#what the hell is 'the devil's backbone' i sure do not know

[honeypiehotchner]

Devil's Backbone (Unsub!Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part eleven

Well-- Honestly I have nothing to say for myself honestly

Warnings: Hotch is a dick! Majorly!

Don't forget to follow @honeypiehotchnerlibrary & turn on post notifications to be "tagged" when a new part goes up!

Eleven: All I wanted was you -- "All I Wanted" by Paramore

You rolled over in bed to the sound of your alarm beeping. Not your alarm clock, no. An alarm set to go off when the tracker moved. It was four in the morning, and Hotch was already on the move. 

You thought that placing the tracker on his car was a ridiculous idea. You thought for sure he’d pick up a different vehicle, but he didn’t. You thought he’d at least search his car for anything abnormal, but he didn’t. He chose to take his own car, and you watched the red dot on your phone screen as he moved. 

You couldn’t follow him immediately, but you pulled yourself from your bed regardless. You weren’t sleeping, anyway. You knew you wouldn’t after receiving this assignment from Strauss and being forced to lie to the rest of the team about where you were going to be for a few days. Or more. You didn’t know how long this would take.

It all depended on Hotch. And he was not fit to be depended upon anymore.

You packed your bag yesterday afternoon when you came home. You told the rest of the team you felt like you were coming down with something, food poisoning, maybe, who knows, but you needed to rest. Could be the flu. They believed you and you felt awful for it.

You paced in your kitchen, watching the red dot move. He went to the gas station. He stayed there for a while, so he likely went inside. For breakfast? It was four in the fucking morning, for christ’s sake. He was insane.

Finally, he started moving again, and he headed for the interstate. Fuck. You needed to go.

Around six, Rossi called. “Are you following him?” His voice floated through the speakers of the car, surrounding you.

You rolled your eyes, picking up your hot coffee from the cupholder. “No, I’m sitting on my ass in my apartment. Yes, I’m fucking following him.” You took a sip.

Silence followed.

You sighed, putting the coffee back down. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Rossi said. “I know you’re frustrated.”

I’m more than frustrated. “Yeah. Sorry. Didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“It’s fine, kid,” Rossi replied. “We just need you to see where he’s going, and then you can come home. He’s probably just going to get away, like he said.”

“You don’t think he’s doing anything weird?”

“I think what we have is a string of bad coincidences,” Rossi said. “And I just need you to prove it.”

+++

Aaron went to a motel. That confused you, purely because it was one of the most rundown motels you had ever seen, and he didn’t seem like the type to stay in anything less than a hotel. But he went there, parked, and stayed.

You sat in your car down the road, the motel still in view, but you weren’t entirely. You put the windows in the front down to listen, and for some fresh air. You didn’t want to run the air conditioning the entire time you sat. Or the radio. You needed silence, so you could think.

You debated going to the motel, finding his room, and forcing him to talk. To explain what the hell was the other night, what the hell had he been getting into, what the hell was going on. Just, what the hell? But that was against your orders. You weren’t supposed to talk to him, especially if nothing suspicious had been done. Staying at a motel wasn’t exactly grounds to accuse him of anything.

Still, it frustrated you, sitting there like that. Whenever you were in the field, if surveillance was part of the investigation, you hated it. You hated sitting still when you knew you needed to do something. It drove you insane.

You checked your phone. No new messages from Rossi or Strauss. Or anyone. 

You sighed, hitting your head against the headrest. This was ridiculous. You closed your eyes. Maybe a nap would solve it, or at least you wouldn’t have to be conscious while he probably took a nap in his motel room.

You got barely five minutes of sleep before you got the shit scared out of you.

Hotch, in one swift move, reached into the car, unlocked the passenger door, and got inside, his eyes full of an anger you had never seen. 

“Drive.”

Your chest rising and falling rapidly, you shook your head. “What the fuck are you doing?”

He pulled his gun off his hip and pointed it right at your chest. “I said, drive,” he repeated.

He’s fucking insane, you thought. You cranked the engine and threw the car into drive, speeding off as he asked, your entire body shaking.

“Where are we going?” you asked, jaw clenched as you white-knuckled the steering wheel.

“Nowhere,” he snapped. “Take the next left.”

The car ride continued like that for fifteen minutes. Him barking orders at you. You testing your luck with snarky remarks. The gun remained pointed at you, making you sweat. But you knew he wouldn’t dare. 

At least, you hoped he wouldn’t.

Finally, after far too long of taking random turns, he told you to take the last left. Into a field. A literal, abandoned field. You glanced at your phone. SOS. Great. No fucking service, either.

Panic surged through you, certain he was going to kill you right here. You didn’t know why that thought came to mind. You fought your instincts, your gut feelings, yet in the face of panic, they came through. He was a murderer. You knew it. You felt it.

“Get out,” he hissed, unlocking the doors.

You did as you were told. He exited the car, too, his gun still trained on you. So, with most of the car protecting you, you pulled your gun on him, across the hood of the car.

“Put it down,” he said evenly, holding his weapon with two hands now.

“No!” you yelled. “I’m not going to stand here and let you have a gun on me, Aaron. Put your fucking gun down so we can talk.”

“Now you want to talk?” he laughed, the sound eerie and hysterical. “Why are you following me?”

“I’m following orders,” you countered, adjusting your grip on your pistol. You should’ve put your bulletproof vest on before leaving the house. You looked at it, but you didn’t put it on. There was one in the back of your car, but it did you no good back there.

“Why?” he replied, taunting you. “You never followed mine.”

“Fuck off,” you snapped. That was a slap in the face, and he knew it. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

“Getting fresh air,” he replied. You knew it was a lie. “So why are you tailing me?”

“Following orders, like I already told you,” you fired back. God, you hoped Garcia had your location, or somebody. You didn’t expect Strauss to send you out here without a tracker on your car, but she never mentioned it. Maybe it was implied? God, if he killed you, would anyone find you?

“Whose orders?” he said.

“Who do you think?” you spat. This felt ridiculous, yelling at each other over the barrel of your guns. “Can we put the weapons down and talk like normal adults?”

His grip faltered for a moment. “Whose orders?” he asked again, slightly calmer, but only slightly.

“Strauss,” you answered, lowering your gun, hoping your concession would lead him to do the same. And it did.

He lowered his gun, but didn’t holster it, so you left yours out, too, pointed at the ground. You had to play his game, no matter how much you hated it.

“Strauss sent me to follow you,” you continued, “because she’s worried about you.”

He laughed. He actually laughed.

“I’m serious,” you seethed, rounding the front of the car. It was a mistake, you knew, getting closer to him, but it was involuntary. “Aaron. Listen to me. JJ is missing files from her office. What the fuck did you do with them?”

“I’m not responsible for JJ’s files,” he replied, his angry eyes landing on you, clearly fighting something back. “She probably lost them.”

“JJ doesn’t just lose files,” you snapped. When did he become such a dick? “I saw you take files with you when you left. I know you have them. Where are they?”

“Nowhere,” he replied through gritted teeth. “Stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“For fuck’s sake, Aaron,” you screamed, your throat raw. “I know you’re killing them!” It was the first time you admitted it out loud, to yourself, to anyone else. 

“Oh, do you?” he said, his voice eerily calm. He took a step closer to you and you took a step back. He smirked. “What do you know exactly?”

“Rossi told me,” you said, trying to keep your voice from wavering. “Issac Holman is dead. Now Nicholas Edwards.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “Anyone else?”

Your stomach dropped. “There’s more?”

“I don’t know, is there?”

Oh, he was taunting you. He walked toward you, forcing you to take steps backward, but you only got so far until your back was pressed against the car. You recognized this a moment too late, unable to dart away before Hotch closed in on you, placing his hands on the hood of the car, on either side of you, caging you in.

You swallowed thickly, determined to not back down. “How many others?”

He clicked his tongue. “That’s for you to figure out. I wouldn’t know.”

You squirmed, and he liked it. “Tell me how many,” you demanded.

He leaned close, close enough that your eyelids fluttered. He smirked. “No.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, then your ear. “No, no,” he said again, his breath hot against your ear. “I’m not telling you.”

His free hand caressed your arm, smoothing down your skin until he reached your wrist. He dipped his head, kissing your neck, and your fingers loosened on your gun. He tucked it into his holster as you registered too late what had happened. 

You squirmed again, hands flailing, attempting to reach your gun, but he was too strong. One move and he had his body pressed firm against yours, his free hand gripping your wrists and trapping them between your bodies.

“Hotch,” you gasped, the sound too close to a whimper when he sucked hard on your neck. 

“You’re going to do as I say,” he whispered. “Or I’ll shoot you.”

You knew at that moment that he meant it. So you did as you were told, in order to save your life.

[heartfullofleeches]

Hi Mr devil!! Wanted to say I am OBSESSED with your work, I've been here since the supernatural harem started and every post you make, whether with new characters or old ones, makes me go FERAL.

I wanted to know if I could request either the Cafe characters (I.e Clyde, Junie, saber) or the Milk farm characters with a reader who's obviously not well but completely refuses help? I'm so interested as to who would be the most stressed and who would just force them to take a BREAK

Could I be 🫧 anon by any chance? If it's not taken/availabe-

(Junie isn't apart of the cafe crew, but whether you meant a different person or not I'll add them for ya ♡. Haven't talked about these dorks in a bit. Unfortunately, that anon is taken though)

Clyde

Please. Don't overwork yourself. It's bad for your health and his. He knows first hand what that's like and once it almost killed him. Will bring out the tears if he must to get you to stay home. Will hangle his bosses for the rest of the week off to take care of you.

Honey

Haha... no- Tries to pull the sweet card and gently push you into staying home, but will duct tape you to the bed if they have to. This is a joke as they'll use their body instead, sickness be damned.

Shanna

She knows she can't force you, but she was basically a mom figure for her brothers so she knows a few tricks about stubborn folks. If you somehow resist she'll take every order you get and make you take breaks frequently.

Saber

Yeahhhh hell no. Will rent you the entire day no matter the cost and whoever you already had scheduled. Pampers you, and makes you take medication as prescribed on the boxes he has his lackeys retrieve. May use it as an opportunity to use you as a body pillow but hush

Belle

Not gonna work out here. Will throw you over her shoulder and tell the boss to put it on her tab as she carries you back to her truck and home. Makes you a nice soup and tells you to just hush up and rest

Trick

As another person whose dealt with their share of defiant people, Trick has a backbone and will have none of it. Swaddles you with their wings if they have to and makes sure you stay put until you are well. They're an even better cook than Belle so you'll be well covered in that department.

Wisteria

You have no grounds to negotiate. Like others she'll wrap you in her vines and provide expertise care. At least with her, you'll be healed the fastest as ingesting certain flowers of hers can heal mortals. Only downside is she might like taking care of you too much

Prince

What are you talking about- he's always worked here! Steals one of your coworker's uniforms to go uncover as he claims to take all of the heavy duty work off you. If your gets too bad he'll make a scene and drag you home if he must

Doc

As a med student they'll try to diagnose you on the spot, but they also always have cold medicine on hand in case of this exact scenario. They... might've given you the wrong pills as you may feel drowsy after, but at least they can take you home with no fuss.

Scout

"But I-" "No." "Really I-" No." Shuts that down immediately. He lost both grandmothers to illness when they had some good years left and he's not risking anything with you. Loads you into his truck without a word except to turn down your rebuttals

Bonus- Junie

The one who panics the most. Has never taken care of another person, but obviously isn't going to let you hurt yourself. Straps you to their bed as they search your symptoms online trying not to have a heart attack. They'll really trying their best and honestly they don't do terribly. Eventually passed out on you and probably gets it sick themselves

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

When Evangeline touched the reader it was clear she wasn't an ally, and after her outburst it was clear she saw them as an object, when Yves said that she wanted to be the savior I didn't expect her to be so unhinged on her quest to be the hero, but makes so much sense, and 'the hero gets the girl' or the 'happy ever after' seems things she selfishly would take, not much unlike Monty reader was there at the wrong place and at the wrong time, pretty sure the reader will have more PTSD and self blame

Still? When I saw the trigger warning I was afraid it would be Monty since I thought we would have a break from her, AND we were told he didn't listen to 'no', good we can get a true antagonist, it was crude and raw and awful, I've read other scenes of that kind but usually they make me feel anger and powerlessness, this was complete terror, also Yves has cameras on the room no? I can't imagine how he was when it happened, being stuck and unable to do anything, not much different from us readers being unable to stop reading what was next, but in a way not 'leaving them alone' I had to stop for a bit and even then it felt 'wrong' to leave them alone, the immersion you create is just something so... Impressive I just can't stop saying it, it's so so unique

And of course now Montgomery will have to step up, even if at this point Yves is the safe heaven, Monty is the devil we know, unlike the devil we don't (Evangeline)

Back on topic, the freeze and fawn was tragically something both Montgomery and Evangeline took advantage of, but Evangeline unlike Monty doesn't see them as an equal even less above herself, there was no way she would ever be in a sane relationship with reader, no matter which kind

Also Mr Jones crying and begging for forgiveness, gives me two thoughts, one he knows or feels what's about to come to either him or his family, or is the kind of person that still believes his daughter is a good person that did wrong, I'm more inclined to the later, who knows maybe just self hate on himself 'i should have done better' or something like that, and in that position I feel reader would either just be numb or lash out at him since it's a cycle of abuse, you didn't stop her then I can also blame you for it, and he LACKS a backbone so maybe a bit for the reader to have some feeling of control back, only time will tell

you're always keeping us on our toes can't wait to see what you come up with next

Ou shid man thank you so much for the analysis!! That is true, anyone would be extremely shaken and like beat themselves up for "falling" for Evangeline's facade, but in actuality there isnt really much to go off on , u wouldnt know till its too late

Altho montys a fuckin creep, i did write him to be at least somewhat lucid when readers genuinely upset or disliking whatever hess doing, he does like respect you as a human tho its just that hes delusional to think ur shy,But he knows when to stop which usually is when you cry or lash out at him

This was what i meant for Evangeline to be a sacrificial lamb because shes just there for a short period of time to make something happen and then get killed off on or off screen

Thanx man i was actually worried that i was writing the scenes to be too goofy or crimge, but glad to hear that i do at least let some of my readers experience the immersion i intended to apply

Yeah Yves saw everything and it wasn't good for his psyche , i was planning to write from his pov at some point but i just couldnt convey the horror and anguish he felt so i just leave it up to interpretation and write the aftermath instead

Oh the mr jones begging one is basically just wanting to protect Evangeline, mans doenst know what Yves have in store for them

Hell yeah thanks for the thoughts anon i got them bones for my brain to chew on

[twola]

Devil's Backbone : Limpany III

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC/Reader POV Tags: Longfic, Slow Burn, Smut (18+), Violence, Canon-Typical Injuries

Limpany’s burning was a lot more than meets the eye. Deception, greed, and murder follow everyone touched by Leviticus Cornwall. A story where the Van der Linde gang gets even more inescapably involved in Cornwall’s dealings, with the survivor of the massacre at the heart of it all. Slow burn. Pre-Blackwater and beyond.

Limpany III: Cleanse the Shallow Root

“You best know better than to quarrel with Leviticus Cornwall.”

CW:  racism, violence, injuries, death. you know, the normal RDR stuff.

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Previous | ➵ Next

“If that horse snaps at me one more time , it’s off to the glue factory with it. You hear me, Mister Shaw?”

Amos stands outside the enclosure with his hands on his hips, a scowl on his face. His hat, covered in mud, lies within the fence, perilously close to a set of hooves that move with a sense of irritation.

“Amos, he’s not an ass to anyone not deservin’. Maybe you should be nicer to him and he won’t bite at you.” Frederick rolled his eyes, leaning on the fence next to the older man. 

The ranch hand huffs. “Now that’s a lie if there ever was one. That horse is a nasty ol’ bastard even to your wife, and she ain’t got a mean bone in her body.” The horse in question plods closer to the two men; a tall, sooty Warmblood. Its dark tail swooshes at the flies around the paddock. 

Frederick grins, raising his hand toward the horse, who edges closer to him. “C’mere,  Aethon. You’re not that bad.”  The horse sidles up to Frederick, allowing him to pat down his nose. Frederick looks over to Amos with a boyish grin as he runs his other hand through the horse’s dark mane, to prove a point, flaunt manhood, or maybe both.

“Namin’ that horse after a god sure as hell gave it a complex.” Amos waves his hand in dismissal, heaving himself over the fence and grabbing his hat while Aethon was distracted. He hurries and climbs over the fence again, wary of the large workhorse. The older man slaps his hat against his thigh a few times to loosen the dirt from it.

“Amos, you aren’t heading out anytime soon, are you?”

