#outlaw miniatures

[tzekkaz]

Unboxing: Baron's War

I decided to give Baron's War a go, it's a skirmish game set during the first Baron's war where some of the Barons rebelled against King John between 1215 and 1217. King John had broken the Magna Carter causing the rebellion on top of this the French were, under Prince Louis, were also invading. This gives a colourful backdrop for Footsore Miniatures game. 

I have discovered a new historical game, Baron's war to try out. Set during the 1215-1217 Baron's revolt when a number of Barons rebelled against King John for breaking the agreement signed in the Magna Carter. During this time the French invaded under the command of Prince Louis resulting in the loss of territory in Europe and French troops on English soil. I'll go into the history of the war at a later date. The game is a skirmish level game between retinues of troops representing the small scale battles that took place over England at the time. I made two orders from Footsore miniatures that produce the game and miniatures that compliment it.

The Baron's war rulebook contains the rules to play the game, the army lists to field a retinue including named characters, 15 scenarios with 12 different deployment maps giving a wide variety of scenario possibilities, I make it 180 combinations but I may be wrong. 

The Death and Taxes supplement contains two campaigns, one a narrative campaign between Robin Hood and the Sheriff of Nottingham's men fighting over the fate of a village. The second campaign is a system based around a map made hex tiles and the retinues are fighting for supremacy and resources. The book also contains the army lists for an outlaw retinue.

 Outremer is a supplement for Baron's war covering the crusades, it has army lists for both crusaders and the forces of Islam.

I ordered a couple of sets of the counters needed to play the game. The counters are fully coloured and printed, when i pushed them out, they came out easily and there was no problem there.

I had two starter retinues in the order, the first one was listed as the beginner retinue and contained a good assortment of troop ranging from mounted knights and foot sergeants through to archers and spearmen, the second set was the outlaw retinue which I had to get as I had a fascination with Robin Hood when I was a boy. The set has outlaw leaders, (more) archers and various ruffins and criminals.

I do not know anyone who plays Baron's War, I am hoping that with the two retinues I can encourage enthusiasm for the game.

Anyway, until next time, happy hobbying!

[yoomiwrites]

Stop moving

Summary: Kid wants you to chill and be quiet for once.

Note: Like wtf, I THOUGHT I had this one already posted but it was in my drafts the whole time. Sorry bout that.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

The Victoria Punk was always alive with chaos, and no one embodied that better than you. Among Eustass Kid’s crew of outlaws, oddballs, and maniacs, your restless energy was legendary. If your leg wasn’t bouncing, your fingers were twisting some random object, or your head was darting around like you were chasing invisible fireflies.

Frankly, Kid tolerated it better than most captains would. His crew was a band of misfits, after all. But today? Today, the clinking of your spoon against the mug of tea you were supposed to be drinking was starting to make his vein pop.

“Oi, Y/N, you gonna stir that tea until it turns into butter, or what?” Kid growled, leaning forward on the armrest of his throne-like chair.

“Huh?” you asked, not stopping. If anything, the clinking got louder as you switched hands. Your left foot started tapping against the floor at double speed. “Oh, sorry, just thinking.”

“Thinking? Looks like you’re trying to power the ship with your leg.” Killer said, shaking his head as he sharpened his knife nearby.

Heat gave you a playful shove. “Man, how do you even sleep at night? Does your bed bounce with you?”

The teasing didn’t bother you. You were used to it by now. Honestly, you enjoyed the crew’s banter—it was all in good fun. But the moment you noticed Kid’s eye twitching, you realized you might be pushing it.

“Sorry, Cap’n,” you said with a sheepish grin, trying to still your leg. It lasted all of three seconds before your fingers found a pen, spinning it between them like a miniature baton.

Kid groaned, standing up abruptly. The heavy stomp of his boots made the whole ship rattle. “That’s it. I can’t take this anymore.”

“Take what?” you asked innocently, still flipping the pen around like it owed you money.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he stormed toward you, his mechanical arm clicking ominously as he reached for—what? You didn’t know. Instinctively, you tried to bolt, but Kid was faster.

“Sit. Down,” he ordered, grabbing you by the back of your shirt and plopping you unceremoniously onto a nearby barrel.

“Hey! What the hell, Kid—?”

“Quiet,” he snapped, pulling something from his pocket. It was… rope?

“What are you—oh, no. Nope. You’re not doing this—”

Before you could protest further, Kid tied your wrists together with a surprising amount of skill. You wiggled, but the knots were firm.

“Let me go, you red-haired lunatic!” you shouted, struggling as he tied the other end of the rope to the railing.

“Lunatic? Takes one to know one,” Kid shot back, his grin as sharp as his temper. “If you can’t sit still, I’ll make you sit still.”

The rest of the crew erupted into laughter. Killer nearly dropped his knife, and Wire leaned against the mast for support. Even you couldn’t help but chuckle through your indignation.

“Okay, okay, very funny,” you said, still wriggling against the rope. “Now untie me.”

“Not yet,” Kid said, crossing his arms as he loomed over you. “I want to see if it actually works.”

It didn’t. Within minutes, you were bouncing your leg again, albeit awkwardly, since your arms were restrained. You leaned back against the railing, then forward, then tilted your head to the side.

“Are you kidding me?” Kid groaned.

“What can I say? I’m unbreakable!” you declared proudly.

Eustass pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering curses under his breath. “You’re gonna drive me insane.”

But then, something shifted. Kid crouched down to your eye level, his grin softening into something almost… fond. His scarred hand reached out, ruffling your hair roughly.

“Damn weirdo,” he muttered. “But you’re my weirdo.”

Your face warmed at the unexpected affection, and for once, you stopped moving.

The silence was so abrupt that Kid froze, his hand still tangled in your hair. “What the hell just happened?”

“Nothing!” you said quickly, trying to resume your usual fidgeting, but it was no use. The moment had disarmed you.

Kid smirked, noticing your sudden stillness. “Huh. Guess I found the off switch.”

“Shut up,” you grumbled, though you couldn’t hide the grin tugging at your lips.

The crew howled with laughter again, and for the rest of the day, Kid didn’t bother untying you. Turns out, he kind of liked having a quieter ship for once—though he’d never admit it.

[amrass]

My Colm O'Driscoll/Micah Bell ship HCs

I originally posted this on my Twitter (yeah I know, the site's politics are icky as hell, but it's also where all the cool NSFW artists are and also the new, miniature Colm/Micah fandom) but I thought some people here could like it ☺️

Warning: This is a villain/villain ship, and dark. I'll list the SFW HCs first, and then the NSFW ones, and the latter can get intense.

Suggested ship names: Drisbell, O'Bell, Micolm, and Cah. Yes, like the crow sound. CAH! That's my contribution ofc ......

Feel free to reply with your own HCs. List after the cut.

SFW

At the core, there's this weird understanding between them, because both are emotionally numb and need to stay numb to survive as cruel, violent outlaws. They try not to reflect too much about death and damnation but can't help it as they're surrounded by it. 

After his brutal upbringing, Micah finds more homeliness and peace with the O'Driscolls than the Van der Lindes. Colm's cruelty is different than his family's, but still familiar enough to feel homely and safer than actual safety would.

A bit like Dutch reminds Micah of his father, Colm reminds Micah of his grandfather. Not only because Colm has that sexy Nosferatu look going on, but because he's got a quiet and sinister influence, and is knowledgeable in torture. He also reacts with pride at Micah's killings, liking it when he is covered head to toe in blood, telling him he's such a good boy. 

Colm uses different methods of indoctrination on his boys, and he finds Micah surprisingly easy to deal with. With Micah, simple attention goes a long way, and so do extreme but precise punishments like tooth/fingernail extraction. 

They both have a disdain for religion; Colm grew up Roman Catholic, and Micah saw Amos be "snatched up" by a local Pentecostal church. They both secretly enjoy choir music, but rob churches to "compensate" for sometimes sitting outside and listening. 

They have a similar sense of black humor. They hate purple things and have a complicated relationship with Colm's brother. They love cocaine, guns and in modern AU, listening to metal together in Colm's car.

NSFW

Colm is an ass-man (same) and his brain just zaps out if he's staring at Micah's ass. Micah learns to manipulate this in turn, wearing tighter pants, but sometimes this backfired because he can’t run away and Colm fucks him so roughly he forgets what he originally wanted lolol. 

Micah has an oral fixation (smokes like a chimney from an early age) and secretly loves sucking dick. Colm enjoys having his dick sucked. But sometimes Micah gets way too possessive and keeps sucking after he's come, so Colm has to drag him off by his green neckerchief like a mad dog, and Micah just sticks out his tongue in retaliation before he swallows slowly with triumph.  

Colm likes giving Micah piercings as a sign of ownership. Micah is bad at caring for them so they mostly get rejected and scar, which Colm also likes, if not only so he can re-do them. 

