#fic: vagabonds

[wackulart]

THE FELLERS.... ive been so normal about them recently

+ two screenshot redraws from the fox, hare, moon animatic

boone belongs to @cupiidskiss and malt belongs to @meeks-just-wants-to-scroll

[toilandtroubled]

𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙥𝙚𝙤𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙙𝙤 — 𝙝𝙤𝙯𝙞𝙚𝙧

If I were to create a tag list for my posts who would want to be included?

[meeks-just-wants-to-scroll]

Chapter 21 of Hare Fox Moon (The Storm)

Summary:

“Captured and separated from Boone, Malt lies and whimpers his way out of the pan and throws himself into the hot coals of the Maier Gang.”

Also Kieran Duffy is in this chapter :) he has been worked into the lore.

[cyber-geist]

Orion from 'TommyInnit's Services for Villains, Vigilantes, and Various Other Vagabonds' by @scorpionoesit I had honestly forgotten that I was sitting on some half finished concept designs for this fic. I posted a while ago the rough sketches of Orien, Artemis, and Michael's concept designs and now I'm finally finishing up my final version of their designs. Here's Orion, and yes I fixed the mask it's a boar skull cyberpunk mask now, which let me tell you I have three or four designs for this mask alone because it was a pain in my butt. Scorpio is back, and i had burst of motivation to finish this, will finish Michael and Artemis's final designs.... yes..... I have no idea when tho, but it will happen. For now have Orien and the rough sketches of the others from months ago. Click images for better quality, cause when they scrunched they dont look good. Anyways, Ciao!!!!

[gretavanglimmers]

Jake Kiszka & Female Reader

Chapter One: Don't look at me like that...

Summary: As landlady of the Vagabond Blues, you make all the rules. But there's one you just can't seem to keep with the lead guitarist of your house band. He waits for you every night at closing time. Set in the backdrop of the 80s style Roadhouse bar, Jake is a bad influence. But could he be exactly what you need, too?

A/N: Lovely tumblr friends, I'm a long time lurker reader and now here I am, sharing with you my first fic. I sincerely hope that it tickles your pickles. It's had a once over with a fine tooth comb, but please forgive any errors. And if I'm missing a trigger warning please feel free to pop into my inbox and give me a boot up the bum. Other than that, enjoy!

Warnings: Physical violence/Blood/ DomSub dynamics/ Fingering/ Oral Female/ Spitting / Restraint / Penetrative vaginal sex

The smoky haze of another Saturday night hung in the air. Tammy Wynette on the jukebox and the scent of spilled bourbon on your fingers. Broken glass crunched beneath your feet, and Jake was waiting for you on his perch at the end of the bar.

"Not tonight, baby." You sighed, slinging a cloth over your shoulder as you addressed him the same way you did every other patron. "I got this mess to clean up before I can clock off."

He barely lifted his eyes up from the papers rolling between his thumbs. Throwing his cigarette up and catching it between deft lips. He flicked his lighter open on the edge of his hand and held it until the papers startled to sizzle.

"You say that every night, Cookie." He replied, knocking back a single shot of tequila as the bar emptied. "And every night I wind up with a new pair of panties in my glove box."

Trophies. Reminders that he'd had you pressed up against his steering wheel out in the dusty parking lot. You should have known better than to wear any, knowing that he would be fixing to take you home.

"'Aint it enough to sit in my company a while?" You asked, filling his shot glass before he could ask for another. "We barely get to talking while I'm serving drinks and you're up there playin'"

He took a long drag off his cigarette, embers burning to ash as he slammed a five dollar bill on the sticky bar top. Whenever he paid for his drinks, it meant he was trying to get into your good graces. You took the money and slid it into your bra strap, hitting him with a seductive smile that told him it was your little secret.

"That's not a tip, Cookie." He admonished, "You'll get that later."

Of course you would. As much as you enjoyed making him wait, him being there made all the 2am closing rituals more palatable. You would serve beers to drunks and shmucks all night, playing nice and flirting a little while Jake sat on stage with his band trying to be heard over the clamour of bar fights and card games. Sometimes catching his eye between songs and fisticuffs.

"Be a doll and lock up for me." You said, tossing him a set of keys.

Jake had always been a dark horse. Turning up with his guitar one day, the flyer you'd left in town asking for a house band to play at the Vagabond Blues tucked under his arm. He'd played a few riffs on a scuffed up old acoustic, the way his lips pouted and his hips moved when he played sealing your fate. You'd hired him on the spot. Thinking his uncommon way of playing would bring in the girls, but keep the regular old timers happy with their penchant for nostalgic rock.

He didn't say much. Kept himself to himself. Every now and then a little nugget of something funny slipping out, making you notice him in a room full of mini skirts and denim. Chestnut waves of long hair tucked behind his ear, eating up your resolve to keep sex out of your business practices.

"You better give me my five dollars back if you want me to perform extra duties." He teased, sliding off his bar stool into a puddle of Jack Daniels.

You were fairly certain he knew he'd get what he wanted. But you leaned over the bar all the same, winding fingers around the chains at his neck and reeling him in towards your lips. Close enough to kiss, but not quite.

"You'll get that later." You whispered, releasing him before he could get too worked up.

The wicked grin he gave as he crossed the room kept you watching him. His ass in those tight levi's was a spectacle in and of itself, causing you to bite down heavily on your lip as you shook your head in disbelief of how flawlessly pert and round it was.

A beautiful distraction from the saloon door flying open. Your heart sank as it often did when people didn't respect your closing time. Drunk and in search of that elusive last sip. You often wondered what they had to go back to if they never wanted to go home.

"Hey!" You called, waving the white dish rag in your hand high above your head. "We're closing, Benny. You know the rules!"

Jake caught him as he stumbled in. Closely flanked by his dithering girlfriend, who could barely walk in her blood red stiletto heels. Chewing gum as she tried to placate his attempts to reach the bar.

"I'm so sorry, Cookie!" She cried, looking windswept and dishevelled as she fell over the chairs and tables. "I done told him it was closing time!"

"I 'aint having it tonight, Savannah." You tutted, confident that Jake could handle it. "You let Jake put him outside, now."

"Yes Ma'am." She replied, inebriated but not enough to know when it was time to call it a night. "I really am sorry about this."

Jake had him by the scruff of his collar. Placating him softly, telling him he'd had enough. Easing him back towards the door as he tried to break free.

"You go on home now, Benny." You humoured, placing a defensive hand to your hip as you prepared for the inevitable fight.

Punches rolled into the air, each one dodged and caught. Curses and spit flying everywhere as Jake manhandled him to the ground. Glasses smashing as tables were flipped, the sound of girlish screams as Savannah tried to keep her little skirt from riding up as she hitched herself onto Jake's back.

"What the hell, Savannah? Get the fuck off of me!" He shrugged, with very little effort, as she fell back into an abandoned deck of playing cards.

You whipped your dish rag on the back of a bar stool and flipped open the bar flap. Striding across the floor through a menagerie of spilled drinks and broken glass. Hardened to the way people loved to brawl after a few too many drinks, this was an inconvenience more than anything else.

"Get him the fuck out." You lashed, grabbing the poor girl by the straps of her little halter neck top and helping her to her feet. "And if you can't keep your man on a tight leash, I don't wanna see either of you in here again until you can. You hear me, Savannah?!"

Benny didn't like that. His fist reeling upwards as Jake lifted him from the ground. Both hands aggressively on the ripped shirt of your offending regular, unable to stop it connecting with his jaw. A simmering bubble of anger about to spill over the edges of your calm demeanour.

"Damn it, Benny!" Jake cried, reeling back before striking a dull kick to his stomach in a pair of boots you knew would leave a mark. "You want a drink so bad?"

You watched as Jake spat blood and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Something visceral and instinctual in the way you settled back onto the edge of the foray. Savannah lingered in the open doorway, the way you looked at her enough to keep her there.

"Have a fucking drink, my friend." Jake said amusingly, using the edge of his boot to turn Benny's head towards the whiskey saturated floor board.

Jake looked over to where you were standing. Arms crossed and a pout that spoke a thousand words you wouldn't say until the door was bolted shut.

"Alright, that's enough." He moaned, picking Benny up off the floor, every ounce of fight in him gone. "If I let you go, you're not going to swing for me again are you?"

Benny shook his head, defeated. Staggering into the doorway where his equally unsteady girlfriend caught him. The two of them descending into the early hours rain, their voices pitched and argumentative.

