremely consequential.

This is how BDFL arrangements turn sour: by removing themselves from formal constraint, the people whose screwups matter the most end up with the fewest guardrails to prevent themselves from screwing up.

No wonder people who set out to do good, to help others find safe and satisfying digital homes online, find themselves feeling furious and beset. Given those feelings, can we really be surprised when "benevolent" dictators discover that they have sympathy for real-world autocrats whose core ethos is, "I know what needs to be done and I could do it, if only the rest of you would stop nagging me about petty bullshit that you just made up 10 minutes ago but now insist is the most important thing in the world?"

That all said, it's interesting to look at the process by which some BDFLs transitioned to community-run projects with checks and balances. I often think about how Wikipedia's BDFL, the self-avowed libertarian Jimmy Wales, decided (correctly, and to his everlasting credit), that the project he raised from a weird idea into a world-historic phenomenon should not be ruled over by one guy, not even him.

(Jimmy is one of those libertarians who believes that we don't need governments to make us be kind and take care of one another because he is kind and takes care of other people – see also John Gilmore and Penn Jillette:)

https://www.cracked.com/article_40871_penn-jillette-wants-to-talk-it-all-out.html

Jimmy's handover to the Wikimedia Foundation gives me hope for our other BDFLs. He's proof that you can find yourself in the hotseat without being so overwhelmed with personal grievance that you find yourself in sympathy with actual fascists, but rather, have the maturity and self-awareness to know that the reason people are demanding so much of you is that you have – deliberately and with great effort – created a situation in which you owe the world a superhuman degree of care and attention, and the only way to resolve that situation equitably and secure your own posterity is to share that power around, not demand that you be allowed to wield it without reproach.

#pluralistic #autocracy #authoritarian turn #silicon valley #tech #big tech #bdfl #benevolent dictatorships #accountability #unaccountability #henry farrell

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lustlovehart · 6 months ago

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Hard Stoned Gallery Dance

A/n: This was made like monthhsss ago, so I’m posting it as forgiveness for the lack of work i’ve been doing.

Pairing: [ Monster!Twst ] Malleus Draconia x Reader

Summary: Dancing is a beautiful past time, yet such a pretty act is ruined, when Malleus decides to let his affections for you run rampant. (Wc: 1.9k)

Warnings: Kissing & Licking, Murder/Death of Minor Characters (Not explicit), Possessive traits, Clinginess bordering obsession, a little blood, Biting/Marking

Your head leans itself on the rough surface of the stone wall. You’ve finished your objective for the day, so giving yourself this break is well deserved, ten minutes free of Crowley’s nagging is still freedom despite how it sounds. Your eyes can’t help but look up at the pretty blue sky, it stings to look at but you don’t mind the pain, seeing something so clear is worth it.

That cloud looks like a cat.

…

The taste of indulgence is quickly stripped out your grasp when the familiar sound of dragging stone resonates through the air, grating to your ears.

“Child of hunters, what may you be doing here?” His rock-hard face interrupts your view of the sky, green solid eyes look down on you as he casts a shadow on your visage.

Despite his body being made of pure stone, his eyes give a faint green glow, as if a bioluminescent moss grew there. His hair, his wings, and even his tail freely flowed as if he were just a regular Dragon hybrid. But alas, he is some sort of statue— Oh no not a statue, in his words a gargoyle.

You forgot about the difference one time and in turn, he gave you a 3-hour lecture on the difference between a grotesque and other gargoyles. Never again…

“I’m trying to hide from my boss.”

“Shall I be rid of him for you?” His mouth forms a little o as a small puff of a green flame releases from him.

“That would be a bad idea, I’d lose my source of income.” He quirks an eyebrow up at this., to be fair, you don’t think he has any clue what a “payday” is.

Despite his confusion, he lifts from his bowing form, a hand reaching out towards you in all its mossy glory. You’ve known him long enough to know what he wants.

A dance.

You don’t try to hide your exasperation as you take his invitation, albeit a bit slow. His stone body quickly pulls you up and into him. With how much tamer his form is compared to other beasts you know, it’s hard to remember that he’s part dragon, and even worse is part of the only few monsters who know magic.

So as of right now, this marks your third time dancing with one of the worst monstrosities currently on the bounty list. No maybe not one of the worst… From what you remember from Crowley’s ramblings (which isn’t much since you tune him out when possible) he’s probably the most dangerous.

You get the basic idea, but you’ve never truly seen for yourself why he’s considered so terrible. Is he not just a glorified water spout? Compared to a Kraken and an Incubus, surely his damage isn’t so grand to be warranted as the biggest beast to hunt.

“You’ll always be welcomed in my castle, you would not be short of accommodations either.” his hand rests upon your waist, pulling you closer than need be. His invasion of personal space is akin to a parasite leeching off its host, but you let him feed of you. Whether it’s from fear or a bond, you’re not decided.

Your movements are sluggish at best, but you can still remember the basic steps in the dance, your foot sloppily setting itself down where it should be, the occasional step on stone happening once or twice though.

“Considering the current state it’s in… is that even safe for me to walk in…? It looks like one good shout and the bricks holding the place together will crumble apart…”

“That is just the disguise we give it, as to not alert others of our presence. For you though, I’m willing to make it stand out if it makes you happy.” The hand lying on your waist retracts itself as he takes his other clawed limb and twirls you around, falling back into position when the spin is done.

“… I’ll think about it.”

“I’ll wait as long as it takes.” You know he’s not lying about that. You can distantly recall when a certain mystery monster had told you the tale of a longing dragon who perched himself at the opening of his window to wait for a certain hunter's return.

“Yes, he was so determined to be the first one to greet you, why he even stayed sat at the window for 5 months. It was quite endearing hehe.”

“Doesn’t it take hundreds of years for you to erode? Maybe it’ll take me 50 years to decide, by then I’ll be old and grey and you’ll be perfectly fine.” You take a step forward before the gargoyle's grip on your body tightens significantly, shrieking when he suddenly dips you down unprepared.

His freed hand takes your other arm and lifts it up to rest on his shoulder. Green sparkles are faintly flying around his lips as he slowly leans into the soft skin on your arm. His face leans in and presses chaste kisses on your limb, the gentle texture of his mouth catching you off guard as it tickles your body. Now you get it, he must’ve cast a spell to temporarily soften his lips.

He had attempted to kiss you once without taking this precaution, in turn, you gave him a face filled with discomfort at the stone texture that kept peppering you.

You can still remember the hurt face he had on when he saw your dislike towards his affections.

On his ninth kiss, his forked tongue peeks out from his mouth, licking a stripe up your skin. He finally lifts you up after the assault on your arm, his face only a few inches away from your own. It would’ve been quite the romantic atmosphere, had your nose not catch a sharp smell, and a horrible wretched one at that.

“You could be on your last breath and I’d still wait for an answer. But I hope that won’t happen.”

“Who knows, I work a dangerous job.” what is it?

The both of you twirl in unison despite the lack of music, your bodies in tandem as they move to just the sound of your surroundings. Though, your body is a little more sluggish than his own.

That stench… Is too familiar.

Eventually, your last steps fade out as you stop in your tracks.

“Is something wrong dear hunter?” Your grip on his shoulder fastens, if he was human you’re sure you would’ve broken his shoulder.

“What did you do?”

A smile is lit on his lips, his head tilting to the side, giving you such an innocent look, like he did nothing wrong.

“Whatever are you talking about?”

“The smell… Iron… This whole time I thought it was just the smell of the forest. But…” You swiftly pull a dagger out from your side, throwing it past his shoulder, the tip of the steel piercing into what sounded like wood.

He doesn’t turn back, only continuing to smile at you, as if you’re the only existing thing here, or more accurately, the only thing he cares about.

The bark of the trunk splits in half, falling to the ground, revealing the source of the stench. The top of the tree isn’t green, it’s red and brown.

4 pairs of hands stick from the leaves.

“You�� What did you do Malleus–?!“ he’s quick to twirl you again, his grip on you tighter than it’s ever been. Despite your protests, he continues dancing as if you hadn’t seen anything.

You’re suddenly stricken with the memory of your first meeting with the beast, blood coating his mouth when he looked at you, pure admiration when he had finally met the muse everyone spoke so dearly of.

“Malleus, you—!“

“Tell me, dear human, was it not you who spared me?” He dips you down. “Was it not you who saw a beaten beast and allowed him to live?” He lifts you up. “Even as you walked away with a piece of stone you let go of one who’s rendered thousands over the years,” he pulls you in. “Dead” every action with your body is harsh, but not enough to hurt you, never enough to hurt you.

Because why would he ever wish to harm you?

He’d much rather smother you in affection, even when you’re exerting all your energy to kill him as he hugs you.

“It’s because you…”

“Looked so human?” He continues to keep you close, impossibly so, your skin melting into his, not from fawness, but fear.

“How did you know-“

“You’ve spared so many of us because we made you feel something in the moment,” he must be referring to everyone else… The look you gave him is dazed, caught up in the thought of every other monster you let get away. His fingers cage your chin in between them. “But don’t forget what we are.” Sparkles fly, temporarily blinding you.

When you open your vision, you’re greeted by the sight of Malleus, with the appearance of what he looked like if he was human, or at least similar to a human.

His skin isn’t rough and solid, his breaths are warm, and his hair is soft and pretty rather than a soft moss.

His eyes are a nice green, a pretty green. A color you would’ve enjoyed more had he been a human. Such a lively color shouldn’t be backdropped by crimson, yet, it is.

Behind him, several other trees collapse on themself, revealing the other tops, the same as the tree you had just seen. Views of stray limbs and vaguely familiar faces of hunters invade your mind, panic setting as you finally realize a question you should’ve asked long ago…

Why was Malleus so far from his castle?

Before you can react, your ears hear a faint whisper, eyes going heavy as little pings of thorns claw at your shoes. The last thing you see and feel, is his face leaning towards you, his finger loosening itself from your chin.

In a blink of an eye, he’s no longer the human you spared, but the monster you let escape back into the wild.

The fiendish of smiles is graced on his lips. Not because of evil, but because his smile, is so love stricken.

All because of you.

“Seems the little birdy fled the nest without permission.” Your eyes slowly flutter open, the familiar figure of a man bowing on top of you. “Now, I’ll forgive you as we weren’t expecting such a beast to appear-“

He’s immediately cut off in his sentence when a searing pain cuts through his chin.