In the biker AU, Colm once fucked Micah over his motorbike, Micah naked and him in full leather gear, and Micah is still jerking off about that memory twenty years later. 

Both enjoy pushing each other's boundaries. Kind of obvious I guess, but the numbness adds a dimension to this where they don't always realize that their own boundaries have been crossed until it's too late. And they have more boundaries within emotional exchanges than sexual ones. This is where the love grows, like a tiny poison tree, unwillingly so for both. 

Micah loves shot-gunning cigarette smoke and gets turned on by leather gloves and Colm makes full use of this. 

This is the ship at its most advanced stage lmao: Colm likes getting fisted but rarely trusts anyone to let them do it, and Micah gets to experience this once (1) and never feels as powerful and in love as in this moment.

In the Micussy verse (thanks Skibiborg) Colm is so into period sex he acts like a blood hound. Micah crawls under the bed to get away but he's dragged out before Colm has him on the floor. He gets between his legs and chomps down like it's his last meal. Likes blood on his lips, his chin, his shirt, his cock, all over really. Bites Micah's inner thighs and neck just to see if the blood tastes different there. Will probably make out with Micah while he fucks him, endeared by his disgust at tasting himself. "Heady, isn't it?" "D-do ya, ghh, have f-fucking, iron deficiency, boss?"

[catsfor2]

out west II (ellie x reader)

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut wc: 1.8k, unedited tags: @champagnelovers101@intrnetdoll@me-and-your-husband

a/n: i............i havent written smut in a while. cut me some slack.

western slang!("sakes alive" - like 'oh my god!' or something, horse feathers - nonsense/ridiculousness, "line rider" - cowboy, lunk-headed - dumb, "make tracks" - leave, bristled - angry, rattling - worrying, "pop your corn" - say your words/spit it out, poppet - term of endearment like "sweetie" and stuff)

-j

She'd came in the night.

Garbed in the evening's clothing, blurred into the sticky silence of twilight. Ghostly. Exactly as she came before.

Her fingers had fumbled with your shutters for a minute, eventually just snapping the mechanism that kept them locked.

You hadn't heard it.

Her leather-laden hands, clutching the edges of the window frame, hoisting herself over the small ledge into your bedroom.

You hadn't heard it.

And then, her thoroughly dusted boots, clopping at your creaky wooden floor, steps miniature and slow.

You still heard nothing.

For you were sleeping. Achingly peaceful, still and vulnerable. Your hair, a halo around you, arranged gently across your pillow. Your lips parted, light breaths puffing out of them consistently. Your hands, clutched closely inwards with your blanket laced between your fingers. An angel, the outlaw thought.

And then she sees it.

Her hat.

Neatly rested atop the pillow next to you, almost propped on display like you knew she’d be coming.

It was cleaner. Dusted off. You had undirtied it properly and meticulously for the gunslinger, delicate hands conditioning the suede for hours and hours until it finally felt right.

The outlaw warmly smiles, shadow looming darkly over your sleeping body as she imagines it. You, sitting pretty all alone in your lace trimmed bedroom, brushing grime off the leather of a hat that belongs to a criminal.

She wishes she could’ve been there to watch you do it.

The outlaw stills, realizing something, and reaches into the band of her holster to pull out a burlap sac. The size is small enough to hide easily in her palm.

Her fingers tug the strings and widen the top, before digging inside and plucking out a pink, soft looking peony.

It reminded her a lot of you when she’d first seen it.

She steps lightly, bending over your figure, and creeps up the brim of her hat to place the peony under it.

She knows that you’ll find it eventually. The difficult part, to the outlaw, is being unable to see your face when you notice it.

But it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

As the next time the outlaw would visit—tomorrow night—she had a different plan.

She’ll wake you up instead. Brush the hair out of your face, cup your cheeks gently and lay a soft kiss to your sleep-heated skin.

She’ll reveal a lilac from her burlap sac this time, closely watching the blush rise in your face as she places it in your hands.

And then she’ll steal you.

Steal you far, far away from this place you’ve been forced to call home.

And never let you come back.

---------------------------------

Night has fallen over town, and the outlaw couldn't be happier.

Her lilac is plucked.

Her boots are freshly polished.

And she approaches the same window confidently, enthusiastically, and opens the shutters.

Oh.

Her eyes widen subtly, glossing over as she sees inside.

She quickly realizes that she cannot enter.

Because you are...occupied.

Thoroughly occupied.

Gasps escape your lips in fluttery exhales, so quiet and so soft that the outlaw could barely hear. Your arms, daintily motioning under your blanket, are about hidden completely. She almost pities you, right then. Seeing the pure need color your cheeks as you help yourself. Almost frustrated with pleasure.

And her hat. Her damned hat.

Sat dearly next to you, superbly clean. Resting in the same air you breathe out so sweetly, so beautifully. Close enough to see the wetness of your eyes. Feel the warmth of your skin.

The gunslinger heats, hands starting to moisten the inside of her gloves. She swallows.

Her fingers fidget, still clasped around the shutter, as she raises the other hand, already drawn into a fist.

She knocks.

Immediately, a shrill shout escapes you, limbs messily fumbling under the covers and hands frantically grasping them up to your chest.

"Sakes alive!—it's—I—it's you!" you stutter in disbelief.

The gunslinger subtly nods.

"D'you—" you take a breath, having to collect yourself before you talk again. "D'you have any idea what time of night—this is—this is just horse feathers! Just—just showin' up?! I don't even—" you look away, breaths coming out harshly. "I don't even have words for you right now."

"Darlin', I—"

"Don't. And while you're at it—put that—that damn bandanna over your eyes," you say, voice getting a little quieter. "...I'm...indecent."

The outlaw only obeys, hands tugging the bandanna up and over her brow bone. You continue.

"I should've never trusted some—some line rider crook like yourself. My mistake."

She steps forward, hands steadily in front of herself.

"I'm no crook sweetheart, I already told you—"

"I can't trust a crook's word on bein' a crook! You lunk-headed—"

The outlaw interrupts you with her movements, arm extending to snatch her hat and place it on her head. She adjusts it slightly, fingers pinching the brim, before talking.

"Tell me you want me gone. I'll make tracks darlin'. I don't wanna hurt you. I can..." she glances at the window. "...take my hat and go. If it's what you want."

Your body tenses, freezing at the notion.

"That's not what I want." you blurt, anger starting to subside.

The outlaw's voice had you remembering how caged and hot you felt when you first had met her. It was distracting.

"Yeah?" She asks. "Enlighten me then."

You pause, feeling strangely watched despite her vision being blocked by the fabric.

"I want—well, I wanted...you. And I didn't know if—if I'd ever see you again. I couldn't..." your skin colors. "...I couldn't wait."

The only expressive part of her face you could see—her mouth—quirks up into tiny smile.

"You only had to wait a small while longer honey. I was down the road."

Your legs shift under the covers, restless with warmth.

"You can—you can take the bandanna off. I'm...fine now." you utter, still unable to face her directly.

Her hand moves to grab it, before she stops.

"Are you sure? I don't mind—"

"Just take it off." you cut, words even louder.

She finally does, exposing her eyes to you and your bedroom. Her grin widens as she looks at you.

"Not so bristled anymore?" she questions.

Your hands brush up and down your thighs.

"...No."

She tracks your movements closely, eyes flicking.

"...Somethin' else rattlin' you then?" she tries.

You stay silent, simply not able to conjure a clean way to word your thoughts. The outlaw talks again.

"I think I know." she assures. "You weren't quite...done yet, were you? Is that it?"

Hotness blooms, showering your insides in something dangerous and heady. The outlaw won't stop talking.

"You're just—just itchin' for it under there aren't you?" she murmurs.

She sits on your bed, body leaning deftly close to yours. Her head inches near your neck, lips curtly brushing you for a moment.

"...Do you think you'd let me see?" she whispers even lower.

Your feel your eyes abruptly dart up, focusing on hers. Your hand moves meekly, finding her own and guiding it towards you. You draw her under your covers, slowly letting her fingers pad their way down your sternum.

The glove is missing, as you feel her skin on yours, and it causes you jump slightly. You hadn't even seen her take it off.

Her hand is shaky, excited, as she feels your bareness for the first time. It starts to ravage, pulling at the hem of your panties wildly.

Her hat knocks into your forehead as she clutches your neck, bringing your face to hers swiftly.

She takes, mouthing heavily on top of your lips and inside your mouth, groping at your inner thighs. Her hand cups your cunt, forcing a dizzy amount on pressure onto you instantly.

"I—oh," You partly gasp, the outlaw's fingers starting to rhythmically circle your clit without warning. You feel her tongue leave your mouth, start spanning the length of your neck and tasting.

Her hat knocks into your chin this time, tumbling it off her head and onto the mattress. Her teeth start to nip, scattering painfully pleasurable bruises across your skin.

Her body climbs over yours, bulky clothing scratching you as she does so. Her hand still rubs you dearly, fingers now curiously prodding inside.

