pyrokineticwarrior

[pyrokineticwarrior]

Bon Jovi – Wanted Dead Or Alive

[pyrokineticwarrior]

Gold Rush Gluttony- Devlin & Greta Drabble, Smut-Driven

@gretaphasmatosmartin

He didn’t knock. Just pushed the door open and found her half-lit by the oil lamp, bent over the table scribbling something in that damn ledger of hers. Didn’t even look up.

“You smell like the mines,” she muttered, dry as sand.

“Found gold,” he rasped. And that was it.

He grabbed her like a man possessed, no greeting, no warning. Just rough hands on her hips, yanking her back against him like he’d earned her too. Like the gold wasn’t enough. He buried his face in her neck, breathed in the scent of her: herbs and smoke and that something sweeter she only ever let linger on her skin at night.

“You got mud on your boots,” she said, even as she arched into him, letting her book fall shut.

He didn’t care. He was already unbuttoning her, fingers clumsy and filthy, dragging the fabric down like it offended him, as if it was keeping him from something warm and real. His mouth found the back of her shoulder, biting more than kissing, salt and skin and sweat smearing together. She didn’t stop him.

Hell, she pushed back against him harder.

He fumbled them onto the table, one hand sweeping aside whatever was in the way. Glass crashed. Ink spilled. She hissed at him, but her legs were already wrapped around his hips, skirt bunched up, and her laugh was caught somewhere between her teeth and his collarbone.

To him Greta was always fire, but tonight she burned.

She let him take and take, dig in with dirt-stained hands like he was still in the riverbed. He moved like he needed to prove something. Not gentle, not pretty, but desperate. She met him there, bite for bite, claw for claw.

When Greta finally pulled Devlin down over her, sweat-drenched and panting into her throat, he didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Just held on to her like the earth might split open beneath him if he let go.

And when she peeled that nugget out of his pocket, where the gold still warm from his thigh, and tossed it across the floor with a smirk?

He let her.

She was the only thing that ever made him feel rich anyway.

[pyrokineticwarrior]

“I wanted it to be a dream, too,” he murmured. “That day you lost me… I remember thinking, ‘Maybe if I shut my eyes hard enough, I’ll wake up somewhere else.’ But it didn’t work. I blinked and blinked and all I got was silence and stone.”

His voice wavered just enough to betray the child still curled somewhere inside him, the one who’d once longed for pancakes and cartoons and a world where family didn’t mean power, or war, or loss. He swallowed, jaw tight. “Father never told me how to grieve. He just said I’d get used to it. But I never did. And I think that’s the part that makes me so bitter. That I still haven’t.”

As Isabelle neared, Devlin watched her, warily at first, then with something unspoken cracking through his ribs. When she said it, I’m here for you, he closed his eyes briefly, as if bracing against something too good, too steady, too true.

When he opened them again, his voice was barely audible. “I don’t deserve you.” But it wasn’t rejection. It was reverence. A truth that humbled him.

And slowly, almost without realizing it, he reached out, just enough to touch the edge of her sleeve, the barest thread of connection. “Don’t let go,” he said, not as a demand, but a plea. “Please.” Because in a world where he’d lost too much, Isabelle’s promise was the first thing he believed might actually stay.

@qceensofkings

It's difficult to acknowledge that they're not the family they wanted to be. She remembers wishing very hard, the day she lost Devlin, that it was all a dream. That her entire life had been some epic fantasy, years lived out in just a matter of hours, and that she'd wake in her bed to the smell of pancakes and coffee accompanied by the sounds of Saturday morning cartoons.

"That's just the price that comes with living," She murmurs, "Everyone dies eventually. Everyone watches someone die if they make it past infancy. That's just the way it works." She explains as she toys with the rings on her fingers for a moment.

"I always hated how father was so casual about it all. I think maybe he wanted me to learn as soon as I could to prepare me..." She states quietly. "But that's not something you can just rush through. It's not a task to get over with and come out the other side saying you were glad to be over with."

She watches Devlin for a moment, "I know it hurts, Devlin. And I wish I could take your pain from you. But I can't. You wouldn't be you... It's something you have to work through." She rises from her chair and nears him, "But I hope you realize, I'm here for you. Until the stars die out and the universe ceases to exist, you have me."