Jake picked up the keys from the floor, taking the liberty of locking everything up precisely how you'd asked him to. You could see the blood dripping from his lip, a look of consternation as he kept his eyes on you. He shoved the last bolt across, like he was pissed off at the interruption. Staring at you as you waited for him to be done.

"Don't look at me like that." You warned, taking a step back as he approached.

"You know I'm dead inside until you touch me, don't you?" He replied poetically, backing you up against the locked door. "There's only you who can get my blood pumping again, Cookie. You know that."

His blood was all you could taste as he caged your body between his and the door behind you. Pressing you into a kiss that was warm and metallic. His tongue probing yours in desperate search for a release that had been building all night.

As if you ever had the strength to deny him. Or yourself. Telling yourself pretty stories about driving yourself home without letting him have so much as a taste of the lace between your thighs. Such fiction always made you feel better about your intentions, until they fell by the wayside.

"We can't keep doing this, Jake." You said, like you always did, an echo of something you knew would never manifest. "It's bad for business."

Where he'd cut his lip, you could see the blood pooling. He sucked on it as he towered over you. Rubbing the remains of his kiss across your lips with the pad of his thumb.

"You tell yourself that." He murmured against the shell of your ear. "Tell yourself you don't want this. Your wet little pussy tells me a different story."

She betrayed you, the thing between your legs. You couldn't silence her purring, even if you'd tried. Your head was a revolving door of wanting him and trying so hard to convince yourself that you didn't. Your heart ached for him, even when he was sat on that little stool with his guitar perched on his knee, playing the blues for a crowd that barely listened. But that was yours to keep. That didn't belong to him. The throb was all his, though. He'd claimed that the first night he'd waited for you after closing. You couldn't hide it. He knew the way he made you gush from his touch. You had no control over your actions when he awakened that part of you.

"You're bad." You whispered, clenching your eyes shut tight, letting him open the buttons of your daisy dukes. "So, so fucking bad for me."

You could feel the clammy touch of his palm against your stomach. Opening your eyes the moment he slipped it down behind the waist band of your panties. Rounding over your mound where his fingers hooked delicately into the waiting wetness of your slit. Making you moan into his open mouth.

"There she is, my sweet Cookie." He crooned, taking your earlobe between his teeth, tentatively sucking. "They named you well when they called you that."

It was just a silly little childhood nickname. When your real name had been too hard to pronounce, your little brother had resorted to calling you Cookie. And it had stuck, nothing more than a curse to you now as he desecrated it. Took all the innocence out of it and made it filthy.

"Shut up!" You growled, wrapping your hands around his wrist. "Just shut the fuck up for once, Jake..."

His air of mysterious quiet didn't extend to these moments. He liked to talk. A revelation which had come to you unbound the first time he'd ever talked you through it. Giving you a running commentary on his every move, letting you know precisely how hard you got him. Keeping you hanging off every sensual word.

But sometimes, just sometimes... you needed him to push through all the nagging doubts. To make you forget that you were breaking your one and only rule. That you'd made it part of Vagabond Blues lore. No fucking the other employees.

You clutched him tight, forcing lazy circles around your hard clit. Biting down on your lip, panting heavily as his fingertip brushed over the hood. His eyes were locked on yours. Silently speaking to you as he rolled over the peak of your throbbing bud. He couldn't shut up, even if there were no words coming out of his mouth, his gaze conveyed his pleasure.

"Not here...not here..." You simmered, knowing you were moments from casting off the panties you knew he would keep as a souvenir.

He held you against the door, his hand applying enough pressure to keep you locked where you stood. Fingers stilled on your clit, like he was gently punishing you for trying to stop his flow.

"Nobody else is coming through that door." He asserted, his mouth lingering at yours, eyes shifting from your begging stare down to your parted lips. "And if they tried to, I'd take on any man who came between me and this..."

Your eyes rolled back as he slid a single digit into your entrance. Curling up inside you just enough that his tip could reach the sweet spot that made you fold into a thousand pleading little pieces.

"Guitar fingers..." You hummed.

He liked it when you stroked his prowess as a guitarist. It made him roll his hips into you, his painfully hard cock pressed into your stomach. His arousal piqued, and you truly believed that nobody could tear down that door without having to get through his dominance first.

"Gonna play you like a Gibson." He giggled softly, pulling down your shorts, taking the panties with them as you stepped out. "Make you sing for me, Cookie."

He brought big, strong hands down the curve of your spine and rounded them off around your ass. He lifted you up, forcing your thighs to wrap around him. Your saturated core dampening his shirt as he carried you over to the little box stage at the side of the bar. Laying you down with careful intention, your legs hanging off the edge for him to manipulate.

"No, not like a Gibson." You said, inching up your t-shirt until it sat around your collar bone, tits spilling out. "Play me like your Harmonica..."

You caught sight of his jaw clenching. His throat flexed as he swallowed, considering your demand as he slipped off his shirt. Unbuckling his belt so that it fell to either side of his waist, just enough to free his buttons and zipper. You could see the tip of his penis sitting snuggly behind the waist band of his boxer shorts.

He stood back. Folded his arms around his chest and gazed at you with intensifying heat.

"You want me to tongue block on your pussy?" He raised an eyebrow, resting his line of sight on the bloom of your centre as you hooked your toes over the edge of the stage.

He'd never looked more rockstar. Shirtless with his jeans wide open, his hair shrouding the darkness of his wild expression as he tilted his head forward. Softly predatory. In anticipation of getting a taste, he wound a tight fist around the chains that hung around his neck, licking a stripe across the split in his lip.

"Do something," You begged. "Anything, before I come to my fucking senses."

He wouldn't let you. He stood over you, pulling down your thighs until your legs were resting in the crooks of his arms.

"This is mine. Say it..." He growled, spitting onto your slit and letting it drip.

You almost couldn't formulate a coherent sentence. "Yours."

He nodded, railing a hand up to cover your left breast. "And these?"

"Yours." You echoed, "All of it, yours."

You'd heard the expression before. Be careful what you wish for. Begging him to do anything might have been too wild a request. He squeezed tightly, letting your hard nipple feel the friction of his closed fist. You were never coming to your senses, never...

Above your head were the stationary instruments of the Vagabond Blues Band. A set of guitars leaning against stands, an acoustic drum set at the back and a menagerie of amps and wires. Jake had an almost demonic glaze over his face as he leaned forward, letting your cunt press against the fabric between your flesh and his.

"Ever since I met you, Cookie, you've made it hard for me to want anything else." He said, gently placing your arms up as he clamped his mouth around your aching nipple. "I know it's wrong, I know it's against the fucking rules. But you got me all kinds of fucked up..."

You didn't realise what he was doing at first. Distracted by his beautiful mouth sucking on your breasts. Watching his tongue make circles around the gooseflesh of your areolas. Biting into the curve of them, leaving his mark as you laid beneath him savagely moaning, unaware that his amp cable was being twisted around your wrists. It was only when you tried to break free that you had to struggle.

"I got you all kinds of fucked up, so now you're keeping me prisoner is that it?" You tried to wriggle free, but the sleek black cords were pulled tight.

"You want me to set you free?" He smirked, pulling down his boxers, letting his raging hard cock fall out from behind it. "Just say the word, sweet Cookie, and I'll set you free."

He pushed his jeans down just enough to move his tip closer. With your knees parted and on full display for him, he wrapped a cautious hand around his base and began slapping your wetness against the inside of your thighs as he tapped your slit with his cock.

"It's wrong to want you the way I do." You confessed, your voice on the verge of wilting.

He continued tapping away at your clit. "Yeah, it's wrong. But doesn't it feel fucking good?"

You could only nod. Words evaded you. Breathing heavier and heavier, your chest heaving with your arms restrained above you as he drummed away on your pussy with his violent cock.

"Seems I got the wrong instrument." He snickered, "You wanted the Harmonica, right?"

You let out the most simpering whimper. A sound which made him smile in utter abandonment of his brooding.

"Oh, that's my girl." He beamed, trailing a palm down the centre of your body. "Fucking music to my ears."

He sank to his knees. Holding your thighs apart, knowing the grim state of the floor after a Saturday night you knew it was a real sacrifice on his part. Grateful for his dedication, you let him rest your legs over his shoulders as he buried his face into your aching, wet and impossibly hot pussy.

You began sobbing. Begging. Crying out deliriously. Trying so hard to be good and not unravel right there on the flat of his tongue as he licked deliberate stripes up the length of your dripping slit. Driving you to the edges of what was tolerable as he slurped and swallowed your wetness. Like he'd done with your nipple already, he clamped his mouth around your throbbing clit and started rolling his tongue against it. Pulling it into his mouth with gentle suction, humming his own feral moans against it as he jerked himself off.