“Nah, I figure we’re good on supplies, there’s plenty of work to do around here.”

Frederick nods. “Good. I… I think it’ll be good for Ruth. For people to be here in town for a minute.”

Amos doesn’t meet the younger man’s gaze. He grunts in agreement, staring down at the ground. Frederick pats the horse’s head one last time before sighing and stepping away from the paddock. The ranch hand places his hat back on his head and his hands rest on his belt. “ ‘M sorry, bout what happened, Mister Shaw.”

Frederick grimaces, looking at the ground as well. He kicks at a stone beneath his boot. He reaches toward a brown leather Stetson hat slung over a fencepost. Between his fingers, the worn leather cracks and bends slightly before he places it on his head. 

An awkward silence falls upon the two of them, punctuated by the sound of the Warmblood’s hooves scraping the ground, its heavy breathing through flared nostrils.

“Y’all look like you’re hardly working out here. Running out of things to do?”

The men both look up to find you standing at the back door, hands crossed over your chest. You’re clad in a brown velvet vest over a cream-colored blouse, belted over a mauve skirt. Your blonde hair is gathered at the nape of your neck in a black threaded snood, pinned behind your ears. Quirking an eyebrow, you tap your foot in mock frustration. “I know that horse is difficult, but it doesn’t take an hour to feed him. You two are just gossiping out here.”

“Missus Shaw, by the angels! Did you see the sign? I got it put up out by the road.”

You roll your eyes, strolling over to the fence where the two men were loitering.  “C’mon, the both of you. One of the gents who just stopped in the saloon said he passed a wagon train with several workers heading this way. They may be here by supper. We’re gonna need everyone in the saloon.”

Amos tips his hat, “Yes ma’am,” he looks at Frederick, “You, uh, heard the boss, sir.” He pulls a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his jacket. Fumbling with it, he strides off, around the paddock toward the front of the cabin toward the street.

“I meant you too, Mister Shaw.” 

A smirk crosses his features. He didn’t shave this morning, a slight shadow of stubble adorns his jaw. You can’t help but smile back, this husband of yours still makes your heart flip flop in your chest like the day you first saw him, years ago.

“On my way, Missus Shaw.”

He shuffles by you, grabbing your waist and pulling you to him with a laugh. He slots his lips against yours in a searing kiss before pulling back, squeezing your hip as he goes to follow Amos.  For a few moments, you watch him, before shaking your head slightly and smoothing your skirts down. You pull at your brown velvet vest, smoothing a crease that appeared over the flare of your waist. 

The horse in the paddock notices you, moving slowly toward your side of the enclosure.

“Today the day you’re gonna be nice to me, Aethon?” You ask, nervously raising your hand to Aethon’s head to pat it. The huge horse must notice your nervousness and agitation, because he quickly draws his head back, flaring his nostrils before nipping at your hand with his teeth. You gasp and pull your hand back just in time to avoid getting bitten.

“Nope, not today, you damned horse.” You retort at the huge beast, cradling your hand that very closely escaped a grizzly fate. A fading pink scar in the webbing of your hand was a permanent reminder of Aethon’s temper and how hard he could bite.

A shout pierces the air of the late afternoon, and you glance over toward the saloon across the way. More travelers seem to be stopping in Limpany daily, which leaves the saloon and store busier than ever. Soon enough, you’ll be able to hire more than just Ulysses and Amos to help. Hire them some help.

Frederick’s inheritance covered most of the costs of building the saloon and store, and the few small cabins dotting the hillside. Somehow, Stockdale was able to convince the state of New Hanover to fund the building of a Sheriff’s Office and the stone jail built into the sloping cliff.  Having seen how he operates, you're sure that Hilliard Stockdale knows the right people to ask favors of or whose pockets to grease with future investments.

You lean against the fencepost, watching Aethon pace around the enclosure, uninterested in you. Certainly, if someone had told you a year and a half ago you were building a town in the farthest reaches of New Hanover, you would have laughed.  

Sighing, you gather your skirts and walk across the muddy path around your cabin, heading to the lane that divides Limpany, and to the saloon where a couple of travelers have ridden up to. Glancing toward the river, you pause, before moving quickly toward the entrance to the little hamlet, toward the well-worn road on the banks of the Dakota. The afternoon sun glinted on the river’s waters, gently flowing down toward Flat Iron Lake. Covering your eyes from the light, your peer southward, where the black steel of Bard’s Crossing lies in the distance, connecting New Hanover to West Elizabeth.

Turning northward again, you stride through the grass, under the large oak tree. You move around two stakes in the ground, supporting a wooden panel at shoulder height. You can’t help the quirked smile that graces your face, as you take in the view. 

WELCOME TO LIMPANY

Hands on your hips, you breathe in deeply through your nose, sighing contentedly. Behind the sign you painted lies your life, the settlement that you now call home. After several years of roaming, across deserts and mountains and prairies, you finally settled here, at the bend of the Dakota, building a town from the ground up, building the dreams Frederick had breathed life into those years ago.

—

The crash of glass breaking on the wooden floor was really nothing new, not in a saloon, not where ranch hands and oil riggers; cattlemen, and travelers gather. Not where men live rough lives on the unforgiving land. Not here, not in Limpany.

This, however, was a bit much, even for Ulysses. And that was coming from years working in bars and saloons, from Saint Denis to Blackwater.

“Alright, that’s enough. You two best leave. You’re done here.” He angrily glares at the two cattlemen who had taken to laying themselves across the bar, knocking over their heavily used glasses, and smashing them to pieces on the floor. One of them sits up, swaying unsteadily. “Y- y’ don’t tell me how to l-live, ya…”

He falls off the stool to the ground, limbs splaying every which way while his partner howls in laughter from the bar. Ulysses groans, rolling up his sleeves, brushing his hands off on his apron before rounding the bar. He grabs the man from the floor, dragging him by the collar. “Out, now, ya drunk.”

The man pushes away from him, stumbling several steps into a table. He grunts in a drunken huff, turning back to Ulysses. “Get off, don’t touch me, you dirty negro!”

Ulysses scowls, his hands coming to the drunken man’s collar again, pulling him from his reclined position on the table, “I told you twice, get the hell out of here. Don’t make me drag you out to the shit-covered field you came from.”

The compatriot of the man Ulysses was currently dragging off the table stood from his stool, knocking it over while bellowing at the scene drunkenly. He stumbles toward the two, grabbing Ulysses’ shoulder and trying to pull him off of the other man. Ulysses swings back against the second drunk, pushing the first man to the ground. “God damnit, you sons of bitches!” 

“Now that’s enough!” A voice bellows from the doorway, where Sheriff Stockdale strides in, drawn by the commotion and breaking glass that could be heard from outside.  The portly lawman rushes forward, grabbing the man struggling with the barkeep by the collar and yanking him to the floor. Ulysses grunts in appreciation, turning back to the first ranch hand, who was crawling along the floor trying not to be seen. He was doing a poor job of it.

“Ulysses,” Stockdale shouts over his shoulder, “these men are disturbin’ the peace. I’m placin’ them under arrest, will ya help me escort them over to the holdin’ cells?”

The barkeep smirks as he leans over the man on the floor, yanking him up by the collar and pulling him toward the door of the saloon. “Sure, sir, let’s take a walk.”

Stockdale grunts, heaving the drunk to the right out the swinging door, and the man yelps and rolls into the street, groaning in the mud as the sheriff stalks out of the saloon and down the two stairs leading to the lane. Ulysses follows, dragging the second man out with his hands under his shoulders, finally, the man had stopped struggling.

This is the scene you come across as you pace the lane from your cabin toward the front door of McCluskey’s Saloon, “Sheriff?”

Stockdale looks up from the man suspended underneath his boot.  “Missus Shaw, mind you these gentlemen who are gonna spend the night sleepin’ off their rudeness.”

You roll your eyes, giving Stockdale and Ulysses a wide berth as they gathered the two men as best they could to drag them toward the small jail built into the hill. “You boys need help?”

Ulysses grins, looking up from the ground where one of the men lies. “No ma’am, but we just shoulda had you handle them in the first place, they’d run toward the hills before dealin’ with you.”

He stoops down on one knee, grabbing the drunk by the waist and heaving him over his shoulder. The inebriated ranch hand glances up at you, barely making eye contact before laughing, suspended in midair.

“Oh, s-this the town whore? H-How much to warm my bedroll tonight?”

The sheriff backhands the man across the face, knocking him silent. “Ain’t no one talk about Missus Shaw like that, you damned louse,” Stockdale shunts the second man onto his shoulder, and grasps the clinking skeleton keys on his belt, “C’mon, Ulysses, no more disturbin’ the peace from these sorry sons-of-bitches.” He tips his hat to you, “Ma’am,” and manhandles the other drunk behind Ulysses, dragging him in the mud toward the small stone jail at the edge of the hill.

“Startin’ early, I see.” 

You place your hands on your hips, turning your head back toward the saloon. Amos stands at the door, a lit cigarette between his lips. You shake your head, “Let’s hope that wagon train they told us about is a bit less rowdy.”

Amos grunts in agreement, dropping the cigarette to the floor and crunching it under his boot. 

—

“Christ, did’ya buy enough potatoes?” 

Ulysses wipes his hand down his face in exasperation, “That’s the last time you let Amos go on a supply run by hisself, Mister Shaw. The fool don’t know anything bout meal that don’t come out of a can!”

A giggle escapes before you can slap a hand over your mouth. Ulysses and Frederick, on either side of the large table in the back room of the saloon turn to you.

Your husband glares, “I don’t know why you’re laughing, dear, you’re the one who's gonna have to peel all these up.”

“Well then, I best be gettin’ to work, and hope that this wagon train is hungry.” You reply cheekily, reaching for the paring knife on the table and a potato from the heaping pile spilled out between the men.

Ulysses turns and waves his hand backward in dismissal. He grabs a bottle of whiskey from a shelf and moves back to the saloon floor. “Potato soup with a side of potatoes, gonna be a real hit around here.”

Frederick shakes his head, sighing before rubbing at his temple with one hand.

“Oh come on, it’s all in a little fun. I’ll make sure I go with Amos next time he goes to Valentine. I still haven’t been up there.” You laugh, trying to assuage your husband’s stress.

He cracks a smile over thin lips. “Amos could use some guidance …- ”

“Amos could use some babysitting …” you interject, pointing the knife’s edge at him in jest for a second before you return to peeling a potato.

Frederick snorts, bemused. “You are the wisest woman on the face of the earth, Missus Shaw.”

You smirk back at him, one eyebrow raised, “Course I am, someone has to run this town.”

“Hey, Mister Shaw! Wagon train’s here!” Ulysses yells from the front, “Amos, get your ass back there and help Missus Shaw with the cookin!”

“Shit,” Frederick mutters, pulling a pocketwatch from his vest, “sun’ll be down shortly too. Didn’t expect them this quick.”

You toss the peeled potato into a bucket of water, reaching for another one. “It’s fine. Give the boys a drink and we’ll have a pot of soup ready within the hour. It cooks fast. Get Amos back in here peelin’ spuds and I can get it out even quicker.”

Frederick nods, moving toward the door, “Amos, c’mon and help Ruth out!”

You smile to yourself, peeling the brown skin from the potato with the knife in your hand. It falls to the table in neat ribbons. By the time you have peeled your fourth potato and thrown it into the bucket, you turn toward the door, wondering where your help is. You sigh, placing the knife on the table and wiping your hands off on the apron tied at your waist.

Pushing through the door, you’re about to give Amos a piece of your mind until you enter the main room of the saloon. From behind the bar, you see that a large group of men have entered, spreading throughout the room, sitting at various tables, at the bar, and mulling about. 

One in particular stands in front of your husband. Frederick’s arms are crossed over his chest, which usually isn’t good. You catch Ulysses’s eye, who warily glances from you back to the large man in front of your husband.

“You Frederick Shaw?” The leader, a grizzled-looking man with black stains on his work jeans, eyed Frederick up and down.

“Yeah, how can I help you?” Frederick replies with a hint of skepticism in his voice.

“Misters Spence and Cornwall urge ya to reconsider their offer there, Mister Shaw.” The man drawls, hands resting on his belt, a holstered revolver barely in view under his leather jacket.

Frederick’s eyes narrow. “Misters Spence and Cornwall know my answer. And they know they can’t do anything legally to change my mind or take my land.”

The man in front of him snorts, running his hand through his scruffy beard. “Now, ya see here, Mister Shaw, that’s the wrong answer .” He nods to another man over his shoulder, a large brute of an oilman, with hard eyes and hands permanently stained black, “Hartley.”

The man named Hartley moved forward, a dark scowl on his face. He slams his palms on a circular table in the center of the room, grasping it, and throwing it over. Glass crashes and breaks on the floor as the tabletop splinters.

“Gents, I think Mister Shaw here needs come convincin’.” The leader laughs, as a few men fan out and start smashing chairs, overturning tables, and throwing glass against the wall and floors.

“That’s enough!” A voice booms from the swinging door.

Hilliard Stockdale stands in the doorway of the saloon, his recently polished badge bright on his chest. “By authority of the State of New Hanover, I order you to stop,” he drawls in a low, cold voice.

The men stop their destruction, eyes on the sheriff. The leader moseys, completely unconcerned, toward the middle-aged lawman.

Stockdale places his hand on his holstered revolver. “Now, you boys best be leavin’.”

“And you best know better than to quarrel with Mister Cornwall.”

The deafening roar of a gunshot pierces the air.  Within the confines of the saloon, it echoes loudly. Your hands move to cover your ears instantly as you scream, unable to silence yourself as the scene unfurls into chaos. The sheriff coughs, his hand slowly moving to his chest. He touched his sternum, pulling his hand back, covered in blood. He coughs again, blood sputtering from between his lips. Hilliard Stockdale’s eyes roll back as he falls to the floor. The world seems to move in slow motion.

You scream again, your hands trailing from your ears to your cheeks, your eyes wide with horror from your vantage point behind the bar.

You’re tackled to the floor, dragged below the bartop, and shoved down, a hand on the back of your head. “Ruth, c’mon, come with me!” A harsh whisper in your ear. You turn your head slightly from the floor, seeing Ulysses hovering over you, his hand moving from the back of your head to between your shoulders, grabbing at the back of your shirt and pulling you toward the door to the back room. He lets go once you raise yourself to your hands and knees. You crawl toward the back room, remaining crouched to the ground until you reach the table you had just been working at. Pulling yourself up, you gasp, your heart racing.

“Y’alright? Miss Ruth?” Ulysses places one hand on your shoulder and the other on the small of your back. 

You nod, placing both of your hands on the table trying to catch your breath. Ulysses nods, grabbing a large butcher’s knife from the table, “You stay back here, Missus Shaw,” he says urgently as he moves back toward the floor of the saloon.

Glass breaking and wood smashing reverberated from the main room as you try to catch your breath, you slowly move around the table to face the door, grabbing at another knife as you hear men shout and raised voices from the other room.

The door bursts open and you hold the knife ahead of you, knowing that you would have to claw your way out of this situation.

“Ruth!” Frederick moves around the table as you lower the knife. His temple trickled blood as he grabbed a long fire iron from along the side of the wall. 

“What’s happening? Who are those men?” You yell, wide-eyed while still grasping the butcher’s knife.

“Ruth, get in the house and lock the door. There’s a rifle behind the wardrobe in the bedroom. Go now. ” Frederick orders, ushering you out the back door of the saloon. 

“But-!”

“ Now , Ruth, I mean it.”

“Frederick-”

 “ Calluna .”

You stop, knowing that this fight is over. Your nose crinkles as your eyes water. “Be careful.”

“I will.” Frederick grabs you, kissing your forehead, before pushing you out the door. 

You gather your skirts and run behind Amos and Ulysses’ cabin, hoping that the men outside the saloon don’t see you dart across the lane. You edge closer to the stone structure of the jail, hiding behind it. Ducking around the corner, you look at the group of men perched outside the saloon. There had to be fifteen of them, surrounding a wagon loaded with what looked like barrels. You just had to make it around the Sheriff’s office before you could sneak into your house.

Breathing heavily, you run towards the wooden building, hiding behind it. You hear a man inside, furniture moving, glass smashing. It's obvious that he’s looting the office. What does he have to fear now? Sheriff Stockdale lies still on the saloon floor, bleeding out into a puddle.

From the back of the sheriff’s office, you steal the last few meters to your cabin, wrenching open the back door and locking it. You rush to the front window, falling to your knees to hide yourself as much as possible and still have a vantage across the lane to the saloon.