Your hips start to shift, jittery and wanting, and the gunslinger grinds down with the whole of her bodyweight, thrusting her hand harder against you.

Her hips keep bucking like that, pounding her own hand, with such force that you feel your bed start to wobble.

"That's—hah—I—ohhh—I need—" you breathe, words broken.

"What's that? Gonna have to pop your corn a bit louder darlin'," the outlaw chides, hips only slamming harder and faster as you struggle to talk.

"I'm—ooh—your—your name! Tell me your name!" you exclaim, voice airy.

She grins, eyes fixed. "Williams—Ellie Williams."

A hand moves to your breast, squeezing and tugging in time with her hips. You feel her fingers reach deeper, farther, evoking molten rushes of heat straight from your belly. It's becoming too fast to keep up with.

"El—Ellie—"

She groans, the metal belt buckle she wears knocking even more vigorously against you.

"Again sweetheart. Say it again."

Your eyes are glassy, barely gazing at the figure on top of you. Your legs are clutched around Ellie's waist, taut as the sensation of her fingers overwhelm you. You hear your own voice meander out of your parted lips, unable to really control how you sound.

"Ellie, Ellie, Ellie—oohhhh, Ellie, I'm—" your voice cuts into a moan, high and breathless. You feel your body jerking, an insane amount of energy burning to be released.

"I know poppet, I know. It feels so good, don't it?" she softly speaks into your shoulder.

"Yes, it's—mmm—it's—it's good," you groan, your own hands weakly clawing at her hips to slow down.

It was a tide of sparks, a wave of relief, a terrifying wall of pleasure that hit you so violently, sending you flying and soaring, essentially drifting in the haze of climax.

Your thighs flinch together, knocking inwards even tighter as your body racks with leftover tremors and sparse shivers.

The outlaw just watches.

You both sit silently for a moment, enjoying the stuffy air and sweaty sheets for a while longer.

Her hand departs and snakes into her empty hostler, where she digs for a bit and pulls out a small brown sac.

Her fingers delve into it, bringing out a tiny, tiny flower.

Your face brightens.

"Is that—is that for me?" you ask sweetly.

"Who else?" Ellie says, tucking the flower in between some strands of your hair.

She moves, rolling over to lie down in the spot next to you. She gazes up at the ceiling, face slightly scrunched contemplatively.

"You thinkin' about somethin'?" you quietly ask.

Her head turns to yours.

"No."

But that was a lie. She was thinking hard.

Because the outlaw hasn't given up.

She couldn't steal you tonight. That time has passed.

But tomorrow night?

A rose, she thinks.

I'll bring a rose.

[yes-i-write-fanfiction]

Okay, an Au for the Daemon au! Humans have their own equivalent to Daemons, but its different from Cybertronians. In older times when tech wasn't a thing, sometimes some Metal ore or other mineral ended up becoming a small lifeform connected to the human touching it. In modern times, devices being touched by a Human will on are occasions become a Transforming Robotic lifeform.

Simply put, humans aren't born with their 'Daemons' they are born sometime later in their life, when in contact with either a Metal deposit or a electronic device. So basically the Human's 'daemons' are miniature Transformers.

Not all of them are human level intelligence and are more smart animals then anything.

Raf's Familiar(instead of Daemon, humans call them things like Familiar, shikigami, etc.) Is just a full on Computer Console with a root mode thats a Fusion of a Cat and a Tortoise, called Tora-Mod.

Jack's Familiar was a Electric Fan, but it was eventually able to scan a new alt that was a four Rotor Drone, its Root-mode is a Fennec Fox with a Backpack with two of its four Rotors from its alt-mode are usable. Its name is Fennefan(pun on Finnigan, Fennec+fan).

Miko hasn't Gained her Shikigami(Shikigami being the Japanese term for them, so she can call them that) yet. She keeps a 6 pound metal ball on her person just incase. Though she is often seen with a Wild-One, a large Kitsune who often treats her like her own child, This ones name is Taiyo-miko(literally Sun Priestess). Miko sees her as more a Parent then either of her biological parents.

Fowler's used to be an Old Tin Robot toy before scanning a Drone similar to Fennifan. His Root mode is actually humanoid and has human level intelligence, and speak is Western drawl, even looks like he's a Cowboy. His name is Out-tin(outing, Outlaw, and tin).

June's Used to be a old TV, but scanned an Electric Scooter(moped), and her Root mode is an Artic Fox(yes, a Familiars Root mode can often be hereditary in some way). Her name is Foxtrot. She actually is a Point One Percenter, with a Cryo-laser, so June wasn't Captured by Arachnid, because she was put into statis.

Though, Familiars are capable of reproduction on their own, with out their offspring needing a Human Partner, so earth has a Small 'Cybertronian' population, as the Autobots and Decepticons see it when they first arrive, before learning the truth. 'Wild' Familiars are often more intelligent and powerful, and even larger, then Human-born Familiars. Often having even Mythical creature alt-forms or Root-forms. Wild-ones are basically regular Cybertronians, but they can feed purely on electricity and solar energy and even Biological matter(human food) . Many Wild-Ones are human level intelligence and can speak. Wild-Ones do have some Culture from forming Clans and even towns off away from usual human Towns and Cities.

Honestly, when June ends up being in the inner circle, she definitely brings Baby photos of both Jack and Fennefan because the Autobots become more relatable and easily connected to due to Familiars and Wild-Ones being a common and accepted concept on earth.

Cool idea! I like the thought of mostly random electrical objects suddenly gaining sentience, makes me wonder if people try to influence what their 'daemon' will be by keeping certain electronics close.

[nightclimes]

Bloodstains, by bowblade

Fandom: Overwatch Relationships: Ouihaw (Ashe/Widowmaker) Rating: M Wordcount: 118,214 (27 chapters, complete) A gothic romance Junkenstein-verse fic featuring Countess Widowmaker, a vampire, and Warlock/Little Red Ashe, cursed to be a wolf. Featuring fairy tale curses, pining, falling in love and a defiance of the fate bestowed to you... and vampire bites, of course.

Preview of Chapter 1 and full list of tags/warnings below the read more. Read at AO3.

Thunder looms, and out on the lake through the floor to ceiling window lightning strikes. The room illuminates for but a single solitary moment, but it's enough.

A shock of white hair and flecked deep red on her clothes to match the lipstick on her mouth, and the white of her teeth as the human wolf grins up at her.

"Now that wasn't very nice of you."

Feminine. Werewolf. Bandit. Thief.

"Outlaw," the countess recognises. Another defender of the Door in it for the money, who had vanished into the darkness of the night the moment Adlersbrunn was saved – or to the depths of the dungeons and quite a few vaults, given the immediate spate of petty robbery in the days after, written off as inevitable after zomnics take the town prisoner.

Her doing, as it happens. Her doing still. The outlaw had asked her, once, if she'd run into any thieves, and she'd told her hounds had.

It makes sense now why that doesn't and didn't bother her.

Another crash. Boom, boom, boom, like shotgun pellets. The outlaw does a dignified miniature rolling wave with her good arm, only it's not so good, as she winces and cradles it back toward her body. Her shirt hangs limp across one shoulder, with the majority of it wrapped around her torso, covering her ribs. Even she's surprised by how many scars she has. Wrapped around every bone and healed over, a thorn patch of ivy or roses. Yes, the perfume's odour makes sense, now. She vaguely recollects the fondness with the ink of a vine around her forearm, about the one place that isn't scarred. Clearly, this isn't the first scrape the outlaw hasn't perished in and lived.

No matter how much she heals, the reminder never fades.

It's different to a vampire. Or maybe just the same. The wounds on her neck pulse, faintly, and the countess rolls her shoulder. Regardless of her scars or her underdressed state, that still doesn't explain what exactly she's doing in her chateau and her parlour other than getting blood all over the upholstery.

"Why are you here?"

"Because someone," she labours, clicking her tongue, "shot me."

"I shot the wolf that stalks the town," the countess says cooly, folding her arms as she stalks into the room but stays standing, and the outlaw is still quite at home despite her presence, and she has the gall to shrug. She wonders why she tore her shirt to bandage herself, and not the intact hood and cape, still up over her head. "You are not innocent in this."

"I'm not here to talk innocence," the outlaw sniffs, dismissing her with a flick of her fingers. "I'm here to patch myself up. And I know an opportunity when I see one. I wondered how you'd been keeping since the door incident. So. Whatever scheme you're running, I want in."

[box4brains]

Headcanons incoming!

Mostly concerning Trafalgar Law, but also the world of One Piece as a whole and the Heart Pirates, so…. Spoiler warning?

Law has perfected the art of being both simple and easy to understand while being so complicated and complex about it he’s almost incomprehensible and impossible to figure out. Mostly due to the fact that he gets insanely impacted and influenced by his past. Example;

His favorite food is rice and fried fish, because rice was his favorite food as a kid and his mom would always make a new, delicious rice dish on his birthday (he would request this instead of cake).

