#WHERE DID THEY GET A HANGING GALLOWS FROM?!?

[cyarskaren52]

[toaarcan]

As the dust settles on Downfall, I think I remain pretty much where I was before in terms of Ludinus' plan and whether it's justified.

(It's not)

Aeor pointed a gun at the gods, and the Prime Deities' overall first goal was not to retaliate with equal force, but to disarm them. They tried to protect themselves without killing everyone on Aeor, even as every step they took through the city's streets showed it to be a hellscape that killed the faithful for no other reason than said faith. Because they saw the bright side of it, the innocents that lived there. They looked at a city that hanged their followers for believing in them, built an ornate fucking gallows to do it with, and still wanted to spare it.

They did their level best to save everyone they could. Only three people in the whole city knew how to make the Factorum Malleus. Remove those three and destroy the weapon and all knowledge of it, and the problem is solved.

And then a human wizard beamed the knowledge of the Malleus into the brain of every other wizard in the city.

It was Selena that doomed Aeor, turning a defeat into devastation. They had already lost, the gods breached their defences, revealed the location of the city to Kord and Bahamut, easily made their way to the Genesis Ward, destroyed all of the major divine wards and most of the minor ones, and killed most of the defenders.

In that one moment, it looked like the Primes would get what they wanted: Safety for themselves, while still managing to spare Aeor.

And then that one last Wish spell destroyed the hope the Primes had, and forced their hand. The only way they could ever be safe was to smash Aeor into the ground before anyone with fresh knowledge of how to build a second Factorum Malleus could get off it.

As for Aeor's side of things... look, if you build an Instant Genocide Gun, and put it in the core of a flying population centre, you don't get to complain if the people you want to wipe from existence turn up to swat you out of the sky in self-defence.

Like bruh, what were the gods supposed to do? Sit there and let the Malleus go off?

[comfortless]

hi syl! omfg i cannot believe we are mutuals, i love your works so much. but have you heard of the midieval concept called “marriage on the gallows?” basically, a person who was given death penalty can still be saved when someone promises to marry them. all i can think about is könig going to a live hanging/ burning at the stake and using marriage on the gallows to have a wife.

not like she was framed or anything, right(????) but don’t worry, könig promises to make her happy and alive now that he’s her husband. or maybe knight! ghost was the one who was about to be killed but y/n is like “I CAN FIX HIM” and marries him instead.

chanting Torta, Torta, Torta hi!! i am hugging you for this. <3 i have heard of it! but never did i think to apply it to König and now here we are… ^^

content/warnings: forced marriage?, vague religious imagery, injury, threat of public execution, vague smut.

When you sell your soul, really sell it, you’re cutting away from the umbilical cord that tethers you to whatever waits in the darkness of the afterlife. You kneel, you pray, you bathe yourself in sacred water and parrot divine words, but you don’t realize you’ve become obscured in invisibility, a shadow, a husk.

He’s clipped her wings and the only thing left to do is end her flight, let her go tumbling down into a pit of sulfur from the rope lead tied to her neck: to die before a sea of jeering faces, horse shit and fine wine, gilded paintings and the darkened splatter of blood, dried and crisp against a wooden stage.

König knows something about that, because there’s a dense, thorny guilt curling in his chest as he looks up at the little sparrow led up to the rope with her face pushed down by a hand that doesn’t belong there.

She’s done no wrong; smiling sweetly at a man like him shouldn’t have resulted in this. His heart shatters when he hears her begin to cry, her battered face wrenched up to face the crowd by the hangman’s cruel hands.

A little, flightless bird like this could never have done what he did to get her here. Gentle, sweet things knew so little of the very blood that pulses in veins, of what a man’s innards look like spilt out on a thick blade.

But of course they will believe anything— she’s a commoner, no special asset to the village. They needed their farmers, their tailors, and men like him— the blacksmith they all shunned as though he had risen from the fiery pit he worked away at himself. They didn’t need her.

Only he did.

So when he steps through the crowd of vultures to watch as the rope is tightened around her delicate neck, his voice comes in a roar. He propositions the hangman that he will take her as his wife, haul this devil back to his shack at the village’s edge and ensure that she— he will spill no more blood.

She weakly raises her head to eye him, recognizing him immediately as the man who had accused her of murdering that stable boy only two nights prior. Her stare is not judgmental or accusatory: she doesn’t have a clue of the lengths he has went to- would go to- to tether her to him.

A fortnight later, the woman becomes his bride.

She doesn’t know what brought her such a malison, how she came to be the wife of a man who once cast his accusations toward her, but she’s grateful to the man who’s cursed her to suffer him.

There’s no celebration, no flowers or dancing. There’s a kiss she nervously leans into at the chapel, shy, while his heart bursts into flames.

She isn’t blessed with meaningful vows, only a pleading profession whispered into her ear when his kisses reach from her neck to the curve of her jaw.

It’s consummated in that darkened shack, not a candle lit where smoke has painted the walls black with ash and dust; a place where she curls her arms over him sweetly and breathes her thanks against his shoulder, where his fingers commit every curve, dip, and ridge of her to memory. His words are lost in her hair, her shoulder, her chest as he devotes every remnant of himself to her entirely. He isn’t gentle, but he tries when her tight whines and whimpers fill his ears, drowning out even his lamentations.

She tolerates him four times over before he can will himself to pull away from her warmth. The guilt is replaced by a sense of purpose, a certainty that all he’s done has been entirely for her. She tells him that she would never hurt another thing, and he whispers against her skin, “I know.”

His flightless engel does not remain downtrodden.

Each morning she wakes him with giggles, face warmed in memory of the night’s prior rapture. She bakes for him, sweet things that he’s never thought himself worthy of prior while he buries himself against her, yearns to pry apart her ribs and bury himself in her softness for all time.

He kisses at what remains of the scars along her neck when she finds him melding down steel for a new weapon, takes her into his lap just to watch the flames dance in her eyes.

[rustedhearts]

the one where 70s!steve gets jealous when eddie munson is flirting with you at the halloween bonfire (flashback)...

eddie munson was flirting with you.

it was halloween and eddie munson was flirting with you.

steve watched through the scalding amber rays of fire as eddie wiggled his way closer and closer as the night grew darker. the bonfire spit sparks against an inky sky, and someone’s car had an 8-track playing bob dylan.

steve didn’t like bob dylan, and he didn’t like eddie fucking munson pushing your hair out of your face.

he had no business voicing this matter, though. you were here to celebrate halloween like you always did, an avid member of the annual harrington bonfire circle. munson was here on his own accord, dealing scrunched-up dime bags from the pockets of his leather coat.

steve was here with nancy, though she left him alone a while ago. pranced off somewhere in the dark to chat with a friend.

leaving steve to watch you, his best friend, fall for the charm of that long-haired freak.

holding the miller high life steve gave you nearly an hour ago, in the sweatshirt he leant you yesterday that you decidedly would not be giving back, in the lawn chair you tanned in over the summer in his driveway.

steve gnawed on the skin around his thumbnail and bounced his boot on the grass.

eddie leaned forward and brushed your hair behind your ear. tipped his head to the side and flashed a dimpled smirk.

steve placed his beer on the floor and pressed to his feet.

his sneakers spit gravel into roaring bonfire flames as he closed in. with each stomp closer, your flirtatious giggles rang in his ears. eddie had his hand on your shoulder, rubbing through your coat. you flipped your hair out of the way and grazed his thigh on the way down.

"what's goin' on here?" steve's voice broke through the barier that seemed to form around the pair of you.

the barrier you'd happily been sitting in all night.

you looked away from eddie, cheeks warm and sore from grinning, and up at your best friend. "oh, hi, steve."

but steve had his eye set on eddie, and you watched in increasingly mortified shock as steve pulled his shoulders back and squared them off. his "tough" stance, a position you'd only seen him in one other time when you were fourteen and a man outside of the mini-mart started asking you strange questions.

"hey, man," eddie greeted, another coy grin on his face as he eyed steve in his periphery.

he still hadn't turned away from you and that just pissed steve off more. your knees were touching, for christ's sake.

"hey," steve barked, shuffling closer until he towered over the pair of you, hands shifting to his hips.

you screwed your nose up at him, brows knitting together—but he practically ignored you. someone on the other side of the flames began to strum "gallow's pole." the acoustic pluck was no match for the irritation you felt staring at your best friend while he blatantly humiliated you.

under his attempt at intimidation, eddie chuckled and collected his beer from the ground.

"ohh-kayy," he laughed. "see you later."

he tapped you on your knee as he stood, making his way toward the led zeppelin player. in his absence, steve scoffed and shook his head, sinking into eddie's abandoned chair with ease.

"can you believe that guy—"

"what the fuck was that?" you scolded, reaching out to punch his arm.

steve cradled it immediately. "ow!"

"why did you do that?" you glared at him sternly.

but steve only leaned back and shrugged, folding his arms together. the flames crackled and illuminated his face with an orange halo.

"you don't wanna be hanging around with him."

rage bubbled in your chest. "says who?"

steve shrugged again. stupid fucking broad shoulders. "me."

you stood to your feet with such force that it knocked your plastic chair over. steve's gaze followed you in instant surprise.

"you can't tell me who to hang out with, steve. where's your goddamn girlfriend anyway?"

steve swallowed, eyes bouncing around the circle of chairs and the bodies lingering beyond it in the yard. what was nancy wearing tonight? his cheeks burned red hot, spreading up to the tops of his ears. thank god he was growing his hair out.

"i dunno, in the bathroom—"

"well, go worry about her, harrington. not me."

he watched you disappear into the blackness of the yard. nancy’s pink skirt fluttered in his periphery as she took your seat.

“hey.” her lips touched his cheek and he wished he wasn’t pretending they were yours. “miss me?”

steve tore his eyes away from the darkness and turned them to his girlfriend. he flashed a handsome smile and tucked her under his arm.

“of course. like you wouldn’t believe.”

[yall-batman-fanfic]

A Promise Across Time | Bruce Wayne/Batman x Magician!Reader ft Justice League Dark [Part 3/3]

Synopsis: With his memories back, Bruce and Vivian plan to escape their cell before she gets burned at the stake and hanged for his crimes. Constantine comes to the rescue with a reckless plan.

Note: Mentions and descriptions of sexual acts are in this chapter.

“Enjoy that last embrace,” the soldier banged on their cell door, sneering at them. 

Bruce and Vivian got up from the slab they were at and faced the soldier who interrupted their reunion.

“By sunset you,” he pointed at Bruce who held Vivian in his arms protectively. “Will hang for your crimes, and you, witch,” he spat at her direction, Bruce was about to attack him but Vivian held him at his place. “Will burn at the stake.”

The soldier left soon after and Vivian sighed. “I love reading about history but I hate living it. But I do love the fashion.”

Bruce laughed and squeezed her hand. “We need to get out of here.”

“Really? What gave you the idea your hanging or my dinner date to a fucking barbeque?” 

“Can't you teleport us out of here?”

“I need to know the location. Its coordinates, its surroundings. But what I know is modern Gotham not 18th century Gotham. The last thing we need is to find ourselves in the middle of a war room with people with more guns.”

Bruce looked around the cell to find something to use as a weapon or break. He went to the small window and shook its bars. He pulled back with all his strength but can't remove it. Seeing his frustration, Vivian reminded him of her magic and removed the bars herself. She was about to jump up to see the outside but Bruce wrapped his arms around her legs and carried her up. Vivian looked out the small window.

“What do you see?” He asked.

“An alleyway. And a lot of people are shitting and – John?”

“John Constantine?” Bruce asked.

Vivian pulled back from the window as John’s face appeared there.

“I see you have already cleared the Bats’ jogged memory,” said Constantine. “And without burning him, congratulations. You just graduated from being an amateur in magic. Again.”

Vivian got down from Bruce's hold and said, “Get your ass in here Constantine so we can use the Eye of Chronos and we can get out of here before my appointment at town square.”

“Oh, yeah, I saw them making the stake earlier. And the gallows too. They placed it right across each other. Who knew an execution can be romantic.”

“Constantine,” Bruce scolded him.

“Calm down.” John disappeared from the window and appeared inside the cell with them. “Cozy, some rat droppings are there and human bile… anyway we can't use the Eye now.”

“What do you mean?” Vivian was panicking.

“I might have sat on it when we landed here – don't worry, I already fixed the bloody thing. It just needs to get more power.”

“How long?” Bruce asked.

“A couple of hours. That's why –” He stopped them both before they could speak. “-- I made arrangements. There's a ship at the docks. We can make a run for it and be at sea, far from Gotham or any English ship and wait for the Eye to work again and carry three passengers back.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Vivian asked.

“An explosion to get all of the soldiers here and far from the docks. Which, I'm sure you can handle, Vee. A hint, the square is far enough, and can get everyone panicking here and not there.”

“I know where the square is,” Vivian summoned the seals again and cast the incantation. As planned, an explosion happened at the square. John checked the window and saw the flames and smoke that transformed to a large bat, scaring people around them. Screams were heard and the stampede to get to their homes. 

“Now, we wait for your guards to come in and apprehend you,” John said. “Won't be long now.”

It did not take long for their door to be kicked down and a swarm of soldiers came in with bayonets pointed at them, some questioning where John came from, and other screaming for Vivian to stop the witchcraft she was doing at the square. Bruce and John had Vivian between them, away from the bayonets and the soldiers’ grasp.

“John, we need to go,” Vivian said to him.

“Not yet, this isn't all of them,” John whispered.

More and more soldiers started to be aggressive and Bruce had to disarm a man who came at them and took the weapon. 

“John!”

“Alright, brace yourselves,” John opened a portal below them and all three of them fell from the floor and into the sea. Splashing into the salt water, Vivian struggled to get back up with the weight of her dress, rushing to her rescue, Bruce removed the heavy layers of her dress and carried her to the surface where they both gasped for air.

“You said there was a ship!” Bruce told Constantine.

“There was!” John looked around. “There it is. Bastards sailed off earlier than they're supposed to!”

“I'll do it!” Vivian summoned a portal and moved it past them, and one moment they were in the water, the next they were on the docks of the ship with men startled and pointing their weapons at them. 

“Witch! Witch!” They cried out as they glared at Vivian.

“I'm getting tired of being called that,” she spat out salt water. She then moved her hand and the ropes of the ship started to move, capturing all of the men on the ship and tossed them out to sea. “Don't worry, if they can swim, they can reach the shore,” Vivian told Bruce as she got up from the ground. Another wave of a hand and they all were dry. 

“Now, we need to get away from here before those men you mercifully threw off board tell the others with faster ships what happened and they chase us,” said John. He summoned his magical seals and had every element of the ship move. The removing the sails from their secured lines, the helm being stirred, and to support his work Vivian summoned the wind to push them away from the port and further to international waters. 