There have to be fifteen men, several of them standing on the saloon’s porch, mulling about. You look at their wagons further down the lane, closer to the riverbank. Three wagons were full of what looked like barrels, painted blue. Two men pull a barrel out from the wagon, walking it together back toward the saloon and the men’s cabin.

They set it down against the wall of Amos’ cabin, one man brushing the other one back as he pulls a matchbook from his jacket. He kicks the bottom of the barrel before taking several steps back. Lighting the match, he flicks it toward the barrel, which ignites with a burst of flame, and the cabin’s wooden frame catches alight. You gasp, dread pooling in your stomach as you watch several of the men unloading the blue barrels from the wagons, walking them toward different buildings.

You squint to look clearer at a barrel placed on the saloon’s porch, and can barely make out the name CORNWALL stamped on the wood. This wasn't happening. You had heard that Leviticus Cornwall was pushy, but this? Arson, murder?

Where was Frederick? Amos? Ulysses? Were they all still in the saloon?

Another barrel is lit, and you can see out the edge of the window that the Sheriff’s office next to your cabin is ablaze.

Shouts bring your gaze back to the saloon, where the door bursts open and two men drag Ulysses out, throwing him to the ground. He struggles to get up, blood pouring from his nose and mouth, as one of the men kicks him back into the mud, laughing.

One of the men pulls Ulysses up by the collar with one hand, the other one unholstering the revolver from his belt.

Again, the world seems like it moves in slow motion as the man points his revolver at Ulysses’ head and pulls the trigger.

You barely cover your mouth as you scream. Ulysses’s body hits the ground, lifeless.

There’s little time to mourn, as one of the rough men outside the door hears the noise through the window, making unfortunate eye contact with you before you duck underneath the window frame, your hand covering your mouth as you edge on hyperventilating.

“Why Miss, don’t you want to let me in?” The man yells, pulling hard on the locked door, “Darlin’, please!”

You hear laughter as you rush away from the front door and into the bedroom, throwing the door closed behind you. Rounding around the room, you push hard against the wardrobe in the corner of your room, pulling out a rifle from behind it. Glass breaks in the background.

You jerk back the bolt of the rifle as you raise it toward the door, cursing yourself for all the times Amos offered to show you how to shoot and you brushed him off. Expecting the door to be broken down, you aim the rifle at the door, squinting with one eye, ready to shoot whoever came in. You didn’t expect the glass to break on your side. You scream, nearly dropping the rifle, and throwing yourself to the floor. The bedroom window glass has been broken out by a flying object.

You look along the floor and curse, realizing that the window had been broken out by a bottle of whiskey wrapped with a burning rag, flaming across the floor. The rug along the floor immediately caught fire, and you jump to your feet, grasping the rifle and running toward the bedroom door back to the main area of the cabin. 

The door is hot, which you painfully learn by grabbing the metal handle. You yell, stumbling back, cradling your hand as you drop the rifle to the floor. Black smoke starts to creep under the door, along with the burning rug on the other side of the bed, the room begins to fill with smoke as the fire spreads quickly. You back into the far corner, coughing as you slide to the floor as the flames grow.

The heat, blazing, suffocating, choking  - you’re curled up in that corner of the room, shielding your face from the fire that surrounds you. It is deafening, the sound of the wooden cabin alight. You cough against the thick and hazy smoke, unable to see, unable to breathe, unable to escape. What used to be a post of your bed falls a few feet in front of you, exploding into sparks as you scream, trying to pedal yourself back against the wall.

“Frederick!” You yell again, hoarse, praying that your husband could hear you, but in the pit of your stomach, you knew neither he nor anyone else could. You throw yourself to your stomach, pulling yourself on your elbows against the wall, you had to get out .

A low-pitched groan of breaking wood was the only warning you received as one of the rafter beams collapsed to the floor. You were barely able to cover your head before the piece of the beam crashed down, knocking the wind from your lungs as it pinned your upper body to the ground. You scream, a hoarse, cursed sound, as you try to pull yourself out from underneath it, for not only was it trapping you, but embers chipped away at the wood, so hot against your shoulder.

It was too much. The heat, the smoke, the pain, the violence. This was it, this was where you were going to die, burned to death in the house you built, as the town of your design burned along with you. Your eyesight starts to fade in and out as you cough, trying to dislodge yourself again, in vain. Your shoulder hurts so much, it's so hot, why won’t it stop ? Above the roar of the fire, the groan of wood breaking, the sounds of dreams dying, you swear you could hear your name.

“Ruth!”

It must be a dream, you must be dying. The weight lifting from across your body must be the sweet release from these earthly bounds.

“Ruth! Ruth, come on, say something.”

It was Frederick, pulling, yanking, grasping at you.  Blood cakes the side of his face. You feel, rather than hear, the scream that escapes your lips as your husband grasps your shoulder to pull you from under the charred piece of wood.  His hand pulls away quickly, but you feel his arms wrap around your ribcage under your arm, he throws that arm across his shoulder. He pulls you up, attempting to walk you along the wall. 

You stumble, and Frederick winds his hands around your waist and he heaves you over his shoulder, you moan in pain as he moves quickly through the remains of the house, kicking the back door open and stumbling to the rear yard, coughing as he sinks to one knee to let you down from his shoulder. Another set of hands grabs you, pulling you as you trip and stumble on unsteady feet.

You hear Aethon scream in the background, the horse’s hooves hitting the ground hard in agitation.

“Darlin’, Ruth, come on, up you go.”

“A-Amos?”

You’re heaved up, hands pushing and pulling as you groan in pain, barely able to keep your eyes open. You’re barely able to stay upright, tipping backward.

“Ruth, love, stay with me.” 

Frederick’s voice is soft in your ear, and you are jostled forward again, but you feel his arm wrap around you as he pulls you back, against him. 

You’re atop the damned horse, and with a sudden burst of energy, you jerk back to awareness. Frederick is in the saddle behind you, Amos tries to steady and calm Aethon as the horse stomps angrily. You gaze past the paddock, where smoke and flame reflect as far as you can see. Your cabin, the store, the sheriff’s office. The saloon. All of Limpany burns before you.

“Go, Mister Shaw, I’ll be right behind you,” Amos yells, backing away from Aethon and moving toward his own horse across the paddock.

A gunshot pierces the night and Aethon rears with a scream. You groan as Frederick pulls hard on the reins, his arm clenching you hard to him as he tries to keep you both from tumbling off the large work horse. Frederick curses loudly, digging his spurs into Aethon’s sides and pushing the horse to move, breaking through the gate of the paddock and into a gallop toward the road on the riverbank.

“Amos…” You trail off into a moan, your hands trying to hold onto Aethon’s mane to steady yourself. Fortunately, Frederick’s hold on you is steady and strong.

"Amos is dead, Ruth.” He grits out, digging his spurs into Aethon again, pushing him faster, harder. A pained sound escapes you, and every jolt of the horse’s gait goes right to your shoulder, bursting in pain, pain, pain.

Your eyes roll back- Surely, this must be a nightmare. Surely, this must be a terrible dream. One you’ll wake from and Limpany will be as it was this morning, bright and full of the promise of the future. 

“Ruth-!”

Unconsciousness steals you like a thief in the night.

[druidgroves]

SHIP SONGS

tagged by @devilbrakers to post 5-10 songs for one of my ships ! thank u ezra :D switching it up & doing my allison/anders playlist bc it actually makes me go insane.

spotify playlist

1. from eden - hozier

babe / there's something tragic about you / something so magic about you / don't you agree?

babe / there's something lonesome about you / something so wholesome about you / get closer to me

2. an act of kindness - bastille

an act of kindness / is what you showed to me / it caught me by surprise / in this town of glass and ice

kindness, / so many people passed me by / but you warmed me to my core / and you left me wanting more

3. beautiful undone - laura doggett

you look beautiful undone / my boy of blue. / i'm looking down and my heart's connected / i'm feeling love from a different view / we learn the most when we least expect it / we learn the most when we break in two / you know you're beautiful undone

4. flaws - bastille

all of your flaws and all of my flaws / are laid out one by one / look at the wonderful mess that we made / we pick ourselves undone

5. night terror - laura marling

i woke up and he was screaming / i'd left him dreaming / i roll over and shake him tightly / and whisper, "if they want you, they're gonna have to fight me / oh, fight me"

6. devil's backbone - the civil wars

don't care if he's guilty, don't care if he's not / he's good and he's bad and he's all that I've got / oh lord, oh lord, I'm begging you please / don't take that sinner from me / oh don't take that sinner from me

7. slip - elliot moss

what's the matter? / you don't have enough rain / to make up your storm? / oooh whatcha look so sad for? / where's the light I used to know?

8. things we lost in the fire - bastille

i was the match and you were the rock / maybe, we started this fire / we sat apart and watched / all we had burned on the pyre

you said, "we were born with nothing / and we sure as hell have nothing now"

9. curses - the crane wives

every word I say is kindling / but the smoke clears when you're around / won't you stay with me, my darling / when my walls start burning down, down, down

10. nfwmb - hozier

ain't it a gentle sound, the rollin' in the graves? / ain't it like thunder under earth, the sound it makes? / ain't it exciting you, the rumble where you lay? / ain't you my baby? ain't you my baby?

[lepoppeta]

*Sits down at a desk like I've just arrived at a meeting* Tell me about your ships and their theme songs and your thoughts, for any fandom/ships you currently feel like rambling about, even if I personally don't know them. Don't hold back c:

hhh oh boy this… "dont hold back" i could simultaneously go on forever and also… not. what im going to try and do for this is concentrate on songs that could be applied to both sides at once, rather than one individual person referring to the other. im also not going to be too narritively focused. these rules help me to keep the ask response to a minimum; i dont really like writing obscenely long posts, and would rather categorise them more concretely.

(by coincidence, this basically narrows down my ship themes to just my bioshock pairings).

if you want to inquire about particular character themes in reference to their respective pairings, then dont hesitate to send another ask! that goes for anyone else reading this post.

that being said… shakes hand thanks for coming today and expressing you interest. we really love to see that kind of go-getter attitude on this blog!

since i asked you about DELTACLAIR themes a little while ago, i figured id repay you and start with them first. deltaclair i find to be very interesting because has the intense aesthetic of a soulmate au but without any sort of weird macguffin to go along with it; theyre simply two people who had an instantaneous connection and an initial sense of deep, unwavering trust. in a lot of media ive consumed concerning these two, they dont really care about their past actions (either for themselves or for the other), but rather focus on the present and how that can affect the future. its a very interesting dynamic and honestly not one ive explored before in any other fandom.

the night we met (lord huron)

i am not the only traveler who has not repaid his debt ive been searching for a trail to follow again take me back to the night we met

the melancholy nature of this song really drives home the directionless nature of themselves and their relationship. they just seem to exist suspended in time and space and outside of finding eleanor and getting out of rapture neither of them have any especially lofty goals to strive towards. sinclair never comes off as particularly ambitious, more placidly curious and perhaps mildly vengeful. delta is… well, delta.

and then i can tell myself what the hell im supposed to do and then i can tell myself not to ride along with you

despite me noting that they never seen to distrust each other, im sure there was a part in the beginning where both of them were waiting for the inevitable screwing-over. as they slowly get more comfortable with the situation theres still this lingering feeling of "i shouldnt be entertaining this at all" and yet they do anyway and its so brilliant and angsty.

like real people do (hozier)

i will not ask you where you came from i will not ask and neither should you

theres this silent understanding that ive always garnered between these two that some things are better left unsaid. sinclair has no idea who delta was before the alpha series, and delta knows that sinclair (chatty as he may be) is pretty tight-lipped at the best of times. its not that important information is being swept under the rug in lieu of a shallow fantasy, its more a silent agreement that bringing past grievances up isnt particulalry helpful. neither of them come across to me as particularly petty (although one could argue that sinclair is the Pettiest Bitch in Existence).

so i will not ask you why you were creeping in some sad way i already know

(see above for explanation)

devils backbone (the civil wars)

dont care if hes guilty dont care if hes not hes good and hes bad and hes all that ive got

delta and sinclair definitely come across as relitively apathetic about each others seedier choices, and quite readily move them aside for the sake of a survivable present and more important a fruitful future. theres simply a distinct lack of shits given, but in an accutely unyeilding way.

in comparison, JATLAS is extremely passionate and volatile compared to deltaclairs mutual, silent acceptance. their songs also tend to be a lot more narratively involved and arent suspended in space like deltaclairs are. they stand out more as individuals who happen to be part of a pair, rather than two characters viewed as a whole. dismissing the themes that contribute to the story rather to them just as inidviduals, jatlas for now only has one song.

exile vilify (the national)

youve got suckers luck have you given up? does it feel like a trial? does it trouble your mind the way you trouble mine?

atlas and jack never expected to be so important to one another. it all happened so quickly and so intensely that neither of them really stopped to consider how they felt about the whole ordeal until much later. they plague each others thoughts for entirely different reasons; jack has experienced a loveless existence (especially after his mother died) and atlas has never met someone who strikes him as fiercely as jack does. theyre the victims of poor luck and overwhelmingly shitty circumstances and all they have at the end of the day is each other.

[solitarelee]

hey @cipheramnesia guess who found out that there's a nearby horror movie film club that shows random horror movies I've literally never heard of at a really cool theatre nearby that has a full restaurant and bar built in and tables in front of all the seats

[spencer-reids-adventures]

Reid-ing List: Seasons 7-15

In response to a lovely anon, I have put together a list of episodes from seasons 7-15 that are Reid-centric or have good/important Reid moments, mostly to serve as a watching guide since the later seasons can drag a little bit and it's nice to know there are things to look forward to! Obviously this completely subjective, and also I'm not perfect and I'm sure I missed things, but I did my best. If anyone would like me to put one together for seasons 1-6, just let me know The list for seasons 1-6 can be found here! :)

Purple and bold: Episode more or less centered around Reid Purple and italicized: Good/important Reid moments Just purple: Directed by Matthew Gray Gubler

Red: No Reid :(

Season 7

1 "It Takes a Village" 2 "Proof" 3 "Dorado Falls" 4 "Painless" 5 "From Childhood's Hour" 6 "Epilogue" 7 "There's No Place Like Home" 8 "Hope" 9 "Self-Fulfilling Prophecy" 10 "The Bittersweet Science" 11 "True Genius" 12 "Unknown Subject" 13 "Snake Eyes" 14 "Closing Time" 15 "A Thin Line" 16 "A Family Affair" 17 "I Love You, Tommy Brown" 18 "Foundation" 19 "Heathridge Manor" 20 "The Company" 21 "Divining Rod" 22 "Profiling 101" 23 "Hit" 24 "Run"

Season 8

1 "The Silencer" 2 "The Pact" 3 "Through the Looking Glass" 4 "God Complex" - beginning of Maeve arc 5 "The Good Earth" 6 "The Apprenticeship" 7 "The Fallen" 8 "The Wheels on the Bus…" 9 "Magnificent Light" 10 "The Lesson" 11 "Perennials" 12 "Zugzwang" 13 "Magnum Opus" 14 "All That Remains" 15 "Broken" 16 "Carbon Copy" 17 "The Gathering" 18 "Restoration" 19 "Pay It Forward" 20 "Alchemy" 21 "Nanny Dearest" 22 "#6" 23 "Brothers Hotchner" 24 "The Replicator"

Season 9

1 "The Inspiration" 2 "The Inspired" 3 "Final Shot" 4 "To Bear Witness" 5 "Route 66" 6 "In the Blood" 7 "Gatekeeper" - not technically Reid-centric but he's just kind of awesome throughout anyway lol 8 "The Return" 9 "Strange Fruit" 10 "The Caller" 11 "Bully" 12 "The Black Queen" 13 "The Road Home" 14 "200" 15 "Mr. & Mrs. Anderson" 16 "Gabby" 17 "Persuasion" 18 "Rabid" 19 "The Edge of Winter" 20 "Blood Relations" 21" What Happens In Mecklinburg…" 22 "Fatal" - I know no one asked but there's a really cute Hotch scene in this one that you should definitely watch <3 23 "Angels" - setup for Demons 24 "Demons"

Season 10

1 "X" 2 "Burn" 3 "A Thousand Suns" 4 "The Itch" 5 "Boxed In" 6 "If the Shoe Fits" 7 "Hashtag" 8 "The Boys of Sudworth Place" 9 "Fate" 10 "Amelia Porter" 11 "The Forever People" 12 "Anonymous" 13 "Nelson's Sparrow" 14 "Hero Worship" 15 "Scream" 16 "Lockdown" 17 "Breath Play" 18 "Rock Creek Park" 19 "Beyond Borders" 20 "A Place at the Table" 21 "Mr. Scratch" 22 "Protection" 23 "The Hunt"