You could feel the vibration, the movement of his body as he reeled his fist up and down his shaft. Pulling the flesh back and forth, squeezing as he rounded off at the tip. You knew his style, his melody. And the more you pictured it the more you ached for penetration.

"Fuck me, Jake..." You cried, fighting against your restraints to rag his head back, to take a fist of his hair so that you could see your juice glisten on his mouth. "I need it, baby...please!"

The blood was rushing in your ears. Your own heart beat thrumming wildly over the din of your own voice rising. Breathless and helpless, your wrists bound and your thighs rubbing eagerly against his ears it felt like he was deliberately keeping it from you.

"Don't make me cum in your mouth, Jake." You simpered, "I want you inside me. I'm your fucking boss, Jake...listen to me!"

Down through the valley of your heaving breasts and laboured breath, his eyes flitted upwards. Resting his chin on your mound, covered in a sheen of your mess, he pulled his tongue out of your cunt and looked up at you.

"You 'aint my boss when we do this." He switched, rising from his knees to appraise you. "You can be my boss while ever I'm getting paid to play. But soon as that door closes, you're my girl."

He loosened the cables. Stretching over you, setting you free. Immediately you sat up, resting on your palms as you watched him step back.

"Where are you going?" You asked, feeling a sudden rush of vulnerability as he hitched up his jeans and walked across the room towards the door.

Heat flushed to your cheeks. You felt humiliated. If he left you there like that, there was going to be no way back. You could already feel it rising in your chest. The pain and the breaking of your heart that you hadn't known would come.

Your shorts and panties were right where he left them, in a heap by the door where he'd make you take them off. You watched him reach into the pile of denim and pull out your black lace thong.

"Spoils of war." He replied, shoving them into his back pocket. "You look so beautiful like that, by the way."

You were sitting on the edge of the stage, your hair messed up and your cheeks all rosy. Still feeling the throb of where his mouth had been. You let your t-shirt fall, pulling it down in an act of rising shame at what you'd done.

"Beautiful enough that you're going to leave me here like this?" You wondered.

His brow knitted together in confusion. "Leave?"

You shrugged. "You're leaving, 'aint ya? Pissed you off with my I'm your fucking boss bullshit?"

He feigned offence, placing a hand at his heart as if you'd placed a dagger right there in the centre of his chest. You couldn't help but smile bashfully, looking down at your bare thighs as he strode back towards you.

He chucked your chin with the back of his hand. Making you look back up, unable to stop yourself from meeting his impenetrable gaze.

"Why you worried, woman?" He asked, "Nothing I done ever worried you before."

"No but..." You huffed, trying to reclaim your balance. "Then you said I was your girl when we do this."

You had to be strong all the time. The Vagabond Blues couldn't be run by anyone with a weak stomach or a fear of getting hurt. You had to be ten steps ahead at all times, predicting the moods and behaviours of every single soul under that roof. It was a lonely place to be.

"I'm not leaving." He answered softly, kissing you with his broken lip. "I didn't fuck my girl, yet."

You let him sink his teeth into your jawline, letting out a deep sigh as he pushed your legs apart. Quick, shallow breaths exhaled as he pushed his jeans back down. Trying in vain to keep yourself calm. But it was no to avail, you could feel the room begin to spin as Jake pushed his tip against your grieving clit.

"I can't be..." You whispered, tethered to him as he slipped inside slowly. "You know I can't be your girl."

You felt the soft brush of his hair against your cheek as he shook his head.

"No, Jake. Look at me, I want you to see me." You breathed, making him fuck in slow, hard thrusts that made your tits bounce against his chest. "I'm not who you think I am. I'm not somebody you can just claim."

"I know." He moaned, clinging to your body like it pained him. "You gave yourself to me, remember?"

"I mean it, Jake." You said firmly. "I can't have authority around here if people know about us."

He placed his hand over your mouth. You tasted the salt of his sweat on your lips. You could have said it a thousand times over and the outcome would always remain the same. He would wait for you at the end of the night, and you would go to him.

"Can't you feel that?" He said, low and gravelly as he peered down to watch your pussy swallow him whole. "Can't you feel how good my cock stretches inside you? Just let it go, Cookie."

Pussy lips like ribbons against his shaft, he pulled his hand away so that you could take a look for yourself. Like poetry in motion he was, fucking you so deliciously slow and hard. Sliding in with gentle force before slamming his body against yours to the hilt. Edging you closer and closer to that sweet finish.

"That's it, beautiful." He encouraged, his breath hitting your tongue so warm and familiar as you writhed against him on the edge of the stage. "Cum on my cock, let me feel that juice drip on me. Just let it all go, you can do it."

When it washed over you it was like being reborn. You wailed into the rafters, letting it echo into the eerie silence of the empty bar. Jake shuddered when you calmed, feeling a little wetter than you had been a moment ago.

"I can't do it, Jake...I can't!"

You'd never let him see you cry before. And for some unfathomable reason, he felt it necessary to kiss the tears which spilled from your lashes.

"Yes you can." He replied, "You already are."

.

.

.

Chapter Two: Look what you made me do... *Coming Soon

@takenbythemadness @writingcold @velveteencatch @scoreofinfantryvines @edgingthedarkness @lyndz2names @jakesmustache @jazzyfigz @gvfmarge @thewritingbeforesunrise @itsafullmoon @shutupdevvie

[skellymom]

"Vagabonds" Chapter 19

"HEART OF THE MATTER"

Ongoing fanfic Hunter x Reader/Fem Reader/OC

Hunter meets a smuggler Nomaadi Star Woman with a powerful force sensitive teen who changes the trajectory of CF-99's lives...as they ALL try to escape from The Empire together.

To read Chapter 18 - "THE FORCE"

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/759480275949486080/vagabonds-chapter-18-the-force?source=share

Word Count: 1.9K

Background: Hunter has a heart to heart convo with LOVE. LOVE has a heart to heart covo with Mad. Sweet and emotional with a reveal (No fear dear reader: Things WILL pick up in Chapter 20!)

For anyone new to this series: "LOVE" is the nonbinary/genderfluid neurodivergent/nonverbal Force sensitive kid of the main OC of this series "Mad". For more background on LOVE, check out the introduction and past chapters leading up to this one. LOVE'S father is also mentioned in past chapters in a flashback...giving a clue as to how and why LOVE has the power they do!

Warning: Commentary of body issues, age, relationships. Mention of body parts.

(Credit: Cool dividers by @4ngelic-wh1spers @plum98 @strangergraphics-archive)

Mad emerged from the refresher, toweled off, then playfully tossed it over Tiggy.  Tig rolled around inside the towel, drying her fur, then took it between her teeth and shook it.  The towel slapped the sides of her head.  She’d drop it, growl, bite and shake it again. 

From the back of her wardrobe, Mad pulled out a black linen maxi dress.  A patchwork of small multicolored fabric swatches was sewn all over it randomly.  Remnants of fabric snipped from the clothing of Nomaadi family and friends.  People who helped Mad escape Dathomir, deliver LOVE, and occasionally assist Mad to raise them during the rare moments the Nomaadi could gather together.  Some still alive...some...had perished long ago.  For the Nomaadi this was their portable family album. There was a bittersweet melancholy attached to this garment.  A nostalgia so deep with this dress Mad could NEVER part with it. 

She hadn’t worn it since being pregnant with LOVE and a few months after their birth...before losing some of the baby weight. 

Mad glanced up and caught the vision of her naked self in the mirror.   

Her breasts were getting heavier with the start of milk production...and tender.  Before that they weren’t as perky as they had been in Mad’s 20’s or 30’s... now hovering just shy of 50.   

She had a mature woman’s body before this “medical condition.”  A spare tire around her lower midsection, just under the belly button.  Leftover from carrying LOVE that never went away.  And shiny stretchmarks from the original pregnancy weight loss.   

There were some varicose and spider veins on Mad’s legs, mostly covered by extensive tattoos.  But still visible.  The occasional scar from fights, near misses, scrapes, and falls while evading enemies peppered her body. 

Mad sighed.  She wore a rough roadmap of life...with more to come. 

Memories of Hunter worshipping every inch of her body came flooding back.  The extra, marred flesh didn’t seem to bother him at all.  Sure, he had plenty of scars...from battle.  Those scarred parts of his anatomy were seen as glorification of enduring a war and surviving.  No sense of shame came with them.   

Motherhood on the other hand...not generally seen that way. 

The softening of the body, especially as an older woman...aging.  Mad sighed.  Most societies in the galaxy tended to view this as a woman past her prime, less valued, sometimes invisible, mostly a vessel to produce a younger, more useful being and nothing else. 