They did not stop until they saw Gotham as just mountains and torches lighting it. 

Tired, both John and Vivian laid on the deck, panting. Approaching them, Bruce sat beside Vivian and offered them both a plate of food – bread, fruit, and bacon. He cooked the bacon just right. 

“Finally,” said John. “You made yourself useful.”

Batman glared at him but that glare faltered as Vivian placed a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, my love,” she said to him and took a bite off the bacon.

Unable to hold it any longer, Bruce had her face him so he could place a kiss on her lips. He just swallowed salt water earlier, it was enough to wash away whatever he vomited earlier. John let out a loud cough, breaking their kiss.

“If you want to go all lovey-dovey, do it inside,” John pointed to the door. “We still have time to kill for the Eye of Chronos to fix itself, and for you to recharge. So don't tire her out, Bats.”

Sighing, Vivian patted Bruce's cheek and got up, bringing him with her, but before they went inside, Vivian leaned down and placed a kiss on John's cheek and hugged him. “Thank you, John,” she said.

“No problem, love… now go be with your husband,” he squeezed her hand and lets her go.

~*~

The captain's quarters was spacious with it holding the books, records, maps, the table where he conducts his business, and his very own bed at the corner. Vivian set their plate on the table and went through the captains’ things, and when she found what she was looking for she said, “aha!” She held out the bottle of scotch from the drawer.

“Should you be drinking?” Bruce asked.

“I deserve one after a very long day,” she told him as she opened the bottle and gulped a couple of times. “That's more than enough.” She went to take a bite from the bacon and bread. Casting spells was starving work and she just realized that she hasn't eaten since they went to the Watchtower too! She definitely needed food now. 

But how can she eat when Bruce started kissing her. He trailed his lips from the exposed part of her shoulder and up to her neck where he knew made her moan.

“I missed you,” he said against her skin. He purposely bit on that spot making her moan. “I missed touching you like this. I miss feeling you. Tasting you…” his hand was pulling up her skirts until he felt the skin of her thigh and he rubbed her there and was slowly hiking up to his goal.

“God, Vivian,” He breathed out as he brushed fingers at sex and slowly moved between her folds where she was already wet. “Don't be loud, Constantine is just outside… and these have thin walls.”

Vivian turned to him and said, “I don't care,” she kissed his lips. “I miss my husband and I want you now.” Holding his free hand, she led him to her breast where the ribbon was loose and he could reach inside. She moaned into his lips as he pushed his fingers in her. 

“I don't know how I survived centuries without you,” Bruce kissed jaw line. “Without this.”

Vivian laughed. He was right on centuries but she doubts that was literally how long he's been celibate. Still, considering they can't have a week without making love or fucking one another, a month was long for them. Though she didn't want to, Vivian pulled his hand away from her sex she could face him. She brushed her fingers across his beard, seeing some of the strands were white, and how it was unkempt. She missed looking into those eyes.

“I'm sure you want to know what's happening at home,” she said with a smile. “Things are a mess in Gotham since they found out Batman was gone, but Dick is leading them to get everything back in order –”

“I don't want to talk about Gotham right now. I care for our family but right now, while we're trapped here in this ship, at this time, let me be with you, Viv. Let me be a husband first,” Bruce leaned on her forehead. “Let me touch my wife who I have missed so much and have hurt by leaving her.”

“It wasn't your fault.”

“But you had to go through all of it.”

“Casualties of the job.”

“Incompetence,” Bruce kissed her. “I'm not just Batman anymore, Viv. I'm a father. I'm your husband, and I have my vows to you that even death can't break.” 

He skillfully pulled the strings that held her corset and removed it from her entirely, followed by the bralette, and the skirts and underwear, leaving her naked before him. He brushed his fingers on the red marks left by the corset, tracing them until they stopped before it could mark her breasts.

Under her gaze, he took off his clothes and threw each one of them to the floor. Both naked, Bruce and Vivian looked at each other's bodies, familiarizing themselves of anything that has changed during their time apart. Nothing has changed but for some new scars he got. 

Unable to hold himself anymore, Bruce lifted her off the ground, sweeping her off her feet and making Vivian laugh. He laid her on the captain's bed and hovered over her body. He took his time memorizing her face again before leaning down to kiss her lips and her neck.

Her body felt like it was on fire in all the right places as his mouth moved from her collarbone, to her chest, and to her breast. She dug her fingers to his back, earning a grunt of pleasure from him, as he ran his tongue across her nipple. 

“Bruce!” She moaned out his name as she felt him press himself on her sex. He would only brush against her over and over but never giving what has been building inside at the pit of her stomach. She arched her back a bit more to brush against him again, this earned a smile from him.

“Please,” she breathed, grasping to his lower back to emphasize the need. “Bruce, please.”

Bruce dragged his tongue up her belly and to her breast again, taking his time there, and then trailed kisses on her face. And as he nestled at the crook of her neck, she felt him smile as Bruce thrust into her in a long, powerful stroke — and bit down on her to hide his loud moan.

But she didn't. 

He stayed there for a moment, overwhelmed with feeling her again until Vivian started moving her hips then he began to move with her. Setting a lazy, smooth pace as he looked up to her for a kiss. His pace increased as his kisses became fierce, his tongue tangled with hers. When it wasn't enough, he pulled away from her lips and held her thighs, pinning her down to the bed as he moved deeper, harder. 

Their moans and grunts, and the creaking of the bed overpowered the sound of the ship rocking with the waves of the sea. Neither cared as they were too preoccupied reuniting with one another. 

He came into her, spasm after spasm filled her inside, and the feeling of him also triggered her climax. But this wasn't enough. They've made love as husband and wife, this time Bruce wanted to fuck her. Pulling out, making them both moan and their mixed essence coming out, he whispered to Vivian his desire and with a nod she turned her back on him and got on all fours, her arms bracing against the wall.

Bruce held her hips and aligned his erection to her again and pushed deep, deeper than he could earlier. Vivian let out an incoherent moan as he hit that deep spot and held his hand on her hips. When he didn't move she pushed back, making her hum in pleasure as she felt him pressing to that area. 

Seeing her need, Bruce pulled back and began this wilder pace. Going deeper than he did earlier to feel more of her, getting wilder in this frenzy of pleasure. He has shown to her earlier how much he missed her, now he'll show what she brings out of him. This animal who craves her euphoric touch and taste that would only come out in their bedroom.

“I can feel you get harder inside me,” she moaned. “You can go harder, I want all of you.’

Bruce leaned down and kissed her back as he moved her legs wider giving him more room to dive deeper into her, pushing to the hilt.

“Yes!” Vivian gasped.

At this point all rational thinking was gone. This was their purest form and it felt great to do something like this again. Reaching her ear, Bruce whispered, “Hold onto the wall,” before pulling her back against him and guiding her hands to the wooden surface in front of them, and found another way to hit another spot that made her moan louder and clench around him.

His hands roamed all over her body – flicking her clit, squeezing her breast, biting her shoulder.

He suddenly took himself out of her, and before she could protest, he had her lying down again, facing him – their initial position – and he gently pushed inside and out in a slow pace, letting Vivian feel every movement to trigger her climax again. 

“I love you, Vivian,” he said as he made love to her again. “I love you.”

Panting, Vivian reached for his face and brushed his hair back as she said, “I love you, Bruce — ah! I think –”

Bruce smiled and kissed her. “Let go, my love. Just let go.”

She whispered his name as she came, and he came with a strangled moan and buried himself deep in her. Filling her up with his climax. He was about to make a move to pull out, but Vivian grasped him by his bottom and told him to stay. Kissing her again, he laid there with her, side by side, and their legs tangled as he held her tight until they fell asleep.

~*~

Exiting the captain's quarters, with Bruce wearing the same clothes he had while Vivian wearing the captain's clothes she found in the closet, the two were greeted by a grumpy John Constantine who had breakfast on the deck floor and was drinking a bottle of scotch. When Vivian went to get a piece of bacon, Constantin slapped her hands away.

“John,” she said.

“Wash you fucking hands before you even touch one of these,” John told her. “Aye, I heard all of it. You both didn't seem to care didn't you? I got the whole audio show out here. Not even the fucking waves helped or that demon I called to play a song could drown out your sound. Bunch animals you two are.”

“Sorry,” she winced. “I cleaned up. Hands are clean too, may I?”

John gestured to the food but his frown was still there. When Bruce sat down, he eyed the man up and down and said, “I told you not to tire her out last night.”

“I didn't,” said Bruce as he handed Vivian a piece of bread and bacon. “What now?”

“We go home. I don't know about you two, but I miss the modern age where walls are thick to keep certain things in the bedroom,” he got out the Eye of Chronos. “If you please, Vivian?”

“I'm still eating,” Vivian told him.

“You can eat when we get home. Have Alfred make you a proper feast for the three of us.”

Sighing, Vivian dusted her hands and got up. Following her lead were the two men who prepared themselves for the journey. “Into the light, I command thee.” She summoned her Phoenix form, then called for the seals of time to her arm. They placed the alignments in their proper order and this time, Vivian used her locket as an anchor to get them back. 

~*~

Vivian groaned at the harsh landing. At first it was on soft ground, this time it was cold metal. Getting up, she found herself on the floor of the Watchtower meeting room where the Justice League were gathered to discuss a concern – maybe – but all looked at them as they recovered from their harsh landing.

“Are you alright?” Bruce came to her side immediately to help her up.

“Peachy,” Vivian muttered.

“We'll work on the landing next time,” John told her as he remained lying on the floor. “So, that's it then. I'll be off – back to my normal life,” he got up, and corrected his clothes. “If you need me, call her first,” he pointed at Vivian. “See you around, Vee!”

“Constantine, wait!” Superman called for him but the Englishman was gone. Turning to Batman and Vivian, Superman greeted his old friends with an embrace and said, “I'm glad you're both back.”

“How's Gotham?” Bruce asked immediately.

“Well, Nightwing's got everything under control. You – Vivian and John were only gone for a couple of hours. The sun is just about to come up in Gotham.”

“Good,” Vivian groaned as she stretched her back. “Means I can still help in making breakfast for the kids. Before we go, here.” She conjured the parasite that Bruce threw up in the cell. “That's for you. If you'll excuse us, we'll be heading home now.”

“Batman, we need to discuss what happened to you,” said Wonder Woman.

“And protocol requires you to be in quarantine –”

“Trust me, I don't need quarantine,” said Bruce as he held Vivian's hand. “What I need is a bath – a long and hot bath, and time with my family.”

Clark smiled. “We'll call you if there's anything urgent. Cyborg, help Batman and the Phoenix to the Boomtube to get home.”

“No need, I got it,” Vivian opened a portal and both of them went in. Leaving the Justice League with dead parasites in animated suspension. 

“Are you sure we're not gonna try and send another invitation for her to join the League?” Hal asked.

“Don't bother,” Clark sighed.

~*~

“They should be back by now,” Jason muttered as they got up to the manor from the cave. 

“Jason, it's not that easy, you know,” said Tim as he pulled off his mask and cape. “Man, I hope breakfast is ready now.”

“It's time, Tim. They can get back earlier if they want.”

Dick sighed. “Both of you, stop it. We had a long night. Let's just wait for Vivian. Superman will tell us if something's wrong.”

“But how do they know that something is wrong, Grayson?” Damain questioned him.

“Because Vivian left a timer for us. If they're not back within twenty-four hours then there is something horribly wrong.”

Arriving at the kitchen, the Robins were greeted by Alfred setting the table with breakfast being mountains of pancakes, bacon and sausages, eggs, coffee, hot chocolate, whip cream, berries. Their mouths started watering at the sight of the feast before them.

“Any reason for the big breakfast, Alfred?” Duke asked.

“It's a celebration,” Vivian came out of the kitchen holding her favorite mug and following her was Bruce, clean shaved and wearing his usual shirt. “And I miss pancakes.”

In an instant, the Robins errupted in gasps and shouts as they called for them, “Bruce!”, “Vivian!”, “Ma!”, “You're back!” 

Damian was the first to embrace his father and then turned to Vivian and said, “You both got back.”

“I promised I would, didn't I?” She told him. She then stretched out her arm to Jason who waited for her to notice him and brought him to an embrace, and then Tim who was more than happy to see her again.

Bruce was mostly caught in Cassandra's tight hug but he managed to thank Dick for keeping everything together, and Duke who was standing there just happy to see them back.

“Let's eat,” Bruce told them.

Everyone went to their proper seats with Bruce at the head of the table and Vivian to his left, Alfred right across from him, and the rest finding their places. All seats were now occupied but for one. 

“Are we expecting someone?” Tim asked.

Right on cue, John Constantine appeared, dressed in his usual get up and took the place across Vivian. “I only came because she said there's real food,” he told them. “And I was tired with whatever it was they cooked at that time.”

“Guest first,” Vivian told him.

John had three pancakes, two sausages and bacon floating to his plate and had butter and syrup. “Do whatever you want, I'll be having my meal in peace.” He told them, and everyone took their piece. 

As they ate together as a family, a lot of questions were asked about their little adventure through time and what Bruce looked like as a pirate. All questions were answered but other details to the question of, “why did it take you so damn long to come back?” were avoided. By the end of their breakfast, the Robins went to their respective rooms and homes to get a good sleep before starting their day. 

Alone in the living room, Vivian sat with Ace on her lap, while John enjoyed the leather seat with his whiskey. Bruce was on the phone with Lucius Fox about settling things with the lawyers and to immediately announce his return with the fake story about his plane being found by Superman and he was immediately brought to the hospital and was given privacy.

As Bruce discussed with Alfred the things they needed to fix tomorrow – because today he wanted to stay with his family — Vivian called to John and said, “The Eye of Chronos was never broken, wasn't it?”

“My fat arse did flatten it,” He replied.

“But it never really needed a recharge. Right?”

John sighed and smiled. “You deserved it. The both of you. Before coming back to this.”

Vivian smiled and said, “Thank you, John. For everything.”

“Even for trying to kill you?” He joked.

“Yes… while it was still horrible what happened that night, if it didn't happen, I don't think I would have found this life. I wouldn't have found Bruce… so thank you.”

John smiled and raised his glass to her. “You're welcome, Vee.”

[coltermorning]

Of Love and Loss Ch. 17 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Out of options, you decide to attempt to save Arthur from the gallows yourself.