Season 11

1 "The Job" 2 "The Witness" 3 "'Til Death Do Us Part" 4 "Outlaw" 5 "The Night Watch" 6 "Pariahville" 7 "Target Rich" 8 "Awake" 9 "Internal Affairs" 10 "Future Perfect" 11 "Entropy" 12 "Drive" 13 "The Bond" 14 "Hostage" 15 "A Badge and a Gun" 16 "Derek" 17 "The Sandman" 18 "A Beautiful Disaster" 19 "Tribute" 20 "Inner Beauty" 21 "Devil's Backbone" 22 "The Storm"

Season 12

1 "The Crimson King" - I can't not note Luke and Spencer's first meeting 2 "Sick Day" 3 "Taboo" 4 "Keeper" 5 "The Anti-Terror Squad" 6 "Elliott's Pond" 7 "Mirror Image" 8 "Scarecrow" 9 "Profiling 202" 10 "Seek and Destroy "11 "Surface Tension" 12 "A Good Husband" 13 "Spencer" - Beginning of prison arc, and I consider all the prison episodes to be centered around Reid even when there's other stuff going on! 14 "Collision Course" 15 "Alpha Male" 16 "Assistance Is Futile" 17 "In The Dark" 18 "Hell's Kitchen" 19 "True North" 20 "Unforgettable" 21 "Green Light" 22 "Red Light"

Season 13

1 "Wheels Up" 2 "To A Better Place" 3 "Blue Angel" 4 "Killer App" 5 "Lucky Strikes" 6 "The Bunker" 7 "Dust and Bones" 8 "Neon Terror" 9 "False Flag" 10 "Submerged" 11 "Full-Tilt Boogie" 12 "Bad Moon on the Rise" 13 "Cure" 14 "Miasma" 15 "Annihilator" 16 "Last Gasp" 17 "The Capilanos" 18 "The Dance of Love" 19 "Ex Parte" 20 "All You Can Eat" 21 "Mixed Signals" 22 "Believer"

Season 14

1 "300" 2 "Starter Home" 3 "Rule 34" 4 "Innocence" 5 "The Tall Man" 6 "Luke" 7 "Twenty Seven" 8 "Ashley" 9 "Broken Wing" 10 "Flesh and Blood" 11 "Night Lights" 12 "Hamelin" 13 "Chameleon" 14 "Sick and Evil" 15 "Truth or Dare"

Season 15

1 "Under the Skin" 2 "Awakenings" 3 "Spectator Slowing" 4 "Saturday" 5 "Ghost" 6 "Date Night" 7 "Rusty" 8 "Family Tree" 9 "Face Off" 10 "And in the End"

[zaharya]

Listen, I don’t often defend anything Albus Dumbledore did or decided, but the obstacle course in Harry’s first year might not be as easy as it seems at first glance. Let’s go through it, shall we?

Secrecy — Theoretically the first obstacle was that nobody was supposed to know about the stone being at Hogwarts. Too bad Quirrell had no backbone and told Voldemort. And, oh yeah, breadcrumbs for Harry to figure it out I guess.

Fluffy — Okay, he is a giant, three-headed dog. Yeah, can be defeated but it surely would be a challenge if it hadn’t been for his significant weakness for lullabies and Hagrid’s loose tongue that ruined another level of obstacle 1, secrecy. Harry would never have made it past him without knowing that weakness.

Devil’s Snare — Again, the solution seems really simple, but think about it: this is Hogwarts first year Herbology curriculum. Do you still remember all the plants you learnt in middle school biology class? It’s quite safe to assume that the average adult wouldn’t remember it too well on the spot without warning and in a stressful situation. So, this obstacle is probably easier for Harry because he’s only 11. An adult would have a much harder time to remember that, unless they were, say, also a teacher at Hogwarts and informed about the protections for the stone, in which case they’d probably look up how to get past it. (Well done, Quirrell, you did your homework.)

The flying key — I’ll be real with you, it beats me how Quirrell managed that one, unless it’s not as hard as they make it sound in which case come on, Flitwick, you could try at least a little. Anyway Harry is the youngest seeker in a century — the kid can fucking fly, better than most people.

Chess — This one is again one where I’m like “Minerva please, some effort” but even so it’s not necessarily ineffective. I wouldn’t get past it simply because I don’t know chess at all; and I’ll once again say that Quirrell probably did some practicing throughout the year because he knew about it in advance. The fact that Ron is a chess prodigy is awfully convenient, but does in no way imply that a regular 11-year-old could beat this chess board. My headcanon is that the board is exactly as good as McGonagall would be and who really knows how good that is.

A troll — Like Fluffy this one is a challenge Harry definitely would’ve struggled with or failed at. Conveniently, he doesn’t have to face it because Quirrell, who has an established talent for fighting trolls, did it for him. An average 11-year-old would definitely fail this.

Literal poison and a riddle — how many people are gonna take the risk to actually drink from one of these bottles? How many 11-year-olds (or adults) are gonna solve a riddle like that with such confidence that they risk literally poisoning themselves to go on? Quirrell had Voldemort to pressure him — and Harry had blind, albeit earned, faith in Hermione who is the most intellectually confident person in the world and absolutely not the norm. The obstacle here is not only the riddle, but also overcoming the fear of being wrong — it’s a mental game most people would lose.

The mirror — Well, that one worked, didn’t it? The mirror is based on intent and was therefore practically failsafe. If Harry hadn’t showed up, Quirrell’s absence would eventually have been noticed and Snape would probably have checked on the stone and found him. Harry didn’t need to be there, the stone was actually safe.

So, what? Do I think Dumbledore is a good guy and never intended for Harry to get involved? Hell nah, he sure as fuck did (bitch), but at least he didn’t risk the stone over it. The obstacle course could be considered valid protection for the stone because all of these are only possible for the trio to get through because of a) loopholes/non-participation (music for fluffy, troll already defeated), b) their individual special talents (flying, chess, logic), and c) literally the fact that they are first years and therefore are currently revising Devil’s Snare for their exams and know stuff which no adult would remember (unless you’re into plants i guess).

In conclusion: Give the Hogwarts professors a little bit of credit for those protections, even though a trio of first years got through them, it’s not their fault the golden trio has main character syndrome. (And we still hate Dumbledore’s scheming arse.) Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

[ikeromantic]

Trust

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfiction, approx. 2200 words. This scene takes place toward the end of Ch. 13 of the Romantic Route. SPOILERS!

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Base Villains

Mitsuhide felt a surge of incoherent rage. His beloved little mouse stood beside the shogun, her arm in his iron-grip. Her face was bruised - and likely more of her that he couldn’t see. Her clothes were torn and bloody. If Ashikaga thought this would bring him mercy, he was badly mistaken.

She turned her eyes from the shogun to look at Mitsuhide. There was a world of hurt in that gaze, but strength too. Despite all she’d suffered, she was angry and determined. There was even a flare of joy in her at seeing him.

“You base villains,” Ashikaga shrieked. He waved the guards to attack, but the daimyo’s men didn’t move.

Motonari ignored the shogun completely. He gave the chatelaine a saucy grin. “Hey! Yer lookin’ pretty good fer a prisoner, m’lady!” He even dipped in a slight bow to her, though the effect was somewhat lacking given the blood spatter and gore on him.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, my love.” Mitsuhide took a step toward her.

She smiled, though the expression clearly caused her pain. “I knew you’d come.”

“I hoped you would say that, which is why I endeavored to come just as you needed me.” Mitsuhide couldn’t help the genuine affection that colored his voice when he spoke to her. He was still angry - still planning to tear the shogun’s body into pieces - but that rage burned right beside the fires of his love. One did not contradict the other. He knew he didn’t need to gentle himself for her. “I will have you free and in my arms in a moment.”

“Guards!” Ashikaga shrieked, his voice cutting through the nearby sounds of battle. He was not a man that liked being ignored.

The door of the side room burst open, spilling the shogun’s personal guards into the room. Where the daimyo’s men would not obey, these men were eager to do as ordered. There were only four of them, and at least one looked as if he was already half-dead.

“I expected more from you, Yoshiaki. It seems your popularity has taken a plunge.” Mitsuhide lifted his sword, ready to fight.

Motonari laughed. “Aww, if I’da known you were so hard-up fer help, I might not a’ betrayed ya so quick.”

The shogun’s face flushed crimson and he shook with anger. “You - you fools think to mock me? Know your position!” He jerked the chatelaine in front of him. “Besides, I have a hostage. You are mad to go against me!”

“I am quite sane, I assure you,” Mitsuhide’s eyes narrowed. The shogun clearly wasn’t. Mitsuhide was willing to kill a man for making his little one cry. For this . . . death was too easy. “Yoshiaki, this world has moved on. It has no more need for men like you. Because you fail to grasp this, I have come to assist you off the stage myself.”

The shogun’s eyes were wide, though with fear or anger, it was impossible to say. “Insolence! Make your jokes while you have breath for them.” Then he smiled and pulled a dagger from his belt. He pressed the sharp edge to the chatelaine’s throat.

She gasped and froze.

Behind them, one of the servants - no, Mitsuhide realized - Kyubei! - began to step forward. Mitsuhide gave the barest shake of his head. An attack now would mean death for his little mouse. The right moment would come.

“See they do not approach me,” Ashikaga ordered his men.

The half-dead looking guard bowed to the shogun. “As you command, majesty.” Then he turned his gaze to the intruders. Mitsuhide saw in them the fires of fanaticism, and the darkness of death approaching. This man had no fear, not anymore. He pulled a long sword and held it up. “I sentence you to death, kitsune. It is too light a punishment for turning on the shogun, but it is the best I can mete out.”

Motonari gave an excited shout. “Hell yes! Looks like one o’ yer men has got some backbone!”

Yoshiaki hissed something to the chatelaine and then pulled her to the corner of the room.

“I’ll take the room. You can have the shogun.” Motonari didn’t wait for a reply, just charged forward. He was immediately met by the half-dead fanatic, who despite his wounds, was clearly the best of the remaining fighters. “Let’s have us some fun!”

“This will be no game,” the fanatic’s expression was grim.

They exchanged blows, their blades screeching as they met again and again.

Mitsuhide shook his head. Mouri was mad, but at least that had its usefulness. At least this provided him an opening. He dodged past the remaining guards toward the shogun.

“You rush to your end,” Yoshiaki shouted. He pushed past the doors to a small balcony. It was a bare ledge with no railings. Below, the battle was slowing as men died or surrendered. Their cries were carried up to the tenshu on the cold night air.

The chatelaine went with him, the dagger still on her throat kept her still and compliant.

“If you so much as twitch, I’ll throw you to your death,” the shogun hissed at her.

Mitsuhide sheathed his sword and pulled the matchlock from his back. There wasn’t enough space on that narrow ledge to fight. In this, the tanegashima was a better choice. If his aim held true. He checked the load and primed it to fire. Then he pointed it at the shogun. “Do not move.”

The shogun pressed his knife hard against the chatelaine’s throat, drawing a thin line of blood. “It is you who should be careful of his movements.” He grinned, already feeling he’d won. “Now lower your rifle.”

“You can only kill her once, Yoshiaki.”

“Disarm yourself and kneel, kitsune! Do it, or I will kill her!”

Despite his words, Mitsuhide was terrified. Seeing the blood on her neck only drove home the very real possibility that she would die here, now. He would still finish his mission. The shogun would die. But his little one . . . The thought froze his limbs and stopped his heart. He told himself that Ashikaga would kill her anyway, even if he dropped the gun and knelt. Yet . . . if there was a chance that he would let her go . . .

Seeing Mitsuhide’s conflict, Yoshiaki’s smile widened. “Call off your troops and I will let the girl live. Do it, and I may even forgive you for turning against me.”

Mitsuhide didn’t move.

“Now, or must I say it louder?!”

He ignored the shogun and studied the face of his beloved little one. She saw the decision he had to make. And she understood. Without moving, she gifted him her trust. His little mouse knew the risk he was about to take and accepted it, as he must. Her bravery made his chest hurt and his throat close. But he could only honor it now by taking action.

As Mitsuhide took aim, the chatelaine lifted her hands and in a practiced motion, grabbed the shogun’s knife arm. “Now,” she shouted. She had only seconds that she could hold Ashikaga at bay.

Mitsuhide sent a prayer to whatever gods or devils may be listening, and he pulled the trigger.

The moment stretched. He saw the powder light, heard the explosion of the bullet as it left the barrel. Watched Ashikaga’s ribs buckle under the impact, and his blood stained the cloth around the wound.

“What?” The shogun looked down at himself in confusion. His grip on the knife loosened. The blade fell to the ground.

The messenger stopped fighting Motonari in the room behind them and flung himself toward Mitsuhide. There was death in his eyes. He knew he couldn’t survive this attack, but he was determined to avenge the shogun as his last living act.

Kyubei lunged forward, putting himself between Mitsuhide and the nearly dead warrior. His sword took the man in his gut, stopping him before he could so much as breathe on Akechi. The hate in the messenger’s eyes burned to emptiness as his life-blood spilled. Kyubei watched impassively until he was sure the man was really dead.

“Nice kill,” Motonari remarked. “Who’re you?”

“No one.” Kyubei gave a half smile and pulled his sword free.

Mitsuhide spared a moment to clap him on the shoulder. Their eyes met. There was much to discuss, of course, but it could wait. The shogun was dead, the chatelaine was alright, and there were yet plans to put in motion.

“Mouri, go make sure Kennyo isn’t overwhelmed. There is still fighting on the grounds below us. Everything must be calm before the shogun arrives.”

“Yer losin’ yer mind, kitsune. The shogun’s right there.” Mouri’s eyes narrowed as Yoshiaki staggered to the edge of the narrow ledge. His legs shook. His chest spasmed as he gasped for air. And then, Yoshiaki Ashikaga fell.

Mitsuhide closed the distance between him and his little mouse. He pulled her tight against him. “You are alright.”

“I know.” She snuggled closer.

“Guess I’ll leave ya two lovebirds and go see to Kennyo,” Motonari said gruffly. “Ya did good princess.”

She didn’t look up to watch him go, though Mitsuhide’s eyes followed the pirate until he was gone from sight. Then his attention was back on his little one. Her deep, shaking breaths slowed and steadied. “I hope one day, awful things like this don’t have to happen anymore.”

“As do I.” He stroked her back gently. He had wanted to insulate her from this. To protect her. But his little mouse was strong enough to see death and recover from it. She’d proven herself yet again to be his match. Here she was, injured and in shock, yet she still held strength. Though he hadn’t believed he could love her more, he felt a surge of affection for this strange, sweet woman.

A dry cough from the room behind them eventually broke their moment of peace. Kyubei, still dressed as one of the daimyo’s servants, stood beside . . . Ashikaga Yoshiaki. Or, his replacement.

“Sorry to interrupt. I was just wondering when you’d clear this place out. My room is a mess!” The shogun wrinkled his nose in distaste.

Kyubei nudged him. “The shogun would never apologize.”

“Ah, right. Interrupting you was an annoyance. How dare you embrace and not regard my entrance with the appropriate obeisance?” The shogun smiled.

Mitsuhide smiled back. “I see. My apologies to you then. Shall I kneel?”

The chatelaine looked down at the ground below for a moment as if to check that Ashikaga’s body was still there. Then she looked back up at his double. “You - who? No wait! You’re the scribe! We met you in Kyoto at the shogun’s estate.”

“Riku, at your service, princess.” The shogun bowed. “Ashikaga kept my service while he was in hiding here, and eventually brought me out to scribe for him. Just as Akechi suspected he would.”

“And you made contact with my spy as instructed, I see,” Mitsuhide smiled.

“I did. He told me your idea and, at first I wasn’t interested but -”

“I am very persuasive,” Kyubei grinned.

Riku, now the shogun’s double, nodded. “And the daimyo agreed to go along with it, provided his family was spared. So here we are.” He looked a little nervous.

“You will make an excellent shogun in exile,” Mitsuhide reassured him. “All you need do is enjoy the remaining wealth of the Ashikaga clan and stay out of Oda’s way.”

“I will,” Riku’s expression was determined, if a little pale. “It’s more than I ever could have hoped for as a mere scribe.”

Mitsuhide nodded. “I will leave you in Kyubei’s care for now. He will alert me if you need support.” His eyes fell to his little mouse. “I have more important tasks this day.”

He spared not a heartbeat more before lifting her into his arms. It felt like they’d been apart forever, though it was really only a few days. Mitsuhide carried her past the few lingering fights, and into one of the daimyo’s guest rooms. It was quieter here, though the smell of gunpowder and blood still hung on the air.

“I would take you to Kyoto, but first . . .” he brushed a finger along the edge of her jaw. Her cheek was swollen and bruised. “We must see to your injuries. What happened?”