“Augh—! How could you kick me after I spent precious time searching for you!“

“You’re the reason I’m here in the first place…!“

“I didn’t do anything!“ Despite your annoyance towards Crowley and all he stands for in your life, you can’t deny if someone had seen this scene play out in front of them, they would assume you two to be a father and his bickering child.

You attempt to stand to your full height, faltering at the pings of pain in your ankle. You suck in a breath, looking down as you nurse hurt skin.

There are briar thorns wrapped around your leg, a single rose adorning the stems, and a gentle green hue that contrasts the pure black of the floral life.

“Oh my, what were you doing last night?”

“… Night?”

“You’ve been gone for 36 hours my birdie.”

You don’t feel any different… Save for the prickle of thorns and fresh bite on your arm.

… Fresh bite?

Despite the indent, it doesn’t hurt, it’s like, he left it there as a reminder of your failures, at least to you. It could very well be his way of staking his claim on your heart.

“It’s a shame you didn’t get him when you could’ve, with your connections, you could’ve spared us a huge loss today…” you’re cruelly reminded of the people that lay to waste hidden in the trees. “We should let today serve as a reminder of what you must do.”

Crowley doesn’t look happy at the sight of so many employees who failed their jobs, yet he doesn’t look grieved either.

You… Truly, you wish you weren’t so softhearted during your missions. Maybe then, this could’ve all been avoided.

A/n: Like I said, this piece was from so long a goo, so i’m so sorry if the plot isn’t to anyone liking, but if it is, i’m happy you enjoyed it!!

#monster!twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #vesperwrites #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x reader #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere malleus #yandere malleus draconia

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dandysworldhcs · 1 month ago

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well every time i send you an ask I get less sick?? idk man but im almost healthy again!

anyways. in celebration of me getting my brother into dw, here’s some hcs of my favorites

hugging goob is like getting smothered by a pillow (he hugs very hard) and he’s injured a few toons accidentally

scraps hangs from her tail like a possum when she sleeps

gigi eats non food objects to try and reduce her urge to steal and collect

flutter doesn’t understand windows. bonk

connie is immune to holy water/crosses bc she’s always been a ghost. she’ll drink holy water just to freak people out

Astro as moth hc continued: his blanket is his wings. they’re rlly fluffy on the inside, and if he hugs someone or someone falls asleep leaning on him, he’ll wrap his wings around them so they’re comfy.

dandy is demiromantic. also dont know the difference between platonic and romantic love, so just thinks he’s very good friends with someone but in reality he wants the moth to kiss him (moonflower agenda)

shrimpo is amazing at payday 2. mains jacket because he likes beating the shit out of people via melee and hates talking

rodger eats things, but he does it off screen

glisten gets dizzy if he looks into a mirror for too long

toodles is very good at escaping containment

~ Anomaly Cereal Anon

huzzah for healthiness!

oughh how i love all these.....especially moth astro....i love moth astro

#freakin uhh mod daz #anomaly cereal anon #dandys world #dw #dandys world headcanons #dw headcanons #goob dandys world #scraps dandys world #gigi dandys world #flutter dandys world #connie dandys world #astro dandys world #dandicus dancifer #moonflower #shrimpo dandys world #rodger dandys world #glisten dandys world #toodles dandys world

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bakugoushotwife · 2 years ago

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kinktober day three: mirror kink

>>> day three already woot woot! i hope you all are loving it so far, because i know i am! this is past me in the notes but it seems like these pieces are gonna get longer everyday at this rate lmfao. i picked keigs for the mirror because birb need luv

>>> starring: keigo takami (hawks) x curvy!fem!reader >>> cw: brief daddy use, doggy, highly emotional tbh i'm actually sorry, teasing, praise, pet names. >>>wc: 3.5k >>> event masterlist

keigo loves planning nights like these. you’re his special person, and his favorite pastime is making sure you know it. every so often, sometime around payday, he’ll come home with bags on bags, a dopey grin covering his face as he sashays to the bedroom of your shared apartment. he just can’t wait to show you what he got you this time, exclusively keeping his high-paying pro-hero job because it allows him to spoil his girlfriend with lavish riches.

you weren’t high maintenance at all. at least, you didn’t start out that way. you were just you, a simple civilian that worked at the hospital he was brought into during the war with all for one. you were an adorable bedside nurse, sweet and careful in all the ways you tended to his wounds and listened to his nervous ramblings about his friends and students. you talked him through his anxieties, spending precious hours of your shift soothing him and keeping him company. he watched you get in trouble time and time again for messing the shift rotation up with your habit of staying by his side. it was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him, to genuinely listen and to touch him with care, a worry an affection in your eyes he wasn’t sure he had seen from anyone before.

it was no surprise that he kept in touch with you once he was discharged from the hospital. and luckily, to his relief, you offered to support him through rehabilitation, helping him with his fittings for his prosthetics and keeping his spirits high when his self-worth was at its very lowest. keigo never had someone to call his, and the first time he met you, that was the last thing on his mind. but you were still there, months later, giving him the idea to try swords and katanas as replacements for his sharp wings. it wasn’t long until he was back on the battlefield using all the support items and your suggestions to make him feel like hawks again. he was still covered with burn scars, but they seemed less mangling than before. it was probably all those salves you put on him, your healing hands doing more for his heart and mind than his body at times.

so when the war was won, and it was time to say thank you for all the things you had done for him, he found himself taking you on expensive dates and paying for your hair appointments when you casually mentioned a new look you wanted to try. he caught himself picking out nail colors and shoes–at one time they were nike’s but now they were prada or jimmy choo. not that he minded, in fact, it was his insistence that you started expanding your palette to the expensive side anyhow. you were more than content to hold his heart and let him pay for your facials, but your whiny boyfriend practically begs for you to take his card and spend every dollar.

you learned early on, if you didn’t spend it yourself, he would do this, take the day away from you, raiding the mall for anything new you didn’t already have hanging in your room-sized closet. you could hear the rustling of the paper and plastic bags rubbing against each other, a knowing smile spreading across your cheeks. and sure, maybe months ago you were just a humble nurse. but keigo’s constant babying may or may not have created a small spoiled brat. you sit up on your knees, crawling to the edge of the bed to greet your loving partner, squealing when his excited eyes and crinkled up nose peek around the corner with a wide grin.

“guess what i got you.” he titters, revealing the evidence of his shopping. he holds his other arm out to accept your waiting hug, stepping close enough to the bed for you to throw your arms around him in greeting. you looked so cute in your silk pajamas, just waiting in your shared bed for him to return to you. you’ve been able to reduce the amounts of shifts you take at the hospital now that you barely have any of your own bills to pay, and that was being generous. he usually paid those too, but you refused to go jobless until you had a ring—and well, let’s just say that wouldn’t be much longer. you had a fresh maintenance day yesterday, the highlights of your hair freshly toned, your brows waxed and tinted, a new set of lashes and nails–you look too good to be true like always, like you deserve for being so good to him. you’re perfect, and he cannot wait to see how you look in the things he bought you, keigo’s special girl.

you hum playfully in thought, pressing your silken crop-top bound chest against his. he can tell you don’t have a bra on, and the thought delights him. you rarely wore anything but your slutty pajamas or the special selection of lingerie he had curated for you. one he was excited to add to tonight. you giggle and press a kiss to his stubble covered jaw, and throw out your best guess. “hmmm, shoes?”

he chuckles, tucking some loose strands of your hair back behind your ear so he could admire your saccharine smile. he hums, nodding. you were right after all, that was part of it. “mhm, good, my little dove. what else?”

you smile under the praises, trying to eye the bags as he snakes his arm around your waist, setting them on the bed for you. “jewelry?” you offer with an arched brow, watching his face for a hint. his amber eyes gleam with pride—and you knew you were right again. he nods, his calloused hand sneaks under your skimpy top and the warm touch makes you press yourself further into his leather and whiskey scented chest.

“the prettiest. i think you’ll like it, lovebird.” he grins, squeezing your hip. “do you know what else i got my pretty girl?” he coos, reaching for a big black dolce & gabbana bag, containing a pretty bowed box. he always paid them extra to wrap it like a christmas gift, watching your face light up as you pulled the ribbon free always melted his heart a little. he passes the box over to you for that exact reason, returning his arm around your back to watch you open it.

you squeal excitedly, giving his jaw another quick peck. you tug the pale bow off the box with great care, and his smile grows. inside lays a beautiful black bra and panty set, one he no doubt wants you to model for him. you gasp at the pieces, lacy and strappy, decorated with black dots against the sheer balconette style mesh. the thong was just a pathetic little triangle piece, mostly to say you had something on, if you had to guess. you beam up at him, giving him a proper kiss on the lips to signify your approval.

“thank you daddy, it’s so beautiful! you’re too good to me!” you sing, freeing the lingerie of their confines to splay it out on your bed. he chuckles and shakes his head.

“oh i could never even give you what you deserve, sweetness.” he hums, reaching for the tiffany & co bag. he holds it out for you next, letting you fish out the boxes inside. for this, he sits on the bed before you, hands tucked into the pockets of his tan coat, smirking up at his darling love. you peer at him over the pile of little teal boxes in your hand, arching your brow. he only chuckles, urging you to open it with his suggestive glare. he’s undressing you with his bedroom stare already, just waiting for you to put on all your pretty gifts so he could further appreciate you in them. you notice him shifting around, trying to hide the bulge he always gets from watching you jump around and celebrate how much he loves you. it was adorable, he couldn’t help but derive pleasure from it.

you quickly tear into these three boxes, finding a pure diamond choker, bracelet, and matching stud earrings waiting to be adorned by your perfect body. you gasp at him, shaking your head in shock. you know how expensive these had to be, and you refused to accept such a crazy gift—especially paired with other things! as spoiled as he’s made you, you still look at him in disbelief.

“what? i saw you looking at these last time. my name is hawks, after all, babygirl.” he winks, plucking the necklace from the box and turning his index in a circle to have you turn around for him in order to dangle the choker around your neck. he clasps the hook and then puts the bracelet on the wrist closest to him, leaving the earrings up to you. he turns you back to him by the shoulders, grinning valiantly–but you can see the borderline hunger lurking beneath. his siren gaze darts over to the dainty fabric still laying stiff and undisturbed on the bed. “open the last box, ‘nd then i wanna see everything altogether.”

he bites down on his bottom lip in anticipation as he passes you the final bag, a big paper bag from—you knew what these must be immediately, and it has you squealing with joy, as you knew exactly why he saved this gift for last. “keigo, you shouldn’t have, i really cannot believe you!” you shift your weight from foot to foot, pulling the slim black box out of the paper bag, pushing the lid off with haste.

he still sits next to you, his hands sprawled out behind him so he could lean back now, bionic wings still attached from the day. he would only remove them before sleeping, still incredibly insecure and lost without his real ones. he admired your giddiness, this emotion flowing from you was exactly the reason he would do whatever it takes to keep gifts like these flowing. you dangle the pricey so kate style red bottoms at him, jumping with glee. you nearly tackle him backward with the force of your arms around his neck, screaming your thanks in his ear. he only chuckles and wraps his arms around you in response, lightly slapping your ass to make you yelp.

