#highway bandits

[suitelifeoftravel]

Old Stone House, Slippery Rock, Pennsylvania

Over the weekend, we passed the Old Stone House in Slippery Rock several times that we made plans to stop by the house on our way back to Ohio.  The home, a two-story, six-bay structure made of sandstone was built by John Brown in 1822 and is today, a museum of rural life. Perfectly situated at the crossroads of the Pittsburgh-Franklin and Butler Mercer Pikes, it was the perfect location as a…

[phantombandit-films]

As someone that has always loved Adam Ant and been drawn to the whole aesthetic of highway/ bandit/ pirate stuff I’m literally so soooo incredibly happy to see more highway/ bandit shows this year!! We don’t have enough, but ‘The Completely Made-Up Adventures of Dick Turpin’ is fun. Sometimes I don’t really like that style of comedy but knowing how much Noel loves Adam Ant just makes it worth watching.

Can we also talk about how amazing ‘Renegade Nell’ looks!?!! Because OMFG.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"GIRLS HOLD UP TESSIER HOTEL MAN," Saskatoon Star-Phoenix. July 10, 1933. Page 3. ---- Norman Oglestone Is Victim of Amazons Close to Perdue --- MANHANDLED AND ROBBED OF MONEY === 35-YEAR-OLD BACHELOR SO TERRIFIED HE FORGETS TO TAKE CAR NUMBER ==== Special to The Star-Phoenix TESSIER, Sask., July 10. - Still uneasy over his terrifying experience, Norman Oglestone, 35-year-old Tessier business man, at present manager of the Lakeview Hotel here, told the police this morning that he was held up by three unarmed young women near Perdue at 3 o'clock Sunday afternoon and robbed of his money and some valuables. The trio, aged about 20, 22 and 28, and one of them mannish and ferocious in appearance, so impressed Oglestone that he did not stop to report the crime at Perdue.

LEAVE IN CAR Oglestone had been visiting Perdue and was on his return to Tessier when he met up with the amazons. Four miles east of Perdue the girls signalled to him to stop, ostensibly to inquire how far it was to Perdue. Immediately his Chevrolet coach drew to a stop one of the trio jumped in. All three became unduly familiar. One tugged at Oglestone's suspenders, a second attempted to pull off his shirt, and the third helped herself to his money, a few dollars. Just how much money was taken could not be ascertained this morning. The valuables included a pair of silver sleeve bands. Oglestone was permitted to retain the watch. When they were finished with Oglestone, the women entered a coach and drove away west. Their victim was so frightened that he forgot to take the license number of their car.

Oglestone is about 35 years of age and unmarried.

[altfire]

thinkin abt bandit brandr prequel,, might write it to ease my way back into thatw territory

[crystallizedtwilight]

Was lock ever upset with himself that he liked Barrel? Or vise versa?

It's disgusting (how I love you)

My, my, my, my, my heart, heart My, my heart, heart My, my heart, heart My heart booms at the speed of light But the exit sign's always on my mind, always in my sight I could say that I really want to stay But the devil inside always wins the fight, always gets his way

Jump out the window, gotta get out on the highway When things are getting too attached, I need an escape I'm seein' stars and there is nothing more that I hate, baby There's somethin' that I gotta say

It's disgusting, how I love you God, I hate it, I could kill you 'Cause you're messin' up my name Gotta walk my talk, my fame But I just wanna touch your face It's disgusting It's disgusting how you changed me From a bandit to a baby Think I might gotta change my name If I'm gonna walk this walk of shame Look at what you do to me It's disgusting (-Ting, ting, ting, ting, ting)

My mind blinks like a traffic light It's green and red and stop and go changing all the time And it makes me scared that I haven't left That I'm still right here, more, or, or, or less Jump out in traffic, yeah, I gotta go my own way My head is slippin', too intense, I need an escape I'm seein' stars and there is nothin' more that I hate, baby There's somethin' that I gotta say

It's disgusting, how I love you God, I hate it, I could kill you 'Cause you're messin' up my name Gotta walk my talk, my fame (Gotta walk my talk) But I just wanna touch your face It's disgusting It's disgusting (It's disgusting) how you changed me From a bandit to a baby (To a baby) Think I might gotta change my name If I'm gonna walk this walk of shame Look at what you do to me (Look at what you do to me) It's disgusting

My, my, my, my, my heart, heart It's disgusting My, my heart, heart My, my, my, my, my heart, heart (Look at what you do me) It's disgusting My, my heart, heart

Chapter by chapter, I'm fallin' faster and faster Becoming manic and magic, it's so romantic, I panic, oh Hit the eject button, but it must be stuck, somethin's up What did you slip into my drink? Baby

It's disgusting, how I love you (It's disgusting) God, I hate it, I could kill you 'Cause you're messin' up my name ('Cause you're messin' up my name) Gotta walk my talk, my fame But I just wanna touch your face It's disgusting (it's disgusting) It's disgusting how you changed me (How you changed me) From a bandit to a baby (To a baby) Think I might gotta change my name (Think I might gotta change my name) If I'm gonna walk this walk of shame (If I'm gonna walk this walk of shame) Look at what you do to me It's disgusting

[memories-of-ancients]

A Fascinating Book I'm Reading

One of the best non-fiction reads I've read in a while, it's not a military history book, but details specifically the Confederate government, culture, society, the legal system, and economy.

What I find most fascinating about the book was just how fucked up the Confederacy became even from the early outset. Especially in terms of law and order. Due to the incredible manpower demands most men of military age either enlisted or were later conscripted into the army. This resulted in severe manpower shortages at home. When this happened, the system of slavery the Confederates were fighting for became a grave liability as there was no one left to control the millions of slaves that populated the south. As a result, whole plantations of slaves would run away and form free communities in the wilderness, surviving by pillaging plantations and farms, or robbing travelers on highways. In Louisiana there was a slave town hidden deep in the swamps that housed 2,000 people! At the same time thousands of Confederate soldiers were deserting as the war started going bad. Many soldiers found that their homestead and family was falling apart in their absence, so they deserted. These deserters were declared outlaws, and as a result many banded together, formed groups, and made a living as bandits and marauders.

At the same time many officers in the Confederate army who were garrisoned in specific places became de facto military dictators and warlords over the territory they controlled. They often disobeyed the law and refused to carry out orders issued by the Confederate government, but due to manpower shortages and the disorganization of the government there was little that could be done to reign them in. Often, these warlord Confederates acted as bandits, pillaging the territory they controlled not just for food and necessary supplies but for valuables as well. In many cases, whole towns and even counties rebelled against Confederate military authorities as they were sick of being pillaged by warlord Confederates. A good example was Jones County, Mississippi which actually seceded from the Confederacy as a result. Often, these rebel towns and counties survived by banditry and became marauders themselves just to make a get by.

According to the author, by 1863 much of the rural south was in a state of lawlessness and anarchy with the countryside controlled by bandits, marauders, independent towns or counties, pro-Union enclaves, and military warlords. Like bruh, this would be a good setting for an open world RPG game, perhaps something set in the Red Dead Redemption Universe.

Anyway if you are a Civil War buff I highly recommend this book.

[ameliathornromance]

Just wanted to add quick trigger warning: mentions of domestic abuse and assault from husband, but not Orc BF because he's better than that.

This was written and inspired by Run by Daughter, I recommend listening to it while reading <3

“Careful!” Your Orc whispered to you.

Clutching onto the vines of the tower you descended from, you gave a cautious look down to him.

His arms were spread open, wide and prepared to catch you in case you fell.

You couldn’t believe that you were actually doing this. The two of you, imprisoned by the same wretched man were finally getting away.

Your husband, the Earl was an awful man. He was nasty to the servants, if one dared brush too close to him, his bellows of rage were enough to shake the earth.

When something wasn’t done exactly according to the orders the Earl had given you, he would make sure you would get his orders right next time, in the form of a strike to the side of the head.

There were days where you wondered if there was any way out of the suffrage you were forced into. Then your Orc arrived.

The Orc you had fallen for, was captured by the Earl and forced to be your body guard. Your need for a body guard had only become apparent after a run-in with some highway bandits, who took everything of value from your carriage after returning from a Royal Gala. “This creature ought to keep you safe,” your husband proclaimed lazily. After jerking the chain around the Orcs neck, he added, “don’t worry, I’ve made sure he’s tame.”

The two of you lamented over being captured and trapped by the same man. It was strange, the way you two bonded over that. Even more a miracle that the two of you got along together. Both of you shared stories of your lives before you met.

The Orc had been caught by one of many of your dear husbands hunting parties. He and his friends had ambushed him and shackled him. They had beaten him senseless the whole way back to the Manor in which you resided. You apologised for the harsh treatment of your husband. But your Orc dismissed it: “It is not any fault of yours.” He smiled, “I only thank that you are nice, treat me well and sympathise with me.”