[pyrokineticwarrior]

🥀 DEVLIN SINCLAIR — Weird West AU headcanon

Real Name: Devendra Yug Alias: Devlin Sinclair Time Period: 1850s–1860s Setting: Canada ➝ California (via Oregon Trail / Sierra Nevadas) Occupation: Former Railroad Worker • Gold Prospector • Occasional Gunslinger

🇮🇳 ORIGINS: The Boy from Indus River Valley

Devendra Yug was born in Jhansi, in northern India, around 1833, the son of a blacksmith who served in the Bundelkhand princely courts. The world he knew was one of iron, horses, sweat, and rebellion simmering beneath British boots. In 1857, when whispers of mutiny began, his family made the fateful choice to send him far away for safety, for freedom, or perhaps for a future no longer shackled.

Via Calcutta port, Devendra boarded a British ship meant for labor transport. Promised work in the British colonies of Canada, he was contracted, or coerced, into a labor migration program that sent hundreds of South Asian men abroad to work in imperial infrastructure, many under exploitative conditions.

❄️ CANADIAN RAILS Hammer and Snow

He arrived in British Columbia by 1858, amid the growing demand for manpower to construct the Canadian Pacific Railway. Here, he labored alongside Chinese, Irish, and Indigenous workers, carving steel veins through granite, forests, and snow.

The harsh winters and brutal pay meant Devendra learned to survive on wit and muscle. He picked up English, learned how to use a rifle, and adopted the name Devlin Sinclair, which was easier for white foremen to shout over blasting dynamite, and easier to conceal where he came from in a land that saw brown men as invisible.

He had a gift for mechanics and metallurgy, quickly becoming a sought-after repairman for equipment and tools. But racism, violence, and the death of a close friend in a collapsed tunnel pushed him to leave. He wanted gold. Not steel.

🐎 THE JOURNEY SOUTH Sierra Shadows

By 1862, Devlin headed south, on foot, then on wagon, tracing rumors of fortune to California’s goldfields. Following rough trails through Oregon, he made his way into the Sierra Nevada mountains, a lone stranger in a land that didn’t have a name for what he was.

He avoided cities when he could. He camped with Chinese prospectors, traded with Black homesteaders, learned survival from Indigenous communities who taught him that white men never stayed still long enough to listen. They called him “the man with fire in his blood.”

🌒 IN CALIFORNIA Gold, Ghosts, Gunpowder

Devlin made a name for himself in places like Placerville, Angels Camp, and Bodie, towns that swelled and emptied with the pulse of gold strikes. Sometimes he found gold. Sometimes he stole it. Sometimes he dug holes in the earth and only found ghosts.

He picked up gunslinging fast, not because he wanted to, but because the law out here was coin and threat. He never killed unless he had to. But when he did, he made it quick. Efficient. Like a smith snapping a blade into shape.

He took on work as a trail scout, a bodyguard, sometimes even a translator for Chinese or South Asian workers. But always, he moved and never let anyone get too close. "Sinclair" became legend in some parts: the brown man who didn’t blink when guns came out, who wore a silver ring etched in Sanskrit, and who prayed to gods no one else could name.

[pyrokineticwarrior]

Devendra’s smile faltered at the edges, the kind of slip you wouldn’t notice unless you were looking close. He nodded slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, the hat now resting backwards on his head like even he wasn’t fully committed to it anymore. “Yeah… it's not be the same without you, Greta,” he said quietly, voice dipping into something more sincere than his usual laid-back bravado. “I get it. I do. You’re not wrong. Like if some jackass sees a red cap and thinks he’s found a safe haven, that’s not just bad optics, that’s bad news. And I’d never ask you to walk into something that you don't find safe.”

He shifted in place. “Still, sucks. Was kinda hoping you’d be there to keep me humble and judge my coleslaw. But hey, music’ll slap. I promise you that.” Then, after a pause, with a crooked smirk creeping back in, he glanced over. “Real question though… you ever hex someone who turned out shady? Like, didn’t pass the vibe check and suddenly their engine won’t start, or their pants split during a speech or somethin’? Just curious. Not for revenge, obviously. Just… you know. Preventative maintenance.”