“now go and put everything on—been waiting to see you in it all day.” he pouts, jutting his chin towards your walk in closet. in all fairness, it was a second bedroom keigo had converted to a walk in for you. it was decorated with several mirrors along one wall, allowing you to get all the best angles of your outfits and accessories that your boyfriend no doubt provided. you snatched the newest goodies up and scampered off to get changed, feeling the warmth building in your chest and stomach just from the way he looks at you. you knew he had struggled with his own appearance since you met him, and you hated that. sometimes you wish you could spoil him the same way he does you, but he always swears your affection makes him feel like he’s still soaring on top of the world.

you complete the jewelry trio by putting in the stunning studs he got, simple but huge cut diamonds perfectly accenting your features. then you tug on your new set and slip into your shoes, admiring your own reflection in the ballet studio-esque mirroring. maybe he admired you so much because he no longer could look at himself with the same fondness that you gaze at yourself—or him— with. you were stunning, that was indisputable, but it made you sad that your once notoriously cocky boyfriend now shrunk away from the sight of his own appearance. a physical lightbulb may as well have popped up over your head. “mm, daddy? wanna come help me with the buckle?”

he should have known it was a set up. you’ve put on much more involved outfits before without his assistance. when he strolls in, ready to lend a helping hand, you’re already on the floor on your hands and knees—and the lingerie he picked looks heavenly. he can see why the louboutins were so sought after, elongating your sexy legs and exposing the signature red bottoms to him from this angle. you wiggle your perky ass, and he salivates, the semi he’s been fighting turning into a full on boner. you’re looking back over your shoulder at him with that devilish smirk on your face, and it’s then he realizes you’ve tricked him into fucking you in front of your mirror wall. and to his surprise, his cock jumps in his pants as he meets your eyes through one of the panes. you’re unimaginably gorgeous, dripping in diamonds that sparkle in the soft lighting. he can see straight down that bra, and before he can doubt himself, he’s yanking his hard cock free from his sweats and tugging on it roughly. his breathing is heavy already, the worry starting to creep in. at times it was hard to be intimate with you, not because he didn’t absolutely crave you in almost a sinister sense, but because of his own insecurities. he knows you were familiar with him before, though you only met him after the damage was done. yet still, he can’t help but worry the scars covering his face and body will gross you out one day.

“c’mere daddy…wanna look at you like this, make you see how pretty you are.” you wiggle your ass for him again, the globes taunting him into compliance. when he lowers himself to his knees he can tell how needy you are. it must turn you on a bit to think about him taking you like this, though he can’t deny his own curiosity at the idea. his hands smooth down the curve of your back, all the way to the nape of your neck and back down to grasp your wide hips to steady himself. he licks his lips as you wiggle in his grip, making a mewl of anticipation. “please, look…i think you’re so pretty…i like the marks, makes you look all handsome and tough,” you whine so sweetly it makes his cock throb. “‘nd i need you so bad, the you i see in the mirror right now, is the sexiest man alive.”

he chortles and rolls his eyes, feeling the warmth of blush sting his cheeks. he peels his shirt off, discarding it somewhere in the vicinity. “yeah, yeah, hush.” he beckons, spreading your cheeks with the help of you scooting your knees further for him. it did boost his ego to hear you talk so fondly of him. you didn’t miss the old pro-hero you looked up to—you love him as is. he knows it, he’s sure of it, it’s why he spoils you relentlessly, but hearing you say it did things to him.

“nuh-uh, i wan’ you to see…breaks my heart to hear you complainin’ ‘bout how you look…’cause you’re perfect.” you pout, wiggling back on his shaft. he helps guide himself inside, sheathing to the hilt. you do spoil him, you just didn’t realize it. the way you love him was all he needed, with the sweet words spilling out of your mouth and the choking grip your cunt has around him—the view of your face melting in the mirror felt like special treat.

you moan out your delight, throwing your ass back against him to get him to start moving, the view of your pouty face while in doggy kept him paralyzed and utterly drunk, too busy admiring all of his gifts against your skin and the warmth of being inside you to remember to do anything about it. he chuckles breathily when he feels your recoil, giving you an affectionate slap to the bum. he starts to move in tandem to your little bounces, his eyes fluttering shut at the way you squeeze and release his curved cock. it feels so good, you can identify the veins and ridges as they drag through your walls. you don’t close your eyes though, no, your eyes are locked on his form in the mirror. he’s unreal, the slow pace at which he fucks you just driving you crazy. he’s a god, golden and chiseled, his smile enough to give you life on your darkest days. you wanted him to admit it.

you crawl forward a little, out of his reach, off his cock. he frowns at you in the mirror. “come back.” he pouts, making grabby hands for you.

you giggle, shaking your head. “not ‘til you smile at yourself and say ‘i’m the prettiest pro hero with the prettiest princess in the whole world.’” you say, sticking your tongue out at him in the mirror, admiring his naked form behind you. he huffs, letting his gaze drift between your face in the mirror and your ass in front of his face. he crosses his arms over his burned chest, arching a brow at you.

“you know, i could say you’re being ungrateful.” he whines, not able to fully challenge you. you wiggle your ass at him again and arch your challenging brow back at him. for the second time, he huffs. but he realizes that there’s no use fighting you. he learned that lesson when you were his nurse. he would give in, or else. he lets his gaze drift back to your round ass and dripping pussy just waiting for him to come back to you, and he sighs. he loves starting slow just to tease you, but it seems like you have your own master plan in mind. keigo’s eyes drift back to the mirror, where he sees your eagerly awaiting face. you look over his face and body with all the adoration and affection in the world, and he feels that with your confidence, he can believe in himself and give you some peace of mind. he meets his own eyes in the mirror and nods. he certainly has come a long way, and he may never return to his former glory, but if this is the man you love—that’s enough. more than enough. he can be happy to be that man, your man. he smiles at you, then at himself. “i’m the prettiest pro-hero.” he nods with a broad smile as his gaze falls back down to you. “and i have the prettiest princess in the whole world.” he concludes, to which you coo and applaud him. he walks forward on his knees, greedily tugging you back on him, plunging his length back deep with a relieved moan.

he doesn’t waste any time by teasing, either, holding the creases of your hips like they were his own personal handlebars, he slams into your heat, the grip of your cunt so choking he can’t control the loud groans he lets loose. you have to actively focus on holding yourself up, entranced with the sight of his pussy-drunk face, high on pleasure. his cock angles so perfectly in this position, abusing your cervix just the way he likes. it has your limbs shaking as you struggle to keep absorbing the force of his hip and your moans bordering on screams. he just loves you so much, he has to spoil the woman who’s given him everything. he knows you love him like this, that’s why you crawled into that position in the first place.

“that’s my girl, taking it so good for me.” he nods his approval, his arm dipping to support your hips. thanks to the mirror, he can see the tears drop from the corner of your eyes, the wavering of your arms as you struggle to hold yourself up. you nod to his praise, squealing extra loud, you love being his girl. his hand dips to rub a messy pace against your clit, groaning at how you jerk and arch in response. “fuck, i can see everything like this, little dove. you look so pretty…all the diamonds suit my jewel just right.” he pants between punishing strokes, even though he’s giving you the reward of a lifetime.

you nod, forcing your eyes open to watch him rut into you, mouth open in a silent scream while his jaw drops in awe. you’re absolutely perfect. you fold over, falling completely against his arm, clenching down on him so hard it nearly hurt him. you whimper, “gon’ cum daddy, you’re s’good…”

he nods egging you on as he presses into your nerves harder, giggling as your legs shake and give out completely. it sends him over the edge, his eyes glued to your face in the mirror as he shoves his seed deep, continuously fucking it deeper with his hard strokes, only letting up when he was sure you couldn’t take another pump. he smiles at your fucked out appearance, hair knotted and sprawled out, the lingerie shifted just enough to let him enjoy all of you, your tearstained cheeks—and thighs. he leans over to kiss your shoulderblade, staying there to catch your breath. for a minute, all there is to be heard is panting, but soon keigo chuckles again, and scoops you out of the floor.

“now it’s time for the real princess treatment, lovebird.” he hums, taking you towards the bathroom for a fresh bubble bath of your choosing.

#kylee's kinktober event #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #kyleewritesmha #mha x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia x reader #hawks x reader #mha hawks #hawks #bnha hawks #keigo takami #keigo takami x reader #keigo takami smut #hawks smut #takami keigo x reader #mirror x hawks #day three

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kallie-den · 5 months ago

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Rescue Hound Chapter One

Kione Monax, a mercenary pilot, is hired to rescue the captured, brainwashed Sartha Thrace. But getting her home and healing her mind prove to be very different things - and Kione's feelings for the hero threaten to pull her into the darkness when she discovers just how malleable Sartha can be

A new Warhound story!! The preceding stories can be found at this tag

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Nothing makes Kione Monax feel good the way being saddled up in the cockpit of a huge mech suit does.

Cause it pays really, really well. Duh.

Provided you’re the best, of course. Kione doubts any of those fifth-rate Imperial grunt pilots they never seem to run out of get paid more than a pittance—not that they’ll ever live long enough to spend it, if she’s the one they’re up against. But Kione? She’s the best. Nowadays, at least. And that means she can name her damn price and the rebels will pay it, no matter how sour the looks on their faces when she comes to collect.

It’s not all about the money, obviously. Kione would be the first to admit that there is a very clear and distinct pleasure in being the very best. To ruling the battlefield like a queen. To tapping into the merciless rhythm of combat, and feeling the beat change when she decides it’s the moment - the moment to kick her Theaboros’s reactor into the red and soar, allowing herself just a single moment to drink in the stupefied, upturned, defeated faces of her prey before she puts them out of their misery.

Fuck, it’s good. It really gets her hot.