Author’s Notes: This is where the graphic depictions of violence tag comes into play. There are some gruesome descriptions of gunshot wounds, a hanging, and death in this chapter. Also, the lyrics in italics are from the song Devil’s Backbone by The Civil Wars. It is so incredibly fitting for these two, and I recommend giving it a listen if you haven’t already heard it. Chapter seventeen of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, minor character death, loss of parents, blood and injury, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, strangers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, graphic depictions of violence

AO3 Link

~

Of Love and Loss

Seventeen: Purging Innocence

Word count: 4782

Oh Lord, oh Lord, what have I done? I’ve fallen in love with a man on the run Oh Lord, oh Lord, I’m begging you please Don’t take that sinner from me

~

In the low light of new day, you readied yourself. You remained outside of town, blocking out the cold bite of the wind as you loaded your gun. Nothing mattered but this—the knowledge your father had instilled in you. Caring for a rifle in the same manner of respect owed to the very animal you hoped to bring down. Today’s prey would be a different sort, but you couldn’t think about that. Not as you weighed the gun in your hands, put it up to your eye. All that was left in you was the need to protect and provide. Letting anything else in would result in so much feeling it would boil over, blocking out any chance you had of doing what needed to be done. So you gauged the wind, how it would change your shot. You felt the weight of the world in your hands. And with it and your innocence intertwining, you let them go.

You strapped the gun over your shoulder and headed into town, keeping to the outskirts. With the rifle and the revolver weighing at your hip, you were nothing short of the strangest sight any of these townsfolk had seen of a woman, so you avoided them. You had one more job to do before it was time to set your sights on the gallows, and you wouldn’t let anything keep you from it.

Wearing your hat low over your eyes, you barely caught sight of the very deputy who had confronted you the night before. He was just inside the door of some place with a scantily dressed woman in his lap. The sight didn’t surprise you, and for once, it didn’t scare you either. Your focus was razor sharp, and not toward some deputy you had been worried about only hours ago.

Passing the buildings one by one, you quickly approached the taller, well-kept hotel. After hearing all the marshal had to say about the hotel owner, you felt the need to confront the man. It didn’t make sense that he had been bribed into the marshal’s pocket only to keep from telling the deputy you were a woman. That was a crucial piece of information that would have had you caught within the hour. But he hadn’t said anything, and why? No matter the reason, it was your turn to secure his silence—you couldn’t have him knowing your face, telling the law just who to chase out of town and, God forbid, across the state. If you were to build any kind of life in Nebraska, you couldn’t leave this loose end. That is, if you ever made it out of town alive.

You rushed the steps and pushed in the door, drawing up short when the very man you wanted to confront sat just behind his desk like always. He stared at you, and you stared at him. Then you shut the door behind you and backed into it. You didn’t have much time and couldn’t risk anyone else coming in to hear this.

“Why didn’t you tell them?”

The hotel owner cocked his head, like he didn’t understand. You knew full well he did, but that didn’t stop him from choosing ignorance. “Who? I don’t get your meaning.”

You huffed a breath of frustration. “You know who. The deputy. He was looking for another man to bring in last night.” You took a step closer, being sure to listen for anyone’s approach through the door at your back. “You didn’t tell him he shouldn’t be looking for a man, but a woman.”

He looked a little dumbfounded, then shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re on about, miss.”

Enough of this. For the first time, you took Arthur’s gun out of its holster and aimed it at another human being. He threw his hands up. “Whoa! Now, hold on a minute!”

“Tell me what you’re up to, or I’ll shoot.” You had no intention of doing so, but he didn’t have to know that.

“Nothing! I ain’t up to anything!”

You cocked the hammer. “I know about your little deal with the marshal. If you’re so loyal to him, why didn’t you sell me out?” He hesitated, his face going slack. Caught dead to rights. “Answer me!”

“Okay! Okay, I didn’t…he’s…the man’s a crook. I didn’t want to believe it, but he is. He came in here and paid me to stay quiet about that man you were with being here all night, and I didn’t want to believe the marshal was no better than that brother of his. So I did what he said but…I left you out of it. My way of spiting him for it, I guess.” The man looked dejected despite the gun pointed at his face. You believed him. You brought the gun back down.

“Why just help me? Why not mislead the deputy away from both of us?”

He shook his head. “They would have sniffed that out real quick. Then I’d have the marshal on my tail. And as for you, I’m certainly regretting it now, but I thought you were…you came in here that first day looking- well, looking pretty incapable of something like this. I felt sorry for you. Now I don’t.”

You uncocked the gun and holstered it. “You shouldn’t. But I appreciate your discretion. Can I count on you to keep that discretion going forward?” You stepped up to his desk and lowered your voice. “Or am I going to have to do something much worse than that crook of a marshal?”

His eyes narrowed, but you swore you caught the edges of a grin on his mouth. “You’re certainly not what I thought.”

“Answer the question.” You didn’t know where all this authority was coming from, but you felt it coursing through your veins like it had been lying there dormant all along. Like it took the threat of something much greater than your own life to bring it out. “Because if you don’t keep me out of all this, I won’t be the only one you have to worry about.”

“Your friend,” he muttered. “Just what are you planning?” Shit. You’d said too much. But you couldn’t give in now.

“Something better left unspoken. And I suggest you keep it that way, lest I have to pay you another visit.” You patted Arthur’s gun. “Or worse, my friend does. He won’t be too happy to hear you helped frame him.”

The hotel owner paled a bit. Legitimately paled over the thought of Arthur coming back for him. You knew just how intimidating the man could be, but that look alone had you swelling with pride. And it was time to go keep said pride alive.

“Are we square?”

The man nodded.

“Good.” You gave him one last, long look, then took your hand off the revolver. You turned on your heel and left before he could do anything more to stop you. You would let no one stop you from what came next.

Rushing to get to the place you had decided on, you kept to the shadows of the still-dawning day. In the case the hotel owner did decide to intervene, you needed to be well hidden hours in advance of the scheduled hanging. You also wouldn’t risk any chance of being late, of them moving the hanging up an hour, anything. So you arrived at your decided-upon spot, scaling the nearby building’s stairs, jumping onto the adjacent balcony, and hauling yourself onto the roof. The early hour kept anyone from noticing you, but the gun at your shoulder still weighed you down like a promise of death to come. There would be no relief today. Not until Arthur was free of a rope he had never deserved in the first place.

The hours went by slowly. All you could do was sit in silent stillness and watch the town stir. It was mostly uneventful, but you could tell the townsfolk knew of the hanging. The gallows you’d settled yourself across from drew more eyes than yours. And when the tenth hour neared, a crowd gathered. It was then that your nerves set in once more. That quiet determination that had kept them at bay was a result of the job that had to be done, but now you were thinking of Arthur. Of what these people would soon be cheering for and demanding of that despicable town marshal. It was sickening to think about. Especially because nothing could be done to change their minds, not even the truth. So when words weren’t enough, force it would be. You’d never imagined your life would lead you to an act so savage. In fact, you had been wishing all night you weren’t as savvy with a gun, weren’t as confident in your abilities, anything to get you out of doing what needed to be done. But Arthur would die if you didn’t help him. He may die anyway. All you could hope was that this little bit of skill you had would get you far enough for him to save himself. Whatever came of you was another matter. It would be worth it, to expend your life for his. You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for him anyway. So when the nearby jailhouse doors came swinging open and out walked the very men you had been waiting for, you gritted your teeth and steeled your resolve. It was time.

~

Arthur’s mind turned thought over thought like lightning, never stopping its mad descent. He always figured his mind would be blank before his death. He thought he would be filled with determination somehow, that he would go out fighting. Not like this. This was much worse. He had every moment to be thinking about regrets, about the gang and how they would wonder about him, about Mary and his son, about you. About what would happen to you without him. He couldn’t bear it. And yet he found himself complying, walking along dutifully, because what other choice did he have? His hands were quite literally tied, and the only thing that could stop this was a distraction the likes of which his gang used to pull. But there would be no Dutch or Hosea or any of the others to save him this time. There would be death, painful and likely not so swift, and just enough time for him to regret all the hell he had raised, as it would likely shape his afterlife into the very same. If there even was one. He couldn’t stomach that thought on top of everything else, so when he approached the nearing crowd and the gallows, he began to look for you. Even if it was just so he could see you and speak to you one last time when they allowed him his last words, if that piece of shit marshal even granted him that much.

The crowd started cussing at him, spitting at his feet as he walked by, hungry for a guilty soul to punish. It didn’t matter that they all detested George Lawrence just as much as he had. In fact, in searching the crowd, Arthur recognized some of the very men who had glared at the late Lawrence in the saloon just two days ago, all piping mad at him now instead. So be it. So long as he had one person in the crowd who believed in his innocence. Someone who cared for him enough to be here. But maybe you weren’t, and that was probably better for you anyway. Your odds of surviving would go up tremendously if you left him behind. How funny that was, since the opposite used to be true.

Arthur spiraled downward into memories of you, of this harrowing trip made better by your presence. He met the stairs and was led on by the deputies, but he didn’t balk. He didn’t shy away from his fate. He had known it would be something like this sooner or later. And when Marshal Lawrence joined him on the gallows and spoke over the crowd about his guilt, Arthur didn’t fight him on it. He didn’t say a word against the man or even look at him as the noose was slipped over his head and tightened around his neck. It was a suffocating feeling. Arthur panicked, his breathing hitching in his chest—his body’s last feeble attempt at survival. He barely heard when Lawrence asked if he had any last words. But then he remembered you and the slim chance you were watching. So he gathered his courage and looked out at the crowd of faces, only speaking to one in particular that he still had yet to see.

“I’m…sorry. I’m sorry I got us into this.” He couldn’t risk exposing you, so he switched tracks. And said the last words he would ever utter. “May God favor the innocent.” He looked the marshal straight in the eye. The man stared hard back. Fuck that bastard. Arthur grinned.

“Pull it,” Lawrence spat.

Arthur braced himself for the loss of the floor, for the drop, for the pain of a broken neck. He heard the wrenching creak of the lever at his side. Then he fell. The sky boomed with sound, and he never stopped falling until his feet hit the dry, hard earth below.

~

Give me the burden, give me the blame I’ll shoulder the load, and I’ll swallow the shame 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

~

Your gun cracked louder than thunder, making the crowd duck in panic. It left the perfect pathway for you to watch as Arthur’s rope snapped in two—your shot was dead on. He hit the ground below the gallows with half a noose hanging from his neck like a dead limb. He looked around in disbelief for all of a heartbeat before he bolted. Good. You had other matters to attend to.

The marshal was shouting, and the deputies were scrambling, all of their guns drawn. One spotted Arthur rounding the corner of the building and took aim. But you were faster, the gun already at your eye. You put a shot in close enough to scare the deputy senseless. If you could draw their attention to you, you could keep them off of Arthur’s back.

They searched wildly for the source of the second gunshot, either too dumb or too disoriented to look up. So when one made to run after Arthur, you put a third shot in at his feet, drawing him up short. It was then that the marshal spotted you.

“On the roof!”

All heads not busy ducking away under nearby awnings swung to you. You didn’t care. Let them look. You trained your sights on the marshal, ready to kill him if he so much as thought about going after Arthur. The others, Arthur could escape from, but a quick draw would be tricky to outrun. So you had vowed this morning that you would help Arthur escape Marshal Lawrence by any means necessary, even if it meant killing the man. You would do it for Arthur without a shred of doubt. So you kept your sights on the marshal while shots rang out in your general direction and he found cover and barked orders, even when he sent two of his deputies in the direction Arthur had gone. You’d given the outlaw enough time to get away. Those ropes binding his hands would be a problem, but you had no doubt he could find a good hiding spot in the meantime and solve that problem himself. Now, all that was left was for you to either escape or die trying. And from the look on that determined marshal’s face down the spine of your gun, escape would not come easy.

Once you were sure Arthur was in the clear and only had two deputies after him, you shouldered your gun and fled the roof. Instead of going the way you had come—the obvious way—you flung yourself over the back edge of the building and scaled down the steep roof of the first story. You were half-running, half-falling down it when you heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps in hot pursuit from where you had just come.

“They’re getting away!” a man yelled, and it was all you could do not to be overcome with terror when a shot rang out and struck the roof right beside you. You leapt over the edge, your knees buckling completely when you hit the ground just as another shot came raining down, barely missing you a second time. You wouldn’t risk turning and fighting how many men you had seen in pursuit, so you were immediately up again, gun at the ready, keeping under the roofline at a steady sprint. You turned a sharp corner and kept on, knowing all the banking turns would keep that deputy off your back. It really was a shame for the lawmen that they hadn’t built their gallows on the outside of town. Now all you had to do was hide in one of the many buildings surrounding you, stash your weapons and gun belt, and look as frightened as the rest of the town if you got caught.

You made turn after twisting turn, keeping the general direction of where you were headed. You didn’t run into anymore lawmen, just other fleeing townspeople, but you knew this wasn’t the hard part. The hard part would be getting out of town later. So you kept on, head down, hands steady. You could do this.

You heard occasional shouting, likely by the remaining deputies or angered townsfolk, but none too close. You finally found the perfect spot to stash your things—behind a wall that turned back on itself. You got behind it, threw your rifle down, and began unstrapping Arthur’s gun belt when a hand wrapped around your mouth and yanked you backward. You started to scream, panic paralyzing you.

“Shhhh,” came a deep voice you knew, his hand still covering your mouth to keep you quiet. “Just me.”

You spun around and pulled Arthur into you, crushing him to you. He laughed with the same quiet relief you felt. “It’s okay. I got you.”

You savored the feel of him hugging you back, alive and whole. Warm to the touch. You felt tears form in your eyes, spilling down your face.

“I got you,” he repeated. “Thanks for the save, by the way. That was a damn fine shot, hitting that rope.” He pulled away and looked down at you, smiling. It was the most rewarding sight in the world.

“I thought I- I didn’t think I would ever see you again.”

His close-lipped smile turned into something softer, something more caring as he said, “As much as you probably wished I would, I ain’t leaving here without you.”

You shoved him in the chest and laughed. That humor of his you loved so much, still here for you to enjoy. It took you until then to notice his hands were free, and the noose around his neck was gone.

“How’d you get rid of the ropes?”

“An outlaw can’t reveal all his secrets,” he said, winking at you. You felt a familiar flush of warmth within you at the sight. You thought to kiss him but couldn’t before he said, “You got a plan to get out of here, then?”

“I tied up Boadicea and Harriet outside of town behind some shed next to a house. We need to get to them before Marshal Lawrence and his deputies find them. I thought it would be best to wait until nightfall.”

Arthur shook his head. “They’ll be expecting that. And better prepared. I say we go now and hope we ain’t too outnumbered.”

“Sure.” You watched a plan form behind his eyes and felt pride like none other come alive within you. More than pride. Something nearly tangible it was so strong.