@gretaphasmatosmartin

Greta lifted a hand patting Dev on the shoulder, shaking her head solemnly. With a great, patience sigh, she said, "Hell no. The optics are terrible. From 40 feet away everybody's going to be making assumptions about what's going on over here."

"See, babe, I'm not going to a BBQ where there's a chance of someone like that feeling like they might be welcomed. Safer for everyone if I'm not there, safer for me actually. The only advice I can offer is you better have a damn good music selection to counter these ugly hats. I'm sorry. If the music -along with the food- is good enough, you might stand a chance. I however, am not risking it, but you let me know how it goes." She finished with an enthusiastic thumbs up.

@pyrokineticwarrior

[pyrokineticwarrior]

@qceensofkings i need to get this off my chest

// i am LOSING my mind over these underworld siblings. like. not to be dramatic. but actually to be dramatic. they break me and then patch me back together and then BREAK ME AGAIN.

devlin??? DEVLIN. my beloved. my muse. this man is held together by sarcasm, alcohol, and deeply repressed grief. he survived ten years in the underworld pretending to be dead, and the only reason he kept coming back was because isabelle asked. and because he missed her. do you understand. do you understand the LEVEL OF LOYALTY AND EMOTIONAL DAMAGE HERE???

and isabelle- queen of the underworld, daughter of hades, trying so hard to be the glue while also carrying the entire throne and its trauma on her shoulders. watching her brother spiral and still reaching out for him with grace and love and pain. saying things like “i wish i could take your pain, but then you wouldn’t be you.” please i am chewing drywall.

AND THEN THEY JUST. STAND THERE. IN THIS HORRIBLE PLACE THEY DIDN’T CHOOSE. TRAUMATIZED AND HAUNTED AND STILL LOVING EACH OTHER ANYWAY. still trying.

devlin saying “i’ve become bitter” with that broken little voice. saying “i’m so lonely it hurts.” and isabelle replying “you have me. until the stars die out.” do you hear me sobbing. can you hear it.

these are siblings who have lost so much and still say please don’t let go. they make me want to BELIEVE in family again.

anyway. i love them. that’s all. let’s never stop making them suffer.

[pyrokineticwarrior]

“Oh, it’s absolutely a win,” he drawled, turning toward Greta with the kind of easy warmth that can make it hard to stay mad, though he knew better than to push too far. “Because hear me out: some meathead sees the red cap, squints real hard like he’s about to thank me for ‘saving America’ or whatever, starts waddling over like he’s found a friend- only to get close and see it actually says: ‘Big Beautiful Barbecue Blowout: All Races, All Genders, All Love, All Ribs.’”

He tapped the front of his own hat with a wink. “And the moment his face crumples like a bad pie crust? That’s the win. That’s the fireworks. That’s the sizzle.” He turned back to the brochure on grills, clearly proud of himself, like this whole plan was part of a grand social experiment involving ribs and poetic justice. “Besides, who says activism can’t come with coleslaw?”

@gretaphasmatosmartin

"I'm not wearing that hat. And if it's a requirement, I'm not coming."

"That's not a fucking win, Dev!" She couldn't believe that he was even confused about that ... but then again the man did own a yacht. Greta messaged her temples while shaking her head as she remembered why she used to give him such a hard time. Now she was thinking maybe she should go back to that.

"Ew."

@pyrokineticwarrior

[pyrokineticwarrior]

He huffed a laugh, dry and low in his throat. “Hell, you’re takin’ the words straight outta my mouth.”

Devlin winced as she undid the last button, blood-stiff fabric peeling from a gash along his ribs. The shirt hit the floor with a wet thump, and he let out a slow breath, pain stretching across his face like thunder across a sky. Still, there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes when he looked at her.

“Don’t fret so hard. Man’s gotta earn his scars somehow.”

Then, quieter, less teasing now. “How’ve you been faring, anyhow, Miss? Since I last saw you.” His gaze lingered on her hands, steady despite the worry. “You gettin’ by alright? No one come sniffin’ ‘round lookin’ to finish what they started?”