You couldn’t recall exactly when you had fallen for your Orc Boyfriend, only that it was some time a few weeks earlier. You and your Orc had been chuckling about something on your way to the dining hall.

You couldn’t remember what it was you were laughing about. Your husband appeared from thin air – and for some reason took great offence to you enjoying yourself – as you arrived at the dining hall.

After shouting obscenities at you, he raised his hand to strike you. Closing your eyes, recoiling, you braced for the sharp flash of pain. Yet nothing happened.

Cautiously, opening your eyes, you saw that your Orc had caught the wrist of the Earl.

Everything was a blur from that point. Your Orc was taken down, dragged out of sight and returned to you later, one of his eyes swelling and turning purple. When you worried over him, he simply smiled at you, “my job is to protect you, my Lady. After all your kindness if I didn’t I…” Your Orc sucked in a deep breath and sighed. “I’d do it again in a heart beat.” It was in that moment, that the two of you knew you loved each other.

Even if you could not say it out loud, you knew he loved you.

It was in the soft touch of his hand on your back when you were anxious, in the smile he gave you as you told him excitedly about a plot twist in a book you read. How he would hold you as you cried into his chest, another scathing from your husband fresh in your mind, from when your Orc couldn’t be there to protect you.

Today had been the last straw for the both of you. Another screaming match, followed by another strike to the face, you and your Orc made the decision to run.

It was now or never. Your Orc had been trying to talk you into it for weeks. The both of you spoke about it in hushed whispers as you walked through your garden. A common, secret excursion, only afforded by your deep sleeping husband and the darkness of night.

Moonlight shone down upon you both as he told you, in a hushed voice: “He would never dare come for us.” He assured you taking your hand, “we could be free, away from that monster.”

“But my family-” You began to protest.

“They are not your family.” Your Orc glowered at you. “Those people knew what that man was like and they gave you to him anyway. What kind of loving family does that?”

He was right, you knew it he was. You hadn’t heard or seen from them in years, only doing what they had to do to be kept comfortable. Your marriage was just that: A means to keep comfortable.

This realisation, broke your resolve to stay. Given what a horrid day it had been, you couldn’t ignore it any longer, the stinging on your cheek a painful reminder. You had to get out of here.

Sucking in a deep breath and turning to that bright shining moonlight, you sighed. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

A few days passed before everything was ready to go, your Orc had been meticulous in his planning. You, yourself, couldn’t do anything to pack, those who were loyal to the Earl – a select few of the servants, who he bothered to treat with some semblance of decency – would tell on your plans. Questions would rise… You didn’t want to find out what would happen if they were asked.

But if it was your body guard, no one would dare question the Orc sauntering through the halls, clearly on an important mission.

Finally, the day came when you two would set off. You did your best to act like there was nothing amiss, doing your duties with your Orc following behind you. He was more vigilant than usual. Although your husband had gone hunting for the day, whose to say that he would return with nothing, furious with his lack of game and try to take it out on you.

When night fell, the two of you made for the salon. It wasn’t time to go just yet. The sun had coloured the sky orange, the two of you would need the cover of night. As soon as the two of you were out of sight of prying eyes, he cupped your face with his hands and kissed your lips.

“I will go and get the horse ready and collect our supplies,” Your Orc whispered to you. “When the Earl is asleep, you climb out of the window and I’ll be waiting down by the bottom of the tower.”

“What if I slip?”

“Then I will catch you, my Love.” Your Orc smiled.

Letting out a soft chuckle, you rubbed your thumbs over the back of his hand, clutching onto them. “I love you.” You told him.

“I love you too.”

The two of you departed to your respected quarters after that.

You had prepared a special drink for your husband that night. It was nothing dangerous, just a sedative your Orc had managed to get a hold of. Before bed, you offered it to your husband.

“You’ve been stressed recently.” You lied as your husband entered your bedroom. “So I made you some Camomile tea.”

The Earl hmphed. Snatching the tea cup and saucer from your hand, he gulped it down in one go, without saying a word to you. This was how he was when he wasn’t berating you.

You were glad you’d never have to breathe the same air as this man ever again.

Within moments of getting into bed, he was asleep.

And here you were now, descending the tower wall. The drop, coupled with the soft blushes of wind made you question why you couldn’t have just taken the stairs. But the thought of being spotted making an escape made you shudder.

As if sensing your unease, he vine in your left hand quivered, then snapped. You let out a shriek, causing you to lose your grip, your feet slipping. Grasping onto any remaining vines you could, your body soared away from the safety of the tower.

Your Orc caught you within seconds, your shout silenced with a hand clapped to your mouth, mortified by your mistake.

Heart thumping in your chest, you looked up at your Orc Boyfriend. His eyes were fixed on the bedroom window. Neither of you moved, still as statues, waiting for someone to come looking for the source of distress.

The wind blew, trees rustled and leaves billowed in the breeze. But no guard came by, and your husband did not stir.

Sighing with relief, your Orc set you down on the ground and whispered, “you’re not hurt, are you love?”

You shook your head, “sorry.” You breathed.

Your Orc Boyfriend shook his head, smiling, “let’s get out of here, quickly. Last I knew, my clan were headed East.”

Holding his hand, the both of you took off into the forest, never to be subject to the torture of man again.

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[missterious-figure]

Dragon Cowboy Moon! -and his dragon, Shooting Star.

He and Sun are kinda frienemies. Moon's a bandit and Sun's a sheriff, but regardless they're still brothers. As much as robots can be, anyway. Both of them live in and around (Moon is more of a nomad, wandering around to find his next steal) a huge desert. Some think it's uncrossable, but yet again, those same people are trying to cross on camel or by foot. Flying is the safest way across. Luckily and unluckily, the desert is ridden with dragons. Some people have been able to tame them.

Dragon tamers/breeders/ranglers have made establishments and even small towns out in the desert, many being stops in the "dragon highway." Some dragon riders make a living by ferrying people from one side of the desert to the other, and these stops are commonly in the routes. Many places across the world view dragons as evil beasts and no more. But not here. Outsiders may be terrified of dragons, but for the residents of this desert they could be the difference between life and death.

Moon is a dangerous and cold fellow, and has a bit of a standoff-ish nature. He does tend to tease his victims though. He has sharp eyes and impeccable aim. He's also got excellent reflexes. Some say he has the fastest draw in the land. And if he doesn't have his pistols, he'll use his incredibly sharp claws to dispatch his enemies. His dragon, Shooting Star, may not be the biggest or strongest, but is fast and agile. This can help him get an edge in battles with larger dragons.

Y/n finds themselves wandering alone at night, in search of a dragon rider to take them across the desert, but having got lost on their way to the deport station. (That's were most dragon riders pick up passengers.) Unfortunately, y/n meets Moon, who kidnaps them and takes them to his current hide out.

And that's were y/n is now.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

pinch me

the wistful wyvern, chapter eight

a/n: i can’t believe this is the last chapter… this whole series is the thing that i’ve let myself go the most crazy with and not held back, so it’s kinda bittersweet when it comes to a close. it’s hard to say goodbye and let go of something you put so much work into, but it’s incredible to finally share the ending with you all so you can enjoy the story in its entirety.

summary: the wrestling was playful as you slowly shuffled further into the sparse cluster of trees. Giggling and shrieking, your back eventually collided with the trunk of a tree and Bucky pinned your hands above your head. 

warnings: knight!bucky barnes x knight!reader, smut, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, ex-friends to lovers, coworkers to lovers, former fuckboy!bucky, tattooed!bucky, forced proximity, violence, injuries, kissing, oral, dirty talk, impact play, size kink, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex, protected sex (a fantasy birth control tea commonly used by men), creampie, time jump

word count: 2562

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“You know, it’s still not too late for you to apologise, we can both just go on our separate way,” you shrugged as you dodged the blow thrown by one of the bandits still on his feet before you. 

“Fuck you, you cunt!” he simply spat back. 

Blinking a moment, your head tilted slightly as you breathed out, “alright then,” and then clocked him in the face, making him stumble back, clutching his battered nose. 

One of the outlaws in the grass then lifted himself back up onto his feet behind where you stood and charged at you, raising the dull axe in his grasp up to attack. 

He only managed to nick your arm, and though a small cry did tumble out of your lungs, only a second passed before your fingers wrapped around the hilt of the weapon and you bashed the blunt side back against the bloke, knocking him back onto the ground. 

“You good?” Bucky’s voice found your ears and you glanced over to see him wrestling with his own half of the dubious group.

“Oh yeah,” you smiled and tossed the rusty axe further down into the field that unfolded on the side of the road, “I’m great,” before whacking your elbow over the dirty-mouthed man who stumbled back towards you, blood dribbling from his nose. 