“Okay,” he said, his mind made up. “I think it best we-”

You spotted movement and shoved Arthur aside. A man with a badge stood not fifteen feet away, already aiming his gun. You reached for the only one you had within grasping distance—Arthur’s—and shot it at him. The gun kicked, and the man’s head exploded with red, the bullet digging into his eye and out of the back of his skull. You hadn’t- didn’t-

“Shit,” Arthur said, taking the gun from you. Not even a second passed, and the gun was pried away, and the man’s body was falling limp to the ground. There was so much blood. Bits of the inside of his head scattered around him, showering the brick of the building behind where he had stood. Not to mention the awful sound that was ringing through you, repeating, that unraveling of bone and blood and eye that should have been whole. You killed him. You did.

“We need to leave,” Arthur said. You could barely hear him, could barely feel his hand where it grasped your arm, tugging you on. “Now. That gunshot’ll draw anyone near.”

Arthur was right. You knew he was right. And still, you couldn’t pry your eyes away. So he pulled you away himself, grabbing your rifle and starting in a run. It was all you could do to follow.

The sight of the man dying flooded your vision. Arthur shoved your rifle in your hands, but you would be useless with it. He had his own gun back, and that was enough for you to replay that moment over and over again. You could stand to kill that awful marshal, but an innocent deputy?

“This way,” Arthur said lowly, turning a corner. The way beyond revealed the edge of town, and you could hardly believe escape was so close, like part of you didn’t want it anymore. Didn’t deserve it.

You followed Arthur along by more instinct than anything, as he asked you where your mounts were tied, and you couldn’t even say it. You pointed instead, revealing the house midway out of town. He tugged on your hand and headed for it.

The pair of you reached the house without running into anyone else. Arthur was rounding the corner of the house toward the very shed your molly and his mare waited behind when out stepped none other than the marshal, a despicable grin splitting his face.

“Going somewhere?”

Arthur shoved you behind him. All thought of the recent past fled at the sight of the present. From the looks of it, the marshal was alone and thereby outnumbered, but you were too distracted by what you had just done to even think about ending another life. That left the two of them. Arthur was quick with a gun, but quicker than the marshal?

“How’d you get here?” Arthur demanded.

“Seems the fine folks who own this place grew suspicious over the two extra equines behind their woodshed. They were all too happy to pass along the information.”

Time stood still a moment, and that loathsome noise of a skull cracking open began repeating again. But Arthur managed to stall it when he said, “All right. What do you say then, Marshal? Quickest draw walks away?”

“Arthur,” you hissed. Now wasn’t the time for such confidence. Not when all the two of you had risked to get here was moments away from unraveling.

“It would be my pleasure,” the marshal responded, that nasty smile returning. “Or, I could always haul you back in. I’m sure the town would be interested in having you back in its clutches, awaiting another hanging. You and your partner there.” He eyed you for all of a second. “A woman, no less.”

You grabbed Arthur to make him look at you. “Arthur, no. This is exactly what he wants.” But he wouldn’t look at you, eyes set on his opponent, jaw sharp with tension. You had half a mind to cause some sort of distraction no matter the consequence, but Arthur was sealing his fate before you could.

“This is between you and me, buddy.” To prove it, he pushed you away from him, never taking his eyes off of Lawrence.

“Arthur!”

Too late. He had already settled his gun at his side, mimicking the marshal, their stances ready.

“On three?” Lawrence taunted.

Arthur nodded sharply, and all thought of what you had just done got whisked away in the heat of the moment. He couldn’t do this to you. Not now.

You watched without breathing as the marshal began counting. They both stood stock still, waiting. And when three was shouted, they moved so fast that you staggered back, praying for mercy. Especially when two more men came rounding the corner of the woodshed, guns held high, badges flashing in the sun.

Watching, unbelieving, you were taken back to that day on the ridge outside of town, running scared while Arthur took on five men. You were taken back to Arthur mowing down those wolves while you cowered inside a tent. You could see it all clear as day now, because he had done it all, and now you knew how.

Before the marshal could even lift his arm, Arthur’s gun was firing, ringing out another harrowing note for you to dread. But you didn’t have to dread it for long, as any worry that his aim was off was crushed when the marshal went flying backward, that same splattering noise from before resounding. The report of the gun didn’t have a chance to echo before two more joined it, cracking again and again. You watched every moment of Arthur’s absolute determination, his perfect aim. He took all three men down with three shots. None of them had time to pull the trigger.

When the relentless sound ceased, all you could do was look to the three bodies now dead on the ground, in complete awe over Arthur’s ability. He wasn’t just fast—that was the work of legend. That was instinct and skill bound together so tightly no man could ever hope to rival it.

“Let’s go,” Arthur said, already ushering you toward the back of the shed. Every step nearer revealed the sound of nervous horse and mule, but you couldn’t even think about relief. Not as the smell of blood filled your nose, that sound of man dying plaguing you once more.

Arthur had his gun at the ready this time when he rounded the corner, but all that was revealed was Harriet, Boadicea, and three other horses—the lawmen’s.

“Last chance for a horse,” Arthur said, already at Boadicea’s side and digging through his saddle bag.

“No,” was all you could say. You stepped up to Harriet and ran a hand down her neck. She sniffed you in return, her wide eyes at all the commotion calming some. “Easy,” you murmured. And just like that, she grounded you. Centered you within the here and now. For as terrible as the day had been, she was here, alive as you were. So was Arthur. And when you watched him mount his horse and proceed to reload his gun faster than you’d ever seen a man do, you realized it wasn’t fear you were feeling. Not fear, or hopelessness, or even that nagging regret. You weren’t scared of Arthur and the things he could do. You were amazed. You were caught up in wondering how you had ever come across a man as fine and talented as this. And how you had ever won his favor. It lacked all notion of sense. But you shook the feeling off and vowed to put this town and all its evil behind you, at least until you were out of it. You put your foot in the stirrup and swung over Harriet.

“Ready?” Arthur asked, having Boadicea already pointed away from town. Without looking back, you nodded at him. He gave his horse a kick and a loud, “Yah!” and was off. You hesitated all of a breath before following him, wind whipping past, your molly running hard to close the gap between you. Like she knew wherever Arthur and Boadicea were, the two of you would never be far behind.

_________

Chapter eighteen is here.

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[arcane-vagabond]

Fool's Fare: Chapter Four

Fool's Fare: Chapter Four

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Captain Jake "Hangman" Seresin had come close to swinging from the gallows more times than he would care to admit. He's stolen, cheated, even killed. The worst thing he's ever done? Broken the heart of a woman. Having broken the heart of the woman whom Davy Jones himself had fallen for six years ago, Jake is now cursed to live as something not dead, but not alive. He's doomed to live a half-life for the rest of his existence unless he manages to obtain the treasure Davy Jones deems most valuable. The problem? He has no idea what it is, and he only had seven years to obtain it.

Triggers: Serious discussions, Flirting, Language, Falling overboard. I think that's it.

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: Hey! Long time, no see kind of. I know it's been a HOT minute since I've updated this story, but I'm hoping to update it a little more now that Don't Hang'em Til Noon has basically wrapped. Hanging By a Moment will be out probably sometime in the next month, but we'll see! In the meantime, enjoy! Anyway, it's a little shorter than my usual chapters, but I'm trying to get back into the swing of this story a little bit. As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! 18+ ONLY!! You can also find me on AO3 under arcane_vagabond where I post my updates as well!

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist

Your head was pounding something awful as you came to. The light was blinding as the sun filtered in through the window, the crash of waves echoing up and through the room. You were nestled comfortably against a plush pillow, your body cradled by the soft mattress beneath you. You let out a groan as you moved to sit up, pressing against your temples in the process.

“Well, good morning!”

You whipped your head around to look at the source of the voice, wincing as the sudden movement caused a flash of pain behind your eyes. Natasha sat perched on the bed opposite yours, a grin stretched across her face as she watched you.

“What?” You muttered, squinting your eyes at her in confusion. “What’s going on?”

You didn’t remember much from the night before, just the faint memory of tears and two different feelings of shock mixed in with passing faces and jeers.

“You had a lot to drink last night, Guppy,” she smirked at you, one leg propped up to lean against as she studied you, amusement still shining bright in her eyes. “Came up from the galley to find you asleep in bed with Jake sitting there right next to you. It was a sight for sure.”

You groaned once again as the events of the night before came rushing back to you, hiding your face in your hands. The reveal of your father’s past. The ale the men kept handing you. Bradley’s betrayal. Jake knowing who you were all along. The feel of his hand on your cheek.

You peeked through your fingers to look at the other woman. A smile ghosted on her lips, widening the longer you looked at her.

“You’ve nothing to be embarrassed about,” she assured you. “Everyone on this ship has done something they aren’t proud of after too much ale.”

“Nonetheless,” you muttered, dropping your hands back down into your lap, “I’m sorry you had to see that. I’m not usually like that.”

“I believe you,” she smiled. “It must have been quite the shock to get all of that information in one go.”

“It was.”

“So,” she hummed, her smile shifting into a conspiratorial smirk. “Why’d you do it?”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “Do what?”

“Why’d you sneak on the ship?” She scoffed, leaning back against the wall, rubbing her thumb and forefinger together as she continued to watch you.

“Oh,” you murumured, glancing away and towards the window. It had to be almost noon with how bright it was outside. How long had you been asleep? “I did it to make sure Bradley stayed safe.”

She quirked an eyebrow at you and you sighed, fidgeting with the blanket in your lap.

“He’s the only family I have left,” you whispered, fighting back the tears that threatened to make an appearance. “I would never forgive myself if something happened to him and I wasn’t there to stop it.”

Natasha didn’t say anything for a moment, instead moving to stand, walking over towards her wardrobe on the other side of the room. You watched her rummage through, pulling out several different pieces of clothing.

“Here,” she said, tossing some of the pieces to you. You caught them, looking at her in confusion. She chuckled before starting to change. “I figured you’d want a change of clothes. You’ve been wearing your old ones for a while now.”

You eyed the clothes in your lap before moving to change as well. Once the two of you were decent, she headed for the door with you hot on her heels. Her hand hovered over the door knob as she turned to look back at you.

“Guppy?”

“Yes?”

“What you did was really brave.”

“You idiot!” You shrieked, throwing your shoe with all of your might. It launched across the deck, hitting Bradley squarely in the shoulder as he flinched, his hands shooting up to try and block the offending item.

“I know, but why?” He hollered, looking around for any way to escape. Several of the men on deck watched the scene with amusement, some already cackling at the large men cowering in fear as you stalked towards him.

“They all knew, Bradley,” you hissed, punching the meat of his arm once you were close enough. He winced, rubbing the spot lightly as he glanced from you to the rest of the crew.

“Knew what?”

“Knew that I was a girl,” you growled, placing your hands on your hips as you glared at him. He stared at you for a moment, mind struggling to catch up. Another moment passed before a light of realization sparked in his eyes, and he looked around wildly at the crew, some nodding and shrugging.

“They knew?” He breathed, eyes darting to your smaller form hesitantly.

“The whole time, in fact,” you groused, now crossing your arms over your chest. He swallowed thickly, a sheepish smile crawling onto his face.

“Oh,” he chuckled nervously. “Oops.”

You landed a solid punch to his upper arm, causing him to cry out.

“Would you stop that?” He snapped, dodging your next blow and maneuvering so that he held your forearms in his hands. “That hurts, you know.”

“Good!” You shot back, still glaring at him. “You deserve it after everything.”

“It was an honest mistake!” He reasoned. “How was I supposed to know the disguise wouldn’t work?”

“It’s not just about the disguise, Bradley.”

His face went slack at your words, a mixture of regret and guilt flooding his brown eyes as the effect of your words rushed over him. No one on the deck spoke or moved as the two of you stared each other down.

“Alright you lot,” Javy called out from the upper deck. All eyes turned to where he stood, a stern expression on his face as he looked over the crowd. “Get back to work. There’s still lots to do before we dock tomorrow.”

Your eyes darted from him to meet the green ones already on you. Jake had a bemused expression on his face as he watched you while leaning against the rails, a twinkle of something that you couldn’t name shining in his eyes. A smirk tugged on his lips as you stared at him, shooting a wink your way before standing up straight and turning to move back towards the cabins. You felt your cheeks warm, glancing back at Bradley who was already watching you with a knowing look. Your irritation with the man was renewed and you pushed at him with all your might, sending him stumbling back a couple of steps.

“You lied to me.”

“He didn’t want me to tell you, Guppy,” he sighed. “He didn’t want you to know that part of him.”

“So instead,” you seethed, “I had to find out from strangers instead of my own brother.”

He had the good sense to look ashamed, and he looked away from you and out towards the sea. “You shouldn’t have found out about it like that.”

“You’re damn right I shouldn’t have,” you huffed.

He peeked over at you, watching you from the corner of his eye.

“I’m sorry.”

It was your turn to watch him now. Bradley was your brother, and no matter how much of an idiot he could be at times, you still couldn’t stay mad at him for long. The anger drained from your body, replaced with a calm sense of acceptance as you turned to look out at the sea with him.

“Are you hungry?” You asked. He shook his head, grimacing.

“No, not at all.”

You turned to look at him again, worry now etched across your face as the wind whipped your hair about.

“Bradley,” you started, “when was the last time that you ate? You didn’t eat much last night.”

He gave you a noncommital shrug, avoiding your eyes as he answered.

“Guess it’s been a while.”

“Are you not feeling well?” You hummed, reaching over to feel his forehead. He shirked away from you, eyeing you warily.

“I’m fine, Guppy, really.”

“If you aren’t eating, then you aren’t fine,” you scowled. “We’ll have to go see a doctor when we dock.”

“Guppy-”

“No buts,” you said firmly. “We’re going in the morning.”

“You know, you’ve caused not one, but two scenes on my ship now.”

You whirled around to meet a familiar green gaze. Jake’s lips were tugged into his signature smirk as he regarded you. Your cheeks once again warmed under his gaze, and you pursed your lips as you gazed back at the water before you.

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” he chuckled. “It’s fun having a fiery little thing like yourself on board. Keeps things from growing monotonous.”

“I’m glad I could at least serve as your entertainment,” you muttered with a roll of you eyes. He appeared beside you, resting up against the edge of the ship as he continued to watch you. It was just the two of you on the deck, the rest of the crew having moved down into the galley for dinner. You had stayed behind to bask in a rare moment of solitude, but now you welcomed the company.

“It’s better than nothing, I suppose,” he hummed thoughtfully.

“I want to be treated like a regular member of your crew, captain.”

He threw his head back with a hearty laugh, his voice almost echoing off the walls.

“Pretty girl, that is the last thing you want.”

You turned to him with a scowl. It grew deeper as his smirk widened, and you felt the creeping coolness of night crawl across your skin as the sun began to sink below the horizon.

“And why is that?” You demanded, raising your chin at him in defiance. His gaze dropped down for a moment before he locked his gaze back with yours, leaning in closer. He was so close that you could feel his breath tickle the skin of your cheeks, and you sucked in a breath.