But it’s not better than money, because money was what had bought her the Theaboros and its wings, and its state-of-the-art systems, and its fresh coats of paint—for vanity, although sometimes she lies and calls it ‘branding’—and all the fancy drinks she buys for the very best hookers before she buys them too. That’s what life is all about. Not principles. Lots of people get big, stupid ideas in their heads once they’re sitting behind the controls of a sixty-foot mechanical god. If your ideas are big enough and stupid enough they start calling you a hero, and Kione is very, very determined not to end up as one of those. They always die bad.

That’s how scumbag mercenaries like Kione wind up as the best.

Hey, merc, comes a terse voice over a shitty, crackling radio, just as Kione finishes planting the charges, you better be in position.

Kione sighs quietly to herself before she answers: “I am. Plan B is in place.”

Good, says the girl on the radio. Get ready. And remember: no work, no pay.

Kione rolls her eyes. Why do people always feel the need to remind her? Contrary to popular slander, mercenaries aren’t cowards or turncoats. Any mech-for-hire who pulls that kind of shit just saw their very last payday. And besides, Kione refuses to help out the imperials. Just out of self-interest, of course—there’s no place for free spirits like her in the kind of world they’d like to build. She’s bloodied their noses more times than she can count, and you’d think that would win her some actual gratitude from the rebels she fights alongside.

Hell no. Kione had fought with unit after unit, recruit after recruit, and each one proves to be just as naively idealistic as the last. They all think they’re put here to save the world, and they hate that Kione knows she’s only here to make some hard cash. The girl barking orders at Kione over the radio is one of those. An idealist. A firebrand. She’d flashed Kione a nice, mean look before they’d shipped out. Stars in her eyes, hell on her lips.

Kione knew then and there she’d have to fuck her, once they made it back. It wouldn’t be hard. Girls like that always went for her once they saw first-hand how good she was. She went for them, too. She just loved to make them choke on her.

She’s here. Cut the chatter. Everybody focus.

At once, Kione lets go of her sleazy fantasies and gets herself back in the zone. Not for the first time, she wonders about the targets. How many? How well-equipped are they? Guess she’ll find out soon enough. Not that she can see shit right now, hanging from the underside of this colossal bridge.

It’s a good place for an ambush and a great place to get yourself killed if a thousand tons of reinforced concrete come down on your head before you know what’s happening. That’s why Kione’s there. That’s the truth of mercenary work: you get the real shit jobs. The ones they don’t expect you to walk away from.

Suits Kione just fine. She’ll groan and grumble until they pay her double, then prove she’s worth every penny.

For now, though, there’s only waiting. That gets to Kione the same way it does to every soldier. Eventually, her mech’s sensors pick up vibrations. Footsteps on the bridge above. Another machine. A pretty big one, too—but only the one, which prompts some serious fucking questions. Who the hell are they ambushing here? A high-value target, clearly. Maybe an imperial higher-up. But those don’t fly solo. A pilot, then? Some ace? It’d have to be. Kione can’t think of any other reason they’d pay her fees for a gig like this.

It has to be someone good. Someone only she can beat.

Kione finds herself grinning.

More waiting. The target is moving slow. A nice, steady march. It gets closer, and closer, and closer, until Kione can hear each step; can feel them reverberating through her body. Until the enemy is directly above her. The enemy mech’s footfalls are heavy and almost familiar. Despite everything, Kione is all but bursting with anticipation. She loves getting to put a rival ace in the dirt. Nothing better. But she knows she needs to be patient. She’s not the first wave. She’s the coup de grâce.

The radio crackles again. Now! Open fire!

An instant later, the air trembles with the report of a dozen guns. The rebels scattered themselves across the bridge, each pilot picking their ambush spot to secure kill zones and neutralize cover. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The rebels don’t have a lot of advantages over the imperials, but this is one of them: they’re good at this kind of guerrilla shit. As the barrage wears on, Kione’s grin starts to slip. She’s beginning to think they won’t need her after all.

Then, one by one, the guns go silent.

Kione can pick out each machine as it goes dark, just from the sound. No two rebel mechs are alike; consistent supply and production lines are a fleeting fantasy so each machine is somebody’s pet project, customized according to parts and needs. That makes it all too easy for Kione to count.

One down. Two down. Three down.

What the fuck?

It’s hard to believe, but Kione can hear it happening. Up above, the enemy mech pounds the bridge with its footfalls. That thing must be moving like a hound out of hell, dodging beams and missiles, throwing itself at one rebel after another. Its engine is deafening; an insane scream of tortured metal and unholy combustion that fuels the carnage. Screaming is just about all Kione can hear over the radio, too. The rebels’ comms discipline has broken down. They can’t make sense of how fast it's gone wrong.

Merc! Where the fuck are you?

That’s her cue. It’s the moment—and with a worthy foe, too. Kione can’t stop herself laughing nastily into the radio as she retracts the anchors keeping her attached to the bridge and slips into freefall.

And again, when she punches ‘startup’ on Theaboros’s flight system.

Mechs can’t fly, yeah? Everyone knows that. It just doesn’t make a lot of sense. You want to fly, you get in a plane. You’d need a stupid amount of thrust to get something as big as a mech suit in the air. A big engine won’t help. The tyranny of the rocket equation will murder you. Weight means fuel, fuel means more weight. The aerodynamics would probably be shit too. And that’s not even getting into the economics problem. Nobody can spare that much reactor fuel for just one machine. The best way to square the circle would be to build the entire thing out of some kind of crazy cutting-edge superalloy, but those are hell to get and worse to maintain. No; a flying mech would be a ridiculous vanity project. The imperials would never sanction it, and the rebels could never afford it.

Good thing Kione Monax has never worked for free a day in her life.

It helps that she built Theaboros smart—or at least, paid other people to. It’s a slender beast; tall, upright, almost human-like in its posture. It weighs a fraction of most of its rivals, and so when it spreads the six sleek, silver pinions mounted on its back, Kione can actually feel them catch the air. Every little helps when you’re fighting gravity.

But what really, really helps is the state-of-the-art antimatter reactor surging to life and pumping out a steady stream of anti-Fermion particles that singe the air around her mech a deep, unearthly red as they annihilate and, for just a fraction of a second each, keep the fundamental forces of the universe at bay.

With that on her side? Fuck yeah, Theaboros can fly. And Kione falls a little more in love with it every time.

It flies now, with her gripping the joysticks, gliding the unnaturally nimble machine between cables and tresses as she boosts clear of the bridge’s superstructure and tilts up, pulling a tight loop that brings her down onto the deck, ready to give her target the surprise of a lifetime.

Except, no.

Kione is the one left with her jaw on the floor when she sees who she’s up against. All at once, she realizes she was wrong before. It’s not someone only she can beat, because it’s the one person she never ever managed to beat, in all the long evenings they spent sparring together.

It’s Sartha.

It’s Ancyor, anyway. Or most of it. Actually, it’s more like Ancyor died and came back wrong. The base frame is still there; Kione can tell as much from that dragging, lupine gait as it lurches across the bridge. The exoskeletal armor is the same too. If anything, it looks even more beat to hell than usual. But beneath that, it’s all wrong. The reactor. The weapon systems. The raised, pneumatic hackles that augment those deadly claws. They’ve all been replaced. Upgraded. Imperial tech. It gives Kione the creeps. It’s like someone’s wearing her dead friend’s skin.

Whatever they’ve done to it, it’s clear Ancyor has lost none of its effectiveness. In its terrible, wake, Kione counts four of the mechs she shipped out here with lying in shattered, ugly heaps. They went down bad. Catastrophic kills. If anything, it looks like Ancyor’s pilot took special pleasure in plucking out and crushing each cockpit. That really gives Kione the creeps. Even Imperial pilots usually don’t sink that low.

At least she knows it’s not Sartha in there.

Unsurprisingly, the remaining three rebels have gone to pieces. They’re backing away, giving up the only tactical advantages they have—prepped positions and unit cohesion—and the radio channel is full of little more than panicked screeching. The squad leader, the girl who was barking at Kione earlier, is trying to instill some kind of discipline. It’s not working. She’s too young. They all are.

Take her down, damn it! she yells, when she sees Theaboros land. This is what we’re paying you for.

“You got it,” Kione mutters.

In all honesty, she’s weighing up the pros and cons of simply hitting the bricks and running. But she reminds herself: this isn’t Sartha. Just a pale imitation.

And besides, there’s money on the line. Duh.

In any case, the choice gets taken away from her when Ancyor turns its awful snout in her direction and starts barreling toward her.

“Shit!”

At once, Kione kicks her mech’s flight system into high gear. She manages to get enough thrust to pull up and clear—but only just. Ancyor is even faster than the last time they fought. Kione wheels around in the air to find her target, extending and clasping her long spear in Theoboros’s right hand. Once the weapon is deployed, its tip starts glowing red-hot as her systems reroute surplus reactor heat. Kione would prefer to keep Sartha’s hellhound at a comfortable distance, but CQC is the only good way to finish a fight sure and quick.

As soon as Kione sets her sights, she realizes that Ancyor has already turned to look up at her. Silently, four openings appear in its torso. An instant later, four wire-guided harpoons are coming right at her.

That’s new. Fuck.

Two of them, she manages to dodge. One, she bats aside with the flat of her spear blade. But the fourth, kept on target by tiny thrusters, buries itself in one of Theaboros’s long, slender legs. That’s not good. The damage itself is fairly negligible. What’s not negligible is Ancyor’s massive weight as it pulls the wire taut and starts reeling her in.

And, at the same moment, launches itself into the air with enough force to crack the concrete under its feet.

Kione’s display is filled with warnings she’s pretty sure she’s never seen before. She dismisses them with a furious gesture, but all she sees on the viewscreen afterward is the ruin of Ancyor’s face coming at her at an insane speed. No time to cut herself free, and no aerial maneuver Kione can think of is going to make a damn bit of difference with another mech weighing her down like an anchor.

So, stupidly, she does the only thing she can think of: she points her jets in the opposite direction and blasts herself straight down toward Ancyor.

Fifty feet in the air above the bridge deck, two meteors collide.

Ancyor has sheer mass on its side, but Theaboros has gravity and thrust. Kione is no rookie; getting her head knocked around in the cockpit isn’t going to ruffle her. She’s focused on what counts: getting this damn dog off of her.

It’s not easy. Ancyor is scrambling all over her, its wickedly sharp chain-claws working to find purchase. It’s clear whoever’s behind the controls knows Sartha’s style. They want to keep the two mechs bound together, grappling, where Ancyor’s sheer savagery makes it invincible.