Barely looking at his own opponents, the corners of your partner’s lips curled up as he purred, “that’s my girl.”

You had started by giving the highway robbers a generous out, stating that a fight between you two wardens and the eight of them just wouldn’t be fair. If they’d let one of you sit that one out and only fought either you or Bucky, then perhaps it would have evened the playing field just a bit more.

Yet, they didn’t heed your warnings and ended up losing in the blink of an eye. 

“You guys should really consider a career change,” you said as they all laid dazed and bruised on the ground, “or at the very least get better at this one.” 

As the pair of you went through and kicked their weapons far enough out of their reach, Bucky cast a glance at the boulder of a man curled up on the ground and clutching his arm. 

“Hey buddy,” your fellow warden called, “try and keep that elevated till you see a healer.” 

“Fuck you,” he groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. 

“You were the one that fell on it,” his arms raised up before he looked to the other bandits, “guys, can you please make sure he gets that checked out?” and after they grumbled in agreement to help their stubborn friend, Bucky exhaled, “great,” and turned to grasp Echo’s reins, the black stallion only a few paces away from the aftermath, “well, have a nice life!”

“See,” you uttered as the pair of you began to walk off, tugging the horse along, “I told you we shouldn’t have taken this road. I was a criminal, I know what roads are hot for highway robbers.”

“Yeah, well, you were always smarter than me,” he chuckled, then smirked in your direction, “isn’t that what you used to say whenever I’d let you win during training? That I might be stronger, but you’re smarter?”

“You did not let me win,” you gasped, immediately defending your recollection, “I always won fair and square!”

“Hm,” he hummed as he let his gaze dance over the patchy cluster of trees that began to bloom on the right-hand side of the dirt road, “you sure about that?” 

“Oh really?” your head cocked as you smiled back at him, “you wanna fucking go, Barnes?” 

“Why not?” he reached out to tickle your waist, “just had a little warm-up, didn’t we?” 

As Bucky let go of the reins, Echo simply dipped his head down to graze on the long grass below. 

The wrestling was playful as you slowly shuffled further into the sparse cluster of trees. Giggling and shrieking, your back eventually collided with the trunk of a tree and Bucky pinned your hands above your head. 

As you gazed back into his blue stare, the laughter began to fade from you both as another instinct entirely took over. 

Tilting his head, Bucky captured your lips and kissed you fiercely. His fingers, enclosed around your wrists, flexed as your lips parted in a giddy groan and made way for his tongue to slip past and catch a taste of your own. 

When his grip eventually loosened around you, his fingers floated down to weave within your hair and tilt your face to deepen the hungry kiss. 

Then, as your hands had started scraping down the cool iron of the partial chainmail on his torso, the tiny loops grazing your skin gently, he pulled back just enough for you both to catch your breath.

“Drop your drawers, snow,” he commanded playfully, nuzzling his nose softly against your own. 

His head tilted slightly so that his forehead rested against your own, and he shared your breath, as your fingers desperately soared to fulfil his demand. Undoing your pants, you swiftly shimmied them down till they were kicked off into the wild grass. 

After stealing another kiss from you, a smile then spread across your face as you watched Bucky sink down to his knees before you. Planting pecks across your thighs, his gaze flickered up to capture yours as his lips danced up to your right hipbone. 

“Please don’t make me beg,” you chuckled and ran a hand through his brown locks. 

“But you sound so pretty when you do,” he smirked. The closer his peppering pecks got to your centre, the sloppier they grew, “just as pretty as when I do this,” he then closed the distance and flicked his tongue teasingly through your folds, dragging a whimper out of your throat. 

Thankfully, he only kept his cruelly light licks to a minimum before he lapped at you properly, swapping your squirming jolts out with a trembling rocking as he savoured your slickness swiftly soaking his short beard. 

Throwing your head back against the tree trunk, your fingers tangled in his hair as he enclosed around your clit. As your gaze fluttered down for his stare to capture yours, a warm rumble vibrated against your pearl as his eyes crinkled up and he smiled against your pussy. 

“O-oh, just like that,” you uttered breathily as your fingers combed through his locks before finding purchase in them, “feels so fucking good.”

His broad palms curled around to your bottom and groped the curve a moment before one of his hands slid down your thigh and plucked it off of the ground, hooking it over his wide shoulder and thereby drawing you that much closer to his greedy tongue. 

Tilting your hips slightly, his sloppy efforts only managed to wander down to your other hole for one kiss before everything unravelled inside of you and you came all over his face. 

Standing back up to his full height, Bucky ducked down to steal a brief kiss from your breathless lips, letting you taste yourself still freshly lingering on his tongue, before fervently spinning you around. 

Bracing against the tree, you peeked over your shoulder as his fingers hastily undid his trousers, his heavy lids staying glued to your backside. 

Silky moans seeped out of the both of you in unison when he slowly buried himself in you. Melting down against your spine a moment, you felt the reassuring weight of his head against your shoulder, panting against your tunic, as his girth settled inside of you, your cunt dripping around him, begging for his movements to pick up.

“Fuck, I love you,” he hissed as he dragged his cock back out, just till the memory of him remained before slamming back inside, harshly enough for you to lose your breath. 

His presence dissipated from your spine as he straightened up. One of his hands trailed down your back, bending you over more, before it settled parallel to the other around your hips. 

Scratching against the dark bark, you whimpered every time his thrusts concluded with a teasing tap against your puffy pearl from his heavy sack. 

“Shit,” he groaned loudly, “your little pussy’s gripping onto me so tight,” in awe, he glanced down at how snugly your cunt was clinging onto his cock, “does it feel good, baby? Does your pussy like being stretched out by me?” he landed a few electric slaps to your ass, “because it sure fucking feels like it… gods, she’s creaming all over me, turning my dick all fucking milky…” 

“I–, I–,” your fluttering moans found their way out your throat as your fingers left the tree and reached back to blindly grab for him.

“What?” he swiftly captured your searching hand in his and slowed his efforts just enough for you to think, “what is it, snow?”

Your brain was all jumbled, so all you managed to mumble was, “…kiss…” 

Curling his burly arms around your form, your brows crinkled up as he then slipped out before guiding you back around to face him. 

Planting his lips to yours in a soft and slow peck, your molten arms slid up to wrap around his neck. 

“Is this better?” his nose ghosted against your own, “huh?”

“Mhm,” you nodded lightly, your features nuzzling against his as you did. 

“You good?” his gentle exhale seeped into your bones. 

A soft smile then tipped up your lips as you uttered, “I’m phenomenal…” 

Mirroring your own grin, he captured your lips once more before he plucked your left leg up off the ground. Sweeping his tip through your glinting folds, he nudged at your clit long enough to make you wiggle in his grasp before he dipped down to your drooling entrance and slowly slid back in. 

“Ah,” you gasped and your head tilted away from his a moment as he split you back open for him, “I love you so much.”

“I love you, I love you,” his grip dented your flesh as he settled back into a silky pace, pumping in and out of your creamy cunt, “o-oh, fuck!”

Picking your other leg up, he lifted you into his strong arms and your ankles swiftly hooked around his frame. 

Sloppy symphonies of your skin clapping against each other resonated every time he lifted you off his cock, dragging you over every detail of his fat girth before slamming you back down on it. The sounds echoed throughout the surroundings, dominating your attention rather than the wistful birdsongs that your lustful ears filtered out. 

It didn’t take very long of him carrying you close and fucking you nearly through the tree that scrapped at your spine, before your body went as tight as a bowstring taking aim, and shaky profanities leaked out past your panting breaths as you tumbled over the edge.

Bucky’s mouth was hot on the side of your neck as you clambered around him, your pussy completely choking his throbbing length, and a gravelly groan rumbled against your skin as he swiftly emptied himself in your haven. 

With his load dripping down onto the tall grass as he continued to cradle you in his arms, his softening girth stayed buried in you as you caught your breaths. 

“See?” his heavy exhale fanned across your cheek as the side of his head rested against yours, “told you I used to let you win.”

“Oh,” you playfully chuckled, tilting your chin enough to find his hazy gaze, “you think you won just now?” 

“Yeah, I clearly did.” 

“Did you though,” you cocked your head, “or did I just let you?” 

His eyes then narrowed to a squint as he sucked in a breath, “…rematch,” he declared, “as soon as we get home.”

“Really? You wanna wait–, what, a whole hour?” you guessed the time reminding till you arrived back to Borün. 

“Yes, I wanna wait a whole hour,” a sly smirk crept up on his face as he slowly inched in closer, “one hour and then I finally get to throw you around in my own bed…” 

FIVE YEARS LATER, ON THE THIRTIETH DAY OF SUMMER 863 PR

“Pinch me,” you murmured through your grin as Bucky’s kisses nipped down the column of your neck.     