She told him about her capture as he gently rubbed balm into her wounds. Mitsuhide could tell it stung - both the ointment and relating her capture. But he was proud of her for trying to outsmart Ashikaga’s man, and for fighting back.

“I am sorry I wasn’t there to protect you,” he said softly, and kissed her forehead.

She put her hand to his cheek and shook her head. “You can’t always be right beside me. I don’t expect you to be. I did my best to keep myself safe and . . . I knew if I couldn’t, that you would rescue me. And you did.”

Mitsuhide felt a sharp warmth in his eyes and realized he might cry. Her trust in him . . . he simply didn’t have words for the way it made him feel. “I love you, little one.”

“And I love you.”

Next: Tears of Joy

[darylandbethfanforever9]

Devil’s Backbone

Devil’s Backbone

Chapter 3

AN: I hope everyone is enjoying the story so far, and thank you everyone who has commented, reblogged or liked the story :)

Story Rating: Explicit, 18+

Warnings: Smut, violence, flashbacks of past sexual assault, descriptions of torture and racial hate. Not Tony Stark friendly.

Relationships: Bucky/OC, Steve/Natasha, Billy/Wanda/Grant, Sam/Sharon, Clint/Laura, eventual Clint/Yelena and Frank/Karen Page.

Summary: In the aftermath of the Blip, Bucky struggled to find his place among the world and the Avengers. However, when he is sent on a mission to Madripoor to investigate a mysterious woman, he starts to realize maybe his past isn’t too far behind him. Co-Written with WalkingPotterGirl14.

The girls at the Red Room would whisper about the Winter Soldier. He was a ghost story, a tale whispered to keep them in line by warning them if they didn't succeed in the classes or missions, that the soldat would creep into their room and kill them.

She remembered seeing those cold eyes watching her and over girls when he had come to the academy to train one of their classes. He had thrown a young girl called Polina Paseka across the room after she failed four times to do a pirouette in ballet class.

She frowned as she tried to make sense of how the Winter Soldier had escaped the Red Room. It was rare when someone was able to make it out, almost impossible. She decided to call Carter and inquire about the soldier. Her interest was piqued by the man. Maybe she would know something.

Bucky and the others returned to the compound to inform Fury about the black ops team that the Power Broker had sent to kidnap Isaiah and Eli Bradley. The man must have been hellbent on creating the serum after Zemo destroyed the ones that Dr. Nadler had created. "Hill is identifying the people who were sent to kidnap Isaiah and his grandson. Two of them have already been identified," Fury announced grimly. He pulled up two images of two men, one of whom that Bucky recognized instantly. Jack Rollins. He knew him from being there at the Ideal Federal Savings bank when he had his mind wiped by Pierce after trying to kill Steve, Sam and Natasha in Washington D.C. "You might remember the guy on the left, Barnes and Rogers. That is Jack Rollins, former member of the STRIKE Team. After fleeing the U.S., he settled in Madripoor and began working as a mercenary for the highest bidder. Tomas Calderon is a former S.H.I.E.L.D agent, who was fired after killing a group of Inhuman refugees in Nairobi, Kenya," Fury explained gravely. He paused for a moment before glancing their way. "Rogers, Wilson, I want you to ask Carter if she knows how long this mystery young woman has been living in Madripoor. See if there's a gang war brewing over a power struggle. Barnes, Barton and Maximoff, I want you three to talk to Russo, Karen Page, Murdock, and Curtis Hoyle. See what they know about the Power Broker," the director instructed. They nodded and all left.

The first thing Ana decided to do was renovate the whole damn penthouse that the Power Broker owned. She ordered new bedding, a new mattress, and a nice bed frame. There was no way in hell she was sleeping in his bed. She followed suit with the rest of the apartment, glad to have all this control now. The next thing she did was arrange a meeting with all the criminals who lived in Madripoor. She was putting down some rules. She was no saint - far from it - but no way in hell was she tolerating slavery, sex trafficking, and fucking child molesters and pedophiles. She knew Madripoor thrived on crime, but she was going to be instilling some rules for everyone. She personally called off the bounties on the Winter Soldier, the Falcon and Baron Zemo, from what she had heard around. She had no quarrel with them at the minute. Her main focus was going to be ensuring the Red Room remained shut down. She didn't want anyone else to go through what she had gone through. No child deserved that horror. The buzzer rang then, and she answered the call immediately. She had a feeling that a few of them were going to be aggravating. But she had dealt with worse people. "Miss Liukin, this is Conrad Mack. You wish to speak with me about a beneficial arrangement between us?" The man asked politely. She smiled slightly. "Please come in, Mr. Mack," she said smoothly. The door was unlocked and locked behind him. She might have her bodyguards, but she wasn't defenseless by herself if Conrad decided to play dirty. Two could play at that game. Conrad Mack entered the living room. He was a handsome man in person. He had dark brown eyes, but there was a sharpness in them, like an eagle, always watching. He was wearing casual, but smart clothing. "Mr. Mack, it's a pleasure to meet with you. I've heard a lot of things about you," Ana said warmly. The man offered her a charming smile that showed perfect white teeth. "The pleasure is all mine, Miss Liukin. I have to say that I'm impressed by your bloodless takeover of Madripoor. If you don't mind me asking, what inspired you to take over Madripoor from the Power Broker?" She smiled at his question, as she sipped from her glass of red wine and Conrad drank from his glass of whisky. The man was a gangster, but he did have morals. She decided to give him some of the truth. "The Power Broker wished to recreate the Super Soldier serum after Baron Zemo destroyed the vials that Karli Morgenthau stole from him. But he wanted me to kidnap a man called Isaiah Bradley and his grandson…I presume you know who he is?" she asked meaningfully. Conrad nodded, his smile turning to a grimace. "Yeah, I know who he is. My grandaddy fought with him in World War II. The US government threw him in jail and took his blood. He escaped during the eighties and settled down in Baltimore," the man said bitterly, well aware of America's racial discrimination against African-Americans. Ana nodded at his answer as she looked at the Monet art that decorated the walls. She disliked racists fiercely. "Then you understand why the Power Broker had to go, Conrad?" He lets out a quiet nod at that. "As I've said before, I'm not a saint. I've done some horrible things. But I draw the line at people dragging innocents back into their dirty hands. For years I had no control of what I was able to do, and now that I do, you can bet I'm going to make sure that no one else gets hurt like that." Conrad smiles to that. "That's very noble of you." Ana snorts and shakes her head. "Not noble. It's called being a human. However,…I'm not a good person too. And the reason we're here is because of that." She comes over to him, leaning against her chair. "I know about your little business on the side here. You thrive from the drug community here, don't you?" "If we're being honest, it is one of, if not the most, profitable business you can have in Madripoor." "On the brink of a collapse the city would be if that whole system decided to go belly-up," Ana states, holding her glass in her hands. "Which is why I'm willing to offer a truce with you. An agreement, of sorts. If you keep a low profile and continue your business, I'll make sure it can still run with the people here and the cops won't be on your ass. I know how hard it can be to stay on the downlow but I'm willing to compromise on that as long as your guys don't interfere with what I'm trying to do." Conrad raises an eyebrow. "You're very interesting, you know that?" She raises an eyebrow back at him. "How so?" "You're like the opposite version of what you say you are. You're trying to be good but also trying to keep crime going…it's a strange contradiction, if you will." Ana shrugs her shoulders, walking over to where he sits. "We all have our contradictions. But the main part here is making sure your business can still run despite those contradictions. So…" She holds out her hand to him. "Do we have a deal?" Conrad looks at her hand for a split second before extending outwards, shaking it firmly. "We have a deal."

Talking with Karen, Frank, Matthew and Foggy had gone about as well as Bucky had been expecting. They didn't know that much about the Power Broker except for the fact that he just wanted to have as much power as possible, simple as that. They had stumbled into them when Fisk had gone away to jail, leaving his powerful empire in the city free for the taking. Due to the power vacuum, the Power Broker had tried to break in.

But luckily, they had come in at the right moment to stop him from taking over, before he had escaped off to Madripoor. Bucky truly wondered what went through this man's mind to make him think like that, that he could suddenly own everyone just because one man got arrested. But then again, the man was clearly unstable. If he wanted to still create more and more super-solder serums for the world to use…there was no way he would allow that. Secretly, Bucky really hoped this new mysterious woman had killed the Power Broker. Hell, maybe even taken over herself. If she was willing to help Sharon out and let them know about Isiah, she at least had some sort of morals compared to the original man. But he also had a feeling that Fury, if he did find out who this woman was, was most likely going to send them after her. So maybe he'd get the chance to meet her after all. A part of him still couldn't believe that he had seen Ana at a coffee shop…it was such a small world. A part of her still felt so familiar, and at the same time he couldn't remember where he had seen her before. He was thankful that the Wakandan's had gotten out all the trigger words in his mind but damn it, he wished he had his whole mind back. Something he would just have to live with for now.

Was this a stupid idea? Probably. Could Fury walk in at any moment? Most likely. But Natasha needed to know. She had to know if this woman was alive truly or not. Maybe she would get lucky, and they would be able to swing around this situation. Maybe the woman who had come into the facility wasn't even close to her. When Nat and Yelena had destroyed the Red Room area, they had been able to access their system remotely to be able to view who had died and who had lived from the program. She had never checked for her to see if she was still around. But this time was better than no time. She typed in the name quickly, searching through the files before she lands on the one, she had wanted. And her shoulders sink as soon as she reads through the file on the computer screen. 'Anastasia Liukin. Dead – complications of operation.' "Oh, thank God," Natasha breathes out, running her hand through her hair. This at least said that she was gone. Maybe she would be able to get out of this alive. But something still didn't sit right. A part of her didn't think that she was dead. If it wasn't her…then who? She bites her lip, glancing deeper into the file.

"Fuck it," she said finally, before delving further into the files. She found information on Anastasia about the year she was born. The young woman had been born on July 10, 1995 in Voronezh, Voronezh Oblast, Russia in the aftermath of the Soviet Union collapsing. Her mother had died when she was five years old, and she had no one else to raise her. She was then placed in an orphanage until the age of seven when the Red Room had approached her under the illusion of being taken to a ballet boarding school. There were no other records of her aside from the file about her dying from an operation. The reasons for the operation were redacted, but deep-down Natasha knew the reason. 'I had to do it. I had to protect Yelena. She was too soft for the Red Room despite all the training we put her through,' she thought rationally, ignoring the pang of guilt that pulsed through her.

Sharon was honestly trying to keep herself calm as she drove to the penthouse that was owned by the Power Broker. She hadn't seen the mysterious woman again, but she had told Sharon to call her Ana. Now, she was driving there and was stunned by the sight before her very eyes. The building itself was amazing and very spacious, but the apartment was even better. She was shown into the penthouse by a bodyguard and kept her face neutral as she was greeted by none other than Ana. "You wanted to see me?" She asked politely. Ana smiled at her calmly as Sharon sat down on the comfortable black velvet sofa. The living room was very spacious but had a homey-vibe around it. There were framed photographs on the mantelpiece. "Yes. I was wondering if I could buy some of the Art Deco paintings and sculptures in your art gallery?" Ana asked curiously. Sharon blinked in surprise but nodded and leaned forward. "I'll be happy to sell you them, Miss Liukin," she said reassuringly, stunned that the woman wasn't going to kill her for helping Bucky, Sam and Zemo escape from the Power Broker. Speaking of the man, she hadn't seen him around Madripoor for the last couple of days. She wondered if finally, someone had killed him for having too much control and power. Considering Ana was in his penthouse, she had quite the feeling it had something to do with her, since the man had been tied up by her not that long ago. "Then I'll see you tomorrow morning. I'll enjoy doing business with you, Sharon," Ana said kindly, her voice genuine. Sharon nodded as they both walked out, seeing that the whole penthouse was being renovated. At Sharon looking, Ana smiled as she put her bottle of water down on the coffee table. "This penthouse belonged to the Power Broker, and it didn't give a welcoming feel. So, I decided to have the whole house renovated, including an indoor ballet studio, along with an indoor swimming pool, a library, and many bedrooms," the woman explained amusedly. Sharon smiled before saying goodbye and Ana watched her leave. She had to admit, it seemed the women had the strength to stay around – and wasn't planning on leaving anytime soon.

Bucky was annoyed with himself. He felt like he had seen Ana before and not at the coffee shop. It was irritating to say the very least, as he walked to the conference room, where Fury was holding a team meeting. He entered the room, sitting next to Steve, Sam, Clint and Wanda as Billy and Grant joined them. He wasn't surprised to see Scott Lang and Hope van Dyne being in the room but was wary about seeing Bruce and Tony in the room. Both of them, along with Natasha and Yelena, despised him. He didn't blame Natasha for hating him - he had tried to kill her three times, and had attempted to apologize, but she had refused his apology. "Now that you're all here, I have news about the mystery woman who infiltrated the compound. We ran her through Interpol, MI6, FBI, and the S.H.I.E.L.D database and found nothing on her. She's unknown to us," Fury explained gravely, his face betraying nothing. "So, what you want us to do then? It's pretty obvious that she's dangerous if she escaped the HYDRA base, and they had her in cyrostasis," Tony questioned suspiciously. It was Steve spoke up. "That doesn't necessarily mean that she's dangerous, Tony. She's most like been forcibly placed in cyrostasis. We did uncover some possible information," Steve informed Fury, who looked interested as he looked at the man. "What did you and the team find out then?" The director inquired curiously. He was clearly wondering if the young woman was a threat to them. "We did some digging - plus Sharon called us this morning. The Power Broker might possibly be dead, as he's not been seen for at least three days. He was last seen Monday night, and had arranged to meet a young woman to discuss kidnapping Isaiah and Eli Bradley, so he could use their blood to recreate the Super-Soldier serum. According to Sharon, the young woman refused to comply, and a fight broke out," Steve explained quietly, his voice not quite disapproving at the young woman's actions and possibly murdering the Power Broker. "She was the person who told Sharon about the attack on Isiah." Fury looked thoughtful and looked around at everyone who was sitting at the table. Natasha and Yelena were silent, but they were clearly hiding something. "Is there something you'd like to add, Belova and Romanoff?" he asked calmly. Natasha nodded. "There is something I'd like to add, Fury." Natasha stands as she grabs the file of Ana, placing it on the table. "I did some digging on this girl with the file that we found in the HYDRA base in Siberia. As the ones who shut down the Red Room and the areas surrounding it, we are allowed remote access to the former directory of agents that we've had interactions with. It turns out that Ana has actually died from an operation due to unforeseen circumstances," Natasha states. "At least that was what her records state." "Hold on." Bucky stands from where he was, gesturing to the file. "That's impossible. We've been doing our own research and there has been some steady evidence that she's still alive." "Barnes, I remember her. She's gone." "That's impossible because I saw her literally days ago," Bucky says angrily, but he holds back his temper to a point. He didn't want to let go of his own morals because Nat's words contradicted his own. Her brow raises in shock. "You're-wait, what? How the hell did you-" "She was in a coffee shop," Bucky states, crossing his arms against his chest. "A couple days ago before heading off. I didn't learn the girl's name, but she looked exactly like Ana. There's no mistaking it." "You're insane, she's gone!" "No, she's not!" "ENOUGH!" Fury yells, his booming voice causing them to jump in surprise. They both turn their eyes to where Fury was breathing heavily, his head down, clearly trying to control his own temper. He takes a moment before looking at the two of them. "Sit both your asses down now!" The two Avengers do as he says, knowing that if they pissed him off even more there'd be more than just yelling coming their way. Fury starts to pace before he looks to them. "From what I see, we have several problems here. One is-" His phone suddenly pings, and he pulls it out quickly to glance at it before cursing under his breath. "Now we got even more problems," he mutters, putting his phone back in his pocket. "Just got word from H.Q. Apparently, the original Power Broker is officially dead." Silence rings throughout the room. Bucky knew it. He just knew it.

