Send me  🔥 + a word and I will write a NSFW headcanon for my muse.

Carter's got a dedicated clothes fund to pay for any of Kendra's clothes he accidentally happens to destroy whenever she comes over.

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She’d met plenty like him across her eternity of lives stuck in eternal reincarnation. Not pigheaded chauvinists– well them as well– but more accurately the killers that were tired of killing, weighed down by all the blood that was not so easily washed away from their hands. It was a fine line to walk, perhaps in past lives they’d teeter along the similar sides of that line. Finding it necessary was far different than relishing it. Killing has always been somewhat distasteful to her across all the lives she could remember.

Her and Carter’s lives had seen them as warriors, outlaws, soldiers, kings, knights– They thrived, they fought for what they believed in. Though neither really found any comfort or solace in taking the life of another being. She’d gone out of her way in lives since passed to remember the names of lives she or Carter had taken. To remind herself of the horrors of taking a life. As those names faded away, she found her mind somewhat jaded. Not desensitized, but aware that it is sometimes something that, try as they might, they couldn’t avoid.

“You’re a bit of a pig, huh?”

Tempting as it may have been to swing that mace of hers once again, give him a nasty ass headache for the faint offense of being moderately sexist and lighting a cigarette practically in her face. She knows giving him any sort of brain damage is going to do little for her cause except offer the minor satisfaction of seeing him dumbstruck. Tempting, yet she is human, she is aware that these are just thoughts, fantasies. It would get her nowhere.

She rises to her feet instead, offering him a near offended huff. “I am old. I probably hit an ancestor or two of yours over the head with my mace.” Though if she did, they more than likely deserved it. With few exceptions, neither her or Carter’s lives strayed from the path of justice and saving those who needed saving in their cycles of life and death.

“And no, I don’t smoke–” Nasty habit.

         Huh, she’s just WINGS and mace then? Perhaps additional super-strength. Lawton continued the smoke as he inhaled and blew some smoke out through his nostrils--- allowing himself to lean against a large rock. Phew, the mercenary required that piece of calmness && a tobacco under such intense conditions.

          Calling herself more or less old and then defending it with her MACE again, He wished she could see him roll his eyes dramatically, but he didn’t. Facial expressions oddly changed for the marksman while looking at the super-hero. “ Well, I was going to say you’re not that old. But whatever. ”