Would Hunter STILL find her attractive?  And see past the outer meat sack to the spirit of the person within?  Would he still want to hang around after whatever Mad carried within her grew to fruition and left it.  Maul surely didn’t. 

Men usually became suddenly fickle when the body exceeded certain...parameters of “established” body standards... 

Would her body still be in full working order after all of this was over?  Would she lose her independence?  What would happen to LOVE if Mad was rendered incapable?  Surely the Nomaadi would help care for her... 

...IF there were any of her people left after the Empire scoured and colonized the galaxy... 

She suddenly grew VERY wary and tired.  Tiggy whined pitifully, as though she could read Mad’s thoughts. 

Mad sighed and took the dress off the hangar, pulling it over her head, and let it settle over her body.   

It felt comfortable.  Like home.  Smoothed out and covered the lumps, bumps, scars, mars... 

Forgiving and embracing like a well-worn lover. 

Mad ignored the wet towel on the floor and crawled into bed, hiding under the covers.  She didn’t want to think about ANYTHING else for awhile.  Just wanting to exist in this warm peaceful place.  

Tiggy leapt up and snuggled in next to her. 

Hunter rifled through his pockets, pulling out items as he thew his clothes into the washer. 

The Marauder had a tiny machine, only large enough for the Batcher’s thin blacks.  But the Beldame had a full-sized washer/dryer with a folding counter in one of the ships alcoves.  Perfect for washing civilian clothing the Batchers had acquired since leaving the Empire. 

LOVE quietly drifted by in the shadows behind him, having grabbed snacks for Omega and Sil.  If it had been anyone else, they would have silently drifted by in levitation with no one the wiser... 

But this was Hunter. 

“That’s an interesting skill you have.” He mused as he closed the lid and watched the clothes agitate in the washer window. 

LOVE stopped and levitated in place, shocked that Hunter could sense them. 

“You HAD to know I would eventually figure it out.” Clothes agitating...” Do you eavesdrop on everyone often?” 

NO!  They Force Spoke. 

“Guess I have to believe you” Hunter turned to stare into LOVE’S eyes.  He leaned against the wall next to the washer and put his hand on his hip. 

No pressure... 

We live on this ship constantly...usually with lots of other people.  Privacy is hard to find...but...SOMETIMES...every once in a while...I do it for safety reasons. 

“Oh?” Hunter raised an eyebrow. 

I DON’T want to know other people's PERSONAL business...eww.  But...I worry about Mom.  She’s been with me my whole life.  More than anyone else... 

LOVE trailed off and Hunter guessed this comment was telling about how little this teen’s father was present in their life. 

“What are you worried about?” Hunter softened his look and tone. 

I... don’t want to lose her...  LOVE clutched the bags of snacks against their chest, a panicked look upon their face.  I’m scared. 

Hunter understood this completely.  He had seen Omega worry as a small child.  So many situations where she would stress about things she had little to no control over. 

“Ever tell your mother about this?” Hunter offered. 

No...  LOVE stared at the floor 

“Listen...I know I’m NOT your father...” Hunter fidgeted a bit.  He wasn’t sure if he was drifting into dangerous territory with Mad’s teen. 

But you COULD be!  LOVE glanced up hopefully at Hunter. 

Hunter was pleasantly surprised to find himself smiling a bit.  He initially expected LOVE to be defensive and argumentative.  However, he remembered Mad’s explanation of the Nomaadi.  Family is not specific for them.  It was NOT necessarily comprised of a closed group of familiar blood individuals.  ANYONE could be adopted into the galaxy-wide ever-growing community of the Nomaadi family experience. 

You ONLY had to be genuine and committed to belong.   

“Don’t you think she should know?”  Hunter advocated. 

LOVE heavily considered his words. 

“Talk to her, LOVE.  She NEEDS to hear from you right now.  She needs your support.”  Hunter urged.  “I think you need hers too.” 

I... don’t want to be a burden.  Mom has enough to worry about. 

“You aren’t.  Would NEVER think that.”  Hunter emoted “She loves you so much.” 

LOVE nodded and turned to levitate away towards Mad’s stateroom.  Then stopped and glanced over their shoulder. 

Hunter? 

“Yeah?” 

I mean it...you COULD be my father. 

“Heh...thanks Kid.  That means A LOT coming from you.” Hunter beamed. 

Mom?  LOVE reached out with The Force while standing outside of Mad’s stateroom door.   

Come in. The door slid open to reveal Mad curled up in bed with Tiggy leaning against her. 

Mad had rolled over to greet Love...as they WALKED into the room... 

LOVE barely EVER walked anywhere.  Usually, levitating was the default to avoid the tactile feeling of anything against their feet, hands, body.  They even shunned touch from everyone around them, including loved ones.  LOVE slowly wandered into the room, looking small, lost...a bit unsure. 

Hey?  Mad probed LOVE’S mind gently. Speaking in the intimate way they both have since LOVE'S birth.  What’s bothering you? 

LOVE slowly crawled onto the bed then asked a question Mad hadn’t heard since LOVE was a toddler... 

Can I hug you? 

Oh...OF COURSE!  With outstretched arms, Mad beckoning her child. 

LOVE slid in and embraced Mad, gently closing Tiggy in between them.  The dog rolled onto her back and let all four legs dangle down like a person resting on the mattress.  A contented groan escaped her snout. 

Mad warmly wrapped her arms around LOVE, closed her eyes, and drank in the sensation of how her child felt in her arms.  It had been SO LONG since she felt this.  Mad held back strong emotional tears. 

It felt WONDERFUL! 

Mad waited patiently for LOVE to speak. 

Finally...  I’m...scared. 

You heard the conversation earlier, didn’t you?  With your “Force Ears?” 

LOVE nodded silently. 

I know you can do that.  Don’t always know when you do it... 

Not often.  Promise. 

Hmm.  Hunter and I were going to tell you, Omega and Sil soon.  We just needed to process...EVERYTHING.  

Hunter told me to come clean and talk to you.  Sooner than later. 

He did, did he? Mad grinned 

Can we adopt him?  And Omega...and their brothers? 

I’ll think about it. Mad smirked, then sighed.  About the... Mad motioned to her very swollen belly.  Symbiont...or WHATEVER is in THERE...I think I’m going to live.  Don’t think the doctor...intentionally...implanted anything evil or dangerous.  But I wasn’t prepared for what Hunter had to say.  We're going to get this straightened away tomorrow at the extraction point.  I CAN’T wait though...it’s sitting on my bladder!  Sorry... 

Mad extracted herself from Love, Tiggy, and the bed quickly.  Got up and hurried to the bathroom. 

LOVE waited for Mad’s return and glanced down at Tiggy, who continued to lay on her back.   

You KNOW something.  You sense it.  That’s why you’re cuddling with Mom so much. 

Tiggy glanced up at LOVE, wagging her tail in the affirmative. 

What do YOU know that we don’t??? 

Tiggy smiled in the way dogs do, still wagging her tail, but giving up NONE of her secrets. 

Mad returned to her bed and snuggled in with LOVE.  They lay there for quite a while, each in their own headspace and silent. 

Hey... Mad whispered with the Force. 

Huh? LOVE murmured back. 

I love you with everything I’ve got.  And, I’ve NEVER regretted having you.  No matter what happens...don’t you EVER forget it. Mad squeezed LOVE. 

LOVE was extremely touched and emotionally unable to speak...even with the Force.  However, Mad could FEEL the depth of their emotions.  No words needed to be spoken; the feelings were enough. 

Eventually, both LOVE and Mad drifted off to sleep...with Tiggy sandwiched between them. 

 

While Mad slept.... 

LOVE dreamed. 

A shapeless, formless darkness.  Nothing concerning or terrifying.  On the contrary, a peaceful, watery darkness...with the constant sound of a warm heartbeat.  There were others with them in the darkness.  Small forms fluttering around LOVE.  Sliding by and acknowledging their presence like it was as natural as belonging to this place.  This watery, salty home...like the dark, warm depths of an ocean.  They communicated wordlessly, soundlessly in kinship.  No malice or otherness.  They belonged here for the time being, while LOVE was just visiting temporarily.  They accepted LOVE occupying space among them in these depths.  Swimming up to them in greeting.  Regarding LOVE with interest... 

LOVE startled awake with their head resting against Mad’s swollen belly.  During the nap, LOVE had slid down and curled around their mother.  Mad continued to snore softly. 

LOVE glanced down at Tiggy.  My brothers and sisters are in there...you were trying to tell us... 