“What,” he smirked against your skin, clearly assuming you wanted to heat up your impromptu make-out session, “right here?”

Your glance flickered to the rest of the topiary garden, that sprouted in the centre of the great castle that was Fort Borün, and hoped that the pair of you were tucked away well enough in the semi-secluded corner for the other guests, who were up at the palace to round off the annual summer solstice festival, not to notice your intimate activities. 

Not taking his lewd thought to heart, you went on and uttered, “it must be a dream, being here with you and in this beautiful place,” the smile on your lips grew wider as you reflected on the way your life looked now. Growing up you’d never dare to let yourself imagine anything like this, being so safe and at peace, living in a comfortable little cabin by the sea with the love of your life, “you my husband and I your wife…”

Tilting his head back up to be at your level, he caught your glinting eye and reassured you, “you’re not dreaming, snow,” one of his thumbs then swiped a few times at the hold he had on your waist. Leaning back in, his lips then tilted back up into a devilish smirk as he asked, “but can I still pinch you?” 

As his fingers tightened around you and he leaned back down to seize your lips again, a giggle bubbled out of you and your palms swept up to his chest to keep him at bay, “not here!”

And just then, as your husband’s kisses began to bloom across your skin once more, burning so hot you nearly gave in, a pair of tiny footsteps echoed throughout the courtyard. 

“Uncle Buck! Uncle Buck!” 

Turning around, both of your glances fell upon the little princess that appeared around the central fountain.

“Cora, isn’t it well past your bedtime?” Bucky cocked his head gently. 

“Papa promised I could dance one last time and you never gave me all of yours!” Cordelia demanded with a raised finger, “you still owe me one.”

Sucking in a breath, he nodded lightly, “I did promise you five, didn’t I?” and his gaze flickered up to spot the king as he caught up to his daughter.

Catching the tail end, Steve’s brows shot up, “she made you agree to five?” 

“Well, I don’t know how to say no to that face,” the fellow warden beside you shrugged and gestured down to the little girl, “I mean look at her!” 

Letting out a soft sigh, the king then tilted his head as a light plea flowed out past his gentle smile, “Bucky, please just dance with my daughter or she won’t let me tuck her into bed.”

Taking a step further away from you, Bucky then smiled down at the princess, “your highness,” and offered her his hand, “shall we?”

Snatching it up, a bright giggle then billowed out of the little girl as she dragged him back inside. 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[loveshotzz]

All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap one/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs - updated every wednesday

Welcome To The Neighborhood

—> chapter two

summary: There’s a Bandit on the loose.

wc: 3.6k

warnings: 18+ series for eventual smut, 12 year age gap, reader is 30 and Steve is 42 otherwise none for this first installment :) it’s a meet cute baby.

author’s note: Here it is! chapter one of this little slow burn series with your painfully hot and confusing older!neighbor!widower!steve. This story will take place over the course of one summer, told in mostly blurbs of your chance encounters and run in’s with Steve. This series will have lots of pining, flirting, mild angst and eventual smut. Most chapters will range from 1-2k each except for a few. I hope you guys like reading about these two as much as I liked writing it & I hope to see you back next Wednesday! 🥹♥️

Series Masterlist // Playlist // The tune:

End of May —

Highways and state lines blur together like the buzzing of cicadas into busy Chicago streets. A fresh start. A new life. No plan - that was the promise you made to yourself ten years ago almost down to the date.

The excitement outweighs the embarrassment of how long it takes you to parallel park the Uhaul when you find that one in a million spot in front of your new home. Your hands are numb from the constant battle between the wind and your steering wheel. The breeze from the lake testing your strength for the last hour of your drive. The machine creaks loudly when you slam it into park, your legs wobbling like jello when your converse hit the pavement and out of your truck.

The city hits your ears like the humidity on your skin. The exposed parts of your thighs stick together when the thick air wraps around you like an unwanted blanket. Taking a deep breath, exhaust stings your lungs. Far away from the only place you’d ever known, it’s comforting the feeling that washes over you. You didn’t come here with an agenda. A fresh start with nothing to lose. You came here just to be you.

It seems like everyone is on their way to do something, going somewhere they have to be. They brush past you without even a glance in your direction, air pods buried deep in their ears caught up in their own little world. The sounds of dogs barking mingle with cars honking and loud conversations from patio bars the next block over. The city is alive with summer hanging fresh in the air.

The trees that line both sides of your street are lush and green from the moisture. They drape over phone lines, weeping under the heat of the sun. Bumper to bumper cars from all kinds of walks of life make the one way street even smaller. Mini gardens in front of mismatched houses only inches apart. This was your new home.

The three story townhouse is covered in dark green wooden paneling, the floors split up into separate apartments, and you managed to bag the top floor with protruding bay windows. Dumb luck mixed with being on craigslist minutes after they posted, you found the one mom and pop place in the city that fit your budget.

The chipped black metal gate that blocks off the front steps lands at your waist, and runs as a property line against an even nicer house next to yours. One that looks like it belongs to someone, not rented out to a bunch of someones. The bright red brick looks new, and the dark wood steps and patio freshly stained. An oriental rug that matches the house has chew toys with missing limbs littering the front entrance. A porch swing faces you and it sways gently with the wind. Your eyes catch the silhouette of someone on the other side of the stained glass in the middle of the thick mahogany door, and it reminds you to stop being so nosy.

Keys dangling in your hand, you take your first steps through the gate. The metal groans loudly before slamming closed behind you. You jog up the less polished, salt worn steps to your front door and the faint sound of a deep voice catches your ears from next door as you jiggle the lock open. Crossing through the threshold of the entryway you’re not surprised when there’s no reprieve to the heat, but disappointed just the same as you pull at our tank top that starts clinging to your skin. You eye the narrow staircase that curves up leading to your apartment, immediately regretting doing this alone. 

It takes you less time to unload than it did to load up, at least that's what you tell yourself as you round to the back of the open trailer. Sweat is slick against your skin and you thank yourself for keeping the previous owner's couch even if you thought it was an ugly shade of green.You stare pointedly at the four heaviest boxes left and you swear they mock you while you try to catch your breath from pushing your mattress to your room. The words ‘winter clothes’ scribbled sloppily in bright red marker make your face twist up.

“God dammit,”you breathe out running the back of your hand across your forehead trying to rally. Your A/C was already in the window and the cool air inside becomes your motivation.

You aren’t expecting the abrupt shove forward or the feeling of paws on your butt, sharp nails digging into the soft material of your shorts. Then you hear it, his voice.

“Bandit! Bandit - no! Down!”

Your hands hit the metal of the trailer stopping your fall under the weight of what you’re now realizing is an over excited fully grown German Shepherd. Pink tongue out with spit flying everywhere, you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you when you turn around and he starts sniffing all over with a tail that wags a mile a minute. High pitched whines leave him when he realizes how much he wants you to play, but he accepts the scratches you offer behind his ears just the same. Body wiggling while also trying to stay still.

“Hi buddy!” you coo, your voice instantly slipping into the embarrassing one you only use for animals.

That’s when you see him. 

He has a few years on you, that part is obvious with the pepper that spots the sides of his honey colored hair and the scruff that lines his sharp jaw, but it only makes him look better. His broad shoulders are wrapped up tight in a white undershirt, the thick cotton telling you it was the kind that cost more than your phone bill. The black shorts he wears have a hem high enough to almost be inappropriate when you swear you see the outline of what’s underneath. The Nike swoosh near the slit at the top of his hairy thighs. His shoes match the color of his shorts, the On Cloud symbol etched on the side flashes in the light. Two hundred dollars on just his feet. 

The trained muscles in his arm flex when he runs a hand through his hair, catching the stray that flops over his forehead when he comes to a halt in front of you. The bright red leash clutched in his fist matches the color of his cheeks. Big hazel eyes meet yours after lingering on your curves a little too long, making you realize you’re showing off just as much skin as him. Clearing your throat, you tug at the bottom of your yoga shorts, willing them to grow just an inch longer with cheeks burning and not because of the sun.

“Sorry, I have a bad habit of getting him excited before I leash him up. I swear he’s friendly, are you okay? He didn’t scratch you or anything right?” 

You’re too distracted by his hands to comprehend his words, tendons moving under taut skin as he hooks Bandit’s hardness. The heat, the move, and the man all getting the best of you.

“Hey -“

His voice brings you back to reality, his brows furrowing over perfect features when he looks at you with genuine concern.

“Yes! Sorry, I’m fine. Honestly! I love dogs. The move in the heat, I think, I think it’s just getting to me.” You smile doing your best to calm the worried look on his face, and you swear you see him flush deeper because of it.

It’s his turn to clear his throat, left hand flexing like he’s looking for a ring that isn’t there. The skin is a lighter shade than the rest of him like there used to be. There’s a beat and an awkward silence before he finally notices the mostly empty trailer behind you. 