“Because,” he drawled, his nose brushing yours. “If you were one of my men, I’d have you walk the plank for even sneaking on here in the first place.”

You snorted, but sobered when his face remained impassive.

“You can’t be serious.”

“As the dead, darlin’.”

He pushed away from you, sauntering over to pick up a board lying off to the side. With a grunt, he lifted it, placing it at the opening where the gangway would normally sit. He secured it down, and once he was sure that it was steady, he turned to you expectantly. You stared at him, unsure of what to do, and he raised an eyebrow at you.

“You want to be treated as a regular member of the crew, don’t you?” He taunted, the faintest hint of humor still in his eyes. You pursed your lips, throwing your shoulders back as you marched towards him. You eyed the wooden board warily, glancing back at the blond who looked at you expectantly. You turned back around, taking a hesitant step onto the board.

“You’re not going to back out?” He called to you as you took a couple more steps, now standing precariously over the water. You glanced back at him.

“Not on your life, captain,” you smirked. “I want to be a member of this crew.”

The humor was gone from his face as he watched you take another step, his lips pressed into a thin line. You were at the edge now, and you looked back at him with a brow raised in challenge.

“Dammit, alright,” he grumbled, eyes darting between you and the water below. “You’ve proven your point. Just get back over here.”

You smiled triumphantly, carefully maneuvering to turn around and head back when a sudden gust of wind knocked you off your balance. You stumbled back, but there was nothing there to catch you and you caught the briefest glimpse of Jake’s eyes widening in shock as you plummeted to the depths below.

The water was cold, shocking you when you hit the waves. You were suspended for a moment, panic not having set in yet. Swirls of blue blurred your vision, nonexistent shadows reaching up from the deep to grab at you.

You scrambled towards the surface, kicking your legs in a desperate attempt for air. You felt a hand wrap around your upper arm, dragging you upwards until you broke the surface. You sucked in a lungful of air, eyes darting around until they landed on Jake’s form next to you.

“Are you alright?” He asked, looking you over. You nodded, not entirely sure if you were or not, but knowing that you were still alive. Jake breathed out a sigh of relief as he turned to look back at the ship. You heard the distant sound of shouting, becoming hyper aware of Jake’s arms wrapped around you as the two of you bobbed with the waves.

“Lucky for you,” he continued, “Javy saw you fall and moved the crew to action while I dove in after you.”

You didn’t say anything, starting to shiver as the adrenaline caught up with you. Without thinking, you rested your head against his chest, seeking out the warmth he gave off. You could have sworn his grip tightened, but you heard the sound of one of the life boats hitting the water, and relief sank over you.

Moments later, Reuben was reaching his hands out to grab you, Jake passing you to him as he helped lift you into the boat. You tumbled onto the floor, landing at Mickey’s feet as he scrambled to wrap a blanket around you. Jake landed next to you, waving off Reuben as he began to inspect you more thoroughly.

“I’m fine,” you muttered as he ran his hands over your arms. He ignored you, brow furrowed in silent concentration. When he was sure that you were fine, he nodded at the two other men.

“Let’s get back to the ship.”

Humiliation washed over you as you were once again standing on the main deck. Bradley was front and center, dashing over to you to conduct his own investigation into your well being. You pouted, eyes refusing to leave the floor. You could feel the stares on your drenched form, and you struggled to keep from shivering in the cool night air. A rustling came from behind you, and you jumped when a heavy coat was draped over you. Jake must have shrugged it off before diving in after you because it was still dry as it sat on your shoulders.

You turned, seeing Jake fixing the crew with a glare.

“What are you all staring at?” He asked coldly, leveling each man with a stare. “Get back to work or out of my sight.”

The rest of the crew quickly scrambled to obey, none of them daring to give you another look as Jake rested a hand on your shoulder. You burrowed into the warmth of the leather, inhaling the scent that lingered. Clean linen and a hint of musk. It should have worried you how it set your mind at ease almost instantly.

“Guppy, what were you thinking,” harped Bradley, brushing wet strands of hair out of your face. You stared at him, feeling Jake stiffen behind you. Refusing to meet the brunette’s eyes, you offered him a slight shrug.

“Must have leaned too far over the railing, Roo,” you muttered, your fingers fidgeting with the ends of the coat. “It won’t happen again.”

Bradley didn’t seem convinced, but didn’t say anything as he glanced up at Jake.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Jake grumbled, his hand tightening slightly on your shoulder. You watched him gesture towards someone, and Natasha popped up to stand beside you.

“See to it she gets some rest,” he told her, his eyes glancing to you before landing back on her. She nodded, wrapping her arms gently around you as she began to guide you towards the cabins.

“Guppy.”

You stopped, turning back to look at him. His sea-green eyes wandered over you, his jaw flexing like he was mulling over what to say. He locked eyes with you, and you once again caught a flash of swirling blue before it disappeared. You frowned, wondering what you just saw, but Jake shook his head, letting out a sigh.

“Get some sleep. You’ll need it.”

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

The Witch and The Doctor Chapter 3

Bucky thought he could make a difference, getting a medical license and trying to change people’s minds.  But the 1600s New World is a harsh place with cruel people.  After being accused of witchcraft he makes a run for it, facing the dangers of the woods and the rumored witch that lives within them.

Warnings: violence; animal attack; mentions of death; smut; language

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A few more weeks later they started the trek to the nearest village.  It was a two day walk, Y/N and Bucky taking turns on the horse that was pulling a cart filled with the tinctures and some goodies and gifts Y/N had made for the children.  In the afternoon of the second day they reached the outskirts of the village.  Bucky slowed down considerably as the small houses came into view.  He was still wary of people ever since his near death experience.  Y/N reached down from the horse and held his hand.  She gave his hand a squeeze and shot him a reassuring grin before urging the horse on.

Excited shouts sounded as they entered the outer edge of homes.  Children started coming out from the houses, wide smiles on their faces as they ran down to the other homes and some further into the middle of the village to alert the adults.  Some of them ran alongside them, trying to look into the cart for what she brought, many of them giving Bucky strange looks.  When they came into the main center Y/N stopped the horse outside a long wooden building and Bucky helped her hop down from the horse.  The children immediately walked up to her, giving her hugs and pulling on her cloak.

“Y/N!”

“You’re back!”

“The witch is here!”

More adults started to walk forward, watching with polite smiles.  “Hello, my little darlings!” Y/N greeted them.  “It’s been so long.  Is that you, Peter?  You’ve grown so much!” She reached out and touched their hands and faces, Bucky seeing small, glowing blue dots that appeared where she touched them that quickly faded.  “Let me get settled, then I’ll present gifts,” she winked at them and they all giggled or cheered.  She turned to Bucky.  “Man the cart, or else they’ll nick them all,” she said seriously, and he nodded dutifully.  He got the horse settled and fed as she walked into the long building, then sat on the edge of the cart, watching the children as they milled around it, trying to sneak peeks of what she brought.

“Who are you?” a boy asked.

“My name is Bucky,” he introduced himself.

“Why are you here with Y/N?” a girl asked.

“Well, she helped me a while ago, and I’ve been staying with her ever since,” he said, not wanting to give away too much information.  “And now I’m just here to help her.”

“How did she help you?” another one yelled out.

“Um…that’s a long story,” he said with a tight smile.

“We’d like to hear it,” one of the adults chimed in.  

“Alright, well, it’s a dangerous story,” Bucky started, giving the children a smirk and a cocked eyebrow.  They all moved closer to him, hanging on his every word.  “Many weeks ago, I was woken up in the middle of the night by people grabbing me and pulling me from my bed,” he started, leaning forward.  

“Why?” a little boy asked.

“I’m a doctor,” he continued.  “But they didn’t understand that what I was doing was to help them, so they thought I was a witch,” he whispered.

A collective gasp came from the small crowd.  “Like Y/N?” 

“Yes,” Bucky nodded.  “But I’m not a witch.  Just a doctor,” he said.  “They tried to take me to the gallows to be hanged.”  Another gasp.  “But I escaped and ran into the woods.  I kept running until I got lost.  And then,” he paused, leaning forward again.  The children were staring at him wide-eyed.  “I came across…a bear!”  They all gasped again, a few of them crying out.  “It chased me!  I ran further into the woods, trying to get away, but it was gaining on me.  I found a clearing through the trees and saw a house and called for help,” he said, getting more animated as he told the story.  One of the small children near his legs was clutching at his knee.  “I tried to trip up the bear, but I fell, and then it came up behind and swiped at my back!” he said, making a kind of claw with his hand and swiping it through the air.  The adults looked just as intrigued as the children, wide eyes and mouths agape as he told the story.

“I was sure I was going to die, that it would eat me.  And as I tried to crawl away, I heard a scream pierce the night,” he said dramatically.  “A ring of blue fire separated me from the bear, and a figure stood in front of me, scaring the bear off,” he said quietly.  “Do you know who it was?”

“Y/N?” another child asked just as quietly.

Bucky nodded, a smile spread across his face.  “Y/N saved me from the bear.  She took care of me, and helped me heal.  And now I’m here,” he perked up.  “Helping out wherever I can.”

“Do you have scars?” a boy asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Yes,” Bucky nodded.

“Can we see?” a man asked.

Bucky looked around at everyone, all of them nodding their heads, wanting to see the evidence of such a tall tale.  “Uh…yes,” he said.  He slowly stood and removed his overcoat, then turned so his back was facing everyone.  He pulled up his shirt enough so everyone could see, and another collective gasp was heard among the crowd of people as they gazed upon his scarred back, the four long, jagged scratches from the bear’s claws reaching from his left shoulder down to his right hip.  He let them all look for a moment before letting his shirt fall and turning back around, putting his coat back on.  

“Did it hurt?” a girl asked.

“Yes, very much,” Bucky nodded.

The children were all awestruck at the story as Y/N came back down the stairs from the long building.  “Scaring the children already, Bucky?” she teased.

The children all turned to her.  “You saved him from a bear?” “Did you use magic?” “Did you kill the bear?”

Y/N’s eyes widened as she looked at Bucky.  She smiled at him conspiratorially.  “I did save him, no I didn’t kill the bear, and yes, just a little magic helped,” she said, walking up to stand next to him.  “And now he owes me a life of servitude.”

Bucky laughed and bowed to her.  “Yes, my lady.”

Y/N nudged him playfully.  “Now, darlings,” she leaned down, “gifts?”

The children all cheered and she smiled.  Bucky helped her give out small bags of goodies, filled with small carved toys, warm socks for the winter and treats that were hard to come by out in rural areas like theirs.  They were all excited, the adults giving her wide smiles and thanks as she gave them all out.

“Will you be trading again?” a woman asked as she herded her children away from the cart after they got their gifts.  

“Yes, starting tomorrow morning,” Y/N nodded.

The woman nodded, seeming pleased.  As the crowd dispersed Y/N got the cart unloaded and the horse tied up in the stable next to the long building, then she and Bucky brought the rest of the things inside the building.  When they walked in he saw it was a lodging home, a bar running along one side of the building with a kitchen in the back, and the other side a hallway leading to individual rooms.  The people inside were eating already and Y/N led him through the tables of people to a room in the corner of the lodge.  She unlocked the door and he followed her inside.  It was a small room, with just enough space for a bed.  They put the tinctures and other things she’d brought for trade in the corner, and put their personal things in another corner.  Bucky smiled to himself at the idea of still sharing a bed with her here.

“Hungry?” she asked, taking off her cloak and tying up her hair, turning to look at him.

“Starving,” he answered.

Y/N laughed and led him back out to the bar.  They ordered some food and sat at an open table to wait.  Bucky looked around the lodge, watching the people talking to each other, observing the layout and the homey feeling as the large fireplace kept it warm and toasty.  After a while the food was ready and they ate together, talking about their day and the children and how tomorrow would be as they traded in the market.  Once they finished they went back to the room.

Y/N sighed heavily.  “Well, I’m going to try to get some sleep,” she said.  She turned and started to rummage through her bag.  

“I’ll do the same,” Bucky added, shedding his boots and starting to take off his coat.  

They had changed in front of each other before, but had always turned away to give each other privacy, but in this tiny room there was nowhere else to hide.  Bucky kept his eyes down as he traded his pants for the warmer pair that he wore at night.  As he took his shirt off to trade it for a night shirt he looked up and saw Y/N was changed into her nightgown, already looking at him with a strange expression.  

“What?” he asked.

Her eyes traveled down his torso then snapped up to his eyes.  “Nothing,” she squeaked.

Bucky eyed her as he shook out his shirt.  “Uh huh,” he said unconvincingly.

She quickly looked away.  “It’s been a while since we looked at your scars,” she said quietly.  

Bucky stopped.  His back had overall been healing well, but every once in a while when he stretched or was doing harder labor a sharp pain would sting through his back.  Otherwise it was just generally sore or a little tender along the scars some days.  “It has,” he agreed slowly.  “Do you want to check on them for me?”

Y/N looked up at him again.  She nodded and he nodded back.  He stepped to the bed and sat turned away from her so she could look at his back.  He felt her sit behind him, then her fingers touching his skin lightly.  She ran her fingers along the scars slowly, and Bucky could see a small blue glow coming from his peripheral as she moved.  The tender spots that he still had were starting to relax at her touch, the soreness in his back lessening everywhere she moved, making his head hang low in relief.  He sighed as she traced down from the top of his shoulder to his hip, a shiver running down his spine.

“Does that help?” Y/N whispered.

“Yes, very much,” he whispered back to her.

Y/N’s fingers seemed to twitch against his hip, then he felt the bed dip a little as she leaned forward.  He froze at the feeling of her lips kissing the spot in between his shoulder blades.  “Good,” she whispered again, her breath tickling his skin.  She pulled away and Bucky slowly turned to look at her.  She wasn’t looking at him but instead stood quickly and started turning down the bed.

Bucky stared at her for a moment, his mouth agape in shock, until she laid down in the bed and he quickly put his nightshirt on.  He moved to settle down next to her, and she instinctively snuggled closer to him as he made sure the blanket covered them both.  He held her close as she nuzzled his chest.  They said nothing as they drifted off to sleep.

***

The next morning Bucky woke to Y/N cuddled in his arms.  It was like neither of them had moved all night.  She was breathing deeply, her eyes moving behind her eyelids.  He watched her sleep, smiling at the peaceful look on her face and her snoring.  He gently moved some hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear, the movement making her slightly squirm in his arms.  He closed his eyes and cursed himself for waking her up as she hummed and started to stretch.  He felt her shift in his grasp, yawning and moving to sit up on her elbow.  She was quiet for a moment, then he felt her finger softly and slowly run down from his forehead to the tip of his nose.