"Again, now we got even more problems," Fury continues, running a hand along his head before looking to them. "One, we have some mysterious woman that broke into our damn base and now is missing. Two, we have a power dynamic clearly underway in Madripoor, and another young woman there that we don't know about looking to take over. Third, we have two goddamn conflicting arguments about a girl that we don't even know about. There’re too many things here for us to even come to a proper conclusion. I'm over this fighting that we got going." "Then what do you suggest we do, sir?" Natasha asks, raising her brow. Fury sighs and then nods back at the team. "What we do best – undercover. But there ain't no way I'm sending a whole team after this girl. If the Power Broker is dead, that means she's a serious threat, regardless if she'll hurt us or not. She's got friends in high places. Only one of you are fit enough to do a proper undercover mission of this high of a status." His eyes turn directly to where Bucky was. "And that's you, Barnes." His brow raises in surprise. "Me?" "I can't think of someone better than the former Winter Soldier. It can't be Nat or Yelena with personal ties to this said mystery woman, but we don't know how much she knows about you possibly. It's the best option for us going forward. I'm not about to let any other goddamn intruder come in, so we need to find out who this woman is as soon as possible, and if she's taking over as the Power Broker." Bucky was quiet for a moment, letting his words mingle. He wasn't wrong. He most likely would be able to find her the quickest and see exactly who this woman was. "Plus, you've literally seen her before," Steve agrees lightly. "If anything, that'll only help you try and find her again." "I think he's got this," Sam states, agreeing. Bucky rolls his eyes and glances at his friends. "It's alright, guys. I'm fine." He always knew that the ones who were on his side tried their best to show their support for him, but something he just wanted to prove it himself. He turns back to Fury. "I can do that, sir." "Good, glad to hear it." Fury stands and grabs the file. "You leave as early as tomorrow. We want to make sure we handle this with care but as quickly as possible. Don't want to linger any longer. Pack your belongings – I'll inform Sharon that you're heading to Madripoor and you're undercover there." "Sounds good," Bucky responds, standing. "Meeting adjourned," Fury concludes, getting up and heading out, pulling his phone as he does so. Bucky hears Tony groan as he stands, sighing. "He's making a mistake sending you out." "Tony, we don't need this right now," Steve responds, trying to shut down the fight before it even began. "How can you even trust him to do a good job? He was literally part of HYDRA, the place that this mysterious woman is even coming from!" "So are Nat and Yelena and you trust them," Wanda points out from where she stands. "They at least had a head on their shoulders to sign the damn accords." Steve sighs and shakes his head. "I'll never be able to prove to you that Bucky is a good man, but that's your loss. It's not like I'm not surprised Nat is on your side after she did what she did." At Nat's confused expression, Steve snorts. "Don't show me that look, Nat. I know that you agreed with Tony to lock Bucky up is a psych unit even before he was pardoned. I know you don't want him here just as much as Tony doesn't. You don't need to say anything." Bucky runs a hand through his hair stressfully. Good god, this wasn't how he wanted his mission to start out.

[takoscribit]

@flufftober2021: #02 sneaking out together Fandom: Daredevil, Matt Murdock/Claire Temple, with the appereance of Luisa

"Why did I give in? Where's your backbone, Claire?" She muttered while looking at the big clock in the hall of the hospital.

Luisa stopped typing, "You okay there?"

Claire sighed and gave her a skeptical look, which in turn made her raise her hands and dive back to filling the next form.

Five minutes left and she would be on break.

Finger in the air, she began calculating time on the clock's silhouette: ten minutes to visit the bathroom, change from her scrubs, get her jacket and purse; to get to the park it took another ten minutes from the south exit of the hospital but today she'd have to stop to buy lunch. Something simple though. Well, anything edible and light or she might throw up on her way back.

So, lunch would take another five minutes, at least, if she found a place with almost no queue. And hoping that nobody would chat her up, she could make it, easily.

Returning to the hospital would then take 15 minutes, give or take, so they'd have some 20 precious minutes to gift to each other.

"You're making weird faces."

12 o’clock and Claire waved goodbye.

They couldn't meet recently and when Matt suggested a "flash healthy date" she just laughed it out.

"Wait, you're telling me you want us to leave work, exactly on time, so we can run, and I repeat run, through half the population of Hell's Kitchen swarming on the street and craving for food, to get to a bench, in a park, to have said lunch together, after I've been standing all morning doing God's work?"

He was beaming. Like the Labrador of Nina, downstairs, whenever she came home from the grocery store and heard the rustle of her paper bags. He’d always welcome her, tilting his nose upwards and wearing the most captivating smile.

She wanted to cup Matt’s face and hold him tight, but that would have meant she'd consent right away. Maybe holding tighter and transforming his face into the first fish-looking-man-devil or whatever would help her defy his attack.

“I work shifts, Matt, I-”

“I know, just when you can,” he interrupted her in a breath.

This was silly.

"I need to consult with my knees first. I'll get back to you."

He chuckled and his shoulders relaxed visibly. "Sure. I can wait."

-

Although this probably wasn't so bad, she thought, pacing up after buying two sandwiches and a juice bottle. It would be like a picnic, and honestly, she haven't had a picnic since she was a kid.

"I've been here five minutes already."

"And I can sit on the opposite bench," she said rerouting her steps.

He scoffed and scooted. "Here's warmer."

"My plan."

Claire massaged her knees a bit then looked at Matt taking out his lunchbox.

"What do you have?"

He frowned. "Some pasta, meatballs and a salad with eggs and tomato"

She bit her lower lip. All things considered, this felt nice.

His suspicions became real when she asked if he wanted to trade.

[elentary]

Black as the devil, pure as an angel

Happy 31st Good Omens anniversary! (i’m late as usual)

A little story about Aziraphale and Crowley popped up in my head and I tried to write it down. 

This is my first story and my first language is not English (so don’t expect a masterpiece out of this): any correction or comment will be appreciated!

(All material related to Good Omens is the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.)

Black as the devil, pure as an angel

London, Monday, 10th May 2021

"Hey, this is Antony Crowley, you know what to do, do it with style"

-biiiiiiip-

"Ah, hello, it's me… ...Aziraphale! Well, ehm, it's been a while since we spoke and I suppose you're still sleeping in this moment because you aren't answering the phone. I just hope you aren't sleeping on the ceiling or on the walls: I'm pretty confident to say that's not comfortable for your backbone and I know for sure you have a perfect soft bed in your room. Also, last time I saw you up there, I almost had a heart-attack and I'd like to avoid it, even if I'm sure I can't die of that since I'm not human, but… ...oh, I wandered off too much with this!

Ehm, I called to inform you that lately the situation here in London seems to have improved and, since some restrictions have been lifted, I thought we could maybe meet again when you'll wake up: my bookshop will be open just for you at every hour! 

 Oh, don't worry if you'll be a bit sleepy: I'll prepare my special qahwah (kahve/caffè) in a jiffy! Well, it's not so special, it's just an old recipe I learnt because… ...oh, not that, it's a secr…. ehm, it's not important at all!

I… I… hope to see you soon, my chuck-… my dear!"

Aziraphale hung up the phone and started fidgeting with his golden ring almost immediately: "I shouldn't have called him: it didn't go how I planned", he muttered to himself. Unsurprising, the phrase "it went down like a lead balloon" popped up immediately in his head.

He had been rehearsing the call for ten days, preparing himself for every possible scenario, but in the end he went completely off-script after a few words, letting his emotions spill too much in his tone. 

But what worried him the most was the moment he let slip the words "old recipe" from his mouth: not for the recipe per se, but because of the little secret behind it. 

"I'm quite sure - he said out loud using a hopeful tone to calm himself - I was able to stop in time, thanks goodness! I’m sure that he won't ask anything even if Crowley notices something, because he'll think there is just a boring story behind it".

While he was heading for the kitchenette to make a cup of tea (there is no problem that couldn't be fixed with a good cuppa), he halted midway and wondered: "Why did I call coffee in that ancient way?"

The reason for that ancient name was very old, pretty much as old as Aziraphale's secret: a little more than four hundred years old.

Venice, 1596

"...and just a cup of qahwah for me" said a guest all clad in black who was slouching on a chair in the most luxurious house of the city. 

The young waiter who was taking the order, looked at him a bit perplexed for the last order. 

"Right, that was Arabic" chuckled Crowley "bring me some kahve or whatever is called here".

"Oh, caffè, here it’s called caffè here, Siór!” [1] , said the young one, ”How much sugar would you like in your cup?” added hasty at the demon's expression.

“I'll have Sade kahve but with a bit of cardamom. Remember to grind finely the beans”.

The waiter was still lost but the other guest at the table helped him with a smile: "He doesn't want any sugar in his caffè, dear" 

“I'll bring everything as soon as possible" said the young man and, after bowing a little, he headed for the counter.

Aziraphale was a bit surprised by what just happened: "It seems you are the meticulous one today: I have almost never seen you so specific with your food or drink order, unless alcohol was involved". He also added: "I just hope you didn't want to mess with the poor waiter".

No, angel, I didn't pull a prank. I have been drinking coffee for a while: but since my last mission in Malta [2] I have been loving it: Altan was the best at making it, but he went to Rome", Crowley said with a sigh.

"The funniest thing - he continued, smiling - is that I was lured to that because I thought it was an alcoholic drink since they called it qahwah, that also means wine. At first I was a bit disappointed but later I discovered it helps to stay awake during boring stuff: it did wonder with every task Hell gives me."

"I tasted some qahwah some times ago but it was too energetic for me… but maybe I should try it to deal with Gabr… ehm, with tedious tasks". Crowley politely didn't mention Aziraphale's little slip but smiled a bit inside.

When the order arrived the angel observed how his partner smelled and tasted happily the concoction humming approvingly: 

"I didn't think you were a coffee connoisseur" Aziraphale joked. 

"It's not so bad for someone with so little experience: you should try it sometimes. If you're done with your food, let's organize our Arrangement. For my report…"

They discussed their work for a couple of hours, drinking coffee. Aziraphale tasted it too (a lot sweeter than the demon) but in the end he still preferred his tea. The angel, however, decided he'd propose another place with coffee, since Crowley enjoyed that drink so much.

Milan, Four years later

"Why can't I have a cup of coffee?" Sulked a very crossed demon who was missing a couple of years of sleep due hellish work. "Lent was over 2 month ago, wasn't it?"

The owner of the shop was distraught: "The priest told us that is not proper now, Sir: the Infidels are using it and - he started whispering - it seems that's a Devil's plant". 

"I'm pretty sure that the Devil wasn't involved in any botanical project, even before Falling, and he has never tried any coffee. Instead, if you are speaking about demons, I am the onl-"

"Why don't we order wine instead this time?" Interrupted quickly Aziraphale before Crowley could say something more compromising. The unhappy demon agreed begrudgingly so several bottles of red wine were shared among them. 

"I'm sorry for your coffee, Crowley. It seems idiotic banning a plant just because somebody else has it".

"Well, they copied the idea from the Boss: God was the first to ban a plant, you and I should remember that easily" Crowley snickered.

Aziraphale started blushing and his cheeks soon were as red as that famous fruit: "ah, it… i-it wasn't just a normal fruit and that was part of God's plan…  I suppose.". That phrase was just commented by the demon with a bemused expression.

"So, Crowley, what are you going to do with this? Are you going to tempt a lot of people to drink coffee?"

"Nah, I'm already too busy with Hell's job at the moment. It would be too troublesome to convince people and especially priests: those at top are the worst."

I'm sure I'll miss the ability of coffee to transform random thoughts into ingenious ideas: humans were experts at using that!" The demon slouched sadly on the chair.

Aziraphale would have missed the improved human genius too but, in his opinion, would have regretted more not seeing his demon's smile but he said nothing. He instead started thinking if there was something he could do and soon became lost in his thoughts.

"...anything there?"

"Sorry, what was that?" 

"I told you I'll go back to Spain tomorrow for a temptation: do you need anything there?" 

"Oh, nothing special, just the usual [3] we can share and those books, if you could be so courteous." Aziraphale happily answered, giving him a neat written list.

"Are you going to stay here long, angel?"

"Oh, no, I'm departing for Rome the day after tomorrow… … I know you don't like it because of the absurd amount of consecrated ground there, you don't need to make a face each time I mention it"

"And every pope makes the problem worse." 

The angel assumed a grim expression: "I have to meet pope Clement VIII for the closing ceremony of the Jubilee"

"You don't seems pleased" 

"The Archangels, especially Sandalphon, think highly of him, but I don't… appreciate him, especially after he burned at the stake messer Giordano Bruno and other poor humans."

Crowley liked discussing the stars and the universe with Giordano: he tried to warn the poor man but he was too stubborn to listen.

"May I reciprocate your favour from Spain? Maybe some wine?" Suggested the angel.

"Only if you're sure the bottles are not blessed - Crowley shuddered - I still remember last time I was wrong".

"Are you sure it will be enough?" 

"I'm sure, angel. Let's party now and forget our troubles for now". 

Unfortunately Aziraphale couldn't party happily because he couldn't forget what happened with the cup of coffee and he thought his favour was too small: he decided he should do something about it! 

Luckily the following morning was more propitious and he found a way to repay Crowly for his favour: he'll find a way to lift the ban on coffee.

The only remaining problem was how to do that.

Rome, a week later

Aziraphale was reading the same line of the missive for the third time in a row at his desk: the angel was too distracted because hadn't found a solution for his "problem" yet. 

"I bet I have the solution under my nose but I can't see it" mumbled the angel touching the pope's sigils on the papers.

"Of course, the pope! - he yelled happily - He is the highest authority for the priests: he could convince everybody that drinking coffee is not bad if he tastes it himself".

"I just need to learn how to make the best coffee ever". A name came back to his mind, the name Crowley gave him: Altan. 

Immediately he used a little miracle to locate him that led him to a small cemetery outside the city and on the grave and there were few sweets with a little cup: unfortunately Altan died 10 years before. The angel bowed a little to pay respect. 

A big Turkish man came next to him and inquired "Did you know my father?".

"I didn't but my... acquaintance considered him a genius and was very fond of his qahwa, ehm, kahve. He'll be sad when he'll know he died." 

"I'm Osmanek. May I ask you what brings you here mister...?

"Oh, I'm Aziraphale. I came here to learn how to make the best coffee ever: I hope his art was inherited by you."

"Luckily it was not lost: I loved to help him make coffee. Before revealing my secrets I have a question for you: are you doing this for your… acquaintance?"

Aziraphale nodded: "I'd like to prepare him some coffee he loves, but at the same time I'd love to see everyone have a coffee whenever they fancy, like in your birthplace. To make that possible, however, I have to let somebody else drink your coffee to.. ..to tempt him saying it's not a bad thing: that person is the pope Clement".

The angel knew what he was asking for and couldn't hold the gaze of the man anymore.

"I understand -he continued sadly- if you don't want to help me since I have seen how much that man has been hurting your brothers and sisters…" The angel couldn't say anything else, overpowered by his memories and bowed his head to hide the tears in his eyes: he has seen too many inconceivable deaths in the name of faith

Osmanek observed Aziraphale for a little moment: he was sure there was no lie in his words. "No, - he smiled - I can't leave you after you poured your heart out: I'll help you and your friend to tempt the Pope." 

"Oh, oh, thank you! - and the angel added hastily - But he's not my friend, we barely know each other!"

The man started smiling brighter than ever and guided him to his house.

Immediately after they arrived, Osmanek offered his guest a cup of his special kahve with few sweets. Aziraphale tried just a sip of coffee and he was immediately in love: "Now I know why Crowley likes it so much: it's so scrumptious even without those sweets!"

"I call this Altan kahve in honour of my father: I will teach you how to prepare it for your fr… aquietance but I ask you to not give any of this to the pope. For him, I'll give you another tasty recipe" 

"Oh, I agree with you: the pope doesn't deserve that perfection!" 

Osmanek patiently taught Aziraphale everything he should know: how to roast and grind the beans, how to use the small pot "cezve", the ratio perfect between coffee and water, how to boil and froth the concoction and  which flavours could be used.

In the beginning everything felt so difficult for Aziraphale and he failed a lot. However the angel was very stubborn and, thanks Osmanek's tips and teaching, he was able to make an excellent cup of coffee in a couple of days.

"I hope this will be good enough" mumbled the angel.

"Trust me, it will be too good for the pope", he chuckled. "Now let's see how good you are with Altan's coffee. I'll give you a final tip: imagine you are preparing some coffee for your acquaintance and not me".

"Why…?"

"If I'm right, it will taste better"

Still perplexed and a bit nervous, Aziraphale went into the kitchen and, following the last advice, he prepared meticulously the dark drink, flavouring with cardamom and finally pouring it in two kahve fincanı, a dark one and a light one. The smell seemed quite promising.

Osmanek took the darkest cup and, after smelling the aroma, he tasted it. After a few seconds, he smiled "In my native Country there is a proverb that says the coffee should be black as hell, strong as death, and sweet as love but for your coffee this doesn't sound right". He put the empty fincanı on the table.

"I think - he continued - the Italian expression suit it better" 

"I'm sorry but I don't know it" the angel was starting to worry he messed up something even if the man was smiling fondly.

"Il caffè deve essere caldo come l'inferno, nero come il diavolo, puro come un angelo e dolce come l'amore.". [4]

The angel took his courage and drank his coffee: in his opinion, it wasn't perfect as Osmanek's but it tasted like something Crowley would enjoy and that was the best feeling ever. 