“Looks like you’re almost done though, top floor?” He questions rocking on his heels a little, pointing over his shoulder to your window. Your A/C is already dripping water onto the pavement.

“Yeah! You live in the building?”  Please say yes.

“Me? No.” He coughs a little uncomfortable, while you fight to stop the disappointment from showing on your face. “I umm, I actually live next door.” He winces, almost like he’s embarrassed.

“Anyway, sorry about Bandit. Your boyfriend is probably wondering where you’re at.” You don’t miss the way he assumes with a secret hope he’s wrong hidden behind the mossy greens of his eyes. 

“Probably,” you pause, ego boosting when you see him squirm, “If I had one.” You giggle and you hate the way your hips twist a little. 

That’s when he does it, he smiles, with all of his teeth. It’s just as blinding as it is contagious, and it makes your skin tingle, giddiness dripping from your limbs. It’s short lived though, like pieces of a puzzle clicking together you watch it disappear. It’s replaced by the same concern from before only with a new layer of disbelief.

“Wait, honey, who’s helping you move in then?” He looks at you stunned like he can’t fathom the answer he knows you're gonna give.

“The same person that drove here - me.” You grin a little proud with your chin pushed up and it makes his lips twitch, the same smile from before itching to come back.

“Let me at least help with these last few.” He peeks behind you, eyes scanning over your messy writing, “They look like they might be heavy.” 

He teases you just enough to earn a roll of your eyes, but the grin on your face makes him huff out a relieved laugh. Nerves like a first date twist in his gut when he sees the way you look at him from under your lashes.

“I mean, if you insist…?” you trail off, fishing for his name. 

“Steve, sorry! It's Steve, Steve Harrington.” He runs one of his big hands through his hair again, a nervous tell of his you pick up on instantly, before offering it out for you to take.

“I don’t think I caught that, can you repeat your name one more time for me?” Biting your lip into a smile, he narrows his eyes playfully, cheeks blooming, flustered from your words.

Sliding your hand into his, it disappears completely when he wraps his fingers around yours. The softness of his palm is warm like the sun that beat down on you all day and it sends electric currents running through your veins, heart thumping loudly in your chest and you wonder if he can hear the way he can hear it. Minutes pass before either of you make the first move to let go, or at least that’s what it feels like. It’s not until Bandit whines at your feet that Steve finally caves.

“Let me go put him back inside real quick, it’s still a little too hot out anyway and I’ll help you bring the last of this up, tough girl.” He winks with the kind of casualness that makes you question whether you saw it at all and you have to hold in the sigh that begs to slip past your lips.

“I’ll be waiting,” your voice cracks, your confidence slowly disappearing like the sun behind the hazed skyline. 

You try to cover it up by swooping down to give Bandit a kiss between the eyes. Only it backfires, making it worse when you realize how weirdly personal that was to do to someone else’s dog, despite the more than pleased wag of his tail.

“That - that was, oh god. I don’t know why I kissed your dog like I knew him. Or you. I’m - I’m sorry.”  You pinch the bridge of your nose, embarrassment rolling off of you in waves.

It’s not until you hear his laugh, and god is it pretty too, that you finally look up.

“It’s understandable, he’s a handsome guy.” Steve smirks with flirty eyes and it makes you dizzy. 

You can’t stop your giggle, the back of your hand doing little to hide your smile from him. Butterflies breaking from cocoons in your stomach as you watch him walk away to that big house right next to yours.

“What exactly do you have in these boxes?” Steve grunts as he follows you up the narrow staircase with two in tow despite your multiple warnings. 

“Winter coats, sweaters, maybe some boots...” you trail off trying to think, your disorganization more than evident when you open up your front door to even more boxes and bags spread out in disarray.

“You packed your coats and your boots in the same box?” His voice is muffled behind cardboard as the cool air hits, sending goosebumps across sweat-kissed skin. The low hum does something to dull your nerves when you work up the courage to turn around and finally face him. 

“Maybe! Who knows, I’ll find out tonight when I open it.”  

He huffs out a breathy laugh as his broad shoulders almost brush the sides of your door frame. Stepping one expensive sneaker in front of the other into your more than humble apartment, there’s a fleeting moment of regret about taking him up on his offer when your eyes dart around the mess. 

“Where am I puttin’ this boss?” His eyes meet yours from around the side of the boxes, playfulness filling the greens and browns like before.

The muscles in his arm flex when he re-establishes his hold on the box, the sleeves of his shirt getting tighter and the whites of his knuckles start to show. The simple brown leather band of his watch strains, and it makes your throat dry up.

“Ummm.” You shake your head, willing your brain to regain its normal function as you start a clumsy walk towards the direction of your bedroom. “We can put them in my -“

Your shoe hits something hard and you don’t have enough time to realize what’s happening until you're already on the ground. Palms flat against the scratched wooden floor and a sharp pain in your ankle. The culprit, an already half opened box labeled KITCHEN you must’ve left in the hallway when you got distracted by something else.

“Jesus, are you okay?” Steve sets the boxes down, pushing them against the wall and out of the way raking his hand through his hair again, it must be a stressed habit too. 

“Yeah, yeah, my ego is a little bruised but I think I’m gonna survive.” You try to smile, but only end up wincing when you go to push yourself up.

“Here, let's get you on the couch, let me take a look.” He doesn’t wait for your reply, both of his hands coming out to you in an offering. Stubbornness losing for once, you take them.  

He lifts you up like you’re weightless, moving you around with ease as he tucks you into his side. His fingers wrap around the curve of your hip to steady you. He’s warm, the pine of his body wash mixing with the spice of his cologne and it surrounds you in a strong hold. It's a short trip to your couch, his abs moving with each step, and you secretly wish it took just a little longer. 

He’s gentle when he untangles himself from you. Soft palms on your elbows to hold your balance as you sit down. There’s a hint of his aftershave that hits your nose as your muscles melt into the softness of the cushions, the day quickly catching up to you. Eyelids going droopy.

“Sitting was a mistake Steve,” you groan with a light stretch of your limbs, and another subtle wince.

“Well good thing you conned me into helping you with the last of your boxes then.” He waits a second before meeting your eyes as he pulls one of your many boxes over to sit on, his lips twisting up when he sees the way you scoff. 

“Conned you?! You practically begged me to let you help.” Your head bobs with attitude dripping from each word and it makes him grin. He nods furrowing his brows like he’s hearing you, but despite the limited time you’ve spent with him you knew whatever he was about to say was just going to egg you on more.

“I mean, if that’s what you need to tell yourself sweetheart. I remember it a little differently.” He can’t hold in his laugh when you roll your eyes hard at him trying to ignore the newest nickname.

His knees brush against yours when he finally takes his seat, the hem of his shorts rising higher, running tight against the muscle of his thigh. The cinnamon hair that covers his legs tickles you while the sun hits your bay window with just the right light to reveal an expanse of freckles and moles you didn’t see before under his five o’clock shadow and across the bridge of his nose. God, he’s handsome. 

His eyes catch yours like he can hear your thoughts, and for a moment you wonder if he actually can.

“Do you mind?” The teasing edge is gone, his eyes a little more soft when the tips of his fingers tap against your leg.

Your voice is lost in the shift in energy, static filling in the air between you when you shake your head ‘no’.’’ His touch is feather light when his fingers wrap gingerly around your ankle bringing your foot to his lap. He makes quick work of your laces, using extra care when he pulls off your shoe. The pad of his thumb rubs over the bruising bone and you notice the way he licks his lips.

“Does this hurt?” He applies a little bit of pressure to the spot just below your calf, his gaze making you nervous as he gauges your reactions.

“No,” it comes out a little breathless and he exhales deep through his nose because of it.

“How about here?” He does the same thing as before, only this time closer to your heel and you wince. “There it is,” he hums to himself, rubbing soothing circles as an apology.

“Like on a pain scale of one to ten, I’d give it a three and a half or four” you tell him, when really you’re too proud to admit it’s actually a five.

“Three and a half? You can’t use that. Solid number only,” he scoffs meeting your eyes from under his lashes, the forest inside them turning black.

“I actually think I can do whatever I want,” you laugh incredulously, your toes wiggling under black socks in his lap.

“I guess it is your house, I stand corrected.” Steve admits defeat with an exaggerated sigh before showing you his teeth in a wide grin, his thumb still rubbing circles because it never actually stopped. “Do you have an ice pack?” 

Your finger drums against your bottom lip as you think about everything you had packed, his eyes fixated on the way you lightly pull it down with each tap.

“I don’t remember and if I’m being completely honest I don’t think so.” You look sheepish when you admit your lack of first aid supplies to him.

He chuckles lightly, hot breath fanning against your skin with a shake of his head.