“Bucky,” she called out quietly.  He pretended to wake up slowly, opening his eyes and looking up at her.  She smiled at him.  “G’morning,” she greeted him.

“‘Morning,” he said, smiling back at her.  

“Come on, let’s get going,” she said, climbing over him to get dressed.

They quickly got ready and then went out to the bar area to get some food.  After they finished they loaded up the tinctures and other things and brought them back outside to the cart.  As Bucky fed the horse Y/N got everything set up.  The people started coming up to her quickly, trading fabrics, food, a new knife, clothes, and some types of money or trinkets that she could use to pay the lodge for her tinctures.  

“You must come to the solstice festival tonight,” one of the women was saying to Y/N as Bucky walked back to the cart to help.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Y/N smiled at her.

The woman turned to Bucky.  “And you, too, storyteller.”

“Of course,” Bucky smirked.  The woman smiled at him then nodded to Y/N and walked away.  He turned to look at her.  “What does this solstice festival entail?”

Y/N sat on the cart.  “Music, dancing, lots of mead, and a little magic show,” she said, a mischievous smile on her face.

“A magic show?” he asked, his eyebrows shooting up.  He took a step toward her, leaning down so no one else would hear.  “Do these people know you have actual magic?”

Y/N gave him a reassuring smile.  “Yes, Bucky.  We’ll be fine.  I told you, they don’t ask too many questions.  I’m just the lady who brings them nice things to trade.”

Bucky eyed her warily before nodding.  “If you feel alright about it, then so do I.”

Y/N hummed.  “You sure you want to trust the witch in the woods?”

Bucky laughed and put an arm around her shoulders.  “I’m still not scared of you, witch,” he murmured, kissing her hair.

“Oh, but you should be,” she chuckled, squeezing the hand that was over her shoulder.

Later that night, after all the tinctures were bartered or sold, the village was bustling with people bringing out handmade decorations and food and setting up tables and seating.  In the middle of the center stood a tall pole with ribbons attached to the top in all different colors and a bonfire close by.  Bucky was helping set up a table as Y/N came out of the lodge in a new outfit he hadn’t seen before.  She was wearing the cloak he saw the night she saved him, her hair braided and tied up with ribbons, a long dress the color of cherries, embroidered with rune designs in a gold thread and hemmed with fox fur.  He gawked at her change in attire as she approached him.

“Close your mouth, Bucky,” Y/N smirked at him.

He shut his open mouth and blushed.  “You look…beautiful, lovey.”

Y/N’s eyes widened and a blush painted her cheeks at the pet name.  “Oh, thank you,” she said quietly.

“Where were you hiding this?” Bucky laughed, trying to lighten the heavy moment as he reached out and fingered the hem of her sleeve.

Y/N laughed with him.  “It’s only for the winter solstice.  It’s Yule,” she smiled.  “Time for a celebration.”

As the night wore on and the people wrapped the ribbons around the tall pole, set alight a yule log on an altar, decorated some of the trees around the edges of the village and shared food and mead, the children started to surround Y/N.

“Magic!  Magic!  Magic!” they chanted, looking at her expectantly.

Y/N gave Bucky a cocked eyebrow then nodded to the children who all cheered and ran back to their families around the ribbon pole.  Y/N walked out to the middle by the pole, the people clapping and cheering for her.  She raised her hands and they fell silent.  An eerie quiet crept over the crowd, interrupted only by the crackling of the fire.  A moment later Y/N let out a scream like the one Bucky heard that night she saved him, then dropped her hands and the blue ring of fire encircled her.  A few shouts and screams rang out, Bucky watching on in awe.  She started to move her hands in specific ways, circles and twitches of her fingers, muttering something under her breath, and the blue ball of light appeared between her hands.  She threw it into the crowd, and it bounced along the ground to the tables and on top of people’s heads, making the children laugh.  They chased the ball and it hopped along as Y/N created more shapes and colors.  The orbs turned into outlines of animals, a glowing fox that ran around the bonfire, a deer that pranced into the woods, a wolf that howled and disappeared into the night air.  Y/N was dancing around the ring of fire and started singing a song that the people joined in on.

Bucky felt like she was working them into a frenzy and he couldn’t help but hum along to the song he didn’t know.  The blue orb that danced around the children got bigger and bigger and started bowling along the ground, getting faster and faster.  They dodged out of its way as it hurtled around the ring of fire until it joined in the fire, making it a large blaze.  The flames engulfed Y/N, and Bucky became worried.  The fire licked around her cloak and her hands, but she didn’t stop dancing and singing.  Finally at the end of the song Y/N screamed again and raised her hands, the fire rising above the ground and into the air above them all.  Her hands were shaking as she brought them closer together, then with a grunt she clapped her hands together.  The flame ascended like an arrow shot into the sky, then exploded and became a recreation of the northern lights, flowing through the sky and around the clouds in waves that seemed to sparkle above them.

The people all cheered, a chorus of “oohs” and “ahs,” whistles and clapping erupting in the forest clearing, the children all running up to Y/N and hugging her and laughing in delight.  Bucky’s eyes widened as the lights above lit up the forest around them, and he smiled at the joy she brought them all.  As if his love for her couldn’t get any deeper, he felt himself melting at the scene in front of him.  

Y/N hugged the children and slowly walked back to Bucky.  When she reached him he opened his arms to her, and she gladly accepted his embrace.  “You are amazing,” he whispered into her ear.

Y/N shivered at his breath on her ear.  She looked up at him.  “It’s just a little magic,” she breathed.

Shortly after the festival ended, the people put the tables away and walked back to their homes, dragging their children back from the festivities.  Y/N and Bucky helped clean up before walking back to the lodge.  As they walked through the opening to the hallway the lodge owner called out to her.  “Y/N!  You must honor tradition!” he called out.

She turned to him confusedly.  He motioned above her head and she looked up to see a small garland of mistletoe above her.  Y/N laughed as Bucky looked up at it next to her.  “What is this?” he asked.

“Mistletoe,” Y/N said.  “If you walk underneath it with someone you must kiss them.” Bucky looked at her incredulously.  She smirked up at him and suddenly grabbed his collar, pulled him down to her height and kissed him.  Bucky froze at first, hearing a cheer sound from the people in the lodge, then quickly kissed her back.  After a moment Y/N pulled away as the people near them all laughed and clapped, and she stared up at him in wonder.

“Happy Yule!” they chanted.  She quickly let go of his collar and turned back to them, smiling and bidding them a “Happy Yule” before turning to their room.  Bucky followed her, still in shock, a few of the men near him giving him a pat on the back.  When he closed the door behind them he watched her quickly shed her cloak and start unbuttoning the solstice dress.  She didn’t look at him, keeping herself busy as he stared at her.

“That was…unexpected,” he finally said.

Y/N finally looked at him as she finished unbuttoning her dress, pulling at a few strings and shedding it until she stood in front of him in her underdress that left very little to the imagination.  Bucky quickly looked away, turning to give her privacy.  “Well, tradition is tradition,” she replied quietly.

“What happens if you don’t?” he asked.

“Bad luck in marriage,” she said, and he heard her getting into the bed.  “At least for me, not so much for you.”

“Why?” he asked as he turned back to look at her.

“Because I am a woman, so I must obviously want to marry eventually,” she sighed.  “But I also don’t want to upset the people and their traditions.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed.  He shook his head and quickly got himself into his night clothes and got into the bed next to her.  “Will we be leaving tomorrow?” he asked quietly.

Y/N yawned as she settled in.  “Yes,” she said.  “Don’t want to overstay the welcome.”

Bucky frowned again.  “I think you underestimate how much these people actually like you,” he said.  “Not just the children for your magic.”

Y/N stared at him for a moment, seemingly stunned by his words, her eyes flicking back and forth between his eyes.  She slowly smiled at him and looked away bashfully.  Her expression made Bucky laugh and he tickled her neck, making her squeal.  After a short fit of giggles she snuggled close to him.  “Thank you, Bucky,” she said quietly.

Bucky embraced her, cuddling her close.  “You’re welcome, lovey.”

[lizadale]

Sorry to bother, do you have any writing of research arc? The drawings of the Shadow Queen meeting look so exciting!

i have like.......the beginning of the arc i can post, i guess. since i haven't posted anything of dimigi au in 62 years. it's only 3000 words though, don't get excited

[]

You despise sea travel.

Getting to Rogueport will be the hardest part of this undertaking, you hope. You are already thanking whatever star is watching over you for allowing you to be born an Ancient of Way, so you will not need a repeat of traveling while half-slung over the starboard railing of a rickety boat.

“Doesn’t floating in midair kind of go the same way?” Luigi asks, sympathetically holding your hair back.

No, it doesn’t. When you put yourself in the air, you’re controlling the air currents and making use of them. The ocean waves are not controllable, and just the thought of getting lost in them was enough to almost turn you away from this journey. There is too much at stake now, but only because Luigi’s dominant element is water did you resign yourself to the one available route to this abhorrent place with the feeble assurance that if something where to happen to the boat, he might not let you drown.

You never actually vomit, but you constantly feel like you should be. It’s a nausea that permeates your core and makes you wobble even when you get to solid ground; Luigi dutifully picks you up and carries you under his arm out of sight of the pier. You close your eye and tip your feet upward for some semblance of equilibrium until the wave passes out of you, and he sets you down on something wooden. He rolls you onto your left arm and sits beside you patiently.

Even when you start to recover, the smell of the town doesn’t exactly provide any relief. Even Earth didn’t smell this bad. You crack your eye open, but Luigi is sitting so close to you that all you can see is the dark denim of his jeans, so you roll onto your back. Directly above you hangs a loop of thick rope, swinging gently in the sea breeze.

“Oh, this is charming,” you drawl as your head clears.

“Are you feeling better?” Luigi leans back on his hands and peers down at you, like the both of you resting on a gallows is an ordinary activity, like it’s just a normal piece of furniture. “Mario says you should lay on your left side if you’re nauseated. Something about where your organs are located.”

“People die here,” you remind him, if only to measure whether he knows where he’s sitting.

He pats the wood almost affectionately. “Nah,” he says. “It’s just a threat.”

You sit up and pull your hood over your face when you see how many bystanders are milling about. No one in Rogueport seems to have any real agency, from what you can tell. One might classify them as professional loiterers. Still, the sight of two people lounging around a noose will always cause some odd looks.

The reason Luigi chose the gallows as a seat, you discover by looking at your surroundings, is most likely because it is the least dirty spot in this square. There is trash everywhere, from solid plastic or metal waste to decades of grime lining the eroding cobblestone, and yet the wooden structure in the middle of town remains eerily pristine, like everyone is afraid to sully it. A threat, he said.

“You can tell?” you ask with interest.

Luigi stands and checks his pants for splinters. “Fear leaves a strong residual,” he says. “It’s pretty easy to tell what’s been used to kill someone.”

Which is an entirely irrational thing to say unless you’re the Moon, you suppose. You do not envy empaths.

You let him grab your hand and haul you up off the wooden steps and toward the edge of town, where the buildings begin to look more and more dilapidated, but you always have had trouble stemming your curiosity.

“So, if someone handed you a gun,” you start, wondering if this is similar to when he somehow knew by touching the sofa that Merlon had been in the house, “you would know how many people were killed by it?”

He has the gall to look confused. “Uh, have you ever seen a gun? The bullet is the part that kills people. I mean, unless you pistol-whip someone to death—”

“A sword, then,” you offer, refusing to let him bypass the question by being obtuse.

He huffs, annoyed at the conversation topic. “Not how many,” he admits. “Just if it had been used that way. It gives off an…unpleasant feelin—Oh. Hey, now.”

You pass under an archway as you talk, and at this point a bandit attempts to pickpocket Luigi by pretending to accidentally shoulder check him as he hurries past. Unfortunately for said bandit, Luigi has intimidating reflexes. The bandit’s hand barely makes it into the back pocket of his pants when Luigi slaps his hand over it to keep him still, resulting in the reprobate getting yanked backward with misplaced inertia.

“If you’re gonna touch my ass in broad daylight, can you at least offer me a drink?” Luigi complains. “You’re gonna give me a reputation here…”

Looking horrified, the bandit jerks his hand back and skitters into an alley so quickly he trips at least twice along the way.

“Flirting with strangers makes them less likely to steal from you,” Luigi offers in place of any sane, logical reasoning, and you really wish you didn’t want to kiss him for spending the last five minutes acting absolutely unhinged.

Because this town is far too filthy to kiss anyone in, and also because even though he might not realize it you are wearing his socks, you point out, “That doesn’t work on me.”

“That’s why I said strangers.”

He brings you to a pipe, and more so than with the threat of the rolling ocean you feel as if this stunt should be aborted immediately. The look on your face does not pass inspection.

“It’s not that bad,” he tells you, exasperated. “I told you it was underground. And this was your idea.”

“And it’s a good one,” you insist, trying to convince yourself more than him. You motion toward the offending obstacle. “Go on, then. I’ll meet you there.”

He rolls his eyes at you and then hops into the pipe. You wait for a minute to pass, and then you blindly teleport the same way you did in Shiver Valley, promptly landing in a jumble of limbs on a hard stone floor.

“Do you have to warp directly on top of me?” Luigi groans, extracting his elbow from under your head and checking for bruises.

“That is how it works. My destination becomes wherever you happen to be existing at any given moment.”

“Can we get that fixed?”

You sniff. “You wish to rid yourself of my benign graces?”

In response, he shoves you off and you nearly roll down a set of stairs.

The underground isn’t at all what you expected; there is a whole other city buried underneath Rogueport, and it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say it’s in better shape than the newer additions. The passageways are carved carefully, still solid and ornate despite the obvious signs of aging. Some of the iron fencing remains, there are small alcoves that resemble what may have been housing at some point in time, and other more complete structures that look to be either repurposed or currently occupied.

“I think we want to go this way,” Luigi says, heading down the stairs. “Mario made it sound like it’s at the bottom.”

You tear your eyes away from the ruins, with some difficulty. Did she do this? All by herself?

“This place,” you start hollowly, and Luigi turns and tilts his head.

“For someone who wanted to come here, you sure act like you don’t know a whole lot about it,” he murmurs suspiciously.

“I told you I have never been here. I only have a vague idea of the history—”

“But you know enough about the Shadow Queen to think she has something that can help us.”

—Urk. This is not how you wanted the subject broached. “I know that, before Blumiere touched it, she was the previous owner of the Dark Prognosticus,” you say carefully. “And I’ve heard that she had a massive library of stolen books that could be relevant to your plight.”

That last part is a bit misleading. You know she had a massive library, both of books and relics, many of which were too dangerous to go near. In particular, you know the witch had a grimoire. She often left it open and unattended on a lectern in said library, daring others to touch it; and that is how you knew that you absolutely under any circumstances should not even breathe in its direction.