Tiggy wiggled in excitement. 

...and Hunter’s their daddy. 

Tiggy rolled over and licked LOVE’S face enthusiastically. 

LOVE was elated...but then realized that they COULDN’T part with these babies.  For SO many years Mad and LOVE ferried people...mostly children across the galaxy to safe houses and families on other planets.  Some living with other Nomaadi when there were no other viable options.  They were unable to keep any of them in their daily lives. 

But THESE children...they personally BELONGED to THEM.   

LOVE gently woke Mad up and gave her the news. 

I...DON’T understand.  HOW?  Mad rubbed the sleep from her eyes. 

Tech might know.  He’ll explain the logical part.  I can do the rest.  LOVE offered. 

LOVE got up from the bed and levitated out of the stateroom to find the rest of the crew. 

To read Chapter 20 - "DIFFICULT CHOICES":

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/761407251706707968/vagabonds-chapter-20?source=share

Please let me know if you wanted to be added to my taglist or removed! Thanks so much for your support!!!

[cannibalisticcorpse]

Ooughhh jayroy 1E 🥴 kissie meme

from this ship/kiss meme

[niloerua-writing]

Vagabond - 0

Summary: A new spiderman has come to join the club from a mysterious universe.

Pairings: Miguel x Black Cat Variant!Reader. Spidersona x Black Cat Variant!Reader

WC: 1.8k

Warnings: nothing yet.

A/N: it is almost 2am and this is my first fanfic in 4 years and first time writing the atsv gang so it’s gonna be rusty. this fic is does not follow all the events of atsv because that be hard to implement with the plot im planning rn. also hobie is like 18/19, but grouped him with the teens bc those numbers have teen in it. thank you for reading.

0 | 1

“Quit staring at him, y’all.” Jessica narrowed her eyes at the curious teens, her voice nearing a hiss. “The man has eyes all over him. Besides, I brought you four as stand-in witnesses from the reports just in case.”

Miles couldn’t see any exposed irises, the unfamiliar spiderman before him was dressed in a two piece suit with shining oxfords, his hands gloved in leather. His long scarf was the only color that wasn’t a dull gray, it was electric blue with a thin, delicate white webbing design. His red hair was tied into a small ponytail. He had his back turned from the group, however, Hobie was bold enough and took a step forward to take a closer look.

“You gotta name, mate?” Hobie crossed his arms, and there was a moment of silence before he finally turned around.

The spiderman had a black face mask, exposing his ragged scar that ran through his left eye and continued under the cloth. It was closed shut compared to the right’s sharp green. There was an insignia of a spider pinned to his coat- someone should have told him that a spider suit wasn’t something formal.

“He’s actually a cyclops, Jess.” Pav whispered. Jessica rolled her eyes while the other teenagers snickered. The spiderman let out an amused huff at their hushed comments about his appearance.

“Kids.” Jessica nervously chuckled. “Sorry about them. Miguel should be here after his mission.”

“No worries. Afterall, I didn’t give a proper introduction.” The Spiderman’s voice was a perfect blend between gentle and raspy, there was a hint of a Scottish accent in that sentence somewhere.

He started at the beginning. Calan Wesson Parker was his name. He was born in New Zohei and he was bound to an Arachne Pact by an earth deity. And for the last seven years, he was known as the one and only-

“Arachne Pact?” Gwen repeated.

“Earth deity?” Miles followed.

“Seven years ago?” Pavitr’s face soured.

“I hate organized religion.” Hobie said flatly. Jessica was mentally begging Miguel to come back.

Calan blinked before finishing. “Spiderman. As you all would say here.”

The teenagers, aside from Hobie, began to surround him with other questions. How’d he get his scar? Why doesn’t he cover his eyes? How does he fight in a suit and expensive shoes? What’s an arachne pact? Does he actually have extra eyes somewhere? Calan could only look onward with silence as the topics began to shift between Calan’s broad background, to religion, and finally, video games. Even Jessica couldn’t tell what was happening and how the conversation went overboard. This was a strange place, a strange time, and strange people that were supposed to be like Calan. Jessica had found him in his dimension, already restraining an anomaly she was supposed to capture. It happened three times when she visited for missions, and the other spider people who were assigned work for  that universe reported Calan immediately handing away anomalies to them. Impressed, she decided to invite him to the Spider society. After some hesitation, he followed.

“You’re already handling them well, from the looks of it. You got kids of your own?” Jessica asked.

Calan let out an acknowledged grunt but he refused to answer the question, like the other questions the three kids threw at him. His stare was blank, the dimming lights of several open screens around the office couldn’t even put a glint on his eye.

“That was a close one!” A familiar AI zipped down the walkway, activating the computers on the rising platform. “Hey guys! Glad you came early.”

“Hey Lyla. Where’s Miguel? I brought that new spiderman that’ll definitely help out.” Jessica glanced at Calan, who studied the glitching woman and the floating screens.

“He’s coming alright. After yelling at some spider people. The anomaly just blipped out of existence again after wrecking half the city.” Lyla shrugged. Calan furrowed his brow at the comment.

It wasn’t long until the doors slid open, followed by heavy footsteps. Curses of Spanish became more evident, and soon, the group parted to make way for the man himself. Everything fell silent with only the ambience of activated devices and blips; it seemed right to keep quiet to not rile him up further. Up above, Miguel quickly reviewed multiple tabs of what seemed to be Calan’s canon events. Below, the group could barely see the screens from afar, but what was certain was that there was one tab dedicated to looking at Miguel’s late daughter.

“That’s weird. Why does this just cut to black? Actually, why are all of them cut like that?” Lyla had to scan through the events several times over. Miguel watched as the hologram went through every event: the canons were in order after all, but there was something about the presentation that wasn’t like everyone else’s. He heaved a sigh, slicking back his brown hair- it’s a minor issue. However, something else had to be addressed.

“Calan.” His voice echoed, his glower focused on the other’s upward glare. The rest of the group hoped it wasn’t something critical-  Miles and Hobie had a rough introduction to Miguel when they joined the spider society. Jessica hoped Miguel didn’t reject the Calan outright, otherwise webs would start flying.

“We noticed a pattern of anomalies appearing and disappearing, and then popping up in your universe. You know anything about this?” Miguel asked.

“That is a mystery to me as well.” Calan replied. “I’ve yet to hear from the Gods.”

The answer confused everyone, especially with how serious that sounded. Did he ask about the anomalies as if he prayed every morning and before meals about it or? Miguel visibly didn’t like that kind of answer- however, it implied focusing on one reality rather than going through thousands of other dimensions to capture multiple anomalies. From the looks of Calan’s canon, it was plausible, it was an optimal answer as of now.

The silence made time drag.

“Just say that he’s recruited.” Jessica had her arms crossed, her fingers tapping. Miguel let out a ‘yeah, yeah’ before tossing a dimensional travel watch. It seems that he would have to look more into that universe later. Calan caught it with ease, observing the glowing letters and buttons. He put it just above his analog watch which weirded out the teenagers.

“Leave. Go give him a tour or something. I have to plan this mission so we can finish it as soon as possible.” Miguel returned his focus to the other screens, pulling up other tabs with his hologram working alongside him.

When the group left the office, a weight was lifted from all of their shoulders. Hobie commented something about the old man doing something right for once.

“Y’all heard him. You can give Calan a tour of the building,” Jessica could tell that the four kids would enjoy the simple task before the mission by how they straightened up.

“What about you?” Miles gave a yawn as if he just stood through the longest five minute talk of his life.

“Paperwork’s not gonna do themselves.” Jessica waved them all goodbye before walking away. As the five of them walked down the open hall, the teens tried to initiate a conversation with Calan, but they only got short answers or even silence on anything they wanted clarification on.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Gwen looked up at him, trying to meet his gaze- he only looked forward, shaking his head. “And what’s that in your hands?”

“A key?” Pavitr watched as Calan’s gloved hands twirled around a long, iron key with a braided skeleton bow. 

“Treasure chest key.” Miles said, and Calan gave a small chuckle. Miles grinned widely at his correct answer.

“Now tell us what it’s for.” Hobie nudged the man. Calan considered, finally meeting the gazes of the four with his tired green eye. Their eyes were wide and bright, something that reminded him of a certain someone back at home. He would give in just this one time.

“Preventing someone from taking my things.” Calan said. The vague answer prompted the four to give out an exasperated groan. Maybe this place, the time, and the people wouldn’t be so strange later.

Meanwhile in New Zohei…

(Y/n) pushed the treasure chest over, using her steel claws to saw through the enchanted wood as soon as she realized there was a lock on the chest. The wooden board fell, spilling glittering contents that caused the woman to bounce in excitement.