“I think I have one, I’ll grab it and bring those other two boxes up. Keep your foot elevated for me tonight tough girl. Unpack your chaos tomorrow.” He mocks the way your jaw drops at his teasing.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were tryin’ to take care of me Steve.” The joke is innocent, at least that’s what you thought. 

Something clicks behind his eyes, the warmth draining from his smile when it falls. His brows furrow and he won’t look at you anymore, his thumb stops rubbing those circles, and your foot is placed gently back on the ground. He’s standing up faster than you can catch your breath, faster than you can comprehend.  The energy shifts to something distant and the warm summer is replaced with frigid winter. He clears his throat with glassy eyes scratching the back of his neck, and you have no idea what you did.

“Hey I’m sorry if I -“

He cuts you off before you can finish.

“You didn’t do anything, It’s me - look, I’m just gonna go get those things. I’ll leave it at your door, please just elevate your foot. You should be okay by tomorrow.” He doesn’t let you respond, long legs taking him out of your place and leaving you to wonder what you did wrong. 

Your head lulls against the back of the couch, staring fixated on the old popcorn ceiling of your living room for what feels like twenty minutes as you replay everything back. Over analyzing his tones and body language coming up empty every time. This was going to drive you crazy.

There’s three raps on your front door, one coming down hard followed by two quick knocks. When you stand up this time, it hurts less, more true to the pain level you gave him as you slightly hobble to answer.

When you open it, your two boxes are stacked where he promised. A dark blue ice pack with a yellow sticky note that says:

beta’d by @superblysubpar 💕 (also made the cute post it for me 🥹)

dividers by @newlips 💗

chapter two

[everythingne]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ➛ DOUBLE DEALING - RUNRUNRUN (LS2)

What was supposed to be a fun free drive led by Oscar through the streets of Melbourne turns sinister. You quickly learn the true nature of the 'late night training' your boyfriend of nine months endures during race weekends, and why he's been hiding the truth from you.

drag racer!logan sargeant x reader // series masterlist!

warnings/notes: speeding, dangerous driving, mentions of drugs and violence, no one better be surprised i wrote for logan first. y'all remember this series? it's been a hot minute, this is short as a sort of introduction to the whole series, and I hope it's a good start to kick everything off!

"So, at the Grand Prix, why did that guy call you Bandit?"

It's late, the night breeze rolling off the the water and across the little hidden road behind the Melbourne pier. In the moonlight, you sit on the back of Logan's 2002 Pontiac Firebird. The car is an exact replica of the car from Smokey and The Bandit, save for a few updated bits and bobs he'd added along the time you'd known him.

"Well, Miss America," Logan sits next to you, handing you a soda from the vending machine he'd found inside a probably closed building that left their door unlocked, "Someone has taste."

"I'm so sorry my parents didn't raise me on hick movies like yours did." You hum, cracking open the soda as the rumble of another old engine makes you look over. Alex's Pontiac coming around the corner with a few other cars behind it.

"That was all Dalton and the Red Box at the Publix," Logan smirks with a shrug, waving over Alex and the other two cars to park behind him. A Supra rumbling to a stop next to Alex, and a Honda S2000 parking a bit back. You recognize both drivers once they've stopped, and the grinning faces of two McLaren drivers meet you.

"Well well well, drug Lando out for this one?" Logan calls and Alex shrugs, coming over to give Logan a fist bump as Oscar and Lando lumber out of their cars and come over to where you are to greet you both with fistbumps.

"I haven't done Oscar's Melbourne track yet!" Lando smirks as he nudges Oscar to the side and the group comes to hover around your group. They talk a bit and you look over your shoulder out to the water, watching birds dip down in the limited sunlight.

"Ready, darlin'?" Logan asks and you turn back to see him offering a hand to you. Smiling, you take it and let him help you off the car and to the passengers seat before he crosses to the drivers side. The car starts with its normal rumble and Oscar pulls ahead, the rest of you following in a slow pattern until you get out onto the highway.

Logan's hand rests on top of yours on the shifter, you recording the cars around you as they whip up and down the highway. Laughing softly when Lando weaves through the group and nearly hits Oscar who throws a middle finger out the window. After a long while of zipping through the empty highways, the group pulls off to a side road.

But someone is following.

“Yo, who’s on my six?” Logan says into the radio in his car, lifting his hand off the shifter only momentarily before resting it back on yours. With a quick glance out the window, you determine there is a car still behind you.

“Shouldn’t be anyone.” Oscar’s voice crackles through, “All you pull up, Bandit fall back with me?”

“Yeah, gotcha.” Logan says into the radio, lifting your hand off the shifter briefly to kiss your knuckles before he whispers, “it’s probably some dumb teen following us around, don’t worry.”

“Wasn’t worried,” you smile softly, even as the nickname makes your eyebrows scrunch in confusion. Logan drops to the shifter again. You look over as Oscar’s car comes besides yours and he gives Logan a little nod, opening the gap between the both of you and falling back to the car behind.

“Smokey, Bandit, stay close. He’s falling to a stop, can you two give us light?” Oscar’s voice rings through the radio, the cars ahead slow and Lando pulls around first—lights shining and revealing the sleek Porsche Spyder that’s crept on you. The car would be impressive if not for the worry that gnaws at your gut when Logan tenses in the passengers, no dumb teen would own a car like that, you both know something more serious lays ahead.

“Smokey, be on watch.” Oscar’s voice is tense, void, something dark in it you barely pick up on before Logan squeezes your thigh quickly as he gets out of the car and slams his door shut. The window is rolled down, like it always is, and you lean over the center console to listen.

“…No trouble, mate.” Logan’s voice carries across the expanse of highway and holds an underlying threatening tone that makes your stomach twist as he continues, “just wanna know why you’re tailing us.”

You can’t hear the reply over the rumble of Logan’s engine, before Oscar says something lost in the sound of a door slamming and a fight brewing. Lando is out of his car in seconds, and you crawl over the center console to peek through the drivers window with your head as far back against the seat as possible to hide. You can see the guy grab Oscar by the front of his shirt to shove him and Lando is quick to send a punch, knocking the guy aside. Logan’s shoving the guy back as soon as Lando clears his hit. Even straining your ears, you can't understand them over the overlapping shouting.

“Y/n! Sit back!” Alex shouts into his radio as he’s getting out of his car and you practically throw yourself back into your seat while Alex Dukes of Hazzard jumps over the hood of Logan’s car to assist them holding the guy to the side of his car.

“You don’t know who you’re messing with man, back up!” Lando’s voice is clearly irritated before there’s a bit more shouting and Lando’s voice rings, “you think we’d do a fuckin’ drug run? Who the hell even are you?!”

What the fuck is happening?

You look through the back windows, trying to stay pressed to the seat as best as possible. Before the guys are sprinting back to the cars and Logan doesn't even open his door, he just jumps through the fucking window and lands on top of you.

"What the fuck--!" You go to shout before Logan grabs your chin and makes you look at him,

“I love you. I need you to know that.” he whispers, kissing you as he jumps the throttle and uses an arm to gently lay you back against your seat as he peels off down the road.

“Logan!” you shriek, grabbing the door panel for stability. He doesn’t answer, shifting up and slamming down on the gas as Alex drops to let him overtake, Oscar comes to the side of you and Logan shouts into the radio,

“How far?”

“Gonna go about twenty kilometers, take that exit, black out. If we’re lucky we should lose him.” Oscar’s voice crackles across as he narrowly avoids slamming into the back of a semi truck. Logan clicks the radio twice in response and then downshifts to allow Lando around before he speeds up behind him. You don’t know if this is a moment where you try to ask, so you stay back against the seat like Logan had pushed you to.

“Need cover!” Alex’s voice comes through, “he might be in a Porsche but he’s being a dick!”

“Coming back!” Lando says and Logan moves out of the way, watching in his rearview before he curses.

“We’re not gonna lose him, he’s too close.” Oscar comes over the radio, “gonna have to drift it.”

“Pop a u-ey?” Logan says, adjusting his grip and Oscar agrees. There’s a few moments of stillness before you’re skidding off to an exit ramp. Alex comes up besides you and Logan lets him back around, falling into the order of Oscar, Alex, Logan, and then Lando in the back.

“He’s quite aggressive, the fucking muppet.” Lando complains, “Goss, it’s up to you.”

“If the u-ey doesn’t work, Smokey, you need to call Lion.”

“Got it.”

These nicknames are getting hard to follow, you'd realized Smokey was Alex and Bandit was Logan, and by denominator meant Lando was Hotshot and Oscar was Goss, but who the fuck was Lion?

“Who?” You ask, turning to look out the back of Logan’s car to see Lando dangerously close. Logan’s hand leaves the shifter to grab your chin and turn you back forward.