Which while it makes sense that rice is a favorite food, grilled/fried fish is less so, because it became a favorite of Laws while Cora-san was dragging him from hospital to hospital. They would often fish and eat it, often slightly burnt and without any seasoning. Still Law loves it, and if he had a sappy bone in his body, he’d probably say “it tastes like love” or something.

Basically, both rice and fish is his favorite food because they are his comfort foods. He’s not aware of that however and would probably never eat it again if he figured it out.

Laws love for comic books heroes (specifically Sora) and his love for medicine stems from the same place. An admiration for people who saves the lives of others. He no longer remembers, but he used to look at his parents with pride and love because in his eyes “they (were) superheroes”.

Flevance was extremely rich and flourishing, and healthcare was free, the notion that someone could die because they couldn’t afford healthcare was a terrible chock for Law and further cemented the idea that the world was a terrible place and didn’t deserve to exist once he escaped after the purge of his homeland.

In fact, a lot of Laws revulsion towards the marines and the government stems from the fact that they “pretend to be Sora but they are Germa”. In other words, he hates any and all pretenses (which is hilarious considering he often plays up how much of a bad guy he is) and will not sugarcoat anything even if his life depended on it.

The creation and sustaining of false fate is the worst crime in his eyes. And while he loves a bunch of people who have done this to him, he doesn’t fully forgive them for it, though he understands. (The nun, his parents and Cora-san are people who hurt him irreparably with their actions and he can’t forgive them for it, but he loves them and understands regardless)

Submarines are forbidden by the world government, that’s why you see so few of them in the one piece world. They were originally made for transport across the calm belt but because they could only be made so big before they became a liability, they are/were extremely expensive to make, they were eventually deemed “not profitable”. And with the discovery of how to build ships that could safely cross the calm belt, submarines were eventually scrapped as a profitable venture by the government, but they are still heavily scrutinized and outlawed in the world as a whole.

It’s ban is so complete that in the original, first copy of “SORA - warrior of the sea”, Sora originally had a yellow submarine, but the copy was later re-released where the sub had been replaced with a yacht-looking ship because the government got their panties in a twist because the “hero” was using an illegal vessel and they didn’t want the public to have any idea about submarines, least of all a favorable impression on them.

Yes, Law painting the Polar Tang yellow is a wink and a nod to the submarine Sora had, and a middle finger to the government. Because the man can not help himself. XD

Law still reads the Sora comic, it releases a new chapter once a month and Law will read it with/to the crew. Think of it as a miniature comic-con, only with your favorite comic and closest friends. They make a whole day out of it, with reenactment of favorite sence and general tomfoolery and partying.

Any member of the crew who isn’t a Sora (or comic)-fan, will become one, it’s inevitable. The entire crew are not all as diehard fans as Law, but they all love and look forward to their monthly little geek-out regardless.

If or when someone on the crew gets seriously hurt, to the point where they are bedridden and passed out in the med bay, Law will generally refuse to leave their side (only exceptions are if they’re still fighting and he’s needed elsewhere, because they won’t make it otherwise).

If Law is tired enough, and nobody else is around, Law will start humming or singing softly to a patient (as long as they aren’t awake at the time). It’s also a subconscious thing that he picked up from his mother, who would sing softly to him and Lami and stoke their hair when they were sick.

The birth of Lami is what made Law decide that he wanted to be a doctor. Nothing traumatic happened, he just thought it was neat.

Law’s father was a genius surgeon, he practically revolutionized the field of heart surgery and more or less invented a surgical technique that saved the lives of hundreds yearly. Law makes sure to keep track of just how many lives it saves, he doesn’t let his crew know why he’s interested in that for specifically this one surgery but they indulge him nonetheless.

White/Amber lead disease kinda makes no sense to me, so I HC it so it makes more sense to me, it’s possibly a bit different from canon, but I figure you can hand wave it away with faulty information because of the limitations of most of the op world not being terribly advanced scientifically.

Basically, what do we know? Flevance got extremely rich from mining a rare metal. Specifically by exporting (selling) it to other countries. The metal was used in practically everything; makeup, jewelry, food. So why did only the people in Flevance get sick? Why didn’t they rest of the world realize it was a case of poisoning and not an actual illness? Why did it take so long for it to take effect? How was it genetic?

Basically, (and I’m not a expert) I HC it as the metal, the ore, is slightly radioactive or something similar. It breaks down the dna of people who come in (prolonged) contact with it and mutates it and from then on, exposure to the metal itself is highly toxic, and someone who has been mutated in this way (or who has at least one biological parent that is at the time of conception) the metal itself stay in their body permanently.

So the metal is not showing any signs of being dangerous to the outside world, the government knows but has given the statement that it’s safe to mine, and people believe that and swallow the propaganda that it’s a dangerous disease wholeheartedly.

It’s why the government helped in the cleanup and destruction of the bodies, because they were only one autopsy away from being exposed.

Law is probably one of the very few people who understands perfectly how the ‘disease’ works and that’s because his devil fruit gives him the information. He knows he’s muted and the only way for him to stay healthy is to make sure that he has little to no contact with the metal and in case he gets it in him, remove it immediately.

There’s no real cure, short of df intervention, and it’s why Law has no interest in fathering children. (As far as Laws concerned, he already has his crew xD)

Law lives vicariously through his crew, in the sense that seeing them happy and healthy is what makes him feel all happy inside. That doesn’t stop him from moaning about them like an angsty teenager with embarrassing parents.

Break, doggo demands walk 😅

[michael-svetbird]

ANTIQVVS Magazine Winter 2025 Issue is out now featuring my article 'Roman Bronzes: Perfection in Miniature' and other syllogistic illustrated articles: ▶️ A New Belted Hero Statuette in the Sol Rabin Collection ▶️ From the Black Stuff - Roman Jet Objects from Britain and Western Europe ▶️ The Cult of Personality - Multifaceted Coercion, Popular Illusion ▶️ Outlaw: The Dark Legacy of Michel van Rijn ▶️ Madinat al-Zahra: Radiant Capital of Islamic Spain ▶️ The Duel in the Crown - Byzantine Emperors Who Threw Down the Gauntlet

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[ye-olde-sodor]

Engine Hierarchy (Revamp!)

So It’s been a while since I’ve talked about my Dream Canon au, and looking back at some of my previous posts, I say it’s time for a revamp! The History is still the same as last time, but I've adjusted how the system works. Let’s look at how the Engine Caste System works and look at the tiers from the bottom up! If you have any questions, please don't be shy to ask me!

The Undesirables: At the unofficial bottom of the pyramid, we have The Undesirables, which is an unbrella term used to classify engines that no one wants. Scrap Engines are, well, scrap. They're either too old or worn to work, or are just too expensive to maintain. Deviants, on the other hand, are engines who refuse to work and/or follow the Hierarchy. If a Deviant Engine commits a crime, they become an Outlawed engine. If an engine is a knock off of another (Think of Henry) then they're an Off Brand Engine.

The Shunters: The Shunter Class is pretty self explanatory. Smaller engines or engines who are tasked with arranging trains for Workers and Express. Shunters are the most common engine that Preserved Engines purchased. They're typically seen as "cute" or "tiny" and "Adorable" because they usually come in a variety of sizes and appear younger then how old they actually are (save for larger shunters like the E2s who show their age). They're seen as the weakest engines, so they're at the bottom of the System (but are above Undesirables).

The Workers: This class, like the Undesirables, is an umbrella term used to describe a variety of engines. Mixed Traffic Engines, Narrow Gauge, Miniature Gauge, Goods Engines, etc all fall under this category. Unlike the Shunter Class, the Working Class can rise up to become an Express Engine if they're Standard Gauge.

The Express: Is the most simplistic out of all the Classes. Express Engines are high speed, high strength, and high importance engines. They pull their respective railways Express services and rarely, if ever, do any other work. These engines are seen as the ones who are in charge of the yard (a second in command to the Controllers). All engines below the Express Engines are incline to obey them, but they can only obey certain commands. For example, An Express Engine can't command a Worker to take or deliver another Engine's train. Only the Controller can do that. Express Engines can, however, command other Engines to prepare their trains for them. (Think of how Thomas prepares Gordon's Coaches for him).

The Controllers: Unlike the other engine classes, the Controller Class isn't technically part of the hierarchy because they're human, but they're in charge of all the engines on their railways, so they were given a place in the pyramid. Engines hold their Controllers to a high regard, and typically obey and follow their rules and do their jobs without any argument. Controllers are, while just as powerful as Preserved engines, are still seen as beneath these elite engines. This is because Controllers don't represent the progress towards engine rights the same way the Preserved engines do. In every scenario, engines will obey the Preserved Engines over their own Controller!