“So pretty…” Her (e/c) eyes sparkled at the gold, silver, and gem studded jewelry that fell out from the hole. She gently sorted out a portion of the pile: cute necklaces here, flashy bracelets over there, rings- oh no, she has plenty of rings already. 

“This one!” She held out a ruby necklace towards several accomplices-turned-victims who were bound in cables, leaning against the wall. “I’ll take only this one.”

They gave out frustrated muffles through their gags, writhing in their restraints. One of them toppled over to the floor.

“You’re right. I should take some more. I did do a good job this morning fighting off Professor Ceph like what Spidey said.” (Y/n) giggled at the sight of the group protesting louder, another person trying to slither his way over to the chest. She placed her boot on his side, using light force to roll him back to the wall. The tied up criminals were steaming with rage. They let their guard down the moment they stepped in Spiderman’s office and saw the chest beside his desk, and (Y/n) immediately went to work solo. They should have known better than to recruit a renowned underground thief into their band.

“Hm. Maybe I’ll leave a note for Spidey when he comes back.” (Y/n) went over to the desk, taking out a pen and paper from the drawer. She tapped the end of the pen on the corner of her lip for a moment before scribbling something and planting a kiss on the corner of the parchment. The sounds of sirens were creeping from the outside.

“Sounds like my time to leave.” She put down the letter and grabbed a handful of necklaces and bracelets letting them hang around her wrists. (Y/n) pushed the window open, hopping onto the ledge. She took in the fresh scent of the night, allowing the breeze to brush back her (h/c) hair. The sirens were getting louder, and she looked down to see if she had a clear landing spot. Check.

“Wait a minute-”  (Y/n) pulled herself back, quickly walking over to the restrained criminals who were growling and glaring at her with murderous intent. She took a folding hand fan from one of the girls, who began to let out a muffled screech as she flailed pathetically on the floor. (Y/n) then went over to one of the men, striking him with the accessory. It left a gash just under his eye, tearing through the cloth that kept him from speaking. He screamed in pain, pressing his face against the wall to lessen the sting.

“Come back here, cat!”

She didn’t have to say anything back- it was for grabbing at her in public and making fun of her spidey. Afterall, there was only one person who was allowed to do that, but he wasn’t even in his own home, or anywhere either after a week of searching. (Y/n) leaped out of the window, the darkness encapsulating her figure and her treasures as she ran away. It was an open and shut case for the police when they arrived and arrested the criminals. They had ignored the note on the desk as it blended in with the other papers and books that were sprawled across the surface.

Spidey!

I just got my nails done and wanted to see if they worked. You should also clean up your office and hide your stuff better.

From your favorite black cat

[kittygamesda]

Vagabond Cookie as the Fury :)

[jokest3r]

Shot through the heart (fatally) and he's to blame ❤️‍🩹

Introducing "Blue" / "Norton" Shark, sole (begrudging) heir to the Shark fortune as well as budding Nepo baby psychopath I play as my GTAO PC !

[toilandtroubled]

𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙧𝙮𝙨 + 𝙟𝙤𝙣

tag list: @happyhauntt @hiddenqveendom @emilykaldwen

let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list.

[meeks-just-wants-to-scroll]

Chapter 16 of Hare, Fox, Moon

(It’s working hard to revise and publish the backlog of rp archive which is why these chapters are coming out so fast)

Summary:

“After a tense morning, the duo make it to Valentine to follow the trail of Harry Watson to his place of hiding. His capture and hanging may have lined their pockets with money, but it filled Malt’s conscience with a new worry: does he really want to live a life of sadistic crime?”

Cw:

Semi-graphic description of a botched hanging (choking, suffering, struggling, etc).

[squirrelwrangler]

Vagabond Gondor

As a birthday gift, I decided to brush off a very old project and write out the opening paragraphs to something I cannot promise I'll ever fully write, but to which I had done so much groundwork that I didn't want it to go to waste. And as it's a LotR fic, making it a gift on my birthday seemed appropriate.

...

Ten years after the Restoration of the Rightful King, that is to say ten years after the Battle of the Crossings of Erui which ended the Kin-strife, a man with a broken sword arrived in Minas Arnor.

 The wandering swordsman crossed the River Anduin in a small boat just as dusk started to settle into the warm summer evening, paying the ferryman with the last of his worn coins. Across the fields, farms, and small towns of the Pelennor Fields the wanderer strode, aiming for the Great Gate of the seven-tiered city. He did not pause, even as the light disappeared from all but some of the windows of the houses and inns or glowed against the approaching twilight from the handheld lanterns of fellow travelers. Even at this late hour other people still crowded the four leagues of roads leading to and from the Great Gate. Most traveled in groups composed of companions, family, or coworkers. Boisterously they laughed and chatted amongst themselves as they returned to their homes or ducked into taverns to wash away the sweat of fieldwork with the soothing coolness of alcohol. Not all were Dúnedain, but few of the Northmen were dressed discernibly differently, and all spoke a blend of Westron and Sindarin. Tradesmen and traders sang cheerfully from the open doors of the taverns and alehouses. Ten years had restored the music of peace to the Pelennor Fields. Roads -and the harvest- were safe once more. Osgiliath had been rebuilt, but as was tradition, the king resided in Minas Arnor during the summer, during which the city and the lands skirting Mount Mindolluin blossomed and the population boomed. Business followed the royal court. Even those of Minas Ithil might have summer lodgings in their sister-city. Single travelers such as the wandering swordsman were rarer. Most who aimed to reach Minas Arnor had passed through its gates long before sunset. The locals of the Pelennor ignored the man with the broken sword, and the man ignored them. Of the few that noticed the scabbard hanging from the shabby-dressed wanderer’s belt, none knew its secret. 

Tradition brought over from Númenor held that after dusk large wagons were allowed to enter the city. Therefore long lines of ox-driven carts laden with produce and goods now dominated the well-paved roads into Minas Arnor, lit by lanterns held by the freight-haulers and the rare bored guard hired by prudent or suspicious merchants. Few people walked the roads on foot as dusk deepened into true night. The clouded sky hid the stars from view, but there was no hint of rain soon forthcoming. Still, the man wore a wide-brimmed hat that shaded his face. Silently he walked besides the freight wagons, head bowed and hands tucked into the wide sleeves of his patched tunic. The guards made note of the wanderer and noticed the sword, but as the man did nothing but walk silently, staring only at the ground, they dismissed him as harmless. He was short and slight, the type of figure that could easily lose a wrestling match to a hobbit, if the men of Gondor knew what a hobbit was.

Pelennor in the summer did not swelter as badly as Pelagir further south, but it was too warm for cloaks, and the drivers wished for a breeze to cool their faces and banish the pungent odor of the draft animals. Street cleaners would remove animal dung from the roads in the pre-dawn, also according to ancient Númenorean tradition. Still the heady stench was undeniable. 

The black expanse of the first wall of Minas Arnor stretched like the outermost void, its shadow cooling the summer night. Ominous it could be to outsiders, but to the men who called this city and its surrounding lands home, the First Wall with its gleaming black stone that reflected the many lanterns of its travelers signified safety and beauty. Towards the east the main road turned, following the curve of the wall to the only gateway through the unbreachable Minas Arnor. It was a relief to pass through the Great Gate and enter the city itself. 

Up the gently sloping streets the wanderer ambled, lacking the steadfast determination of before. His goal had been the city itself, but now he had neither destination in mind nor coin to pay for it.  Past midnight, only the main thoroughfares were not deserted, the music of taverns faded into silence. Streetlamps at the doors of many a great house or inn were kept lit with oil, as it would have been a shameful admission of poverty to do otherwise. Under the reign of Castamir, many houses had gone dark. But now all that the lamps illuminated were the cobblestones of the streets and the facades of the houses across, broken rarely by the shadow of a passing hunting cat. Soon the man was alone, his shadow the only other movement. An innkeeper's watchman on the Lampwright’s Street of the First Level almost called out to him, but changed their mind when they noticed the ragged appearance of his dark blue tunic and lack of travel pack. In the brightness of the city’s lit streets, the color of the man’s hair could be discerned, and it was the same red as the summer pelt of a fox. A memorable trait, nearly as identifiable as the intersecting pair of scars on the man’s lower left cheek - neither of which the wanderer wished to be recognized by. 