“Logan, what is going on?” You finally find the confidence to ask, which makes Logan feel a little sick. He doesn't answer again, eyes narrowing as he leans over to click off his headlights.

You have no idea how he knows where he's going as they drive blacked out. Eventually there's another off ramp, and you watch as Logan expertly navigate a turn that should cause him to skid off the road before he slows to a nice pace and the cars lights flicker back on.

"All clear, let's head back to the den. We gotta tell Lion what's going on."

Nothing is said until you all arrive to the side of the paddocks, Lando jumping out to open the gate before getting in his car once more. You all slowly pull to a side lot and park, everyone but you and Logan getting out. He's tense, and he leans his head against the steering wheel before sighing slowly.

"Listen. It's not that illegal." He sits back and you scoff, turning to face him.

"That's what you start with? Seriously?!" You scold, whacking his shoulder as he sits up.

"Well, it's--it's all, racing! Like, fuck... this is so hard to explain." He groans, "We do racing, illegally. But we don't do those drug runs, we don't do shit like that. We do racing. Just normal racing for fun. We host like high end races for big money, big bets, stuff like that."

"Just bets? You're telling me this is just bets?"

"Yo, Bandit." Oscar taps his knuckle on the window and you both turn as the Australian says, "We gotta go talk to Lion about it."

Logan sighs, and then leans over to kiss your knuckles before getting out of the car. You're shocked when Lando opens your door and offers a hand to help you out, before leading you over to Logan, who snags an arm around your waist and draws you to his side.

"We'll explain, okay?" He whispers, and you nod, sticking to his side as the group slowly moves through the crowd. You spot a few other drivers off to the side, even some who had long since retired, before you're ushered into Red Bull's hospitality.

"Ay, Lion," Lando calls and Max turns from where he's engrossed in conversation with Charles and Daniel. The whole paddock around you seems to fall hush as Max walks over slowly, setting a drink in his hand down on a table nearby as he nods in greeting.

"Alex told me you guys had a bit of an issue out on the roads." Max crosses his arms taught across his broad chest, eyes icy in their narrow at Logan and Oscar. It's not hurtful, the look more concerned than anything.

"Some guy claimed we were drug runners." Oscar explains softly, "we just ditched the guy. We didn't wanna deal with him. So we blacked out, popped a uey and came right back here."

Max nods, checking you all over silently with his eyes before nodding, "and he was gone?"

"Dusted 'em." Lando smirks with his trademark confidence, making Oscar laugh softly as he hit Lando's shoulder. The room untensed significantly, and Max called over a few of the drivers you didn't see as much -- Fernando being among them, and they spoke softly for a few moments before they dispersed.

"We'll take care of the guy, Alex, get me your camera feed. Any of you who have cams on the cars actually." Max says and the group behind you nods, and then finally Max turns his attention to you and raises a look to Logan. The arm around your waist tightens, Logan's other hand finding yours.

"Does she know?" Max asks softly and Logan shakes his head, making a small smile split across his lips.

"Well, I guess we've got our Carrie." Max hums, whacking Logan's arm, "You're not gonna just leave her outta this now, are you?"

"It's her decision, I haven't told her much." Logan steps out from behind you, keeping your hand tight in his, "I'm not gonna make her stay if she wants nothing to do with this."

"Well, Carrie, if it makes you feel any better," Max hums out your nickname, and you recognize it as the name of the girl in Smokey and the Bandit, making you match with Alex and Logan now. Max continues softly with, "we aren't doing illegal shit. We don't do drug runs, we don't do shit that'll get us in trouble. Between us all we have enough to stay out of most issues with the cops or any law, but I get it if you wanna go."

You look around the room at all the men. And in any usual circumstance you'd feel terrified to be around this many people you didn't know looking like they could easily overpower you. But something with Logan's hand in yours makes you feel safer.

"I'll stay." you hum, "but if I wanna leave at any point... I can, right?"

"As long as you're good at staying quiet about this, sure." Max smiles, looking up at Logan and then giving you a pat on the shoulder as he grins, "welcome to the world of underground racing, Carrie."

[desert-horned-lizard]

Hello, it's nice to meet you.

Oh, how nice. It's a pleasure to meet you as well.

Would you like to shake hands?

Of course.

Which hand would you like to use to shake, and which hand should I use?

Well, the common convention is that both of us should use our right hands, and at the current moment, I see no compelling reason to disregard that tradition.

Great. How shall we shake? Shall I grip from the top or the bottom? Or perhaps, we could even lock our fingers together and shake like that. There are many possible variations.

Conforming to my earlier statement, I see no reason not to use the traditional grip, where I curl my fingers around the bottom edge of your palm and you do likewise, while we nestle our thumb's in each other's thumb-crooks.

Oh, splendid, just splendid. Now, shall I grip gently or firmly? Perhaps somewhere in the middle?

Well, if you grip too tightly, it might hurt my fingers. But on the other hand, if you grip too loosely, we won't enjoy the full pleasure of each other's grips. In my opinion, we should set our strengths somewhere in the middle, ensuring that no complication arises that might compromise our enjoyment.

Ah, but you see, I had already accounted for those complications. I understand well - perhaps too well! - the many pitfalls that riddle the royal road to good handshakes, lying in wait like bandits along the highway, making victims of the ignorant and the incautious. Judging by your obvious familiarity with handshakes, I had assumed from the very first that you were well acquainted with the risks of over-compression and the perils of under-squeezing. When I spoke of the tightness of our handshake, I was referring to the tightness that lies within the bounds of acceptable handshakery. My question, if you were to rephrase it with the assumptions exposed, would be something like the following: "Within the range of possible grip-strengths that produce an acceptable handshake, excluding any that would result in over-compression or under-squeezing, would you like to have a handshake that is more towards the limit of acceptable tightness, or more towards the limit of acceptable looseness? Or would you prefer something in the middle?"

I see. Owing to the large number of unknown factors, I still think it wisest to stick somewhere in the middle. You see, strength is relative. What a mayfly might consider a strong grip would be a scarcely noticeable pinch to a bonobo. We have never shaken hands before, and therefore I have no idea of your physical strength. What you might consider too loose might be too tight for me, or vice versa. Of course, there are certain clues that might give me an indication of your strength, such as your stature or the visible development of your muscles, but these things are only hints. It's a personal matter, you see. I cannot judge until I've felt it with my own flesh. All the guessing in the world cannot replace the raw reality of actual contact for me. By keeping our strengths in the middle, we are more likely to come to an agreeable handshake. Perhaps if we shake again we can begin to experiment with a veriety of advanced techniques, but for now, I insist we stick with average strength.

Very well, then. We shall shake with our grip strength somewhere in the middle. Now, shall we pump our hands quickly or slowly? Or again, somewhere in the middle?

In the middle, for the reasons previously enumerated.

Any special maneuvers you'd like to include?

None.

Not even a little tickle?

Not interested.

Very well then. We shall have a handshake, we shall both follow the convention of using our right hands, we shall grip the bottom edge of each other's palms and nestle our thumb's into each other's thumb-crooks, the grip strength shall be of moderate strength, the pumping shall be pumping of moderate speed, and no tricks or special maneuvers shall be employed, not even a little tickle. Does that sound correct to you?

Yes, that sounds about right.

Are you ready?

Hold on, let me take my wedding ring off... Okay, I'm ready.

🤝

...

...

...

*ahem*

...

...

...

Well, it was nice meeting you, but I'm afraid have to get going. I'm meeting my mother for lunch, you see, and mother can't stand it when I'm late.

Yes, it was such a pleasure. I do hope to see you again soon. I have my own business to attend to as well.

Ah, but one last thing before we part. I can't leave a new friend without shaking their hand goodbye. May I shake your hand in farewell?

Why, of course my friend. It is only polite.

Oh, excellent, excellent. Now, the question is, which hand would you like to use to shake, and which hand should I use?

[rathayibacter]

Rath's TTRPG Post!

Hey yall, been long enough that I should really write another of these. I'm Rath and I make weird tabletop games! I've got a lot of games already out there, and even more in the oven, so this post exists to help organize them all and give you a jumping-off point if you want to check out my work. Without further ado,

[BXLLET>

BXLLET is a post-apocalyptic cowboy game about the nature of violence. It hands players incredibly lethal characters, then asks those characters to try and find their way in the world. If all you have is a hammer, how do you stop seeking nails?

Every BXLLET character begins with a single bullet on their person, and can always spend a bullet to kill someone. Collecting more bullets unlocks your archetype's unique powers, making you an increasingly imposing threat—and juicy target. However, even as you become bloated with potential violence, you'll find plenty of problems escape easy solutions. Sure, you can always kill, but can you cut out the rot that runs deeper than any individual bandit, warlord, or capitalist? In a world fighting to rebuild itself from disaster, are you a wandering hero, or just a murderous tool of the old age? Can you help build a better future, or are you doomed to haunt its outskirts?