The Preserved: Finally, at the very top, we have the preserved Engines. The Preserved consists of the elite engines who have made history, and have the most power overall. Each engine has their own family tree, similar to how we have our families. Engines typically have a Monarch, a representative of their family and their engine class. These Monarchs are part of the engine elite and are preserved, placing them at the top. For example, Flying Scotsman was the Monarch of the Gresley engine family before Mallard took his place.

Main Questions:

What's the History of the Hierarchy? There was a hierarchy established among the machines in the 1880s, but it was never as large or influential as it currently is. It was never recognized by humans until the Nationalization of British Railways in 1914, where it was briefly mentioned but didn't become law. This gave it more legitimacy with the engines, and it was regularly enforced among them. It was officially recognized by the British Government as law with The Railways Act of 1921 years later.

In the year 1926, British Governments and BR decided that only the preserved engines would have the most power as a means to test what would happen if machines had human rights and privileges (money, bank accounts, inheritances, lawyers, basically most of the stuff that humans have.) This, in turn, caused engines to enforce the system religiously. Anyone who disagrees with the Hierarchy is seen as a traitor or someone who wants to undermine the rights of their fellow Engines.

What happens to the Undesirable Engines? It depends on the type of Undesirable. Scrap ends up in Scrapyards. Deviants and Outlaws can end up in one or two places, Scrapyards to work or be scraped there or are sent to one of the many Correctional Facilities that were established by Mallard Gresley. These facilities are meant to re-educate engines on how to properly work and address superiors. Off-Brand Engines are typically frowned upon, and are seen as lower then the lowest engine (or Sub-Engine), and are treated like trash. It's not uncommon for engines to stage an accident to take the life of an Off-Brand Engine.

Can Engines move up in the System? Technically, they can. Any engine, in theory, can become preserved if the odds are with them. Engines, however, cannot move up the system if they weren’t build for a job (a Shunter can't become an Express Engine). The higher the Class, the harder (if not impossible) it is to get there. All Engines below the Controller Class cannot purchase other engines, as only the Preserve can do so.

Do certain engines rank higher then others? Yes! Diesels and Electric engines are above Steam engines since they’re new and ✨Revolutionary✨ Aside from the Preserved and Controllers, The newer engines belong at the top!

If I missed any other questions, feel free to ask me about them!

[soulmuppet]

With Afterburn we wanted to expand the wider universe of Orbital Blues, while keeping it easy to run. Rogue Anthems will feature a series of pamphlet adventures from various writers, all bundled up in a suitably retro VHS case!

We Built This City on .repeat() by @WriterBlades

Colonising and commercialising entire planets? Abandoning androids to complex urban planning? What could possibly go wrong...

Hard Vacuum, Cold Feet by Connor Shearwood

When the last attempt to build a miniatured Van Keer gate blew up an entire planet, Articulated Spacetime were quick to blame and fire the scientists "responsible". Word is, the corps kept the prototype and collateral wont stop progress

Nameless, Aimless by @RatWaveGH

Two deadly gangs, both alike in notoriety and severity. In fair Nameless, where we lay our scene. From The Gamblers and the Tin Stars Where empty hands make empty hearts unclean

They Laurel The Graves of the Dead by @mytholder

If you're in need of urgent medical attention without the attention (and cost) a mainline hospital brings then the ex-warship turned Outlaw hospital Charon is the place you want. Just don't mind the radioactivity warnings ...

Timawa Graffiti by @makapatag

When a terraformed planet turned mega resort no longer proves profitable the corporations responsible for hosting and maintaining it quickly left. Now something stirs in the forest, something that wants so dearly to be free.

Voidlock Tombstone by @JellyMuppet

A dramatic race against time to plunder a crashed ship before the gold rush begins.

From our stretch goals!

@jessfromonline takes us aboard a family-vault meets star-train. Gather your crew, find a way in. and bring back the bounty.

@SpitefulMoth asks when will you take from the successes of others and use it for your own gain?

[redladydeath]

how i order my personal evillious playlist

Worldplay

Watching Us

The Frog’s And My Love Romance

Barisol’s Child is an Only Child

Bloodstained Switch

Prophet Merry-Go-Round

Queen of the Glass

Project Ma

Escape of Salmhofer the Witch

Moonlit Bear

Ma Survival

The Whereabouts of the Miracle

Recollective Music Box

The Song I Heard Somewhere

Tale of Abandonment on a Moonlit Night

Chrono Story

The Lunacy of Duke Venomania

The Portrait Glassred Drew

The Flower of the Plateau

Evil Food Eater Conchita

Drug of Gold

Red Shoe Parade

Neomaria of the Inverted Gravestone

Swear an Oath on that Bridge

That King was Born from Mud

A Hero’s Armor is Always Crimson

Twiright Prank

The Daughter of Evil

The Servant of Evil

Regret Message

The Daughter of White

Tree Maiden ~Millennium Wiegenlied~

Blink

Handbeat Clocktower

The Journey of Two Mages ~Great Wall and Watchman~

The Letter She Kept Waiting For

Clockwork Lullaby

Gift from the Princess who Brought Sleep

Fifth Pierrot

Wendy

The Tailor of Enbizaka

The Weathered Head at Onigashima

The Flames of the Yellow Phosphorus

Full Moon Laboratory

And Then the Girl Went Man -Ending Tale on a Moonlit Night-

The Last Revolver

The Contradictory Grim the End

Miniature Garden Girl

Judgement of Corruption

The Muzzle of Nemesis

Heartbeat Clocktower

Lu Li La, Lu Li La, The Resounding Song

Evils Forrest

The Master of the Graveyard

Ending Boy Hansel

Genesis Girl Gretel

Evils Court

The Master of the Court

Capriccio Farce

The Master of the Hellish Yard

Seven Crimes and Punishments

The Master of the Heavenly Yard

Re_birthday

The Song of the Third Period

At the End of a Millennium Vow

Waltz of the Departed

Outlaw & Marionette

Banica Concerto!!

GrEAT Joruney

The Blind Girl and the Angel

The Song of the Cowardly Black Bird

White Brick and Black Mourning Dress

Atelier Horloge

The Twin Rabbits Cometh and Play Their Flute

Sister Clarith’s Curious Night

The Messengers of the Infinity Mirrors

The Steel Lady, Rilia-Renée

Fictional Masquerade

Torture Tower Doesn’t Sleep

The Karma of Evil Will Not End

Madam Merry-Go-Round

Screws, Gears, and Pride

Desert Bluebird

Unlock Blackbox

Ten Minutes Love

To You of Few Words

South North Story

*You Only Have to Double Jump and Halfblood are not included because they were made for other properties and appear to be entirely disconnected from Evillious. Fictional Masquerade would also be excluded if it weren't referenced by Rilia-Renée.

[tzekkaz]

Model showcase: Deserter Kapitan and Outlaw slingers

The deserter Kapitan is a fearsome individual who has proved himself as both a leader and formidable fighter. He has abandoned his paymaster and recruited his own band of followers.

Deserter Kapitan

The deserter Kapitan is from Footsore miniatures, he is listed on the Footsore website as a gamekeeper, but in the description of the Outlaw retinue set as a one eyed outlaw. When working out my list there were no rules for a gamekeeper or an outlaw with a crossbow so I decided to use him as a deserter kapitain who can be equipped with crossbow.

The process of painting him was fairly easy, I chose colours that blended in a bit with the rest of the outlaws but made him stand out as being different so I used less earthy greens and added in some blue on his trousers.

Forest slingers were skilled at bringing down game with their slings. A sling was favoured by outlaws as they were cheap to make and ammunition was plentiful.

Forest Slingers

Forest Slingers

There is not a lot to say about the forest slingers, I painted them in earthy tones, much like the other outlaw models. They were fairly trouble-free. They are the last of my models for Baron's war at the moment and the final models for my 500 point Outlaw retinue.

Until next time

Happy hobbying !

[cantsayidont]

February-March 1953. A recurring motif in Golden Age Batman stories is a specific type of demimonde, where the institutions of respectable society are mirrored in the world of criminals and outlaws. For example, in David Vern Reed's "Outlaw Town, U.S.A.!" (BATMAN #75, above), the old mining town of Silver Vein, "in the mountains near Death Valley," has become a haven for 2,000 gangsters and wanted men, taking advantage of an old law allowing self-governance without state interference. This libertarian environment is not only a hideout, but has developed a booming local economy, full of hotels, casinos, and shops of all kinds. As a narrative caption notes, "Yes, Silver Vein has everything--newspapers, hotels, restaurants, theatres--everything but law!"

In the 1943 story "License for Larceny" (DETECTIVE COMICS #72), by Joe Samachson, J. Spencer Larson, a respectable and seemingly legitimate investment broker, has created a complete miniature ecosystem of law, capital, civil government, taxation, and criminal justice: As "Larry the Judge," he requires other criminals to purchase licenses to commit crimes, taxes them a percentage of their loot, and hires an army of uniformed men to enforce these rules. Those accused of violating the "law" must stand trial, with Larson presiding as judge, and pay a fine — or worse.