He didn’t say it, but the unspoken was there in the air between them: if they had, they wouldn’t have made it far.

@sugarandwhiskey

[western au]

[ HELP ]: the injured sender, unable to comfortably take off their clothes, asks the receiver to help them get undressed.

@pyrokineticwarrior

Sophie wasn't normally a fretter, but as she watched Devlin try to take off his shirt, the part of her brain that cared too much about people started pestering her. She took a hesitant step forward, hands reaching out, fingertips brushing against buttons before she started to slowly undo them.

"You could have gotten yourself killed," she admonished, but there wasn't any real anger behind it; she was more worried than anything.

"Don't do that, okay? You're not allowed to die on me. Still owe you for saving me and I don't like to owe people."

[pyrokineticwarrior]

// okay so uh. NOVA??? hello?? this drabble?? absolutely knocked the wind outta me in the best way possible. and devlin’s voice?? you nailed it. the dry teasing, the low-key tenderness hidden under all that sass, the way he’s constantly walking the line between polite and provoking?? I’M EATING IT UP. and greta not wanting to call him by his first name but still clinging to him like they’ve been married ten years??? that’s storytelling, baby.

also the way he sees right through her excuses (”don’t need to blame tabatha”) had me cackling. and then turning around and helping her down so gently??? but also just enough of a menace about it?? i’m suffering in the best way.

thank you for this absolute gem of a scene. 10/10. no notes. devlin's sass, the subtext, the ache, the way you gave him this gruff but considerate, slightly teasing but secretly gentle aura... you’ve captured him beautifully. i am handing you the reins to my muse. forever. i’m in awe. i’m unwell. 🥹💛

Companionable

just a little Dev x Greta puff piece i had to get out real quick. A/N this is not Dev's per se, but Greta's perception of him. I supposed she just wants to take everything personal. Part of this interpretation was inspired by Dev's recent affliction do to the meme

The motion of the horse lulled her, but also she was getting tired of this journey. Her bottom was sore from the constant motion while also sitting on a blanket directly on the horse. Greta wondered if the horse minded as much as her rear-end seemed to. She did not have the luxury of a saddle, unlike her steady rider; who at least seemed to slow the pace down to a lazy walk as to not wear out the horse. That's what she suspected anyway.

"Sinclair," it didn't feel right to call him by his first name; they weren't so well acquainted yet. Instead it seemed they were *acquainted* enough for her to wrap her arms around him while resting a cheek against his shoulder-blade as the rode along long dusty trails. "How much longer until we make camp? I'm worried for Tabatha, she'll need to be watered soon." Tabatha was their 7-year-old newly acquired mare. She was good natured and strong, and Greta hoped they'd stop soon to keep her that way.

"Horse is fine, but if you need a break, all you have to do is ask, and we'll take one. Not need to blame Tabatha." He leaned forward, caressing the horse's mane and Greta tightened her grip about him to steady herself. She supposed she should be grateful they weren't at full gallop. "We should be coming up on Temperance within the hour. You still need that break?"

She did, but she didn't want to delay them any further. Shifting on the horses rump, Greta let out a sigh, squeezing the gunner once more as she tried to find purchase up on their tall, moving beast. She made a fist and clutched on to it with her other hand and when she moved this time he gave a little grunt, before tugging gently at the reigns and giving her hands a tap.

"On second thought, I could used a break. The way you keep pressin' into me makes me feel like somethin' unproper is approachin'. I told you to grab the saddle horn, but your hand keeps slippin'. I'm starting to think it's less n less on accident. Now with how familiar you're getting you might as well call me Dev." He shifted in his saddle then extended and flexed his arm to help her dismount. Knowing the procedure she unlocked her grip around him, grabbed his arm and carefully shimmied off the horse as he anchored himself with mane and reigns in the other hand.