The angel couldn't stop smiling: "Oh, I am so grateful to you! But I don't know how I can repay you for this"

"Your happiness is enough: I'll bring you everything you need".

Aziraphale didn't agree with him so he performed some miracles and blessings. 

Osmanek came back with some coffee beans, flavours and utensils. There were also three kahve fincanı: two were familiar (the dark and the light ones) but the other was new (and very flashy).

"Oh, that's for the pope: I have always hated that cup and I hope it'll break when that man wants coffee most"

"Oh, that cup will do that, I can assure you" the angel promised with a mischief smile.

Aziraphale finally bid farewell, still thanking Osmanek profusely.

Two months later was the time to put the plan in action: the pope was in the library at 2 a.m. and he was getting tired but he had a lot of work to do. Aziraphale approached him: "I may have the right solution for your Excellency: it's a healthy concoction that promotes wakefulness and wonderful ideas. It was discovered b-"

"I don't care, - interrupted the holy man - give me that drink and let's hope it works".

"God gives me strength" whispered under his breath the angel while preparing some coffee that suited the pope's taste.

When the cup of coffee was ready, it was given to Clement VIII: he grabbed it and started drinking absent-mindedly. The smell and the taste were so good that he woke almost immediately. 

"Librarian, what is this?"

"As I was saying, this is coffee" 

"Why has nobody given me this miraculous drink? The taste is divine and it works perfectly!"

"I suppose nobody wanted to offer your Excellency any drink consumed by Muslims. Some people also believe coffee is a Devil's plant. In my op-"

"I don't care: it's too good to be Satan's plant and we mustn't let the infidels have exclusive use of coffee."

Aziraphale was quite happy: it seemed his plan worked out nicely.

"Maybe we could bless the beans or use some holy wate-"

"NO" shouted the angel, emanating some angelic power unconsciously "Please, DON'T". 

For the first time in his life, the pope was scared he felt like a little child in front of a giant warrior.

"Ehm, please - said more calmly Aziraphale - never suggest it again or let somebody do that. Just tell everyone coffee could be drank by anybody".

The pope could only nod affirmatively.

"Right!" 

Now the angel was sure he was successful in his endeavour and soon could have a coffee with Crowley. 

Aziraphale stayed in Rome for another three weeks, just in time to witness a fincanı to break neatly in two, pouring coffee on some important papal documents.

On his journey to London he stopped to Osmanek's house and updated him on what had happened in that time (especially the broken cup).

London, Monday, 10th May 2021, 30 minutes after Aziraphale's call.

In the end Aziraphale made some of his special coffee with his cezve: he was missing Crowley so much.

"What if i woke him up while he just wanted to sleep a bit more?" 

"No, angel, - a familiar voice answered - I want to stay awake with you for a while"

"Crowley" cheered Aziraphale

"Coffee?"

"In a jiffy" and he poured the drink in two old contrasting kahve fincanı.

"So, what's the secret behind this old recipe?" Crowley asked with a mischievous smile.

----------------------Notes----------------------

[1] Siór = mister (venetian dialect)

[2] Malta = Crowley had been at the great siege of Malta in 1565    https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Siege_of_Malta

[3] Usual = local goodies (especially wine and alcohol)

[4] "Il caffè deve essere caldo come l'inferno, nero come il diavolo, puro come un angelo e dolce come l'amore" = "coffee must be hot as hell, black as the devil, pure as an angel and sweet as love"

To write this I took some info from wikipedia about the history of coffee: if you want to learn something more accurate than my story, look here and here.

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

Prompt List #7 - Song Lyrics

All Prompt Lists

Blood is thicker than water, but love is even stronger

Another day, another battle

I don’t really care where I go when I die, ‘cause I just found heaven

You can tell the devil that he’s wasting his time

You and I will be a tough act to follow

The warm embrace that no one knows

I want you by my side

I’ve been holding my breath all night, waiting for you

I’m diving into the deep end and i’m not scared

I am an island and you are an ocean

I’d follow you straight to the bottom, not afraid hell or high water

Keep pushing up the river, keep mining for the silver, till you strike gold

So you gotta show a little backbone 

Where your love has always been enough for me

I love you as you are

When you built those walls to keep you safe, it’s like a, prison you can't escape

When the whole damn world don’t know what they got till it’s gone, I love you as you are

The fruit just seem to fall, never had to shave no tree, the door was always opening, didn't need a key

Take me back to the speed of you, doing things that Momma said don't do

The moment I surrender, bury me in the ground, I'd die before you see me take a bow

How can I hurt when i’m with you? 

If a picture paints a thousand words then why can’t I paint you?

You broke me first...

I’ve been thinking about what to say or not to do

So you want to be a man about it

You’re moving faster than me, and I can’t keep up with the things that you need

Like you didn’t hear this melody that calls you home

Can anyone hear me calling out, i’m calling out

Where are you now? Been such a long time, i’ve tried to live without, i’m suffocating I need you to breathe

Even if I shouldn’t i’d lie for you

When I’m gone, when I fade away, is the air I breathe my only legacy

Love is like an energy, rushing in rushing inside of me

Sometimes I worry about the things I can’t control

I see neon lights whenever you walk by

You don’t know what he means to me

Only fools run back for more, being the fool I am I figured in all your plans

That man is like a flame, and oh that man plays me like a game

I’ll be anything you need

Take me in your arms and never let me go, whisper to me softly when the moon is low

Kiss me once again before we say goodnight, take me in your loving arms and squeeze me tight

Everything about you is so God darn sweet

If you can’t find love but you’re still not giving up (can I get a witness?)

And if the eight of the world is on you now, but you know you can turn it all around again

I turned on the lights, the TV and the radio, but still I can’t escape the ghost of you

Passion or coincidence once prompted you to say, “Pride will tear us both apart”, well, now pride’s gone out the window, cross the rooftops, run away.

But your jealousy is more blind than your luck, and you could be my enemy, and you could be my judge

You are a call to motion, There, all of you a verb in perfect view like Jonah on the ocean. When you move, I’m moved. 

Your love is a painkiller

Can you imagine a love that is so proud? It never has to question why or how

There’s a hunger in my heart, it’s full of promise, promise. There’s an itch under my skin, under my skin. Cause I just want to feel something real. 

You’re tall, dark and handsome, you’re charming and then some. 

You do everything too fast, you move like a whiplash, you’re missing the romance and I see through it all. 

When I’m on my own, I think of ways to tell you and when it comes out wrong I hope you’d understand.

He talks about you in his sleep, and there’s nothing I can do to keep from crying when he calls your name, Jolene. 

Dear God, I hope you got the letter and I pray you can make it better down here. 

Sorry to disturb you, but I feel I should be heard loud and clear. We all need a big reduction in the amount of tears. 

Deep inside, my heart is breaking 

Never gonna let you take my world from me

I’ve been waiting for so long, now i’ve finally found someone to stand by me 

I really got the feeling that I’ll love you ‘til my dying day

You’re a gentle man and a gentle man is getting mighty hard to find these days and you’re a tender man and you’re man enough to show your love in tender ways.

And I can’t wait to see you again

I need you by side, to tell it’s alright, ‘cause I don’t think I can take anymore

If I fall short, if I break rank, it’s a bloodsport, but I understand. I am all yours, I am unmanned, I am on all fours willingly damned

You might kill me with desire, wind me tighter than a wire

Cause you taught me how to love. It's me who taught you how to stop.

Follow me wherever I go, we're crossing over

You feel like forever

I want to run but I want you most

It's been hard for me to breathe for such a long time, I only stayed so I could ease your mind

When the memories come to haunt you with a sad lie, no one loves you, they all leave you so why even try? Let truth hold you in loving arms tonight

I can't fly but I keep finding myself soaring high above it. I have nothing left, but I keep pouring out like I am endless

Always aiming paper airplanes at me when you’re around

Apples aren’t always an appropriate apology. Butterscotch and bubblegum drops are bittersweet to me. 

I’m not ready to be just another of your mistakes, don’t wanna let the pieces fall out of place. 

And I was making you a wish in every skyline. How big, how blue, how beautiful. 

If you’ve lost your way, I will leave the light on

I know a little bit about a lot of things, but I don’t know enough about you. Just when I think you’re mine, you try a different line. 

Baby, i’m confused about you. You get me in a spin, oh what a stew i’m in. 

Stranded, reaching out, I call your name but you're not around, I say your name but you're not around. I need you right now

Told me to pick my battles and be pickin wise, but I wanna pick em all and I don't wanna decide

I don't mind being lonely, when my heart tells me you are lonely too

You could your way home, but you won't

What if I'm someone I don't want around?

You really, really know me, the future and the old me. All of the mazes and the madness in my mind, you really, really love me

Always thought I was hard to love, til you made it seem so easy

The stretch marks all around my thighs, kiss em til I change my mind

I'm gonna love, I'm gonna love you endlessly.I've never been on to yell surrender so long as you're standing next to me

It's a pity to say goodnight, cause I've never seen stars to bright. But if you've gotta go home, you gotta go home, give me a goodnight kiss

Prove to me that you still feel it before I go start something new. No one knows what comes after this but I've always hoped that it was you.

But we're drowning in the ocean and it's tearing my heart open. Baby we're high then we're low, first it's yes then it's no and were changing like the tides

I could write a book about the way you walk and whisper and look. I could write a prephase on how we met so the world would never forget

The simple secret of the plot is just to tell them that I love you a lot

Just let me adore you. Oh, honey, I'd walk through fire for you.

You sounded so damn worried. You've been tossing, turning, both ends burning, I wanna put your mind at ease again (make everything alright)

Hold me now, til the fear is leaving

My sanctuary, you're holy to me. If you were church, I'd get on my knees

I'm suffocating I need you to breathe, so reach down and pull me but, pull me up before I am buried beneath

How bout a dance, what do you say?

I'm sure the crowd will make room on the floor, when they see you look like you do

[darkherolovercroissant]

Nyctophilia

(n.) love of darkness or night. Finding relaxation or comfort in the darkness

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Warnings: Angst & suicide

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the cold and damp air swirls around you and it touches the skin that was once warm, you feel a chill. You feel the warmth that spirals around just magically disappear, just like the ashes that were once the man who you were madly in love with. You never acted on your feelings because Bucky never seemed to be interested. He was a very touch starved individual, but never wanted your touch. He was seemingly against the way your fingers grazed his flesh arm because if even one inch of you touched his metal one, he’d flip out.

Steve always said it was because he never really believed he deserved a chance at happiness, but when you asked him if he ever wanted a chance he said yes, but not with you. You immediately began holding back and seemed to turn into a shadow in the night. You stopped everything and just seemed to ignore his existence. Steve was annoyed with how Bucky just straight up continued like it was a normal day, Bucky never saw much of you these days. It wasn’t until you walked into the dimly lit kitchen that one cold September night that your shirt looked too heavy on your frame and your cheeks were sunken in.

You no longer had any light left in your eyes nor shiny glow in your skin. Your hair looked dried and about to fall out for how rough it looked. You never smiled anymore and when Nat grabbed your arm the one day he saw you wince and let a tear slip down your cheek, She had unintentionally hurt you. Steve was worried and when it came time for Tony to fly out with Pepper, everyone had plans...except for you. You stayed behind and somehow so did Bucky. He watched as you stayed outside for three hours in the cold crisp November night. Your hair blowing in the breeze, your light and almost see through nightdress was the only thing that covered you. You sat in the field and watched nothing but the darkness surround you.

How you survived as long as you had was a mystery to the team. It was almost as if God and the Devil were not interested in seeing you at the time. You were with Steve down in Wakanda and teamed up with Wanda to help take down the threat that would be the main threat before Thanos showed up. You were such a sad sight to see. Ta’challa couldn’t even look at you without fear of breaking apart. Shuri was concerned as well as a near death avenger showed up for war. How the hell did you have plans on fighting when you were already fighting yourself.

Bucky was the target of numerous punches from both the King and Princess. You had Wanda poking inside your brain, but you were too weak and tired to fight her off. When that evil monster showed up and took the mind stone from Vision, you saw how this was gonna end. Thanos stood toe to toe with you, him looking at your shaking frame as he saw you about to die by your own hands.

“You poor little thing. The world hasn’t been so kind to you, has it?” He says with sincere sympathy.

You fall to your knees as he crouched down and lifts your chin up with his left hand.

“This isn’t your fight, little one. There’s nothing I hate more than a miserable creature, I think I’ll just end your suffering myself.” He says as he starts to use the power he had already from the gauntlet.

The power surrounding you and yet you didn’t feel anything. Thanos started draining your body when gunfire and the roars of thunder distracted him. Your body falls limp at his feet and when Bucky sees your body hit the ground, his eyes darken and he feels like the winter soldier takes over, of course Thanos snaps and all of a sudden he’s gone. Bucky starts running over to you and he sees your face just barely coloured. He starts to feel funny and as he takes one last deep breath, he calls out for Steve and as he turns around, Bucky is already dust.

————five years later————-

The time heist as Tony called it became a ideal plan. They were going to redo every failure leading up to Thanos. They were going to bring back the half of the population that was taken by Thanos.

“Nat. You and Y/n will be getting the soul stone.” Steve says

Nat smiles at you and grips your hand tightly.

“We’ll see you in a minute” Nat smirks at Steve.

——

“What is this place?” Natasha asks as you head further to what looked like an edge.

“So this is Vormir?” You mumble as you approach the end.

Nat grabbing your hand as you looked over the edge.

“Nebula mentioned that Thanos took Gamora here. She said while Thanos left here, Gamora never did. The soul stone is from here. In order to receive the stone, a soul of something you love must be gave in return.” You say as Red Skull was floating around you two.

“Precisely, young one.” He says

“Nat. One of us ain’t leaving here.” You say as she looks at you with glossy eyes.

“I know who it’s gotta be, y/n. However I don’t want it to go down like this.” She sniffed the damp air.

“Nat! They are depending on us. I don’t like this either, but we need that stone before Thanos comes for it.” You say

As you turn to walk towards the edge, Nat grabs your arm and throws you behind her.

“Nat, what the hell!?” You were annoyed

“You have a future, don’t waste it.” She says

“No I don’t. The only future I wanted was something that the world made sure I’d never have.” You whisper

“You are the backbone of the avengers, Natasha. I’m just some girl who was acquired from S.H.I.E.L.D.” You say

She pulls you into a hug and you saw the window of opportunity closing. With quick thinking you managed to jab Nat with a temporary paralysis shot and as she fell you looked her in the eyes and smiled.

“I’m tired of fighting, Nat, I’m done hurting. Make sure you win.” You smile before you run and jump towards your death, Thunder erupted above Natasha signaling your end.

As she arrived back in the compound, Tony and Steve almost screamed when only Natasha came back. She was in tears and passed the stone off to Bruce before storming off. Heading into your old room, she noticed an opened notebook on your desk.

November 3rd.

How can sunshine possibly come from our darkest times?

Skipping through the notebook, Nat found depressing journal entries that made her fall to the ground. You were this depressed and the fact that she didn’t even do anything, must of felt like the worst betrayal ever. You truly were tired of hurting and you were beyond exhausted.

———

Portals opened everywhere and everyone who was ever dusted, came back to help kick Thanos to the curb like the trash he was. Bucky was so excited to see you again and finally admit what was bothering him. Only to see Nat look at him during the battle with pity and continued on fighting leaving him with concern.

You had found relaxation and comfort within the darkness and it was time for you to become one with it. You were tired of fighting yourself and it was the best thing to have happened to you.

After the battle, Bucky couldn’t see you anywhere. Rushing over to Steve, Bucky almost threw up due to stress.

“Where’s y/n?” He begged for an answer.

The dirt and blood covered the air as Steve looked at his feet.

“I’m sorry, Buck.” He whispered

“Where is she?” He demanded

“Bucky!”

Natasha called him over and Steve helped him before offering him his shoulder to cry on.

“She sacrificed herself for the soul stone. She’s the reason we got the stone before Thanos could.” Nat says

Bucky felt the gun drop from his hand and the air get sucked from his lungs. You didn’t actually do that...did you?

“What?” He was so broken and yet angry at himself for doing this. He wanted you, but he didn’t deserve you. Tony walked over and placed his hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“We didn’t know what was going to happen, Bucky.” Tony said as Pepper and him walked to a portal. Wong opened a different portal all for Bucky and as soon as he walked through, he was inside your room. Noticing your notebook pile, the very newest but still old notebook that remained open caught his eye. It was opened by Nat to a very specific date.

August 29th

The day I discovered that I was in love with Bucky was the best day ever. I remember being like a small school girl all over again. He constantly swims through my head at the worst times and always makes me happy. I really love him and I honestly don’t know how I’m going to tell him.