But it had been ten years since the Battle of the Crossings of Erui. Ten years since King Eldacar slew Castamir. Ten years since the Blood-haired Berserker, killer of thousands of men, feared warrior of Rhovanion, disappeared. A legendary figure like that belonged in grisly tales and gruesome sorrowful songs, not ambling without purpose down a deserted Third Level street in Minas Arnor looking for a safe doorway in which to rest until the sun rose. The wandering swordsman was too unassuming to be a figure of infamy.

Which is why when a spirited young Dúnedan noblewoman accosted him of being a mad murderous berserker breaking the king’s law and the city’s peace, brandishing a wooden quarterstaff, the wanderer yelped.

“I’ve found you, Outlaw! Blood-haired Berserker, Slayer of Men, face justice for the two months of terror that you have inflicted on our city! Your murders will not go unpunished!”

The maiden punctuated her accusation with a perfect swing of her quarterstaff -which the wanderer dodged- followed by followup swing exactly as prescribed in the arms master's training manuals -which he also dodged- and a jab towards the torso - which the wanderer stumbled backwards from, unscathed but shouting in alarm. “Oro! Wait, Mistress, you have the wrong person!” His words were Sindarin, accented and soft, and he used the polite address for you in the Noldorin fashion. Northmen rarely learned Sindarin, and none had that old-fashioned accent.

“Mountain?” The young woman questioned, confused at his outburst, then shook her head in frustration. Switching from Westron, she repeated her accusation, but the outrage had lessened to uncertainty, for the man had collided with the ground against a grocer’s stall, knocking empty baskets to the cobblestones.

“Noble Lady, I cannot be the one you search for,” the red-haired man said, straightening a fallen basket. Crumbled on the ground, the young woman could see his beardless face and thin frame. His scrawny underfed body reminded her of one of her students, and though she had not confirmed it when she first attacked, he was shorter than her. As a rule, the Northmen of Rhovanion were tall and muscular. She was not, even though she was a full blooded Dúnadan as her coloring suggested. The deferential address and vocabulary sounded comical coming from a shabby-dressed Middle Man. It belonged to a stage play about the First Age, and only Classical Adûnaic would have been more ill-fitting for the occasion. “A masterless vagabond I am, newly arrived to the city this night. How could I have accomplished a murder?”

“You are an unliveried Northman carrying a full-sword, though,” the noblewoman countered. “By King’s Decree, no one may carry a longsword within the walls of the city unless they be a royal soldier or a nobleman’s oath-sworn, their blade peace-tied to the scabbard and in livery to the house of their allegiance.”

The wanderer had noticed that the wagon guards carried only long knives and cudgels. Peacetime could only partially explain the anomaly. Eldacar’s law, enacted after the war’s conclusion, attempted to curtail the worst of the violence endemic during the Kinstrife and to suppress armed uprisings from the few traitorous lords, but the ban on the most dangerous tools of war - the longswords and great war axes- was truly aimed at the tension that remained between Northmen and Dúnedain. A murderer stalking the streets of Minas Anor while the King was in residence was an affront; a mad Northman was a political powder-keg.

Holding the scabbard by the far end, the swordsman pointed the hilt at the young woman, offering it to her. “Humble I beg you see that this sword could have killed no man,” he said, switching now into the Common Tongue, but here his Westron was just as heavily accented and even more deferential, using the politest possible terms.

The young woman pulled out the broken sword, shocked to see that the blade extended only a few finger-widths before terminating. By hilt and size it was closer to a longsword than the more common arming swords, and though it would have been double-edged with a deep fuller, the style of sword left the blade itself unsharpened near the hilt. An uncovered hand could grip a blade there to wield a sword for certain tricks, be it to wield two handed when the hilt was not long enough or to shorten the reach to confuse a foe. Swordsmanship training covered these in detail, to which the young woman was deeply familiar. There were moves to defend oneself with a broken blade, invented by her grandfather, that the young woman knew as well, and the pommel could be an effective bludgeoning tool if wielded against an eye or judiciously striking the head. But close inspection showed that the blade had been snapped off before the shoulder sharpened into the blade proper. Aside from the maker’s mark, no other nicks or cuts marred the steel to signify use, though some of the hilt wrapping was worn. The pommel was plain. 

“It’s not Narsil,” the man joked. “The edges are all dull, Noble Lady. Humbled I beg you return this useless sword to me. No violation of King Eldacar’s law do I commit by carrying it.”

“You could not kill anyone with this,” the young woman admitted. “So why carry it-“ she began to ask, before a watchman’s shout interrupted. “They found him!” she cried, tossing the hilt and dashing back to the intersection. Behind her, unseen, the swordsman caught the broken sword with a deft swing of the scabbard. Hat forgotten and expression darkened to seriousness for the first time since he crossed the River Anduin, the red-haired wanderer ran after the young woman.

[heysatanitsyourgirl]

I have to cut this so I’m gonna leave it here

[gretavanglimmers]

@takenbythemadness @writingcold @edgingthedarkness @lyndz2names @velveteencatch @jakesmustache

[skellymom]

"Vagabonds" Chapter 13 "Precious Cargo"

Ongoing fanfic Hunter x Reader/Fem Reader/OC

Hunter meets a smuggler Nomaadi Star Woman with a powerful force sensitive teen who changes the trajectory of CF-99's lives...as they ALL try to escape from The Empire together.

ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ 18+ ᴅɴɪ

To read Chapter 12:

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/747902380483526656/vagabonds-chapter-12?source=share

Word Count: 1.7K

Background: Hunter contemplates his relationship choices.

Mad comes clean about what EXACTLY transpired during her last job on Ord Mantell.

I was SUPPOSED to have this part of the series done by May. But, got serious writer's block. Sorry so late. THIS is the shoe that needed to drop plot-wise.

To help with any confusion: Mad's Clone trans sister (non bio) is named "SHE" (mentioned in Chapter #9 "In The Beginning") and her name is capitalized to prevent any confusion of what character is being spoken of.

Warning: Swearing, flirting, brief discussion of female reproduction/menopause.

(Credit: Cool moving star dividers by @4ngelic-wh1spers )

Recap:

Hunter laid on his bunk sifting through the events that transpired since he met Mad. 

The throbbing pain between his legs, burning scratch on his face...the deep bite mark that FINALLY stopped bleeding. 

His heart ached a bit too. Pain, love, lust, yearning, uncertainty...so much...felt like it would explode. 

Cid’s words bounced around his head...paining him that she was possibly RIGHT. It was the ONLY accurate intel Cid had ever given him. 

“Ya looking for a world of hurt, Bandana?  “Cause that’s all you’re gonna get with that one.” 

"Precious Cargo"

She wasn’t the first woman Hunter had...but the first that stayed around longer than a few days. That was a record for him... 

Not due to infidelity or any other reason. It was only due to the war. No time to date. Heck, no time for hobbies, other jobs...or A job. He was property. Owned and controlled. The trajectory of his life beyond his own control. Not just him, either. A planet’s worth of enslaved men posing as blaster fodder. 

He was just a clone. What did he know about women. Dating, sexual relations, or reproduction were NEVER taught on Kamino. It was expressly forbidden among the Kaminoan's...the Republic as well. Hunter was lucky enough with his looks, hair, body to be pursued by MANY women to have learned about these things. However, how their minds worked and long-term relationships...that was another thing altogether.  

But no matter how he doubted, there was still a feeling of euphoria and happiness like he had never felt before. These feelings happened around Mad only. She was brave, vibrant, resourceful, protective... These things excited him. 

Is this what love feels like? 

Well...no lie...some considerable lust in there too.  

I’m sure Mad would agree with me... 

Hunter inhaled sharply, then chuckled... 

Maker...What did I get myself into? 

Mad finally awoke from the darkness. She lay there feeling weak. A heaviness in her abdomen...again??? 

She glanced down to see Tiggy outstretched and laying over her abdomen. The puppy looked much larger than she remembered. Tig was starting to lose her puppy fat, and her limbs seemed longer. She stretched out and yawned. Her puppy tail wagging and whipping the blanket. 

Mad tried to move, but both arms were strapped to the bunk. One of which had an IV line and fluids. She was also hooked up to a urinary catheter. Mad could feel the line between her legs. 

How long have I been out??? 

A few days. Love’s hand caressed Mad’s head. She looked up at them, levitating near the front of the bunk. You had me worried. 

I’m awake now. You look good for someone who vaporized a Venator. 

Love smugly smiled, then the concerned expression came back. You look BETTER for a person who was unresponsive. 

Sil? Omega? Hunter? 

They’re fine.  

Why am I in restraints??? 

Love looked gravely at Mad 

Oh no... 

Yeah, the dreams came back. 

Was that it?  