The story explains that Larson has established this setup by using funds from his investment clients (which include Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson) to pay his men, and then using his cut of the crimes committed under his licenses to pay impressive dividends to investors — whom he promptly arranges to have robbed! It's a potent piece of satire: capital as extortion and outright theft, where the only real difference between a gangland enforcer and a cop is the uniform, and the idea of economic mobility is largely a fiction to line the pockets of those in power. Just like the real world, in other words!

While Larson demonstrates no particular remorse, it was fairly common for Golden Age Batman stories, especially in the 1940s, to present characters caught in these demimondes as conflicted or tragic figures. The most familiar (and most extreme) example is Two-Face, first seen in DETECTIVE COMICS #66, who teeters between respectable society and the underworld on the flip of a coin, but there were others as well, like Matthew Thorne, the Crime Doctor (or Crime Surgeon, as he's called in his second appearance), "doctor of medicine...and doctor of crime!!" First seen in DETECTIVE COMICS #77 and probably inspired by the 1938 Warner Bros. film adaptation of Barré Lyndon's THE AMAZING DR. CLITTERHOUSE, starring Edward G. Robinson, Thorne is a respectable surgeon who can't resist the thrill of crime. He establishes a "Crime Clinic" where he offers "prescriptions" to help other crooks with their rackets, occasionally making "house calls" to assist directly in exchange for half the loot — essentially a variation on Larry the Judge's racket.

In his second appearance in BATMAN #18 (above), Thorne has lost his medical license, but he can't entirely ignore his Hippocratic Oath, actually performing surgery to save Robin's life after the Boy Wonder is shot by one of Thorne's men. He's eventually killed by another of his men, whose sick wife Thorne had promised but failed to save. In these stories, the overlap between worlds is not sustainable (except for Batman and Robin), and generally must be resolved by either regeneration or death.

While fighting crime was of course the central preoccupation of the Batman strip, one can also see variations of the demimonde motif in other types of Golden Age Batman stories, in particular the various excursions into the fantastical. Neither the Mars of "Batman, Interplanetary Policeman!" nor the 31st Century of Brane Taylor is an underworld, although they do of course have crime for Batman and Robin to fight, but settings like those have certain similarities with the strip's various criminal demimondes: They are worlds complete unto themselves; they are in some way cloistered; and Batman and Robin's access to them is relatively unique within the narrative. In some cases, even the characters who facilitate that access don't share it; for example, Professor Carter Nichols is not aware of Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson's secret identities, and, with a few exceptions, isn't privy to the details of the time-travel adventures he sends them on.

In this respect, the principal failing of the weird aliens and bizarre transformations of the early Silver Age Batman stories was not so much that the fantastical aspects were necessarily out of place, but that they were no longer presented as secret, miniature worlds Batman and Robin were privileged to access. Aliens and visitors from the future would just land in downtown Gotham City in broad daylight — visible to everyone, and thus no longer special, or even particularly interesting, just as an ordinary small town is far less interesting than "Outlaw Town, U.S.A.!"

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: "Still Here in Spirit"

This week's promo fic is just a bit of a missing moment/divergence from early season five. I was feeling a bit of angst at the end of 5x02 when Emma was left outside the diner watching the rest of her family together, and I think this was mostly born out of that feeling. I've always had a bit of a soft spot for this little one shot, and here's hoping you may enjoy it too....

Summary: Though Emma cannot be with him as he wonders just what wrong makes his love keep her distance, Killian and all her family and friends still keep the Savior close to their hearts...

Can also be read on AO3 or ff.net if that is your preference...

by: @snowbellewells

Chuckling good naturedly in spite of himself from where he leans casually against the staircase railing in Regina Mills' spacious foyer, Killian Jones watches the festive bustling and last minute preparations before the Hood-Mills-Charming families can head out on the streets of Storybrooke trick or treating. He had truly held no interest in the odd modern day custom of dressing up in unusual garb and wandering the streets begging others for sweets. Of the many strange and ridiculous-seeming practices he has been introduced to in this realm, this so-called "Halloween" seems to be one of the most ludicrous.

However, when Henry had looked at him hopefully, urging his mother's boyfriend to join them on this nighttime excursion, Killian found he could not deny the lad. There is a certain expression Swan's boy possesses – fervent, wide-eyed and engaging – that reminds him so much of Emma that day Storybrooke had been on the brink of destruction and she had looked straight into his soul and urged him to be a part of something, that he is hard-pressed to deny Henry anything, despite what his original inclinations might be. Though his weary soul had balked at laughing with light heart and playfully making merry when his love was out there somewhere, alone, cloaked in darkness and lost in her bitterness at wrongs the rest of them cannot remember committing, watching the group straightening each other's outfits, gathering Roland and little Neal's baskets for candy, and warmly trying to enjoy what they can of this moment of relative calm – even if one of their number is missing – makes him smile through the twinges of pain.

Reaching out affectionately to straighten Henry's green woolen cape and then the quiver slung over his shoulder, Killian feels the corners of his mouth pull up in a reluctant but sincere smile at the picture the boy paints in his get-up with his assorted motley band of outfitted family. There had been heated debate whether Henry should dress as knight like his Gramps or a pirate like his adopted stepfather until the boy had eventually settled the dispute by dressing like Robin as a bandit of the forest. His other surrogate parent had tried to appear casual about it, but the glimmer in his eyes as he loaned his old cape and quiver had given away how flattered he was, not to mention the Queen's grin of joyful satisfaction and the couple rogue tears she had brushed away. It warmed Killian's ancient pirate heart as well, even though he had lost out on having a miniature double for the night's festivities.

The boy gives him a nod of thanks, and pirate and young prince's eyes meet for a charged moment of bittersweet understanding, both knowing Emma should be there with them and yet not wanting to voice how much her absence hurts. Not wanting to speak sadness into an evening that is trying to enjoy the good moments.

Then, with a steadying hand on the lad's shoulder, Killian vows to follow him and make sure this "Outlaw of Storybrooke Forest" rapidly becoming a young man enjoys himself tonight. Emma would wish it, and someday – he swears to himself – he will tell her about tonight's hijinks, and her parents dressed as Bonnie and Clyde (whoever they might be) with Regina and Robin as Romeo and Juliet in tow. Little Roland looks a bit out of place in their group dressed as a "minion" – which Henry had explained was in some moving picture the little lad had just seen – and bouncing around the rest of them as if he simply cannot wait another moment from them to be off.

The night progresses beautifully, with laughter and smiles that Killian knows he will hold in his memory for years to come. Being drawn into and accepted as part of a family, and necessary for its happy celebrations, was a gift he had long since forgotten and never expected to be a part of again. Yet, he cannot help wishing Emma could be here with them, looking on proudly as Henry takes care to see that Roland doesn't get too far ahead and become lost, that his little uncle is given his fair share of their sugary haul, and constantly glancing back at the group of adults who love him as if making sure that they too are happy and content. His Swan would be so proud of the good heart and concern for others her son continues to show, despite moving into those sometimes troublesome teenage years. He wishes so fervently that she was there beside him, her small, strong hand slipped into his, her head laid gently on his shoulder, just barely leaning into his side as they walk, that his hand clenches into a tight fist at the absence. Those easy, safe, and comfortable times together seem so far removed now from the cold distance that the Darkness has formed between them.

Still, there are many good moments too: Granny and Ruby offering wolf-shaped cookies and hot chocolate to all those who come to their door, with Ruby smirking and shooting a playful wink to he, Snow and Charming from beneath the painted wolf face and ears she wears atop her dark curls and asking, "Well, what else would I be for Halloween?" with a playful giggle; Belle meeting every child at the door to the library all lit up with carved pumpkins in each window, eager to give them a handpicked book of their very own, and taking a moment to slip a gilt-edged paperback into his hand as well. "It's The Princess Bride," she whispers surreptitiously to him with a sympathetic smile. "Emma mentioned how much she liked it once, and when I re-read it, I knew that you would appreciate it too, Killian."

By the time the group reaches the mines where the dwarves and fairies are giving lighted tours of the caves and sending their guests off for home with hot apple cider to warm their hands and stomachs, Killian is truly feeling cheered – if only at the happiness of those around him and the comfort of being welcomed wholeheartedly into their midst. When he parts ways with Henry and the rest of Emma's loved ones at the loft, savoring the hug Henry gives him before bounding after Regina, Robin, and Roland to get back to their house and go through all his candy, and possibly holding on a bit too tightly to the lad for just a moment, he pauses in the street lights' glow, peering into the night and mulling his next course of action.

Eventually he turns back toward the Jolly Roger and the docks, walking slowly and trying to keep himself from whispering Emma's name into the quiet evening. He knows that bringing her to him when she is not herself will only bring him more pain; their last encounter in his private quarters had taught him that lesson all too well. However, as he boards his beloved ship, strides across the deck and comes to stand by the wheel, gazing up at the clear night's multitude of stars, he does leave her a small remembrance. "I know you're out there somewhere, Love," he whispers to the breeze. "I cannot hold you tonight as I desire, but you were never far from all of our minds. Enjoy your Halloween treat."