"We'll keep it as professional as is need be Sinclair." Still no Mister, at least not out here when he was less than a gentlemen, but still in most ways he kept his manners … When he set her on the ground her legs were a bit shaky, so she placed her hands on her hips and arched her back in a deep stretch that traveled up her spine and let a strained groan escaped through her nose. The gunman had managed to swing himself from Tabitha and landed right in front of her. She blinked in shock, losing her footing as she stepped back. He grabbed her arm, steadying her before she tipped all the way over. Once she caught her balance, she snatched her arm away, before the contact became too acquainted.

"Thanks."

"No worries. Didn't want your nice dress to get all dusty if I turned you loose and you landed on your backside."

"That's very kind of you."

"Not at all," he said distractedly looking off into the distance. "Go on. Make your water, and in five minutes time we're back on the trail and in the hour we'll be set up for the evening in town, Tabitha included. I mean since you're so concerned about her..." The leer in his eye was back even if he wasn't looking directly at her. She frowned as he made a show of adjusting the blankets on the horse and patting the animals rump. "There's some modest bushes right over there, you make sure to poke'em first so's not to startle the wildlife. Critter bites can get nasty when you don't know what was that bit ya."

"I don't have to go ... just needed a break from riding." She could make it to the Temperance when it came to that. Not that she minded going out here, under any other circumstances.

"Fine. I do have do have to go. Hold the reigns will ya. Keep Tabitha company. I swear all you clutchin' bruised my insides. Sure hope everything works like it's supposed to." Greta took the reigns, ignoring him as he walked off. Slipping on the other side of Tabitha, she stroked the mare's flank, singing her a song to drown out the sound of her irksome companion's relief.

The sooner they got to town the better.

@pyrokineticwarrior

[pyrokineticwarrior]

🍯 “Honeytrap Hustle” – Caught red-handed in someone else's bed while trying to sneak information… but the seduction turns real. (Dev + Ellyn)

💥 Western AU Smut Meme — Devlin Sinclair Edition Fictional writing prompt list: Send a symbol + a character name for a steamy story or scene idea!

He should’ve left the moment he heard the soft creak of the floorboards behind him. But his hand was already in the drawer, fingers closing around the folded papers, names, numbers, backdoor dealings. Ellyn’s scent hit him just before her voice did: warm jasmine, gunpowder, and something faintly sinful.

“You planning on stealing from me, sugar?” She was leaned in the doorway now, one hand on her hip, lips curved like she already knew the answer.

Devlin turned slow, still crouched by her vanity like a man caught slipping a hand into the offering plate. “Just admiring the décor,” he lied, but he didn’t sound convincing. Not with his voice low and ragged from the ride in, not with her in a silk slip barely hanging off one shoulder.

Ellyn stepped inside, not rushing, not raising her voice. Dangerous women never did. “You were sniffing around things that might get you shot,” she murmured, circling him like a hawk eyeing a limping hare. “But I always did like a man with a little recklessness in him.”

She got too close. Or maybe he let her. Her fingers skimmed his collar, toying with a button like she was debating undoing it or cutting it off with the knife she kept strapped to her thigh. He didn’t breathe.

“Now you’ve seen too much, Devlin Sinclair,” she whispered, mouth brushing his ear. “I should gut you where you stand.” Instead, she kissed him. He in turn grabbed her like a drowning man. She tasted like heat and sin, soft lips against rough stubble, the quiet kind of desperate that only came from two people with more secrets than time. The papers fluttered to the floor and her back hit the bedpost, silk sliding up her thighs as he pressed between them.

“You gonna make me regret this, darlin’?” he asked, hoarse.

“I’m gonna make you forget why you came here in the first place,” she replied, and then pulled him in like she meant it.

She was right. By the time the sun rose, he didn’t remember a damn thing about the ledger.

[pyrokineticwarrior]

"I even got us all matching hats for the barbecue. Says: 'Big Beautiful Barbecue Blowout' Though, Ulysses said they vaguely look like MAGA hats and now I'm not sure if that's a win or not."

@gretaphasmatosmartin

"Have you heard of Dev's big barbecue summer blowout picnic?"

"Sounds exciting," she says, knowing he can't help but thrive while in the company of others and not exactly being able to fault him for it.

"Sheesh! That guy's got an event for everything, huh?"