All Kione can do is wield her long, elegant spear like a brawler’s stick, keeping it between them, leveraging them to try and force Ancyor away. Unfortunately, Theaboros isn’t great at this kind of contest of strength. It’s just not built for it. Desperately, Kione uses the flight system’s jets to throw the two of them into a series of loops, heads over feet, hoping the g-forces will destabilize the beast.

Of course, it’s just as likely that what happens is that Theaboros goes down face-first into the bridge.

Splat.

But maybe it’s working. Ancyor is starting to peel off. The harpoon comes loose and one of its arms slips, windmilling through the air. Kione presses the advantage, wrenching her spear around to make Ancyor’s grip untenable. After one last lunge that goes clean past her shoulder, Sartha’s mech is sent tumbling back down to earth where it belongs.

Wiping sweat from her brow, Kione grins. Get down, dog. The sky is all hers.

Then she notices the warning lights. She stops grinning as she realizes that last lunge didn’t go clean past her shoulder at all. It hit exactly where it was meant to. It ripped off one of her goddamn wings.

Ah. Well, that’s really not good.

Theaboros isn’t dead in the air. At least, not quite. But the thing about wings is: however many you’ve got, you probably don’t wanna be on less than that. Lest she choke her reactor to death, Kione is forced to ease off and touch down on the bridge. Once her baby has cooled off, she should still be able to pull off a trick or two.

Merc? You still breathing?

Kione’s glad radio girl is still here. Judging from the guns Kione hears, her surviving squadmates are too. Maybe they can still do this.

“I have a name, you know,” she grunts.

Yeah? Get us back to base in one piece, maybe I’ll think about learning it.

Kione cackles at that. She likes a girl who can keep her head.

“You can buy me a drink instead,” she tells her. “You already know my name. If you’re not careful, I’ll make you say ‘please’ when you use-“

She cuts herself off when she sees what’s about to happen.

Kione never takes her eye off the ball, but it’s taken her a moment to stop seeing white. Now that she has her sights on Ancyor again, she’s realizing it’s not nearly as debilitated by its fall as she’d hoped. It always was freakishly tough. And it’s doing the worst thing it possibly could. Worse even than coming at Kione again while her flight system’s cooling down.

It’s going after the easy prey.

In a single bounding leap, Ancyor hurls itself at the rebel currently spray-and-praying it with ineffective beam fire. The poor bastard freezes up, and Ancyor lands squarely on their shoulders.

It doesn’t need weapons. Its weight does the work. Even Kione flinches from the crunching sound.

No!

It’s radio girl. So much for keeping her head. Maybe she knew them well. Maybe it’s just one loss too many. Either way, because she’s one of those rebel idealists, she’s doing the brave thing. The stupid thing.

Breaking cover. Trying to save her comrade.

Idiot. That’s exactly what a predator like Ancyor wants

There’s some distance between the two of them, but nothing Ancyor can’t cross in the blink of an eye. It’s happening half the bridge’s length away. Theaboros has a rifle, but the stopping power is nowhere near enough. Kione can already see exactly what’s going to happen. Radio girl is going down. No chance her last squadmate sticks around after that happens, which leaves Kione trapped in a one-on-one. Not good odds.

So, the right move is obvious: ditch. Now. The mission’s a bust. Losing Kione’s pay is better than losing her life. As long as she takes off right this second, she should be able to make it out clean.

All she’s gotta do is outrun the other rebel, right?

Kione sighs. It’s an easy choice. But here’s the rub: she really was looking forward to that drink with radio girl.

So much for letting the reactor cool.

As Theaboros throws itself forward at her command, Kione punches the reactor straight back into the red. The thrust alone has her in the air; Kione works the flight system with a master’s touch, pitching her machine slightly off-axis to compensate for the wing she lost. It’s a rough ride. Her baby’s running too hot. The wingtips are starting to disintegrate. Antimatter annihilation’s a bitch. Kione doesn’t want to think about how much the repair bill’s gonna come to this time.

Instead, she just grins.

You thought your ride was fast, Sartha? Think again.

Ancyor lunges. Radio girl is right under its outstretched claw. Theaboros is hurtling toward them at a truly unwise speed. In the cockpit, Kione is rattling around like crazy—but she doesn’t let up. She only has a fraction of a second. No time to shoot, no time to strike, no time to parry. Only time to do something dumb.

Theaboros rams into radio girl shoulder first, shoving her out of the way. She raises her left arm in a feeble bid to fend off their attacker. The impact with the rebel mech wreaks havoc on Theaboros’s frame.

And then Ancyor’s claws rip her arm off.

Shit.

No time to take stock of the damage. No room to get her balance. No heat overhead to spend on a boost. Ancyor just keeps coming. It switches targets to Theaboros without missing a beat. Kione stumbles back just barely out of reach, wheeling her spear in a furious series of parries and ripostes.

Not furious enough. Nothing’s as furious as Ancyor. It matches Kione step for step, blow for blow. Only a matter of time until one of them lands home. Kione grimaces. At least radio girl is free and clear—not that that’s worth much. Can’t get paid if you’re dead, and she’s sure starting to feel dead. Theaboros has taken up too much damage to put up an even fight.

Kione snorts, despite everything. What, is she making excuses for herself?

That’ll look great on her tombstone. Kione Monax: it wasn’t fair.

It stings that it’s not even true. Now that she’s at the right distance to get a good look at Ancyor, it’s plain enough that it took a fierce beating in the rebel ambush. Radio girl’s crew wasn’t so bad after all. They took some mean chunks out of its armor. All over Ancyor, clouds of leaking coolant hiss and exposed electricals crackle. At least one or two major servos are missing. It must be handling like a pig right about now, but it’s moving like nothing’s happened. Whoever’s behind the controls is just that good.

Which begs the question, doesn’t it?

Who the fuck is piloting that thing?

Sartha Thrace is dead. Kione made her peace with that a long time ago, and she has no time for stupid rumors. But now she can’t help but wonder. Who else could handle Ancyor like this? From their sparring sessions, Kione recognizes all the little trademark moves. Hell, the only reason she’s lasted this long is because she has a sense of Sartha’s cadence. It’s like she’s fighting her friend’s ghost.

No, not her ghost. Something worse. Sartha was never quite like this. Never quite so heedless of herself. Never so proud she wouldn’t simply retreat from this kind of ambush. This animal ferocity—Kione has seen it before, but it was always a rare thing. It came over Sartha only when something drove her to her very limit. This pilot? It’s like she’s got all of that side of Sartha, and nothing but. Her rage and violence, distilled. Purified.

A shiver runs down Kione’s spine. It’s so wrong.

Merc?

That’s her radio girl. Kione rolls her eyes. She’d been hoping the rebel pilot would just run. If both of them die trying to save each other, she’s gonna throw up. That’s just too much.

“You clear of the bridge?”

Yeah.

Thank the gods.

Her distraction almost spells her end. Theaboros is driven yet another step backward and almost trips off the side of the bridge. Kione glances behind. She’s out of space. Shit. Shit! There has to be something left. Kione knows it. She feels it. This can’t be the end. Not of her. Not yet. She’s too good. There has to be something.

A plan B.

Oh, right.

Kione checks her reactor. Flight still isn’t on the menu. It’s gonna be ugly.

“Radio girl?” Kione calls out, as Ancyor brings its claws up for an overhead blow. She raises her spear to meet it. Sparks fly as the weapons meet.

Who- yeah?

“Plan B. Blow it.”

To her infinite credit, radio girl doesn’t hesitate, which means Kione only knows it’s happening when the ten thousand-ton reinforced concrete bridge under her feet suddenly isn’t.

In desperation, Kione throws herself over the edge. A drop is one thing. But getting crushed? That’s what’ll kill you. Unfortunately for her, the bridge is already falling. She can’t kick off cleanly. Best she can do is scramble at asphalt and rebar that’s quickly turning into little more than dust while she overboosts her flight system as far as it’ll go.

It’s good enough—almost. For just a moment, Kione thinks she’s threaded the needle. She’s going to glide clear.

Then Ancyor comes flying at her one last time.

How it managed a leap like that, Kione will never know. The way it screams as it comes at her almost stops her heart. It gets close. Way too fucking close. But Kione manages to wheel her machine around, kicking its legs up and out of Ancyor’s reach.

Not the wings, though. It gets another one of those.

That’s bad. Extremely bad. Kione suddenly realizes she ought to have been more appreciative of only being down the one wing.

Mercifully, Ancyor falls away and disappears into the bridge’s wreckage at the base of the valley. That’s a mercy. But Theaboros isn’t much better off. Spitting smoke and almost completely out of control, the best Kione can do with it is a crash landing.

But hey, any landing you can walk away from. Right? And Theaboros can still walk. It just can’t do anything else.

Kione lets herself throw up in the cockpit. That’s a first.

A minute or two later, while she’s slowly picking herself up, radio girl comes skating down the wall of the valley. Her mech is a bit shit—common enough, for rebels—but it looks a damn sight better than Theaboros right now.

Holy shit, radio girl calls out. You’re alive! You… you saved me.

She’s got that naive awe in her voice, like she’s talking to some hero. Kione frowns. Can’t have that.

“Don’t get used to it,” Kione retorts gruffly. “You die, who’s gonna make sure I get paid? Duh.”

She senses radio girl bristle a little, but it’s not quite enough to penetrate that thick coat of rebel sincerity. Thank you, Kione, she replies earnestly.

Even though it almost makes her throw up again, Kione laughs thickly.

“Told you. You already know my name.”

Now she senses the other pilot blushing.

Well, shit, radio girl says after a moment, as her mech’s head turns toward the ruins of the bridge. We really fucked this up. I don’t know how I’m gonna explain this to command.

Kione happens to disagree with the ‘really fucked this up’ part of that assessment. She happens to think she pulled off a goddamn miracle, actually. But then, she still doesn’t know what they were really after. Who they were really after.

Wait, radio girl says slowly. Is that… oh gods, I think that’s her.

Before Kione can ask, she’s dashing for something she’s spotted in the wreckage. Kione makes Theaboros limp after her. When she spots it too, her eyes go wide.

It’s Ancyor.

It’s almost in one piece. Almost. Tough son of a bitch. Kione half-expects it to come roaring at them again, but once radio girl shifts the bridge pylon that landed on it, she sees that Ancyor has finally given up the ghost. It’s not beyond repairs but the torso is cracked open like an egg, leaking oil and worse in a steady stream. Looks like the protection systems deployed OK, at least.