He slips below quickly, knowing that tangling wits and words with her now will only make things worse. Head bowed, he can only hope she will sense how much he misses her in the gesture and that she – the real Emma - will feel a moment of his care. The captain has entered his cabin, leaning against the closed door and praying desperately that she is not lost in torment somewhere with no one beside her, when on the deck above him, a swirl of magical smoke clears, and Emma appears by the ship's wheel, a tentative, tiny smile upon her lips. Picking up the still-hot cup of cider he has left for her there, she takes a sip and imagines that the warmth spreading through her at first swallow is from him being able to hold her close once more. For now, it is the only treat they can allow themselves… so she closes her eyes, thinks of him, and tries to let it be enough.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @laschatzi @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic @lfh1226-linda @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @stahlop @sotangledupinit @justanother-unluckysoul @drowned-dreamer @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @blackwidownat2814 @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @booksteaandtoomuchtv @kazoosandfannypacks @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight

[thewadapan]

Robot Jox - it's Starship Troopers meets Pacific Rim, I guess?

A blu-ray for a film I've never heard of with a fetching mecha cover crossed my path the other day. Released in 1990 with an apparent mission statement to bring the Saturday-morning The Transformers cartoon to the big screen in live-action, Robot Jox had a production reportedly rife with tension between Vietnam-vet The Forever War author Joe Haldeman, who wanted to make an intelligent anti-war film, and director Stuart Gordon, who wanted to make a silly movie about robots punching each other. But in their epic mechanoid face-off, who came out on top? Fire your rocket-powered fist at the "Keep reading" button to keep reading and find out!

A surprisingly-charming halfheartedly-narrated intro tells us what's going on: after nuclear holocaust wrecks the planet, war is outlawed, with the US and Russia fielding "jockies" to duel in giant robots to settle disputes instead. Our protagonist, undefeated cynical misogynist Achilles, is pitted against Alexander, a bloodthirsty champion who kills everyone he defeats.

Any giant robot story lives or dies on the quality of its giant robot fight scenes, whether it's the incomprehensible mechanical mayhem of Michael Bay's Transformers films, the comic-book heroics of The Iron Giant, or men in cardboard suits punching the shit out of each other in Power Rangers. Unfortunately, Robot Jox is a mixed bag in this regard. Shots achieved with puppetry or miniatures generally look pretty solid, with a practical-effect weightiness that's often missing in modern features. Shots done with stop-motion, which unfortunately comprise a significant portion of each fight, probably looked bad at the time and look rubbish now.

Not counting the brief prologue, the film is bookended by just two giant-robot fights, with a few out-of-robot training scenes or scuffles padding out the runtime between them. On a shoestring budget, this was really the only option, but that doesn't make it good. The problem with all of these fights is a completely boneheaded lack of choreography; they feel like fights directed by someone who's never even seen so much as a boxing match. Although the intermediary fight between protagonist Achilles and designated woman Athena does manage some remarkable chemistry between them, their actual motions are so slow and awkward that it looks like they're in giant robots then, too.

I think one of the things I most enjoyed about this movie, which I am almost tempted to call deliberate, was how frequently it would lull me into a false sense of security with long scenes populated by brainless stereotypes and sci-fi clichés, only to then hit me with something marginally clever. It felt like the movie wanted me to view it as dumb schlock, so that it could actually leave an impression on me with the moments it viewed as important. I sometimes find this approach more effective than stories which want you to think that every single beat is capital-I Important.

For instance, during the aforementioned fight between Achilles and Athena, it starts because Athena shows up at Achilles' door late at night, ostensibly to wish him luck before the big match and thank him for some token gift he gave her earlier. It's implied she's going to undress, and for a second I genuinely was suckered into thinking she was going to have sex with him, because that's just the kind of movie this is. But then she pulls out a dart gun she's got stashed in her shirt and tries to sedate him. Obviously, that's a cliché all of its own, but I felt like I could never be sure exactly which level of badness the film was operating on. At the end of the fight, Achilles manages to pin Athena down on the bed, and in a moment of frustration, implicitly admits to her that the only reason he agreed to come back for the final match was to spare her from having to take his place as America's champion. She appears shocked, and there's a tender (?) moment between them, and he tries to kiss her, and then she kicks him in the balls and scurries out of the room while he writhes on the floor. (Incidentally, I loved the way he escapes after she locks him in: by remotely controlling his flying car outside and driving it through the bedroom wall.)

You also see this technique being used on a thematic level. One of the film's subplots involves genetically-modified humans, bred through eugenics to be the strongest warriors ever; Athena is one of these. Very early on, you might think the film is unironically doing eugenics. Then, you might think it's doing eugenics satirically; sure, these guys are super-soldiers, but they're fucked-up none-people borne of a moral deficiency in their society. But no, what the film actually lands on is that the government is doing eugenics, but it just kind of doesn't work: in one of the film's better scenes, Athena describes studying Achilles' unconscious body, to try and work out what the difference is supposed to be between them; what makes him the ultimate champion, and perhaps by extension, what makes her a genetically-superior paragon. "But there's nothing special about your body," she concludes, "so what makes you different?"

The gender politics of this film aren't exactly facile, but they're definitely of-a-kind with typical '80s male feminism, where you have a strong female character who challenges traditional concepts of femininity by adopting masculine physical traits—short hair, a toned body, a sharp tongue and willingness to fight—and surround her by men who are sexist towards her, so that you can ultimately have her prove them wrong, albeit while also partaking in unironic objectification because that's how you sell tickets. Towards the start, before the film's actual beliefs start to become apparent, the relentless sexual harassment is miserable to watch.

I think what ultimately won me over is that Athena is genuinely a stronger character than many female leads are even in modern films. She has a ton of agency, constantly outperforms and outsmarts the men, and has a character arc all of her own, as she is confronted with the brutal reality of a fight to the death. Although Achilles does ultimately replace her partway through the final battle, and she acknowledges him by finally kissing him, the film doesn't make the mistake of showing Achilles to be the better fighter: rather, it's obvious throughout the film that Alexander is unmatched, because he alone has the raw killer instinct needed to win. Neither of them can beat him, and that's a good thing! Reflecting on this film from perhaps a more sexually puritan era—at least in terms of mainstream media—the unabashed horniness is honestly refreshing, in a way.

In both scenes of chauvinist bravado, or of bitter contemplation, the film iterates on themes of luck, fear, and bravery. Tex Conway, the character who embodies these ideals, a former jox turns coach, is slowly deconstructed as the plot unfolds. He starts out as a leering racist in a cowboy hat, albeit ostensibly perhaps with a little bit of home-grown vim and intuition... and slowly is revealed to be a calculating coward. I loved the way he uses racist rhetoric to shift suspicion onto the team's Japanese engineer, Matsumoto. And I particularly loved the scene where Matsumoto accuses him in private. It's obvious through the performances that Matsumoto can't quite believe it, can't quite bring himself to shoot Tex... a moment of weakness Tex is eager to take advantage of, just as he was in his famous final bout as a jox. The "luck" Tex loves to talk about turns out to have just been cheating, the Russians having deliberately exposed their own weak point to him in order to buy his loyalty for long-term plans. As a villain, he's surprisingly multifaceted: Matsumoto begs him, "There was a time when you were like Achilles—a proud soldier. We always remain all the people we've been. The oldest man... has a child inside him. Somewhere inside you, is the real Tex Conway." This plea seems, for just a moment, to make Tex contemplate suicide, before he doubles down and shoots Matsumoto dead. I viewed this as a moment of cowardice in the moment, but ironically, when Tex does eventually take his own life, this too reads as the ultimate act of a coward: once his secret is exposed, he chooses to die rather than face judgement.

People have criticised this movie for its very surface-level worldbuilding, but I honestly liked how little the movie developed most of its sci-fi ideas. You could wring a lot more boring cliché narrative beats out of the genetic-engineering subplot, but what would be the point? The film manages to tell you everything it wants you to know about its sci-fi dystopia in a single shot: Achilles clutching a mask to his face, as he walks past a propaganda poster of a naked, heavily-pregnant woman carrying a crash helmet, big text identifying her as a JOX. For context, there's never been a female jox before, and Tex won't ever allow one. In this post-fallout world, women are reduced down to their bodies, their reproductive apparatus, out of a perverse nationalistic desire for the population to boom once more—America loves a big boom, after all. Opening intro aside, the movie avoids exposition almost entirely, never patronising the viewer by outright stating what it is we're watching with our own eyes.