Thanks to two game jams and a whole lot of love, BXLLET also has a ton of additional modules, spilling over with scenarios, archetypes, factions, mechanics, and alternate settings. Here's a big list of them! Check them out, they're fucking incredible.

KATABASIS

KATABASIS is a tactical combat afterlife-crawl, where spirits fight using weapons and armor made of their emotional baggage to try and escape a surreal concrete afterlife. It's all about putting together strange builds to face off against bizarre monsters, all while meeting other stranded spirits and exploring the tangled world you're trapped in. If you delve deep enough, fight hard enough, maybe one day you can find a way to return to life.

KATABASIS is a work in progress, with the full game still a ways off. I'm currently working on the next update, The Highway Down, where players will fight their way across perilous highways tangled through a hanging city. Even so, the game's already packed with characters, equipment, monsters, and maps.

So go! Gather your painful memories, bare your petrified heart, kill the psychopomps and shatter the gates of hell. There might be no escape, but we'd rather die a thousand times more than give up looking.

Disparateum

Disparateum welcomes you to the Named City, a place at the edge of our world and the center of all others. Residents of the Named City wander across the full spectrum of possible worlds, visiting them as one might visit another neighborhood. Like KATABASIS, it's also a work in progress, but already contains pound-for-pound more raw ideas than anything I've ever written. It's a dense, strange, silly, and colorful game, and a gushing love letter to roleplaying in general.

Disparateum is a game for a Knight, a Thief, and a Seer, who explore the Named City in search of adventure and change. Here, shared dreams settle over the city at night; here, our reflections plot revenge from the opposite side of every mirror; here, dragons hold court to debate ownership of stories; here, museum corridors tangle their way through the past and into other histories; here, spiders weave a network of WiFi connections and host dense egg sacs of websites; here, sprawling statue gardens grow beneath our souls. Welcome to the Disparateum. Enjoy your stay.

Unskilled Labor

Unskilled Labor is a game about struggling to get by in the rotting corpse of capitalism. But this time, you have superpowers!

Unfortunately, the superpowers will not let you steal back the time you wasted in dead-end jobs, nor will they let you topple the system and fix everything singlehandedly. But, hey, did you really expect them to? The work to make a better world remains to be done, and maybe now it'll be slightly easier. Manifest a customer service persona to fight your friends' landlord, use perfect timing to escape the cops, coordinate supernaturally disruptive protests of an oil pipeline. Play using resumes as character sheets and calendars as battlemaps. Manage your well-being (as much as you're able), struggle against the tides of Western society, and spit in the face of authority. It's not a glamorous power fantasy, but hopefully it reminds you not to give up the fight.

Charcuterie

Charcuterie is a series of zines, each about 40 pages long, collecting various little experimental games, writings, and doodles. The first two have five ttrpgs each, four being updated versions of games I'd previously released and the fifth being exclusive to the zine. The third is instead a collection of poetry and short stories, though I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a streak of game design through it all anyway.

IMMORTAL Pop!bat 2: funK.O. (Definitive Edition)

Have you ever wanted a miniatures wargame with thirteen thousand seven hundred and ninety-nine unique statblocks? Have you ever wanted to microwave your friend's limited edition metallic blue Batman Funko Pop, but lacked the game mechanical justification to do so? Have you ever wanted to waste an entire paycheck on a terrible idea? IMMORTAL Pop!bat 2: funK.O. (Definitive Edition) has you covered. With two pages of rules and sixteen hundred pages of Pop!batants, with IP!b2:fK.O.(DE) you'll be making terrible life choices in no time.

Stationkeeping

In Stationkeeping, you've inherited a run-down satellite from your late aunt. Slowly you'll patch it up, add new rooms, and fill it with memories. The game's contained entirely on a small stack of handwritten index cards which you can carry around with you, slowly progressing the game by going out of your way to enjoy the little things in your day-to-day life.

And More!

I've got even more stuff over on itch, and I sneak occasional glimpses at my current projects into the #ttrpgs tag here on tumblr. Keep your eyes peeled!

And of course, I'm always happy to chat. If you're ever curious about something I've made or am making, if you enjoyed something or had thoughts on it, if you just wanna say hi, please reach out! Games are my passion, and I love nothing more than to talk with other passionate people. Until then, I'm signing off!

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"ROBBED ON HIGHWAY," Kingston Whig-Standard. May 17, 1933. Page 1. ---- NIAGARA FALLS, Ont., May 17 - Morris Diamond, Welland, today was robbed of $85 and a watch on the highway in Stamford Township. He was returning from Niagara Falls when a car which had been following him shot ahead and crowded him off the road. Three men leaped out and demanded Diamond's money and valuables. Provincial Police are investigating.

[mekanikaltrifle]

Introducing: Bandit, the gayest Nuwisha in existence. Not gay as in happy, but queer as in 'fuck you'. Actually he's gay as in happy too. Born in Nevada's long-ranging wilderness sometime in the '60s, he began as a coyote. Things were fine, until suburban development broke into his home in the form of an interstate highway. One thing led to another, and over time the coyote became something more, a strange force of nature scuttling around Reno, always ending up in the LGBTQ+ riots to hurl a cinderblock at a cop's head. Friend to the sex worker and the little shithead alike, he's earned himself somewhat of a reputation as a shit-stirrer who always seems to escape somehow. These days he counts himself among the ranks of a small team who judge the Garou their transgressions against their own people, and he's more than happy to give a selfrighteous Garou enforcer the same treatment he gave cops back in Reno.

Frequent music-enjoyer and avid loud howler, Bandit's always noticeable... until he doesn't want to be.

[copperbadge]

Immediate Writer's Block

Had a comment on another post where I thought I'd probably need more space than the notes in which to respond, so:

constant-state-of-self-discovery Oh I get the envy I feel it right now how the fuck do you manage to write without impassable writers block after 5-9 sentences because I haven't fucking figured it out lol

I do have some advice on this!

I think most writers get blocked from time to time, it's normal and my general strategy is just to wait it out, but if you're frequently blocked after only writing a very little bit, I think the problem is one of two things: either you don't know what you want to achieve with the scene you're writing, or you don't know what should happen next within the scene to achieve that goal. If you frame "I'm blocked" as "I don't have an answer I need" then often you move from just sitting there, sweating and staring at a blank page, to thinking productively about how you're going to get where you're going. It's the difference between not knowing an answer and not knowing an answer but knowing where to look for it.

An invaluable piece of advice for this, which I think I picked up from someone who got it off a National Novel Writing Month messageboard, is "When in doubt, ninjas attack." It's not meant to be literal, you don't need to have ninjas or fight scenes just because you don't know what to do, but it helps to get the creativity flowing again. If you don't know what should happen next, or you know but you're having trouble actually writing the scene, it can be very helpful to induce a moment of uncertainty or surprise -- to have a metaphorical ninja attack. One time I did this literally -- the POV character was just on the road somewhere and I didn't know how to get them from a pastoral country road to their actual destination in an interesting way, so I had them get attacked by highway bandits and have to fight them off, which also allowed me to demonstrate that the character had significant unarmed combat skills. But it can also just be like, two characters who are having a boring conversation can be interrupted by a third person, even just a stranger asking for directions, or there can be, IDK, an explosion, or something goes missing, or etc.

Sometimes it also helps to leave it alone but keep it in your mind and go do something else -- listen to a podcast, take a walk, read a book, not because those things are distracting but because all our inputs eventually feed into our brain and come out as reactions. If you're thinking about your book while you're wandering around a park, something you see in the park might have an impact on it. If you've got YOUR story in mind while reading someone else's, you might be more inclined to look at what they're saying and see what you think of it, how it might play into your work.

And honestly, sometimes you just gotta go past it. I'm working on the next Shivadh novel right now and it opens basically with Simon the chef getting into a spat with his love-interest-to-be over some cheese. He want the cheese, she won't sell him the cheese, so they get off to a very contentious start. But I suck at writing conflict especially when it's basically "A character I like is being pompous and another character I want people to find likable is being stubborn and somewhat unpleasant". I've been stalled on it for a while. But I know where the scene ends up, like I do know what the goal is, so I just...skipped it and went on to writing a scene I like better, where they meet a second time and actually discover each others' identity and that they're about to be forced into the grownup equivalent of a school project. Once I've gotten dug deeper into the story I'll come back and write it, and by then I'll have the benefit of knowing the love interest a bit better.

So yeah -- I think a lot of breaking a writer's block, especially when you don't need rest but are just stumped about what to do, is to twist and look at it from another angle. It's not that you don't know what to write, or don't want to write what you know you have to -- it's that you don't have the correct answer to a question, or you need to leave that part alone to ferment and come back to it later. At least, for me.