The 1940s are strife with conflict due to World War II, and the Nazis are scouring the globe for ancient artifacts both to collect and to give them a leg up in world domination.
Bucket works at her family’s pub in Inverness, Scotland - a place she spent most of her childhood when her father was off doing archeological digs. He was an expert in his field, and he taught her everything he knew, effectively passing on the mantle to his only child. When a familiar, handsome face comes strolling into the pub one night calling her by that idiotic nickname she earned on the one trip her father took her on before he died, Bucket finds herself thrust into danger - both from new and ancient forces.
A/N: This story won’t be out for a while, but I love Bucket and wanted to share her. Indiana Jones!AU coming soon! Check out my Masterlist for more series!
snippet from chapter 2 of fire & gasoline — quinnbrady spies/assassins AU
I had to change my upload schedule, but I didn't want to leave y'all hanging on what was supposed to be upload day. So have this:
So, while [Jack and Nico were hard at work], Quinn and Brady were in Toronto visiting “*the 88s”. They were well-known tailors and stylists, popular with all sorts of civilians, but Willy Styles — as he was known on Instagram — was also a friend of the Hughes family.
So that was how they found themselves standing on a podium, wearing nothing but their boxer briefs, on at least three occasions. [...] Brady tried to keep the conversation flowing, keep his focus on himself, but his eyes kept catching on the expanse of milky skin in the mirrors.
Brady kept reminding himself to separate himself from the mission. The casual touches didn’t mean anything. The pet names and soft smiles didn’t mean anything. The whispered conversations in the dark and the mornings with Quinn snuggled in close didn’t mean anything. It was all for the mission. And the mission always comes first.
But, standing on that podium, seeing Quinn without the sweatpants and the long-sleeve tees, those moments were all he could think about. Brady blamed the way he couldn’t help but notice the lines of Quinn’s body on his training — observe, identify, exploit. Quinn wasn’t built by any means, a body meant for stealth and agility rather than brute strength, but he was all lean muscle. In the soft lighting of the parlor, Quinn’s dark hair contrasted with his milky smooth skin; he looked —
Well, Brady forced himself to not think too much about how Quinn looked.