Love seemed reluctant to say any more. They didn’t need to as Hunter quietly entered the room. 

“Mad?” He whispered 

She immediately noticed the large bandage at the crook of his neck and the deep scratches on his face. 

“Did I...do that?” she asked quietly. 

He nodded as he sat down on the bunk beside her. 

“Oh Hunter...” Mad was clearly feeling shame and embarrassment. 

“You were delirious at the time...” He started undoing the restraints while giving her a reassuring smile. “The Mad I know wasn’t in control.” 

“This hasn’t happened...for quite a few years.” 

Concern creased Hunter’s brow. He was silent...waiting for Mad to answer if she felt safe enough to.  

Tiggy wimpered quietly and snuggled up next to Hunter. He put his arm around her. 

“My ORIGINAL family were experimental subjects for the Kaminoan’s.” 

Hunter was horrified. He also vaguely remembered strange things happening to him as a very young clone, his brothers too...possibly Omega had as well. 

“What? I thought you’re Nomaadi??” 

“I am. And the Nomaadi are my family now...but I HAD a biological mother and father that were not of The Star People...” 

“Had?” 

“All that I remember about them is fuzzy. I was VERY young when Maami and Paapi Daal took me in. A clone squad smuggled me out of the facility...along with a young defective clone. It’s been a LONG time since I’ve acted out in a fugue state...” 

Hunter was shocked. He had NEVER heard of this. 

“Only saw clones on Kamino. We clones were the only test subjects in the laboratories.” 

The Kaminoan’s have more than one facility on several planets. Love interjected. 

Hunter shifted unexpectedly. He forgot Love was able to speak to him through the Force. He wondered if it had to do with his enhanced senses.  

Mad caught Hunter’s expression. “...you can hear Love through the Force, can’t you?” 

He nodded. 

“So can Omega. Other than Sil and Tiggy, nobody else can. It’s a Force Bond...it’s SUPPOSED to be rare.” 

“Wait...you escaped with ANOTHER defective clone???” Hunter shook his head. 

Auntie SHE! Best Auntie EVER...well, next to mom... Love smoothed Mad’s hair back lovingly. 

Love and Hunter gazed at each other and smiled. Tiggy wagged her tail exuberantly. 

“I have SO MANY questions...” Hunter’s mind going in a million directions. 

“We’re pleased to see you awake.” Tech entered bringing Wrecker, Echo, Sil, and Omega with him. Tiggy excitedly ran to the end of the bed and launched herself at Echo. 

“NO!” Echo ducked behind Wrecker. 

Wrecker caught the pup in midair and hugged her to him. “Echo’s still gun-shy. You’re a scary widdle puppy dog!”  

Tiggy then begged to see Omega. Wrecker handed the puppy to her. Tiggy licked Omega’s face into a sloppy mess. The sound of her laughter lightened Hunter’s mood considerably 

Hunter glanced back at Mad. “What exactly happened during that job on Ord Mantell?” 

Mad’s eyes widened. It didn’t occur to her until now. The dreams were also stirred up from her visiting Dr. Zebba and the violence afterward. Everyone in the room stared expectantly at Mad. 

She and this botched job had thrust everyone aboard into this current situation. 

Sil showed us what was in the cooler. And the shot he gave you. Love Force Spoke and signed in Basic. I thought you were supposed to bring back two people with some cargo? 

“The parameters of the job changed at the last minute.” Mad sighed. 

Everyone in the room glanced at each other. 

Hunter needed answers. “WHAT changed?” 

Mad inhaled deeply. “There were supposed to be a courier for the cargo and a clone bodyguard that I was to pick up and take with us on the Beldame. According to my contact, they ‘didn’t make it’” 

Wrecker couldn’t help himself, wringing his large hands. “Ohh...they’re probably dead.” 

Echo shushed Wrecker. 

“Ok?” Hunter probed. 

Mad had a captive audience. 

“So...a doctor paid me extra to carry the cargo.” 

“...Ok? Where is it? You came back with a cooler of...Tech, help me out.” 

Tech adjusted his goggles “You are currently in possession of a cooler filled with hormone stim syringes. Even with my intellect I fail to see any correlation to this being any type of valuable cargo.” 

“Oh...I have the cargo.” Mad calmly stated. 

“Well...where?” Echo couldn’t contain himself.  

“Inside me.” Then Mad started to weakly giggle. 

Tech perked up. Hunter could smell his brain burning...putting together the pieces. 

“Mad...out with it.” Hunter demanded. He was starting to worry again. 

Mad took another deep breath. “You know the Jedi had the best healthcare that any citizen in the galaxy could receive. Preventative care, health screenings, yearly blood tests and full body examinations. Of course, they were scanned for any disease. Sometimes biological samples are taken to test for ‘health' "reasons... 

...some of that tissue was preserved and saved. Especially reproductive material. SOMEONE somewhere realized that it might be best to not dispose of it...” 

Tech interjected. “Then Order 66 occurred, the Jedi Genocide, and the Kaminoan medical facilities were shut down...” 

Mad finished his sentence. “And I took a job to help smuggle some of the remaining Jedi reproductive material to a safe location. Away from the Empire to a place that will extract it and put it back into storage for possible future use.” 

Everyone was in shock. Except for Tech. He was EXTREMELY interested. 

“My educated guess is that you are carrying ovuum. And that is why that cooler contains hormone syringes. Without that hormone, your body would menstruate and eject the ovuum out of the body. But, in your case...with the recent stress and being of...a certain age...you have lost some of the ovuum already...” 

“Tech...a certain age? Really???” Hunter snapped back and turned around to see Omega’s reaction to the conversation. She was seriously engrossed. 

“Well" Tech pushed his goggles up the bridge of his nose. "Technically she IS past childbearing age and menopausal...” 

“WOAH!” Wrecker shouted, covering Omega’s ears. 

“TOO MUCH INFORMATION!” Echo followed. 

Mad, Love, and Sil laughed at them. 

Hunter spun back around to stare “WHAT???” 

Sil answered in a string of Nomaadi slang. He laughed along with Love and Mad. 

“They are making fun of us.” Tech interpreted and side-eyed his brothers. “Specifically, Echo and Wrecker.” Then shot Sil a look. “Called us Naif’s.” 

“Ah, you know some of our language, eh?" Sil smiled proudly.  

“What’s a Naif?” Wrecker asked. 

Love signed Newbie, naive...you act so silly about body stuff. 

“The Nomaadi learn very early about biology, sex, reproduction, and how our bodies work. Male, female, intersex, fluidsexual, all of our people speak freely about it with ease and no shame.” Mad explained. “Just like eating, sleeping, thinking, feeling...it’s just part of life.” 

“Kamino didn’t really prepare us. Combat was our specialty.” Hunter defended. 

“And yet YOU’RE pretty KNOWLEDGEABLE there Hunky.” Mad winked. 

Hunter flushed deep red. 

“And Tech over there is NO Naif!” Sil and Love erupted into laughter 

Omega looked up at Wrecker pulling his hands from her ears. “I CAN hear everything they’re saying.” 

Echo interrupted “Wait...THAT’S what all of those credits are from?”  

“Yes, with more upon delivery of the ovuum. We are going to be financially set for a while.” Mad nodded to Tech. “I have coordinates to where the extraction point is. I’m supposed to be there within 7 rotations.” 

“Less than that, you’ve been unconscious for over 2 rotations.” Tech corrected Mad “We need that intel to get you safely there.” 

“Wait!” Hunter was wary “How do we KNOW this place is safe? What about any medical risks?” 

“The Empire’s gotta be looking for ALL of us.” Echo added. “The Marauder as well as The Beldame was being targeted.” 

“Hunter, Echo and I can do some digging on our comm channels. However, before we do, I should remove both of your catheter’s.” Tech pointed toward Mad. 

“Everyone out.” Mad motioned with her hand.  

“WHAAT? Thought you were ok about ‘Body Stuff’” Wrecker sassed Mad. 

Echo shook his head, ushering Omega, Sil, and Love out of the room. 

“You REALLY wanna see Tech pull a urinary catheter out of my bladder, big boy?” Mad sassed back. 

Wrecker visibly shuddered. She got him. “Oof...no.” He left the room. 

Hunter grabbed Mad’s hand and squeezed.  

Would he and his siblings have been happier on Ord Mantell still running jobs for Cid?  

No. THIS is where WE need to be right now! 

It was an uncertain journey so far, but Hunter was willing to see it through. 

PLEASE like, comment, and/or REBLOG!

To read Chapter 14 "In Confidence"

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/757579231979077632/vagabonds-chapter-14-in-confidence?source=share