@pyrokineticwarrior

[pyrokineticwarrior]

“Don’t need a thank you,” he said, dragging the cigarette from his lips with two fingers and flicking ash into the fire. “Didn’t do it to be noble. Did it because leavin’ you there didn’t sit right with me. Still doesn’t.” He glanced sideways at her, taking in the way she curled inward, like she hadn’t quite decided whether to trust the air around her. Too familiar a sight. “You said runnin’s how you survive. That ain’t survival... it’s delayin’ the inevitable. So now I’m askin’…” He let the smoke curl out of his mouth before he continued. “Who’s watchin’ your back? Who’s protectin’ you when you’re not fast enough? 'Cause right now it sure as hell ain’t anyone I can see.” There was no judgment in his tone. Just fact, worn down to its bones.

He stood then, slow and stiff, stretching the weight of hot desert miles out of his shoulders. “I can’t keep protectin’ you. Ain’t got the energy or the time.” A pause, then a more reluctant offer: “There’s a place a day’s ride from here. Woman named Delia runs an apothecary out there. Knows her herbs, knows how to sew up what men tear open.” He sighed, knowing it's better she learned something else sooner than later: “She also runs a brothel.” He said it flatly, like he was used to people flinching at that. “But don’t let that bother you. She takes care of her own, and that’s more than most can say.” He looked down at the fire, eyes dark under the brim of his hat. “I’ll get you there if you want. After that… it’s on you.”

@sugarandwhiskey

Sophie was surprised by his answer, glancing over at him, wondering just what he had going on in his mind. Least he didn't want her body--at least not now. Her head tilted as she really took in her rescuer, biting her lip as she tried to decide if that was something she could do.

"Hmm, I don't know if that'll be doable. Running's how I survive, but I guess I won't lie to you. I owe you that much," she murmured--she wasn't much of a liar, so that one she could at least do.

"Thank you, by the way. For helping me and not just leaving me there. I'm pretty sure I was gonna die back there."

[pyrokineticwarrior]

🪶 “Featherlight Touch” – Tied to the bed with silk scarves or rawhide, blindfolded, teased until he's begging like a sinner at confession. (Delia x Dev) 😈

💥 Western AU Smut Meme — Devlin Sinclair Edition Fictional writing prompt list: Send a symbol + a character name for a steamy story or scene idea!

He hadn’t expected to wake like this: flat on his back, wrists tied above his head with something soft enough to tease but strong enough to hold. His shirt was gone, the wound on his ribs smarted faintly, but the sting of it was drowned out by the heat rolling through his gut. The blindfold stayed firm across his eyes, making every breath, every brush of skin, feel like thunder.

“Delia…” His voice rasped, low and already fraying at the edges. He didn’t know if he was begging for her to stop or keep going. Hell, maybe both. His hips bucked when her fingers traced a path just above where he was desperate for her. She was taking her time, dragging it out, like she wanted to see how long it would take to break him.

@ofdemonessence

[pyrokineticwarrior]

Honest opinion about Miss Sophie Hallow?

“Lil Miss Hallow? She’s like a locked diary with blood on the latch. Pretty to look at, but you get the sense someone bled tryin’ to read her. I’ll admit, I’d like to know what’s written inside... but I’ve also seen too many bastards try and thumb through her like she’s got pages to tear. That worries me.”

@sugarandwhiskey

[pyrokineticwarrior]

Do you love others the way you yearn to be loved?

"Only when I forget how I’d want to be loved, recklessly, ruinously, and without a damn exit plan."

[pyrokineticwarrior]

Would you make a porno with your significant other?

"Hard pass."

"Something like that, with a significant other nonetheless- is sacred. Also I'd be constantly scrutinizing myself and it's just a lot of unnecessary stress."

[pyrokineticwarrior]

Hey Devlin, you should probably know that Ulysses told Piper he would take your daughter. (Drama!)

"Did he threaten he would take her away from us? Or like, take her for a few minutes to babysit because I know he's like this girl dad and has a weakness when he plays the role of a father. It's strange, I know. But also. Knowing Piper, she probably handled that pretty well," he chuckled, imagining her flipping out and giving Ulysses an earful. A common occurrence.

@deepseawarlock @sharpenurdamnknife