Which means the pilot might actually be alive.

Sure enough, as radio girl peels away one half of Ancyor’s ruined cockpit, Kione sees her—and for the first time, she’s completely and utterly lost for words.

Lying there, battered and bleeding and unconscious but very definitely alive, dressed just like usual except for what looks freakishly like a fucking muzzle strapped to her head—is Sartha.

Sartha Thrace. The hero. Kione’s friend.

“She…” Kione splutters eventually, overcome. “But… how did… all this, just for…”

Yeah, radio girl answers. All this was for her.

There’s something in the rebel’s voice. Something at once sorrowful and unbearably hopeful. Kione has never heard anything quite like it. But, uncomfortably, she realizes it was in her voice too.

She’s the objective. We’re bringing Sartha Thrace home.

---

I would like to express my gratitude for the generosity of all those who support me on Patreon, and to give a special thanks to the following patrons in particular for their exceptional support:

Artemis, Chloe, Grillfan65, The Secret Subject, Morriel, Dex, orangesya, dmtph, MegatronTarantulas, Madeline, BTYOR, Sarah, Mattilda, Emily Queen of sloths, Neana, Shadows exile, Abigail, Hypnogirl_Stephanie_, Jade, mintyasleep, Michael, Tasteful Ardour, Chris, Dennis, Full Blown Marxism, Morder, S, Brendon, Drone 8315, Jim, Erin, HannahSolaria, hellenberg, Kay, Miss_Praxis, Violet, Noct, Charlotte, Faun, BrinnShea, B, Foridin, Jennifer, EepyTimeTea, Phoenix, Jim, Sebastian, Joseph, Yaoups, Thomas, Liz, naivetynkohan, Basic dev, SuperJellyFrogEx, Katie, Lily, spyrocyndersam13, zzzz, Mal, Bouncyrou, Nimapode, Kunoichiru, Ash, Artemis, Geckonator, TheRealG, Anonymous, J, nathan, GladiusLumin, Ada, Marina, Space Prius, Alex, Michael, Thomas, Dasterin, Djura, Pluto, Daedalus, Joe, Mattilda, Ana, proletkvlt, DOLLICIOUS, Yodasgirl, Allie~, Cusco-, Griffin, Bouncyrou, Hazelpup, Jakitron, Leah, Alan, ravenfan, Ash, ferretfyre, Christopher

#story #Warhound

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paydaywings · 2 years ago

Audio

(Payday Wings Canada)

#SoundCloud #music #Payday Wings Canada #UrgentLoansforBadCredit #everyoneapprovedloansCanada #emergencyloanCanada #instantemergencyloan

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benders-back · 2 months ago

Note

please tell me about payday anything i need it so bad i was reading payday voicelines and my chest collapsed with delight i need to hear about payday right now

If Tumblr eats this post again I swear

PAYDAY!! YES!! Here's some of my favorite heists and other tidbits

Boiling point - this heist itself is like returning to your wife after fighting a war (going home after a day of highschool). I have always loved this heist, I will always love this heist. Bain hinting at Akan himself, Jimmy being the contractor, you get to explode shit?? In Russia?? Yes sir sign me up!! I love this heist, I love the contractor, I love the audio right before you buy that contract, every check mark is filled for this heist

(Throwing this here, but way back when jimmy first released, the van looked like akans mercenary van)

Hotline miami - honestly, I just r e a l l y enjoy the first day of this heist. The second day is good too, don't get me wrong, but there's something about running around the motel and blowing up a gas station + tracking addresses + sniping mobsters that makes this heist so damn good. I usually play solo, so I have jacket on my ai team for this heist specifically. He's like putting hot fudge on a sundae, it doesn't feel right without it

Brooklyn 10-10 - I don't have many dlcs for payday, so I don't play this one a lot. BUT when I get the chance? Oh I abuse the fuck out of this. I love sniping enemies so much. You put a Jimmy main in this map with a sniper and custom Spotify playlist blaring and it's as if you're giving an angel its wings. You actually are cause every cop on that map dying asap LMAOO

Payday 2/3 cook off - I like these two both for their own reasons. Payday 2, I usually grind it solo for 90 minutes and I get out with a LOTTT of coke and money and a bunch of leveling up. With payday 3, I have a lot of memories of doing a long heist with my friends. We'd give each other roles. One would be the cook, one would be the "heavy", and I'd be in charge of sniping the enemies from the roof. I remember vividly getting cloakered in the ass every time I breathed in that game no joke 😭

#payday 2 #hardcore henry #payday 3 #hotline miami #i play on console so i dont have all heists + lore so 😿#i wish i knew more

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kisskissbanggang · 6 months ago

Text

₊⊹ All Fics ⊹₊

✦ After Hours - The Reader is whisked off into a whirlwind night when she takes a chance on a lonely patron at the cafe.

✦ Beyond a Shadow - Jisung is feeling spiteful after the Reader seems to be assisting Detective Seungmin in capturing him after the heist they pulled off together. Things only get more difficult as she has to keep up multiple lies to keep her life from falling apart.

✦ Contention - Reader is locked in Hwang Hyunjin’s penthouse for the next six months in an arrangement to either end up engaged, or with the payday of a lifetime–and it’s an easy preference at first, until attention from Hyunjin’s assistant, Seungmin, proves to be tempting.

✦ Death Warmed Up - Unconventional Fluff™️ where Reader has an unconventional job and Felix is an unconventional client who owns a cafe and a lot of dogs.

✦ Disavowed - Reader finds herself in the small town of Pinewood Falls to start a small, new life, but everything changes when she discovers she’s slept with a priest.

✦ Dog Days - Short, certified Fluff™️ about the Reader meeting a certain dog lover at the park one day.

✦ Down That Road - Melancholy, monotony, and an unexpected visitor.

✦ Form & Function - Poor Minho is falling for the cold, soon-to-be divorcee who hired him while he’s designing her guest room, and with unexpected results.

✦ The Hatchet Man of Duckfoot’s Grove - Things get spooky when a series of mishaps take place in her sleepy hometown after a carnival unexpectedly rolls into town.

✦ Hello Stranger - It isn’t until a few years in as assistant superintendent that the Reader finally encounters a challenge, and it’s with a new teacher in her district that’s landed himself in a heap of trouble.

✦ This Home is a Tomb - What begins as a night robbing the Blackstone mansion turns into an unexpected series of twists and turns when the family butler and gardener suddenly return.

✦ Jumpspace Renegade - Reader is pulled into an exciting and twisting adventure through space with a gang of mercenaries when she finally decides to leave her dead end life behind.

✦ No Gods Nor Kings - Nothing has been the same since Chan took the throne, especially when he has his eyes set on Reader, the faithful and doting assistant to Chancellor Changbin… and even more so when her relationship with her boyfriend, Jisung, is on the rocks at best.

✦ Pacta Sunt Servanda - The Reader and her partner in crime, Jisung, are whisked away in the night on suspicion of treason, only to wind up in service to disgraced-in-exile Prince Chan along with his court.

✦ Preoccupied - The Reader gets a bit distracted herself as she gets assigned to keep a certain producer on task in the studio.

✦ Provocation - As it turned out, you brought all sorts of things out of people, Minho and Chan included.

✦ Prowl - The Reader gets caught up in something monstrous when she meets a stranger in a bar one night.

✦ Reckless - Reader has quite the good arrangement with her new idol friend, until things get quickly complicated.

✦ The Sabotage of Simkung House - The Reader signs onto an exciting new variety show, but she isn’t prepared for what’s happening behind the scenes.

✦ The Score - Freak snowstorms, damning polaroids, and pining school faculty that are both recovering from divorce.

✦ Sentiment - Winter fluff, parfumeries, and ruined bouquets

✦ Stand Down - The Reader is roped into something deeper when she notices an old colleague following her.

✦ Standby - Working as an intern under a manager, things get out of hand real fast for the Reader, beginning with the night Bang Chan won’t come out of a green room.

✦ To Those Who Wait - The Reader is faced with a tempting opportunity to make trouble when Changbin applies to be her new assistant.

✦ What You Don’t Know - The Reader is a little surprised to become close with her friends’ new roommate, but is more surprised to expose his little secret.

✦ Young Wings - In her last month as a flight attendant, the Reader runs into a young pilot on a red-eye over the mountains.

#stray kids masterlist #stray kids fanfic #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you

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thewanderingknight · 7 days ago

Text

Blended Malt Whisky

Aside the Outlaws: Epilogue

The Pilot Plantation is now in the past, so you and Arthur relax with a simple job in Strawberry.

Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV | Chapter V

Arthur Morgan & Reader Warnings: 18+ (Adult Swim, kiddos.) Word Count: 4,708 Notes at the end!

“Think they’ll take to the harness together?” you glance at Kieran beneath the hand that comes up to shield your eyes from the harsh afternoon sun. He is hitching Godiva and Britomartis to a polished passenger carriage with slick high wheels, puffed seating, and velvet curtains in the glass windows.

“They’ll take. They’ve been together long enough. Just look at their riders,” Arthur nudges you with his elbow.

“Agreeable point, mister,” you aim a smile at him and return the nudge.

As Arthur tosses his saddle into the carriage along with your Mckellen trail saddle, you check the rigging one-handed.

“How’s your shoulder today, miss?” Kieran squeaks from the other side of Brit.

“It’s on the mend, Kieran. I’m chomping at the bit to feel useful again.”

“Don’t you worry, you’ll be feelin’ like yourself in no time. I see you’re taking your trail saddle for the ride home, not the side saddle?”

“I need both hands to ride in the side saddle, so I can hold the crop,” you explain. “Riding astride shouldn’t be a problem until I’m all healed up, but I’ve grown so accustomed to the side saddle, everything else just feels awkward.” Kieren smiled at that and touched the brim of his hat bidding you farewell.

Arthur walks up next to you, “Alright, best we be off.” He takes your good hand and helps you scramble awkwardly into the carriage perch. You hold in a frustrated sigh as Arthur clucks at the horses and waves back towards camp. You glance over your shoulder and lock eyes with Dutch, standing in front of his tent, arms crossed.

Your unfocused stare gazes beyond Godiva’s perked ears. She’s eager to be out in the world. The pair of you have been stuck in camp for far too long. Your arm and shoulder felt stiff; more than once Miss Grimshaw cawed at you for removing your arm from the sling to stretch it. Arthur’s sideways glance at your distracted state is noticeable, but he remains silent.

“Dutch ain’t too happy with me,” you admit over the rolling wheels.