There is no necessity, you think, to disclose to Luigi that the Shadow Queen has any sort of relation to you. In truth, she really doesn’t. She simply owned the house you grew up in, and maybe taught you a few choice spells should the need arise for you to kill someone on her behalf. You were raised mostly by her Sisters, and you dutifully referred to your caretaker as ‘Mother’ at her behest, but you would argue that doesn’t really mean anything. There was no sentimental value between the two of you; had there been, she might not have abandoned you in the Tribe of Darkness to fend for yourself.

And, anyway, she tried to take over the world and was sealed for it. There’s no reason to bring it up now.

Luigi stops at the bottom of the first staircase and gives you a hard look. About ten paces behind, you also stop, disconcerted by the sudden intensity of his eyes.

“So, you don’t know for sure,” he says flatly. “We’re not doing this.”

Cold panic flashes over your skin for a moment. “Why not? This is the best lead we’ve had—”

“You’re approaching this on a hunch.”

“It is a very good hunch!”

He folds his arms. “Sure. But it’s not like you. You don’t function on instinct, Dimentio. That’s why we argue so much.”

“Yes, well, my normal tactics aren’t working now, are they?”

“I just wanna make sure you know what you’re getting into,” he says pointedly. “This bitch traumatized my brother. That’s not easy to do.”

Anyone who goes against her is traumatized. That’s how she works. “Yes, I’ve heard it was an event. Also caused by people who had no idea what they were getting into, by the sound of it. If you met her, you would understand why even the Sun would be affected.”

He just stares at you for a moment. Then he says, incredulously, “I was here.”

You tense; Merle did not bother to mention this, and you are not sure how to feel about it. “In…in what way?” By the sound of it, it sounded like another typical Mario solo-mission.

“I was in town,” Luigi grits out. “When she was freed, I was standing in front of the inn. I felt her hideous soul, all the way from who knows how far underground. I knew she had to be a spirit, because no living body will let your soul extend that far. Mario can’t fight spirits. The only reason he could is because she took Peach’s body. I know the kind of monster we’re dealing with here—but do you?”

Saying anything else would be damning. “Do you feel her now?” you ask.

He sighs, realizing your angle. The sound echoes eerily across the spacious catacomb. “No.”

“And if you do, what will you do?”

His mouth twists, and it’s maybe the most genuinely angry you’ve seen him yet.

You continue down the steps, patting him on the shoulder as you pass by, hoping it is quick enough that he won’t feel the minute trembling of your fingers. “You will tell me, and then I will get us out. It really is that simple. And, as I said before, you can even stay here and I can go alo—”

“Were you listening to a thing I said?” he snaps, stomping after you. “I’m not letting you go in there alone. That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever suggested. Why are you being so reckless?”

“Because murdering you to stop the end of the world would be too much of an ordeal,” you hiss, “and also perhaps it would make me a bit miserable.”

The two of you keep heading down. There is no other way to put it, really, than a steady descent. Water flows through the corridors in a maze of conduits. The smell of it is clean, meaning that whatever city stood here centuries ago still has a functioning series of aqueducts.  In places where a warp pipe crops up, Luigi gives you a pointed look before jumping down entire sections most people would have to scale or leaping across wide canals. Really, you are kind of annoyed that he dislikes you teleporting into him so much that he’s now avoiding having it become a necessity. You can feel that he’s still miffed about the situation, so you continue in silence until you reach a door that precedes a massive hall, at which point someone is blocking your way.

A Shaman with an impressive moustache stands squarely in the middle of the doorway.

“It has been mentioned to me,” he says gruffly, “that you might come this way. I didn’t believe anyone was foolish enough.”

“Merle is a tattletale, I see,” you comment, making a mental note to remind him so later.

The Shaman regards you, and then turns to Luigi, who stiffens. Apparently, Luigi reacts in the same way to all Merlons he encounters, just out of principle. “You did not come alone, at least,” admits the Shaman with some amount of chagrin, and to your relief he steps aside. All Merlons, conversely, seem to react the same way to Luigi.

Luigi pauses warily before passing through. “Will this get you in trouble?” he asks you.

“Most assuredly,” you reply, noting with surprise that this Merlon’s eyes hold the crimson glow of a Curser. A Curser being chosen as a Merlon speaks volumes for the delicate state of balance of this place. He would definitely have dragged you back up to Rogueport if you did not have an escort, you think. “Why did you think I have not been dressed for work?”

“I trust you know exactly what our cause for worry is,” Merlon calls after you severely, very deliberately regarding your cloak, and you know he was planning to fight you if he needed to. Not even if he needed to, maybe just if Luigi wasn’t here.

“Do you believe me stupid enough to turn loose a registered cataclysm?” You click your tongue, becoming annoyed at your supposed reputation with the Shaman community. It is not an unfounded fear, maybe, but there are some lines even you would never cross. “I do value my life, fortunately for you.”

Honestly, the mere suggestion of possibly encountering Mother again terrifies you. To think they assume you are here to free her is maddening.

“Why are you wearing that?” Luigi asks, always on-point when it comes to asking all the questions you never want to answer.

Conflicted, you look down at the white, hooded cloak you took from the old manor on a whim. The brilliance of the deep red diamond-shaped gem cinching it together has clouded over years of neglect. It still bears a thin crack along the beveled facets, damage from the encounter with Blumiere’s father that set this whole mess in motion.

“I did not want to bring my poncho into this dirty place,” you say instead of the myriad more-accurate reasons for wearing the wretched thing.

You have been vibrating since you got on the boat, but it is becoming harder and harder to hide it. And now, as you step down into the deepest pit of the earth under Rogueport and see the ornate door that looms toward a high ceiling, you again find yourself weighing this decision. In front of it is a platform sporting the dulled remnants of a magic circle—and if there was any hope in your mind that the Shadow Queen and Mother were not the same entity, it would be dashed now. You would recognize that style of spell anywhere.

The door, however, does not bear her markings. It more closely resembles the traditional work of Ancients, meaning that this is what the Shamans in this area are tasked with protecting. The entrance is all they have control over.

Luigi approaches the door with little fanfare and shoves it open. It creaks but gives absurdly easily for what it is supposed to be safeguarding. “I—wow,” he says. “I thought that was gonna be a lot heavier.”

You give the platform and its circle a wide berth as you join him at the entrance. For having laid dormant for a thousand years, there is no hint of dust on the elaborate, plush carpet. The ceiling remains high, and the walls decorated with glimmering sconces and stained-glass windows. The pattern of them is indistinguishable, being underground with no light to filter through, but you are sure they are the same as the ones from the house you grew up in. Everything is so familiar somehow, and you continue forward with fraught tension.

“Dimentio,” Luigi says sharply, and you nearly jump out of your skin with how his voice ricochets around the empty hall. You turn around and blink at him. His fingers flex restlessly at his side as he glances around the foyer. “Can you teleport from here?”

That is a fair worry, and you hate that you didn’t consider it. Experimentally, you pop yourself to the other side of the door and back again, finding no resistance. The fact that Luigi thought to ask, however, is unnerving you. “Do you feel something?”

“There’s just a lot of magic in here. I don’t know how to concentrate.” He grimaces. “I don’t feel her, though.”

You look back at the door, still ajar with a fair sliver of the ruins visible, a beacon of white walls casting a slant of brightness into a room whose flame sconces only create the illusion of light. A large part of you wants to lodge something into the doorway to assure that it doesn’t close and trap you inside her tomb.

Instead, you exhale shakily. “Let us be off, then.”

[]

[dcdreamblog]

So Uncle Sam you're powered by belief in America right? Considering current events I'm not sure you're getting much belief huh.

(As this is the first question, gonna lay down some background. I want this to be as semi professional as I can make it) I met Sam on my lunch break where he normally hangs out, bringing my phone, my notepad and hopefully some questions from you all (I hadn't checked). Sam insisted it would be better if we did this someplace private. Bringing me down into the lower levels, past the labs where I sort artifacts into a disused conference area. He clicks the light switch in a specific rhythm which he tells me will disable the listening devices and cameras (we don't know what, if anything, the Perisphere's security is still feeding data to but putting a pin in that paranoia) He sits across from me at the table. I pour him a cup off coffee, I don't touch the stuff but he thanks me and I pull up my phone to the first question. Uncle Sam(US): "Should have known that it would be something contemporary..." *He crosses his arms and folds his legs, his lips tighten back and forth.* Me: "We can skip this one if you don't want t-" US: "No, no, it's a fair question. Being the way I am it's only right folks have got questions." *He tugs at his beard and sighs* "My friend. The untidy balancing act of my life is that both sides of the aisle think I'm rootin for the other guy." Me:"You mean the left thinks you're right. And the right thinks you're left?" US: "That's the modern way to say it, sure enough. To the progressives I'm a conservative icon. An image of the American empire, the army and congress and Tammany hall. To the conservatives I'm a naive softy, an idea for pinkos and reds and god knows what else. I don't know how to explain myself other than to repeat it for the 100th time." Me: "This is on the record, I'm certainly not going to stop you." US: *He sighs* "There's a lot more belief going around than you think. The fire at the base of my belly-" *He jabs himself in the sternum with his thumb* "Is the commandment "all men are created equal, endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness." *He tips up his hat with his thumb, scratching the edge of his hairline* "Now I know the verbiage there is downright old fashioned. I can't apologize for it anymore than I can change it, but the heart of the matter is where it is. If you're out there, fighting to improve and hone and reforge the American experiment. You're fightin' with my hand on your shoulder." Me: "That sounds fairly progressive to my ear, but that might just be me." US: "Oh hell, the whole idea was radical back when we were throwing tea in the harbor. When John Brown stood on a gallows and showed half the country its ugly side. When a whole sprawl of folks stood on the national mall and said "I Have a Dream". It's just..." *He bites his lip* Me: "Some progressives are beyond that point now." US: *He sits up, nodding* "Same as it ever was. Using the right cause as an excuse to burn the whole thing down and spill a lot of blood along the way. That I won't never abide. Not in my nature. I saw revolutions to that effect. Saw where they lead. From a vantage not a lot of other folks get to have. Scares the sam hill out of me." *He pauses, waving the thought off* US: "Ah but those kinda folks'd never listen to me anyhow. Short answer turned long and then short again, I'm eatin' plenty, every time people keep that faith. On a march, in a parade, just help someone at risk with an open hand. Just...maybe believe there's some life left in this old Red, White and Blue? For me, folks?"

[edsrosetattoo]

In real life, Stede did, in fact, temporarily let Ed captain the Revenge after he was injured by the Spanish, after they first met in Nassau. The two later met back in Belize and Ed somehow tricked Stede into taking up command again. This lasted for some time to Stede’s annoyance until Ed randomly abandoned the ship on a sandbar. It’s always been a question as to why Ed didn’t just kill Stede if he wanted his ship. Why let him just hang out on board. Hmmmmmmm?

Essentially caught and stranded, Stede requested and was granted a pardon from the Governor of North Carolina. At the same time, Ed stole a Spanish ship and filled it with Stede’s plunder and valuables and set off on the ocean.

Under the alias of Captain Edwards, (interesting choice) Stede then went out in search of Ed to get his stuff back (sure, girl). Along the way he raided several ships up and down the Atlantic coast and shared the profits with his forty man crew. He never found Ed. Stede was eventually arrested for these raids in Cape Fear, North Carolina and went to the gallows in 1718 where he WALKED UP THE AISLE TO HIS DEATH HOLDING A BOUQUET OF FLOWERS in his shackled hands, a drama queen to the end.

[wannab-urs]

The Spreadsheet Digest - Vol 23

Howdy y'all!

If you're new here this is every new (to me) fic I read this week and some of my silly lil thoughts about them.

I did some catching up on series this week and also did some writing so I've only got 12 fics for you this week! I read a lot of dark shit this week, but that's October for ya. There's still some sweetness in here somewhere if you aren't into dark stuff and I've made sure to mark everything appropriately (I think).

As always you can find all my previous fic recs here.

Recs below the Pedros!

Apple - a Frankie/Santi/Will one shot by @romana-after-dark

You are married to Santi and you have a CNC kink he very happily obliges. You set up a thing where Santi, Will, and Frankie pretend to be home invaders and they gangbang you. Stuff goes a lil sideways and it ends up being NC/DC. This was wonderfully unsettling. I love how there's this strand of believability that they don't intentionally overstep her boundaries. It's dark and scary and feels very real.

sam and diane, eat your heart out a Marcus Pike one shot by @chronically-ghosted

You've been working with Marcus for a while and finally wrapped up the case you were on. You've almost given up ever getting what you want with him when finally!! You both admit your feelings for each other. Cue steamy office make out sesh with thigh riding. I loved the will they won't they shit in the beginning. The frustration makes the pay off so good.

i am touchin', i am grabbin', everything I can't be havin' - a Dieter one shot by @chronically-ghosted

You show up at the doorstep of your long time but estranged family friend Dieter Bravo, soaking wet and with nowhere else to go. You've known him so long you call him Uncle Dee, no I'm not kidding. I almost didn't click on this bc like UNCLE?? But he's not really your uncle and I cannot express enough how fucking hot this was. Like Dieter is just so fucking good this OH MY GOD. If you love Dieter, read this. You'll love it.

Recovery Road - a Dieter series by @chronically-ghosted

Dieter finally gets his shit together, he's clean and married and working on a new project. His costar (you) is a cunt fr. You're on drugs, you're a brat, and you're a mess. And Dieter can't stay away from you. When his wife gets fed up with him and humiliates him in public, you're there to catch him... and ruin his sobriety, his marriage, and maybe everything else. I have a couple chapters left of this but OH MY GOD. I was so MAD at Dieter, but also so sad for him. Don't take that as me saying I didn't love this because I did. I do. It's so beautifully written. The pain and angst and desperation and everything is so powerful, this hurts to read. And the smut? Mind altering actually.

a revolting development - a Joel series by @chloeangelic

Your new step dad is really hot... and that's gonna be a problem. I've been reading so many step dad fics lately (not just Joel!) and I'm so into it and what is wrong with me?

The Rogue Who Coaxed You - a Joel series by @atticrissfinch

You're Joel's secretary and you suck him off while he fields a phone call from his wife! We love an infidelity fic round these parts, we really do. Reader is filthy, Joel is mean, there's a lot of degradation, the works. I'm so obsessed with this dynamic I can't wait to read more.

When the Gallow-Grass Gives - a Silva one shot by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Silva rescues you (m!reader) from the gallows, walks you home by the rope you were supposed to hang by, and then tells you that you remind him of someone he used to know. I love a good gay cowboy fic and this is a GREAT one. The historically accurate lube made me cackle. This was so well written and so HOT and managed to maintain that wistful sadness Silva seems to have hanging like a cloud around him.