During the final mecha fight, there's an almost inexplicable scene where Achilles blasts his mech off into space, and Alexander follows him. I wondered: holy shit, are they going to punch each other up in orbit? No, wait, is Achilles going to fly halfway around the globe and crash-land his mech into the Russian government, starting a new world war? Sadly, neither of these beats come to transpire; they simply touch back down in the arena again, so the only possible explanation for the scene's inclusion I can think of is that they simply wanted to evoke the visual of ICBMs. It's this scene, above all the others, which I imagine writer Haldeman cringing at most when seeing the finished product for the first time. Perhaps there is something inherently misguided about wanting to tell a hard-sci-fi war story using a film constructed entirely from childish spectacle, but there can be no doubt that Haldeman's more thoughtful contributions in the script are the only things which give this movie life.

Ironically, of all the fights in the film, it turns out to be the one where Achilles and Alexander shed their robotic armour that winds up being most compelling. The film is often remarkably sparing with its soundtrack, allowing scenes to pass with only diegetic sound, but this one in particular is marked by the hollow sounds of fighting, two men grunting and swinging rebar at one another, landing clumsy blows or missing wildly. At a few points in the film, the camera likes to slowly tilt up and frame Alexander from a low angle, causing him to loom like a giant robot himself, and this technique recurs as Alexander nearly triumphs over Achilles. Then Achilles turns the tables, and they are left exhausted, Alexander reduced to clutching a rock with which to bash Achilles' skull in.

The physical rawness with which Achilles shouts, "We can both live!", belongs in a different, better movie entirely. It's phenomenal. It isn't phenomenal because I've just watched over an hour of corny dialogue with uncertain delivery. It's phenomenal despite that, entirely on its own terms, an objectively great line read exploding with frustration and understanding and desperation all at once.

This impassioned rejection of the nationalism that traps the characters in the film makes for a powerful thematic conclusion, an exclamation point at the end of a clumsy but well-meaning sentence. I admire the film for taking a deconstructive approach, full of bitterness and irony, and yet choosing to end not with a moment of horrified realisation, but on a note of unambiguous sincerity.

Although Pacific Rim is undoubtedly the better film by most objective metrics, I hardly remember what happened in that film, and don't believe it had anything of substance to communicate. I'm sure it was fun to watch in a way Robot Jox cannot come close to matching, but of the two, I find myself far more endeared towards this earlier effort.

Robot Jox definitely isn't a good movie, and in fact I'd say there's no reason at all to watch it—unless, like me, you're a hardcore Transformers fan who's tired of the uninspired stories Hasbro has been pursuing for the last few years, and you want a fix of something with a smidge of interest. For an audience who was bored of the Cold War and of the Transformers by 1990, there's little to like here... but for someone who finds those things to still be compelling, this is a pretty faithful realisation of the vibe.

also yes one of the robots literally has a chainsaw dick it rules

Rating: 5/10

If you enjoyed this review, you can find more like it over on my Letterboxd account.

[storm-breaker7]

I wondering if you can do a Crosshair Cowboy X Female Reader. Crosshair Outlaw and the reader is a singer at a bar he goes to and he falls in love with her.

Fr kicking my legs and giggling 🤭

Second Round of Whiskey

Summary: After a night of drinking and singing, your drunken self gets taken home by an odd man.

Warnings: pet names, swearing, guns, knives, alcohol, smoking,

A/n: The picture isn't mine. Got it off Pinterest and it belongs to @shyranno do check them out (thank you for reminding me those 2 ppl in the comments). I'm sorry I took forever to finish this, I got the rona and English is a pain. (don't come after me. I know that ppl were broke in the 1850s but... this is my fic >:I)

Edit: Omg- this is my first time writing for crosshair and I was not expecting it to go this well! I can't believe I got this much praise in like 2 hours... Like 😳 you silly goofy crosshair simps this up, what am I saying 🤭 thank you again guys ❤️‍🩹

The wind howls outside but inside the saloon is buzzing with life. The piano practically playing itself, My guitar along with it. Even when the saloons swinging doors collided with the wood behind it, everyone still sang and danced, to sloshed to notice.

Seven figures entered, one miniature and one towering. All of them shuffled past the drunk crowd and took a booth for themselves.

The cool night air drifted in, and everyone hollered as the song ended. There was a pause as me and the pianist figured out the next song. Many of the customers drifted off to find themselves another drink before the next song.

My eyes drifted around as I took a long sip from my glass of water. I locked my eyes with one of the figures that entered just a minute ago. He was a bit lanky but certainly hotter than many of the men that were in this saloon.

I cleared my throat and waited for the piano to start playing. Slowly I joined in, my voice echoing in the large saloon. As the hours passed, many drunk men stumbled out of the saloon and as the night started to get lighter, everything calmed down.

I sighed and sipped away at my whiskey, zoning out. A chair beside me creaked on the hardwood floor and I glanced over to the oddly familiar man beside me.

"Your singing wasn't too bad" He spoke up from behind the brim of his glass. I hummed and smiled,

"I like to think that I'm not the worst out there."

He glanced at me, "Crosshair" I raised a brow at him, and he rolled his eyes, "M' name"

"Ah, had me lost there for a minute" I chuckled, "Nickname that became a name I'm guessing?"

"You could say that" He shrugged, staring at his golden liquor.

"Well... Crosshair," I pause and wave my hand slightly, my name falling from my loosened lips as I introduce myself. He repeated it and boy did it sound wonderful coming from him.

"'S a decent name" He mumbled, quickly downing the rest of his drink.

I giggled -my drinks only just starting to kick- taking another sip of my whiskey, "Where are your friends anyway?"

"What?" He asked sharply, prickling like an angry cat.

"Coulda Sworn they left a while back... why? They leave ya here?" I continue, slumping against him. I threw the last bit of my whiskey down and fumbled as I put the glass down.

He sighed plucking the coin out of my hand before I could even call for another drink. "You've had enough, doll, let's get you out of here."

In a blur I'm back in my room blinking away sleep only to feel a big headache strike me. I groan and fall against my bed again. A few loud bangs echo through the halls of my house and I shoot up out of the bed. Hushed and muffled voices argue from somewhere downstairs.

Much to my regret, the pounding in my head returns but I push it to the side, grabbing my knife as I creep down my stairs. I raise my hand as I whip into my kitchen only to find a barrel of a revolver pointed at my nose.

As soon as it was there it was gone, and I dragged my gaze up from the revolver and to the towering figures crowded in my kitchen. "Who the fuck are you?" I wave my knife toward the men and then hold my gaze on the lean man, 'Crosshair', whom I met last night.

"You let us in" He spoke up, hooking his thumbs on his gun belt.

I rubbed my head, my knife lowering to my side, "I barely remember anything after my second round of whiskey..."

Crosshair hummed, his gaze lowering for a moment, "Well in that case we need introductions... again."

A toothpick rolled his mouth as his brothers each introduced themselves before a girl no older than thirteen came out from behind 'Wrecker' and introduced herself as 'Omega'.

I place the knife on my wooden countertop and pull out a smoke from the opened pack. The flick of a match sounded, in amongst the chatter & banter from the others, appearing in front of the smoke.

Our gazes locked and I gave Crosshair a thankful dip of my head, trying to keep eye contact as I- he lights the smoke. I break our staring contest, seemingly crumbling under his gaze.

I take a deep drag of the smoke, breathing it out my nose as I turn to everyone else. "I'll make breakfast" I announce, shooing them out of the kitchen. I B-line for the cupboard, grabbing the wrapped-up meats and grabbing seven eggs. "Can you start the stove for me?" I ask and hear an audible sigh before his boots clacked on the wood floors.

For the next half hour, I prepared food with Crosshair hovering over my shoulder, my smoke long gone. I hand a few wooden plates to Crosshair and carry the rest out, sending him a thankful smile.

"Ooh," Wrecker started up, "What smells nice?"

"Grandmas recipe" I chime happily, placing plates in front of the others as I go around the table. I handed a plate to Omega, who excitedly took the plate, then tech who smiled up at me as he took the plate gracefully.

Hunter was the first to start and he groaned, taking a moment to compose himself. The others almost had the same reaction, Wrecker almost chocked on the food as he stuffed his face full.

"What is this? It's the best meal I've had..." Tech spoke up a while everything calmed down,

"Oh, it's just some bacon, eggs and a bit of beef sausages. Not the fanciest thing to exist." I shrug, barely noticing Techs' eyes shift to behind me then back to my eyes once again.

I put another forkful in my mouth and continued to chat with Tech. I still could sense my 'shadow' behind me as him and Hunter had some brotherly banter.

The liveliness of the house died down after everyone started to wonder around my house and Hunter decided to check out my barn. Crosshair was still on my porch, leaning on one of the beams as he watched everything pass by.

I smiled and stopped next to him, leaning over the railing. "...Is my cooking not to bad?" I ask, sparing a glance at him.

He hums, flicking the toothpick from one side to the other, and smirked, "I like to think it's not the worst,"

and thats how i met your father

again you poor thing im sorry it took so long for me to reply its just that assessments are at my throat. sorry bbg