Arthur grumbles in response, “It’s fine.”

“Well, here I am thinkin’ this job is so that Dutch don't have to look at me for a few days. He asked me-- told me not to carry any weapons into that party, but I did anyway.”

“Look, we can’t take any stolen carriages to Seamus for a while on account’ah his cousins-”

“By marriage-“ you interject.

“Beatin the ever living daylights outta him. Sean found a guy up near Strawberry who can do the job, and it’s simple enough that you could do it, even with your broken wing.” You sigh. “It’s not worth you gettin’ riled’ up, darlin’.”

“Do we even know what happened to the bonds?” you snap.

“Hosea took ‘em, alright? I promise you there’s nothin’ to worry about. Dutch ain’t no concern ah yours. Let me do that, okay?” You shoot him a glance. He shoots one back. “Being outta camp will do you some good. Away from everyone.”

You consider it for a moment before you concede, “It has been a while since we’ve visited Strawberry.”

“Some real beautiful country up there,” Arthur waxes and turns to you, lifting his eyebrows. You look over and let out a laugh at his face.

“I’m glad to be out, and for your company, mister. It’s nice to do a job with you, no matter how simple,” you say.

“Any job that ends in a payday and more time with you is a good job,” he replies.

“I don’t even think this is really a job,” you say. “More like, a vacation of sorts.”

Arthur lets out a laugh. “Oh, one job under your belt and you’re already livin’ the life, huh?”

“If it takes a Senior Gun and a wounded lady to deliver a carriage, then yes!” You giggle in response. Arthur smirks at that, and returns his gaze to the road. The jingle of the harnesses and the creaky wheels fills in the silence when neither you or Arthur feel like speaking; it’s comfortable and you can enjoy watching the country roll by.

*****

After some time, Arthur guides the carriage off the main trail down a side path that winds through the trees. Within moments, you slow up in front of a small homestead. A disheveled young man walks around from behind the structure, turns his head to spit on the ground and approaches the carriage. Arthur walks around the carriage to help you down, then turns to talk with the young man.

You slowly unhitch the horses from the carriage one-handed and wait with them. You watch Arthur shadow the man as he circles the carriage like a vulture, opening the doors, peeking through the smooth windows, bending down to check the wheels and undercarriage. Arthur straightens his stance and crosses his arms. You can read the disapproving thoughts on Arthur’s brow: at least Seamus was discreet and liked to be quick about things.

Britomartiis and Godiva lower their heads to graze on the lush mountain grass. You take a heavy breath in and smile to yourself. The air is cold and fresh, and you are not in camp.

It has felt rather cramped since you unconventionally returned from the heist; you felt all eyes on you when you weren’t in your tent. You were granted small praises by a few people when Dutch wasn’t present. When he was, you made yourself busy or scarce. It was more than the soupy southern air that felt heavy; you were certain something had shifted because you had chosen to carry a sidearm against Dutch’s orders.

No matter, it had happened and you were healing from it with every passing day. You were on a job, with Arthur, on a good day. Arthur approaches you, stuffing a bundle of cash into his satchel, grumbling about being hustled.

“Alright, let’s get outta here before he changes his mind. Saddle up and let’s head fer Strawberry.”

He grabs the two saddles from the carriage and walks over to the horses. Something inside catches your eye from the shadows underneath the seat. You reach in and with your good arm pull out a glass bottle and read the label: “Strange Trails Blend Malt.” The brown liquid sloshes about the heavy bottle in your hand. You stuff it in your satchel and walk back to Arthur, who had finished tacking up the horses.

“It really is such beautiful country up here. Shall we go for a ride?” You ask.

“You sure yer up for it? Sky’s lookin’ a little dark, we could just head to the hotel,” Arthur replies.

“Just a quick ride out,” you plead, “I want to ride, just for a little while.”

“Well, I guess I understand that notion. Okay, mount up then. A short ride, or Miss Grimshaw will have my hide if you catch a chill.”

Arthur holds out a hand to help you mount, and you smile at him. Your right leg swings over and you feel caught off guard. Godiva waits patiently while you settle in.

“This will take some time,” you admit with an uncomfortable chuckle. “All that time, getting used to the side saddle, sitting in one way for so long.”

“Gotta feel strange,” Arthur comments as he swings his leg over and leads you toward the trail.

“Like a completely new person,” you mumble.

You follow Arthur down the trail around Mt. Hagen at a steady pace. Big Valley opens up before you, the sun shining towards the tip of the valley while the rest is shrouded by a gray cloud. The air around you feels vibrant; you see creatures dart into the distant tree line, birds chirp and flit in the sky, Godiva shakes her but stays between your leg and hand. A storm is brewing, all right.

After some time, Arthur looks back at you and waves you off the trail, dismounting before a large boulder surrounded by wild lavender. You follow suit and lead your horse next to Arthur’s. They lower their heads to graze as you make your way to the boulder, leaning against it. It’s still warm from the sun.

“We can take a short rest here, then make our way into town,” Arthur says.

You smile at him, and pull out a handkerchief from your satchel to lay down some bread and cheese. Your fingers brush against the glass bottle, which you bring out, and display to Arthur, who takes it from you and squints at the label. He pulls the cork with a phunk! and sniffs the opening.

“Christ,” he coughs, “what is this?”

“I found it, under the seat of the carriage,” you say, laying out some pears. You toss two apples to the horses.

“Cheers to you, darlin’,” he tips the bottle towards you and takes a swig.

You inhale deeply and smile. “Ah, it feels like you can breathe out here!” you proclaim, turning towards Little Creek River, bubbling nearby. Your gaze reaches the top of the snow capped peak, shadowed by the heavy clouds slowly rolling through. You pick up a strand of the wild lavender that grows abundantly in the valley.

“Beautiful country,” Arthur remarks. You take a sip of the whiskey, coughing all the way.

“Oh my goodness,” you laugh through the last coughs. “That’ll put hair on your chest, as they say.”

Arthur huffaws, “where did you hear that?”

“Uncle!” you respond, and continue to laugh, hearing the ridiculousness of your statement out loud. You pass the bottle back to Arthur.

“It’s good to see you laughing again,” he comments, slugging the bottle back again. The past few weeks had felt strained, and you realized it wasn’t the heavy southern air that felt suffocating; it was the feeling of something darker looming. Someone was watching, waiting for a slip-up of some kind.

“It’s good to be with you, away from camp,” you simply replied. “You make me laugh.”

“Just call me the court jester,” he responds.

You take in the valley, the electricity in the air.

You shuffle up onto the boulder, sitting closer to Arthur. He straightens up, clears his throat and looks at you. “Darlin’ I just gotta say something–”

“You’ve already said something,” you try to stop him, not wanting to bring up anything. The unspeakable, awkward sense at camp was enough to make your hair stand on end. After that night, you found yourself easily distracted. You jumped at loud noises, and your temper had a short fuse. Micah had made a leering comment that vaguely resembled something about a rabbit being caught in trap and eaten by a fox, and if it weren’t for Sadie’s arm around your waist, you most likely would have landed some well-placed kicks. A few times, you were startled awake with nightmares of the raider on the lake shore. The girls voluntarily picked up your slack when you couldn’t finish a chore, and Kieran would curry down Godiva before you even had a chance. You just wanted this feeling to go away, and for things to return to how they were before. But before what? The Pilot Plantation? Blackwater? You knew this is how it would be, and the only way to move was to move forward.

“Well I’m gonna say it again,” he spoke low, but clearly, and gently placed his warm hands on your shoulders. “You know I ain’t one to outrightly say things, but, uh, considerin’ everything, I’m so proud to be your brute, darlin’. You did everything you could do. You found me–”

“Arthur–” you try to interject, chest heavy and misty-eyed.

“A-and I’m sorry you got hurt. I’m so goddamn sorry,” he begins to trail off.

Not for the first time, you find yourself at the cliff edge of a feeling; with the notion to leap. You grab at his forearm with your good arm.

“I took that job because of you.” you start.

He begins to protest.

“What I mean is, I knew you were there for me. I knew all this, going in. But that’s also why I went after you.” you paused. “It wasn’t even a choice. You absolutely inspire me. Your loyalty, your ferocity. Your kindness,” the words pour from you like the whiskey from a bottle, perhaps a little too quickly, not wanting to leave a drop behind. “You told me I don’t have to be embarrassed, so neither do you. I’m not sorry I got hurt. I am sorry you also got hurt, but I got to share in your life. You know, that life out there, that you try to leave at the outskirts of camp. And I’m not turning back. Arthur, I love you.”

Solid, solid as the boulder beneath you. The horses graze nearby, the wind picks up and ruffles your hair. A charge seeps through the air; rain was coming.

“I’m a bad man,” Arthur replies, “but I must’ve done some good, if you’re here.” he coughed to cover up the quiver in his voice.

His hands gently cupped your face, you smile. “I’m yours, Arthur,” you confessed wholly.

“I love you,” he returned.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him down for a kiss, slow and steady. You taste the sweet burn of the malt whiskey lingering on his lips and lean into it for a second more. You pull back and touch your nose to his for a moment. He lets out a small laugh. A gust of wind rushes past and you feel the spit of rain on your cheeks. Arthur looks up at the dark sky as thunder booms over the valley. Wordlessly, Arthur offers a hand to help you off the boulder, and you rush to the horses. The pair of you mount up and start the quick gallop towards Strawberry, passing the bottle back and forth, laughing all the way.

Another thunderous rumble shakes the earth as you reach the stable on the outskirts of town. Rain is falling in steel sheets and you, Arthur and the horses are shiny and soaked. You stable the horses for the night. Still half-soaked from the whiskey, you let out shrieks of laughter as you and Arthur dash down the muddy road to the small hotel. A bath would take the chill out, so you rush upstairs into the bathroom.

Once inside, you peel off your wet layers before sinking into the tub and let out a sigh into the foggy air. Arthur went to put things away in the room next door but before long, quietly knocked on the door before coming in. You look up at him from the tub and smile at him.

“Can you help me check the bandages on my back? Miss Grimshaw said they’d need changing soon.'' You stand in the tub, water cascading down your body, as Arthur reaches out. He unraveled the bandages wrapped around your shoulder.

“Ah, nothin’ but a scratch now. Sutures have healed up nicely. You’ll live.”

“Thank goodness for that,” you sigh, chest heaving with playfulness.

He wraps your shoulder with fresh white bandages, and gently finishes with a puckered kiss laid on your skin.

“Mm, thank you.”