September 13th

That feeling of purity is now tarnished. Who knew that my crush would turn out to be something so stupid. Who was I to believe that the world would ever treat me the way I wanted to be treated. I was stupid to believe that I had a chance with him. Being told straight to your face that they can’t see you as their source of happiness really takes your confidence away.

September 20th

Who knew something like this could ever hurt as bad, ‘cause I sure as hell didn’t. I just am so tired of being this sad. I’ve been sitting out in the darkness for weeks and it’s honestly the only time I feel safe and appreciated. No one is there to make me miserable and no one is there to talk. I finally can express how I feel without rejection. The darkness is my sense of comfort.

November 18th

It’s been hard lately, but I’m doing better. I felt like talking to Bucky again, but I just realized that it’ll only be pointless. I have completely lost my feelings for him, I’m done hurting. I’m done fighting.

November 28th

Vormir was brought up and I heard about how Gamora was sacrificed to get the soul stone. I can’t imagine how poor Nebula was taking her sisters death. I can only hope it wasn’t painful, because in the short time I knew her...Gamora was one of the nicest people I could’ve ever met.

If you’re reading this

I know it’s stupid to leave notes, but to whoever sees this, if I’m not there, well then my plan worked. I’m so sorry to everyone I left behind. I never wanted to say goodbye, but it hurts to fight for something you don’t want to fight for anymore. I wish you guys all the best and I hope that whoever sees this realizes that I’m in a better place and that’s simply all I ever wanted.

Bucky sat on your bed as tears fell down his cheeks. You were the tiniest bit of sunlight in all of his darkest days and he failed to tell you how much you meant to him. Now the one person who made him feel something was making him feel everything. He closed the notebook and laid on the bed and closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I didn’t deserve you darling.”

As that night hung over the sky, Bucky made his way to the field and sat on the grass and let the darkness comfort him as the emotions just escaped him like lost souls trying to escape hell.

“I wish to be where you are.” He whispers as the cold and damp air dance over his skin as he welcomes the mystic touch of nature.

[meowdymista]

vi. ditmas & devil’s backbone

Part of the Devil’s Backbone project - Masterlist - redrafted on ao3

Notes: as I mentioned, this whole project began because I didn’t like how unhealthy Abigail and John’s relationship is in RDR2. There is a second unhealthy relationship I feel isn’t dealt with in game... I like slapping people in the face with the truth and this bitch really needed a wake up call

BTW, I should mention that whilst I do not expect any takers, if there is something else you want to see in this project, I’m open to requests :)

**

There’s whispering behind the door. Arthur makes a harsh remark-

“He’s not my son.” More murmuring. “It don’t matter - he ain’t mine.

“Naw, you had your chance, Mary. Quit it - you were married, you could’ve had children. Don’t pretend like you didn’t for my sake.” A pause. “Why? ‘Cause the way you left me was that it was the end. Either you’re lyin’ right now or you were playin’ me.” Another silence. “You can’t honestly think I waited. I’ve had a son, Mary. Isaac was born and buried whilst you was off pretendin’ I didn’t exist. No, o’course I didn’t love her the way I loved you, but you didn’t exactly give me a choice-

“You have to be kiddin’ me right now - you were married. You went and married someone else - what did you think I was gonna do? Wait? For what?

“He ain’t my son!” he bellows. “Even if he was, you think I’m gonna take him from his mother? Where’ve you been all this time? I can’t believe you’re askin’ me this.

“Well, you was wrong.” A silence spreads, thick and unforgiving. “Even if Jack were mine, Abigail’s alive and well - you ain’t gonna be his mother. You can’t come in and cherry pick the boy because it suits whatever damn fancy has taken you."

A sob breaks through, but Arthur is firm. “I ain’t goin’ to be that man, Mary. I’ve spent my life loving you, but if you think I’ll take a boy from his mother for us, then we ain’t ever going to work. He had a father, an’ he was as good for him as we are for each other. I ain’t shiftin’.”

“If you cared-!”

“If you gave a damn, we wouldn’t be in this mess! I could understand if you had been there for him, but you were elsewhere when this boy was born. I ain’t even entertainin’ the idea, Mary. I ain’t.” 

“You would give us up?”

“With you bein’ so unreasonable?" He heaves a heavy sigh. "This ranch belongs to Abigail and Jack. Jack belongs to Abigail. You wanted us to run, but now we don’t gotta - say the word and we can walk outta here. I ain’t a fool - I know the law’s gonna come for me one day, but if it’s tomorrow or ten years from now, I’m willin’ to give you everything to my dyin’ day. I will give you every last breath in my body, but I won’t uproot their lives for you. They’ve been through too much.”

She mumbles something about wanting to be a mother.

“Is that it? There’s kids out there tha’ need a home still - orphans and the like. We can take one in-”

She must roll her eyes because his tone lowers, teetering dangerously.

“You’re forgettin’ I was one of ‘em. If it weren’t for Dutch and Hosea-” The roar rips through the thin walls. “They were better to me than my own father! They would have taken you in as well, despite your spoiled attitude but of course Daddy didn’t like me-”

“Daddy is dead!”

“And so is Hosea!” There’s a thump. “So is my mother and father, but you don’t see me cryin’ about it! Naw, you come in here and want to make another boy an orphan, take him from his mother so you can play house!”

“I want a family for us, Arthur!”

“Then why did you wait ‘til you promised your hand to another man?” A pause. “Yeah, I know about it. I knew ‘bout your daddy too. I’ve made enough excuses for you over the years, Mary Gillis, but I still had faith.” A bitter scoff. “I’m a fool when it comes to faith. I put it in all the wrong places, and when it comes down to it, it’s worthless. Ain’t worth a penny.”

“Arthur, you need to rest. You’re getting yourself all worked up over nothing-”

“Ain’t nothin’, Mary.” They must be looking each other in the eye, speaking silently. “I spent years tryin’ to get where I am, and I’m still not good enough. I could be the king of England and you would find fault in me. I give up.”

“Arthur-!”

“I give up, Mary. I- I give up.” The bed creaks as he lowers his weight, his face burying itself into his hands. “I hate how much I loved you. I’m still the man you met all them years ago and… I can’t pretend I’m somethin’ I’m not. Not anymore. If you really loved me, you wouldn’t have so many excuses up your sleeve."

"Arthur-"

"You were the only one. You were the only one for so long and I’ve lost so much waitin’. I’m startin’ to wonder if you would ever looked twice without money in my pocket.”

“Arthur, please-”

“No, Mary.” His voice is low, barely more than a whisper. "I'm too old. We're too old to keep messin' like this."

"I'll leave him!"

"Naw, you won't." He sniffs loudly. "An' you shouldn't. You've had me for a fool for many a year an'- an' losin' you… losing you weren't even the worst part. Hosea... Isaac… Lenny, Sean, Eliza! Hell, watchin' Dutch lose his head? Tryna pick up the pieces after we lost Marston? All of tha' still hurts a lot more than you choosing your daddy over me. It hurt more then and it hurts more now!"

"Arthur, please! Don't say what you can't take back!"

"Why not? After everything you put me through, why is me tellin' you the truth of the situation too much?"

"Because I know you don't mean it!"

"Oh, but I do mean it, Mrs Linton. I do." A prolonged silence is broken only by the woman's sobs. She must try to move closer because Arthur breathes out heavily. "Naw, that ain't a good idea. I… I'll fetch Ms Roberts. She can help you clean up an'- an' get ready for your journey."

Abigail barely scrambles away from the doorway in time before it is wrenched open, a sobbing Mary Linton reaching for him. "Arthur!"

"Mary! I can't keep doing this! I can't!" The door closed again, muddling the sound. Abigail creeps forward, peeking through the gap of the door.

He is kneeling with her on the floor, cradling her face in his hands as her fingers brush his leg.

"I knew the moment I laid eyes on you that your image was going to be burned on the inside of my eyelids. I've thought about you every minute of every day since that moment, and I know it ain't gonna just go away. But we-" He lifts her hand and holds it against his chest, pressing her palm against his ribs to feel his heart. "We ain't gonna make it. We was never gonna make it."

"Arthur-!"

"It doesn't matter whether I got dragged to Guarma. We was over years ago. I… I can't trust you to love me the way you say you will after what happened with your daddy. I can't."

"But Daddy-!"

"I know, Mary. I know, but my life here with Abigail and Jack? That's what's keepin' me goin' now. Every time I hold you I can feel myself gettin' angry at all the lost time, an' it ain't worth it no more. You will always mean everything to me but what we had is in the past now. I can't keep playing this game. I won't."

*

He seems surprised to find her so nearby and clears his throat, obviously uncomfortable at the thought of being overheard. "Would you mind helping Mrs Linton? She's going to be leaving us tomorrow an' well…"

He trails off with a sigh. His bloodshot eyes are all the more blue as he stares into the embers of the fireplace.

"Of course, Arthur." She touches her fingertips to his arm in condolence and is surprised when he clasps her hand, eyes still staring blankly.

"I'm gonna go for a ride with Gwyn. Think you'll be alrigh'?"

Her breath catches as he meets her gaze. "Of course. Take as long as you need."

He nods, patting her hand as he turns his head back to the fading light of the logs. Abigail stands up straighter and retraces his steps into Jack's bedroom.

The usually so gracious woman is crumpled on the floor sobbing into the mattress. As Abigail steps forward to help her up, the door slams shut, causing her to flinch and sob all the harder.

"C'mon now, let's get you sorted."

She resists Abigail's tug, wiping her streaming face over the back of her hands. "I don't understand what's gotten into him. He promised me…! Whenever you call, I come - what's changed?"

She fights the urge to roll her eyes. "Does he need to have changed? You're moving onto your second husband-"

"It didn't matter with Barry!"

She sighs sharply, folding her arms unable to bite her tongue. "You have no idea the shit we have been through to get here." Mary tries to interject, but the floodgates have been opened. "We have been through literal shit since you last showed your face. Right now, he is all me and my little boy have left! We lost his father, we lost Dutch and Hosea, and we have lost all of our family - what you see here on this ranch is all that's left of that life." She picks up a perfectly folded blouse and throws it at the open travel bag across the room. "He is a good man, and he has been in love with you as long as I can remember. I couldn't understand why everyone else hated you when you made him so happy, but I guess you opened my eyes on that now."

She continues to throw items at the bag, getting more agitated as she goes. "I gave you as good a welcome I could, but Arthur was right about just how spoiled you are. You ain't ever had to work a day in your life! You ain't had to go hungry so your boy could have clothes that fit! You ain't ever seen the time and energy Arthur puts in to make sure everybody else is alright ‘cause you ain't ever stayed long enough to see it with your own eyes. You're a fool for letting a good man like him go!"

"What would you know?" retorts Mary, still picturesque with mascara running down her cheeks. "What would you know about any of this?"

"Because he's been right in front of me too!" Abigail huffs, pushing loose tendrils out of her face. "I loved Jack's father, I loved him as much as you love Arthur, but he was either useless or he didn't care enough to pretend to give a damn. We argued worse than you two, but I loved him and it's only now that he's gone that I- I can be myself. I can just be a mother. I ain't fightin' no more, ain't tellin' myself all these 'if only's. I've seen Arthur do the same right up until you showed up at the gate. Since then he's been miserable an' I'm personally peggin' it on you."

She gets to her feet, pulling a skirt from Abigail’s hand. “Are you sweet on him?”

A laugh slips out before Abigail can swallow it, and it’s greeted with Mary’s palm flat against her cheek.

Abigail’s head snaps around with the force, and catches a glimpse of Jack’s eyes in the crack of the door.

“You’re a strong woman, Abigail Roberts.” The smoke furls over his lips, the blue steel of his gaze staring out over the horizon. “You’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for an’... well, if you won’t do it for Marston, do it for Jack. You’re his mother an’ the one constant in his life - I like to think you would give me the boot if you thought it was best for you both.”

Mary steps forward, squaring her shoulders. “What have you been telling him?” she yells between sobs.

“I aren’t him, I ain’t her, or any of your stooges! You don’t owe me nothing - I don’t owe you nothing! Nothing! I’ll spit in your eye - I did! I told them! Yeah, I told ‘em, an’ I’d tell ‘em again!”

“What have you done to make him hate me?”

“Now I’ve got God’s ear! Mr Milton and Mr Ross, about the bank robbery. An’ I wanted them to kill you! Oh you ain’t so big now are yer?” Arthur murmurs in Dutch’s ear, his hand over his, pushing the gun to the ground as she laughs manically into every stunned face that’s gathered around to watch.

“Not so big now! Are we, your majesty?”

Abigail feels the gunshot through her gut even though there is no physical wound to be seen. She shakes her head, her anger melting into the air the same way her blood had soaked the hollow. “You wouldn’t be here if he hated you, Mary.”

“Arthur and I have always had an understanding and now you’re in the picture-!”

“I’ve always been in the picture. We’ve known each other since I was eighteen years old and every time I told him how nice I thought you were, he would brush it off sayin’ you had better ideas than him.” Abigail shakes her head, trying to forget how brutal he could be when it came to himself. “I don’t know what ideas they was, but he deserves better than that. If he ain’t the best idea you’ve ever had, then you don’t deserve him. I don’t know anyone who deserves him, but I know I won’t have a grown woman throwing a tantrum in my house because it took her twenty five years to realise her mistake.

“I will leave you to pack your things, and I will be civil. Hell, I will even throw in a good word for you, but if you ever darken this doorstep with the intention to harm anybody under this roof, I will kill you myself - Morgan or no Morgan. Now get outta my house.”

*

A low whistle comes from the kitchen table. “You sure told her, Miss Roberts.”

“An’ where was you?” She snatches the bowl from in front of Uncle and tips the contents back in the pot, ignoring his protests. “You was sittin’ on your ass, letting everyone else do the work as always.”

“Come now, Abigail, I’ve got-”

“To go find Arthur and make sure he’s alright!” She throws him his hat from the table, her hands on her hips as she glares.

“I’d love to, but it’s the lumbago…”

“I’ll go, Ma!”

“You will do no such thing, Jack Marston. Go prepare the cart for Mrs Linton tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, Ma…”

She turns to Uncle, her gaze stern. “Just go make sure he hasn’t been jumped by them Skinners up near Tall Trees.”

“Arthur’s more than capable.”

“I don’t care! Go find him!”

“You women and your hormones.” Uncle grunts, holding his back as he gets to his feet slowly. “Y’know I thought I’d miss your monthly nagging stretch, so far it’s like you’ve crammed all nine in the past coupl’o months - here’s to it getting better!”

Abigail’s face flushes. “What do you mean?”

He waves his hand dismissively. “You know what I mean. I ain’t stupid. Jack’s too young, and Arthur looks the other way, but back in the day ol’ Uncle needed to be able to tell who was available-”

“Don’t be dumb, Uncle.” Abigail swallows the upcoming nausea, ignoring the ringing in her ears. “Go find him before I feed you to the Skinners myself!”

“Alrigh’, I’m goin’, I’m goin’ - your secret's safe with me.” Chuckling, he waddles away, leaving Abigail to sink into the chair and bury her face into the darkness of her arms.

A creak of the floorboards forces her to lift her head, her anger flaring at the man that dares disobey but it melts when her gaze fixes on Mary.

"Is that why?" she hiccups. "Why he's choosing you and your boy?"

Abigail breathes out slowly, choosing her words carefully. "No, Mrs Linton. He- I haven't told him yet."

Her large eyes swell with heartache. "Is it his?"

The hesitation sends her staggering outside.

"Mrs Linton! Mary!" Abigail hurries after her but outside she is only greeted by a confused adolescent and an amused Uncle.

"What the hell did you tell her?" Uncle chortles.

Jack is flabbergasted. "She just jumped on a horse an' took off! I thought we was taking her in the cart?"

"Which way did she go?"

"North." His hands wring themselves. "Ma, d'you think she knows abou' the Skinners? She was headed straight there."

Abigail swears and slaps Uncle on the arm. "What are you waiting for?" she cries. "Get after her!"

"I thought you wanted me to go look for Arthur?"

"He can look after himself! She can't round up the chickens in the pen! Go get her!" 

The horse whinnies and gallops out the gate. For the second time in as many minutes, Abigail sank down on the porch and began to thud her head against the post.

"What happened?" Jack's arm is hesitant as it wraps around her shoulder, but it helps to ground her.

"Nothing, son. Can you run a quick perimeter? If you see Uncle Arthur, tell him about Mary. Fightin' or no, losin' her won't do any of us good."

He hesitates, but as the tears spill over, he stiffens and mounts his horse obediently. Abigail sags.