Desires and Complications - a Marcus Pike/Dave York series by @ezrasbirdie

Sweet little Marcus Pike wants to please you better in bed so he calls up your ex, Dave York, to show him how to be a dom. It goes a little differently than any of you imagined when Marcus turns submissive for Dave. This fic is so hot. I read up through "plead" and it looks like maybe there's some throuple dynamics forming!!! I'm so excited to finish this AHHHGHGHG

Ripping Sunrise - a frankie one shot by @idolatrybarbie

You accidentally take an edible and Frankie takes care of your high ass. And then once the high wears off he really takes care of you... This is so sweet and hot, I love it so much.

I Might Kill My Ex - a Joel one shot by @beskarandblasters

Joel leaves you for Tess and that... well that's just unacceptable. We got dark!reader, asshole!Joel, murder, dub con for Joel, the works. This fic is so good. It's dark and gives you a fascinating look into reader's crumbling psyche. I love the ending so much also

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I wrote Ouroboros and Eat You Whole. Dave York x f!reader fics set in the same universe, canon divergent but some canon stuff still happens in the background. Love as consumption/Love as violence type thing. Basically you and Dave are two touch starved, miserable people with nothing left in this world and you have crazy sex about it. There’s some softness in there too.

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

Here's some series I've been reading (not a comprehensive list): Hot and Heavy (Joel), Muddy Waters (Joel/Ez), Stepdad!Joel, Exile (Javi P), New York or Nowhere (Joel), Feral Woman (Joel), Yearling (Joel), a lover's pinch (joel), the world tipped on it's side (Frankie), and Pretend Alleyways (Marcus/Dieter)

(In order: @tieronecrush @bonezone44 @toxicanonymity @jksprincess10 @beskarandblasters @gasolinerainbowpuddles @justagalwhowrites @hier--soir @idolatrybarbie @radiowallet)

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Happy Reading!

[atelierlili]

Poisoning Pigeons in the Park

The title is inspired by the song with the same name by Tom Leher.

This is just a silly medieval/fantasy/dnd-kinda inspired Everlark Oneshot AU. It came to me in the daze when my kitten woke me up at 4 am. It's barely edited, but i'm just happy I actually wrote something and finished it. Lmao.

Snippet:

"Could have done us all a favour and put her on stage first," I grunt, glaring at him as he hands me my drink back. "Your wailing could land you a cozy job in the gallows. Heard Snow's been trying to find new ways to torture people. I could even put in a good word for you." 

The bard laughs, "I think so too. But my girl is stage shy so I do what I can to make her comfortable." 

A pair of travellers walks into the tavern. Wouldn’t raise much of a fuss if it weren’t for the wailing of the out of tune lute that the boy was strumming. Did the fella smash someone over the head with that thing or something? Boy must be deaf ‘cause he’s chippier than a squirrel. 

The Lass following behind him who doesn't seem to mind the noise. She’s dressed in all black, like a shadow, and carries a bow that hangs off her arm. Poor thing looks like his bodyguard. She looks good though. Small. Thin. No breasts to comment about, but there’s a hint of a tight ass there. Maybe I can convince her for some time away from this bellend she’s traveling with. I got some coin. 

I take a sip of my ale and let the booze warm my blood. A couple more glasses of these and maybe I can tune out the Lad’s annoying lute plucking. Maybe if I’m lucky someone will punch the daylights out of him. 

“Big crowd tonight! First time in the 12. And you do look like a dreary lot. I think it’s a great time for a song, don’t cha think?” 

I frown and look into the stage. Ah bugger. The bard with the detuned lute is on stage now. Who's bright idea was to give this guy an audience? 

Despite asking the crowd, the idiot begins to sing. And dammnit all, this fucking blows. I’ve heard of strangled cats that sound better than this bloke. He’s more out of tune than the fucking lute. 

All the world seems in tune On a spring afternoon When we're poisoning pigeons in the park Every Sunday you'll see My sweetheart and me As we poison the pigeons in the park

Then, over the strangled tunes of this botched siren comes out a wailing "Oh brother, this guy stinks! Get him outta here!" 

I join in on the booing. I even chortle when someone throws a full mug of ale at the bard. The Lad takes it all in good humour and bursts out into laughter. 

"What an encore!" he laughs, ducking as someone hurts a wooden fork his way. "We got one more song for tonight and - woah, good throw! - but I'll let my good friend take the stage!" 

The bard turns to his female friend, holding out his lute to her. The lass is fighting the grin on her face as she takes the lute from him and kicks him off stage. She's a pretty thing, so once she sits down, the tavern riles down. 

She teases us too. Carefully plucking and tuning the lute until it rings just right when she strums. 

Are you, are you comin' to the tree? Where they strung up a man, they say, who murdered three Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be If we met at midnight in the hanging tree

Oh. She's got a voice on her. Better than anyone I've heard around these parts. I can tell I'm not the only one to think so cause the folks around me stop and stare. And judging by the staring, I got some competition if I want to get some time with that Lass tonight. 

"Quite the songbird, isn't she?" I jump, nearly dropping my cup as the Bard slides into the seat next to me. He takes the opportunity to swipe my drink from me and take a sip. "Doesn't believe me when I tell her that the gods are envious of that pretty voice of hers." 

"Could have done us all a favour and put her on stage first," I grunt, glaring at him as he hands me my drink back. "Your wailing could land you a cozy job in the gallows. Heard Snow's been trying to find new ways to torture people. I could even put in a good word for you." 

The bard laughs, "I think so too. But my girl is stage shy so I do what I can to make her comfortable." 

I grunt and take a big chug of my ale, annoyed but not surprised at the revelation. What the Lass sees in this loser is beyond me. She could use a real man to tell her how things work. 

"Besides, this is only a side thing for us. A cover up." 

I got a brow and wet my tongue. The ale is thick and sweet on my tongue. It gives me a pleasant buzz. "So what do you do?" 

"You'll find out soon enough, Cray." 

I open my mouth to argue, but I find myself suddenly feeling sluggish. Like my arms and legs are made of lead. My tongue feels larger than it should, large enough to me to choke on it. 

My face hits the table with a thud. I can feel the cool liquid of the ale spill onto the table. Before everything goes dark, I can hear the low out of tune humming from beside me. 

Every Sunday you'll see My sweetheart and me As we poison the pigeons in the park…

"I can't believe you left me there in the tavern to fend for myself." 

I laugh at Katniss as she scowls at me, arms crossed, hip jutting out, and a foot taping furiously. 

"But you had such a big encore- a sincere one too!  I couldn't bear to ruin your spotlight to help me carry this guy out." I prove my point by kicking the Peacekeeper's shoe. He grunts and tips over like a log. 

I know I'm forgiven because Katniss reaches out and curls into my side, wrapping her arms around me. On instinct I bend down to press a small kiss against the side of her head. 

"This is the guy, right?" 

I sense Katniss looking over my shoulder and glare. She's told me stories in the quiet of the night, of what her mother did for her and her little sister Prim. What she gave up so her girls could eat. She told me of the man that preyed on her mother until there was nothing left. 

Katniss nods. 

I peel myself off of Katniss, and rummage through the Peacekeeper's pockets. There I find what we're looking for. A gold key. I hand it to Katniss, who takes it without a word. 

"Think we'll be able to find where they took Prim with this?" Katniss asks me in a small voice. 

I don't know, but I have to be strong for her. I need to give her a little hope. I give her hand a squeeze. "It's our best bet so far." 

Katniss sighs. "Well, now what are we going to do with the body?" 

[hussyknee]

“Your valet had hopes of you?”

“You are scarcely the man to remark on that.”

“I had not thought he was a fool,” Dominic retorted . “We all know you set your requirements for a lover impossibly high; I am amazed you deign to fuck below a baronetcy.”

“I didn’t . That is, I kissed him, nothing more. It was my fault, I took the blame—”

“I thought you said he felt the same,” Dominic put in. “Where does the blame lie?”

“For God’s sake, he’s my valet. Where do you think?”

“If you forced unwelcome attentions on him, then on your shoulders, and heavily. But since I doubt you did any such thing—”

“I might as well have done. I pay his wages. What choice had he?”

Dominic frowned. “We are talking about Cyprian, aren’t we?”

“Good God, are you not listening?”

“I am, yes. The last time I encountered your valet he was orchestrating an act of alarmingly ingenious perjury that snatched Silas off the gallows. I wasn’t aware he had become an incapable.”

I am. Wheezing.

Richard: "I have abused my position and forced us to kiss consensually! I failed to protect Cyprian from his own choices! He doesn't understand that I'm dangerous to him!"

Dom: "Protect the–the guy who ran circles around the Home Office, set up the entire queer underground for the tonne and can go to the police right now and have every one of us hanged for sodomy??? You're dangerous to him???"

Richard: "You don't understand! I'm a lord!"

Dom: "You're a fucking imbecile."

"And he has gone without explanation or farewell, or—” Richard’s throat closed on his own words. How could Cyprian have gone without farewell?

“It would be hard for him to stay and undress you, under the circumstances,” Dominic observed. “You know, when I risked my closest friendships, my reputation, and the safety of my friends over a love affair, at least I was getting well ploughed for it.”

I want to say Dom is enjoying this too much, but tbh he's enjoying this the entirely correct amount.

Richard: "Well once I found out he wanted to fuck me like I wanted to fuck him, what did you expect me to do?"

Dom: "Fuck him??? Like a normal person??"

Richard: "But I couldn't!"

Dom: "Obviously you can't get dicked down with that stick up your ass."

[illbewritinghere]

Thoughts on Indika

I love media with themes of nuns, I remember watching Sister Death with my wife and enjoying it. I have to say I picked up Indika just by looking at the cover art, I had no prior knowledge about the game. Looking at the trailer I assumed it to a Monty Python-esque escapades of a Nun. It is, but it is so much more than that.

The Story (spoilers)

The story takes place in 19th to early 20th century Russia and is about a girl named Indika. She lived with her father who ran a bike shop. When she was 15 she met a gypsy boy, they became friends and soon they fell in love. The boy asked Indika to run away with her to the city where they can start a new life. Indika reluctantly agreed and the boy convinced her to let him steal money from her father's store. However, the boy gets caught stealing by the father. He drags him out of the store in front of Indika and asks her if she knows the boy. Indika was just a child and seemed to be scared of her burly and mean looking father, out of fright she said she didn't know him and her father shot and killed the boy right infrot of Indika.

This snapped something in her. Watching the love of her life killed in front of her own eyes by her father. She felt tremendous guilt, maybe if she had said she knows the boy her father would not have killed the boy. She did not want to accept her fault and blamed it on the devil. Ever since then, she started to hear the devil in her head, and blamed every bad thing she did on the devil. Her father after realizing this, sent her to a Nunnery to become a nun.

Fast forward maybe ten years later, the game starts with Indika performing the everyday chores of a Nun. She is disliked among her peers even though she is very polite to everyone. Probably because the orthodox people she is around do not like the fact that she has the devil residing inside her head.

One day she was tasked with delivering a letter for which she had to travel to another town. Things take turn for the worse however when Indika was cornered by a person who tried to rape her. Fortunately she was saved by an escaped convict, Illya. She felt indebted and helped Illya escape the authorities.

On her journey, she finds out Illya has a decomposing arm which he refuses to amputate. Illya is a religious man and he believes that in a farway land there is a rumor of something called the Kudets which performs miracles in front of your very own eyes. Indika decided to follow him to find the Kudets because she believes that it could also help her rid the devil from inside her.

Through out her journey, we get to see the human side of Indika, she seems to question her faith while still blindly following it, she shows sexual attraction towards Illya but still abstaining from it. Every time she would think of questioning her faith, we'll hear the devil talking and Indika would shut the voice up by conforming to her beliefs.

Things took an unfortunate turn however when the decomposing arm of Illya got progressively worse and Indika had to cut it off to save him. Once Illya realized that Indika cut his arm off, he was furious and decided to go find the Kudets alone. He believed he was special and the Kudets would allow God to perform a miracle and heal his arm. Because of this he thought Indika was jealous and did not want him to witness the miracle, even though she only tried to save his life.

They eventually reunited and finally managed to find the Kudets. It was a jeweled crown in a cathedral. The priest would not let them near it and in a scuffle he was shot and killed by one of his own guards. Illya ran away with the Kudets and Indika was captured by one of the guards.

She was taken to the gallows where was going to hanged for the murder of a priest. In an effort to save herself she decided to pay the jailer for her release with a sexual favor. When she was getting raped she spoke to the devil in her head who made her realize that god and the devil are only with her own mind, one cannot exist without the other. She managed to trap the jailer by throwing a cupboard on top of him and escape.

In the finale she reunites with Illya who seemed to have been wandering the streets as a lost cause. He sold the Kudets to a pawn shop as it did not perform a miracle. Indika visited the pawn shop and prayed to the Kudets herself in a effort to rid her of the devil but by that time she had already realized that it was all in her head. At the end when she looked at the mirror, she did not see the devil, rather she saw her own reflection.

Thoughts

Indika tells the story a young girl who did not have a direction in life. Just like every child she was not religious but was made to be one. She suffered from schizophrenia but people made her believe it was the devil whispering to her. Throughout her journey there were many events which made her question her faith but she never strayed from her path as she wanted to be a good nun. In the finale, when she stops seeing herself as the devil in her own reflection, the game leaves it for the player to determine if the Kudets actually rid her of the devil, or she realized that it's all a charade and stopped having faith.

[speaknowworldtour]

“i founded the club she’s heard great things about” // “but my bare hands paved their paths”

“i vowed not to cry anymore” // “you don’t get to tell me about sad”

“honey i rose up from the dead i do it all the time” // “if you wanted me dead you should’ve just said. nothing makes me feel more alive”

“they’re burning all the witches even if you aren’t one so light me up” // “so i leap from the gallows”

“too big to hang out slowly lurching toward your favourite city” // “and i levitate down your street”

“band-aids don’t fix bulletholes” // “the bullet had just grazed”

“i’ll tell you something about my good name. it’s mine alone to disgrace” // “at all costs keep your good name”

“and you tell me that you’re sorry but i don’t believe you baby like i did before” // “you don’t get to tell me you feel bad”

“the jokes weren’t funny, i took the money” // “is it a wonder i broke? let’s hear one more joke. then we can all just laugh until i cry”

“i’m so very tame now” // “i was tame i was gentle til the circus life made me mean”

“cause they got the cages they got the boxes and guns” // “you wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me”

“got a long list of ex lovers. they’ll tell you i’m insane” // “isn’t that what they all said?… that i’m fearsome and i’m wretched and i’m wrong”

“ask me why so many fade but i’m still here” // “put narcotics into all of my songs. and that’s why you’re still singing along”