“Anytime.”

Arthur wraps the cotton towel around you, keeping you encased in his arms from behind. He gently lays his chin on your shoulder, slowly rocking the two of you in the dim orange light, his warmth keeping you away from the quiet trundle of the world outside. The grandfather clock ticks, pulling your eyelids down with every second.

“Does it hurt?” the question vibrates your upper back.

“It did, when I would move my shoulder. Doesn’t anymore.”

“Good.”

“Arthur?”

“Hm?”

“Gettin’ cold,” you gently whisper, shifting in his hold and pressing your back to his chest.

“Well… Guess I better do somethin’ bout that!” his grip round your waist tightens, and he lifts you out of the tub, splashing water on the floorboards.

“Arthur!” You shrill, tucking your legs in and crossing your arms over your chest, trying to contain the laughter that bounces out of you with every step he takes.

He pauses to scan the landing, then lunges into your room next door. He locks the door, then lays you on the bed, illuminated by a crackling fire. He leans over you, engulfing you with his body.

“Oh! Cold belt buckle!” you yelp.

He chuckles, “sorry,” and pauses to lean back and strip his gun belt away. You lean on your elbows as you watch him, then reach up to grab his kerchief and pull him back down as your canopy once again, filling the space with soft laughter.

Your lips meet, and it dawns on both of you that you are surrounded by four sturdy walls, warm from the elements, and away from camp where the only respite from others was a thin stretch of canvas. Here, you did not have to ration how much you could give. You begin to devour his kisses, becoming fervent in bringing him closer to you in every way. His smile stretches under your lips and he responds in kind; pushing into every kiss and roving your body with rough hands.

You close your eyes and only feel his scruff against your face, the scratchiness of his clothes against your bare flesh. Blindly, you run your hands down his body to pick at buttons and pull on loose fabric. You snap his suspenders off his shoulders and clumsily untuck his shirt. A gasp escapes your lips when he gently pulls your hair to tilt your head up and nips at your neck, drawing a line with his nose down your chest to kiss your breasts. He straightens suddenly with expressed concern.

“Your shoulder?” He asks.

“M’fine,” you promise, still dazed from his touch; barely aware of the new bandage. To prove it, you pull his opened shirt down his arms and away.

Oh, a sight to behold. A body built for the wider world, for shelter, for shielding, for survival. Littered with knicks that only made the topography more interesting to your searching hands. He smirks as he brings your face closer, your fingers running through his shaggy, mahogany hair as you continue to kiss him, and he uses the moment to flick off his boots and step out of his pants, which fall to the ground where he stands.

He playfully growls, carefully drawing you up in his arms to lay you down properly on the bed, covering you once again, this time with nothing between your skin. His warmth dispels the creeping chill brought by the pouring rain continuing to tap on the roof. You relish the feeling of his skin, the pale planes that almost never see the light of day, and you count yourself lucky to be privileged enough to celebrate the softer aspects that he chooses to ignore about himself.

There are things he’s not ignoring now. You can feel his attention on the inside of your thigh, and start to rock your hips into it. He pushes down with his hips, pinning you to the bed, still not close enough for you.

Tongues meet, languid and slow over edged teeth. You and he tilt heads to fully devour the other, mouths wide. Your hands tangle in his hair once more, and he grabs your hips with thick fingers, encouraging your movement. You pause to look at him, and give him a small nod. He slowly moves into you, and lets out a small groan.

Slow movements become faster, and desperate, you clutch at his back and he wraps his arms around you, holding you. He’s over you, pounding into you, grunting to your rhythmic mewls. Your eyes meet his, asking, and he bends down for more deep kisses.

“Gotchu, babygirl,” he whispers, and sits back so he towers over you. He holds open your legs, and you both begin to melt. You reach down, find his eyes follow your fingers, and jaw slacks. You can barely hold on, and quickly lose yourself, shivering with joy and want and need, pouring out simultaneously, reveling in the glow as it leaks away. Arthur chases his own, and you gather whispered courage that is only seen when you’re this close together.

“Darling–,” is all you can muster. Arthur looks at you and nods, a half smile forming through a final groan. He lets out a breath and pulls away.

He reaches down to grab the towel, and wipes himself. After catching your breath, you pull the sheets from under you, and reach out to invite Arthur back to you. He wraps the blanket around the pair of you, and lowers his head onto your chest. You run your hands through his hair that is worth the sigh he lets out. You press a kiss into his hairline. Rain gently taps the roof above you, a clock softly ticks the seconds somewhere in the room. Your eyes grow heavy as you settle into the pleasing weight of Arthur, and the warmth of the bed. You drift off to sleep.

*****

The Strawberry roads had chilled overnight. You throw on one of Arthur’s scout jackets and cinch it round your waist with a woven belt to bundle up for the ride back to camp. As you hitch the horses outside the Post Office, Arthur steps inside to check the mail. You’re slowly pacing outside, stretching your shoulders for the long ride back to camp.

“Helen?” You stop, but don’t fully turn around. “Oh, Miss Callahan!” Ebba shuffles up the steps and scoops you into a warm embrace.

“Oh, goodness, Ebba!” You smile brightly and hug her back. “I was so worried, someone dragged you away at the party.”

“That’s not enough to scare this old bird away,” she waves her hand at your comment. “Who’s this chap?” she asks. Arthur had bashfully stepped up a few steps behind you, waiting for your conversation to end.

“This is Arthur,” you place your hand on his arm and drag him forward, smiling proudly at him. “Arthur, this is Ebba. We rode together at the party, you remember when I told you about that dreadful night?”

She immediately takes his large hand in between both of hers and vigorously shakes.

“Well, Arthur, it is certainly nice to finally meet you! You are exactly as Miss Callahan described you!” Ebba turns to you, still holding Arthur’s hand, “A handsome one, isn’t he?”

Arthur looks back at you, bemused. You just hide a smile behind your hand.

“I must say, you are very lucky to be courting around Miss Callahan, here. A true equestrian, and brave as any buffalo soldier! She saved my life at that party, you know,” she looks at you as though she’s given up a great secret.

“Oh, it all happened so fast, you were led away and it was utter chaos–” you try to explain.

“My dear, you are not the first lady to arm herself against the vicious beasts of this world, and you certainly won’t be the last!” She winks at Arthur.

A coachman calls Ebba from the street, and she acknowledges him with a dismissive wave. “My carriage is waiting, dear. After that party I decided to cut my time in Lemoyne short and continue my travels. We head to Blackwater in the morning.”

You take her hands and say, “Please write to me so I know you’re safe. I’m staying with my uncle, Tacitus Kilgore.”

She gives you a quick embrace. “I will do just that. I am so happy to have run into you, in this quaint little town of all places!” She shakes Arthur’s hand again, “Arthur, it was a pleasure to meet you.”

“Miss,” he replies, and tips his hat at her.

She chuckles and blushes at his response, waving a handkerchief his way.

You stand on the porch outside the Post Office and watch Ebba’s carriage trundle up the muddy line and turn the corner. She lowers the window and waves a hand towards you. You stand on your tiptoes to return the wave. Standing there for a moment longer, you embrace the feeling of missing someone you hardly know, and silently wish her well as she heads towards the town you and the gang haven’t seen in months.

“So,” Arthur starts, “Miss Callahan, was it?” Arthur stands next to you, a small grin on his lips.

“Yes, what about it?” you challenge, your own smile already cracking. “I’ve heard you use that name dozens of times; it was the only one I could think of at the moment!”

“Mmm hmm,” he teases, starting to walk down the steps towards the horses hitched on the other side of the road.

You follow him, stepping through the mud and stop next to Godiva’s head. “It’s a good name.”

“Sure it is,” he replies as he adjusts Brit’s girth.

“You makin’ fun of me, mister?” you tease.

“Nooo,” he responds in a low voice, and you laugh. “Just nice to know is all.”

“Well, I guess it is,” you say smiling, and go to check Godiva’s tack. He stops and rests a hand on the saddle horn. He pauses for a moment before turning to you.

“What do you think of the name ‘Morgan’?” he asks.

You stop and turn to look at him with a quizzical look. His eyes are the color of river shallows shining in the sun. They are locked on you. He’s serious, but nervous. You turn to face him, then step closer.

“Well,” you start, your voice quiet, “I’m quite fond of it,” you start. “It’s strong, and noble. Nothing would make me happier.” You’re nervous, too. Your heart pounds in your chest, your breath is shaky, but exhilarated. “I-I would be honored to use that name.”

“I’d be honored to give it to you,” his gentle smile widens as he removes his hat, and leans down. He holds his hat to shield the two of you from the rest of the world for just a moment, and you meet him in a slow, steadfast kiss as the streets of Strawberry begin to bustle. Memories of last night glow in your mind, and you smile into the kiss. He straightens up and his toothy grin reflects yours. “One day, darlin’,” he promises, then continues to check his saddle bags.

You let out a laugh, nerves subsiding. “We’ve got much to do before then,” you add. “So let’s start with getting back to camp.”

The pair of you mount up to make your way home, walking underneath the antler arch that leads away from Strawberry.

“What else is there to do?”

“Well, I guess we could try to start raising our own money. That ranch isn’t going to pay for itself.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“For another time,” you agree.

And that’s what it always comes back to. More money, plans, and more money after that. A part of you questioned exactly how much of Arthur was willing to leave the gang for this fictitious ranch the two of you had conjured, in a fantasy land where the past could not reach. The gang was family, and while you hadn’t been with them as long as Arthur, you had experienced some of the hiccups and low times that were shared. The highs that followed had always felt rejuvenating. But in the course of the past few months, any win or money in the box did not feel as filling, for some reason. That sense was left in Blackwater. This doubtful shadow rested on your brow, but you chose to ignore it in favor of appreciating the shining new day, with you, Arthur, and your horses in good health and attitude.

“We’ve got some things in the works now with those bonds and some other ideas, let’s see what comes of them.” Arthur suggests.

“Maybe a time will come when we’ll come across another poor man of industry just begging to be looted,” you tease.

“And you can finally join us on raids, if it’ll please ya. You know you could do it.” Arthur offers.

“Me, aside the outlaws?” You toss a smirk over your shoulder, “That’ll be the day!”

⭑

Notes: Thank you to everyone who interacted with this story, it means so much to me. Life happens. 3 Jobs and 1 marriage later, I’m finally ready to post this. Enjoy!

#aside the outlaws #Arthur Morgan fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #rdr 2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #appears from the bushes to drop this and then fades away again

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