#i have a bible Somewhere that i might pick up for a couple if things in haze dogs

[encrucijada]

does watching a video essay on midnight mass (that i have not watched) count as research for haze dogs

[dvandom]

I tend not to go in for special editions, and I don't really consider new editions of gaming books to be the same book (e.g. I have several books called the D&D Player's Handbook, but they're distinct in terms of content). I do have two copies of my first Villains & Vigilantes rulebook, but that's because my original copy is held together with tape and hope and I picked up a replacement many years later.

I have a fair number of books as physical and digital, especially gaming books thanks to Humble Bundle.

I'm certain I have three distinct copies of a couple of game books, because I have a PDF and two physical copies (in one case they goofed and sent me two, in the other it was a replacement because of minor printing errors).

Oh, I suppose I might have more than three Bibles knocking around, depending on how you count them. (The Bible my church used for Confirmation Class, although I have my sister's copy because she marked it all up and later wanted to trade for my clean copy, a Study Bible with all the deuterocanonical and apocryphal books that at least some church accepts, "The Hidden Book In The Bible" which uses an extension of the Documentary Hypothesis to recreate a sort of source national myth extending from Genesis to the crowning of Solomon, and I probably have a Gideon "New Testament plus Psalms" thing in a box somewhere. I don't think I have my Children's Bible from grade school, the one that caused me to ask my mother what "incest" meant and sent her into a brief panic over what I was reading.)

[michals]

A scene with Five and Allison?

“You know,” Allison says, “At first I thought you might be a robot.”

Five looks up from the memo pad he found next to a bible in the motel room’s nightstand that he’s scribbling in, “What? Why?”

Allison shrugs lazily, swirling her plastic cup of cheap whiskey. “I mean, you did drop out of the sky right after dad died, looking exactly the same as when you left. Plus I can name at least three villains who’d probably still be happy to mess with us.” She gives a thoughtful frown. “Or would have been happy to.”

Five’s ready to argue about that, because of course he’s not a robot that’s ridiculous, but…then again, it’s no more ridiculous than anything else that’s happened. Besides, mom exists. Existed. Maybe. There’s no answer to that question yet.

Five twists in the cheap plastic pool chair he’s sitting in. “When’d you figure out I wasn’t?”

Allison smirks, “When you starting insulting Diego. I mean I’m sure plenty of them would want to, it was just a little too on the nose.”

Five has to give her that one too.

Allison pushes back from the patio table she’s leaning on and gets up from her own cheap plastic chair, leaving her still almost full glass as she meanders over to the pool Five’s sitting next to. She shucks her shoes and sits down to put her feet in the water. She gives a hum like something amuses her about it but doesn’t explain herself to Five.

Five turns back to the notepad in front of him, pen poised above it ready to write…nothing. Nothing worthwhile anyway. There’s no math to be figured here – the timeline’s just royally fucked up because they fucked it up. All they’ve got right now is this shitty motel they’ve taken up refuge in and a couple of bottles of alcohol bought with money from the 1960s. He gives up, drops the paper on the cement with a huff.

It’s gotta be midnight, maybe later, the motel is quiet and only he and Allison remain outside. Klaus and Luther killed a bottle of rum between them before anyone noticed and Allison had forced them off to bed but the light in their room’s still on. Diego and Vanya gave up the ghost a little while ago, mumbling goodnights. Five’s too wound up to sleep yet, he’s not sure why Allison’s still up.

“We did always wonder where you’d gone,” Allison says to him over her shoulder, and it actually catches Five off guard.

He hasn’t had three seconds to spare thinking about it in the scant two weeks he’s been back with them, his world too chaotic, time moving at a pace he can only do his best to keep up with. But he had thought about it before, in those 45 years, he wondered sometimes what his siblings thought happened to him.

He settles back into the chair. “What’d you come up with?”

Allison smiles, tilts her head as she says, “Klaus thought you ran off to the circus. ‘The Amazing Disappearing Boy’. He was always jealous you got to ride the elephants and pet lions.”

Five can’t help the small smile that tugs at his mouth. Of course Klaus would be jealous even though it wasn’t true. “What else?” He asks.

“Diego thought you joined the FBI or the…CIA or whatever. Or some secret underground cabal of superscientists. And Ben-” she shakes her head with a soft laugh, “Ben would joke you’d come back to us as a supervillain yourself and we’d have to fight you.”

Five does smile at that. Ben was sneaky like that, he looked like the quiet one, the shy one, but Five can imagine him teasing the others with something like that. Probably even came up with a fake scenario worthy of one of their comic books.

Five won’t ask what Vanya thought, he knows enough from her book that she probably never told them. “Luther?”

Allison twists around to fully face him, propped up against her arm. “Well one time he asked me if I thought you’d succeeded. I think he wanted to believe you had.”

He’d had an argument with Luther the day before he left, he thought it was because Luther didn’t believe in him but Five’d had plenty of time to replay it in his head and now he can’t say for sure what it was really about.

“What about you?” Five asks. It’s not adrenaline keeping him awake anymore but it’s a buzz sort of like it as he listens to his sister tell him these things he’d always wanted to know.

Allison pauses, watches the ripples she’s kicking up in the water. “I thought what we all reallythought: you’d run away. You ran out the door and kept running.”

He’d run too far, he hadn’t meant to.

“We thought you’d decided you didn’t want to come back, that you were sick of dad and the Academy and you didn’t want to do the whole ‘hero’ thing, so you found a new family and you started a new life.” She shrugs, her smile somewhere between sad and wistful.

He wants to tell her that’s not true, that’s not true at all. Not just because it’s not what happened but because it’s not what he wanted to happen. He already had a family, for everything he hated it was never them. But he can’t seem to make the words come.

Allison’s back to looking across the pool as she continues. “We imagined you in one of those nice little houses we’d see through the car windows. Ben and Luther would say you’d have a room full of books and toys and Diego said you’d get to stay up late, Klaus said you had ice cream for dinner every night. I thought you’d maybe have a pet, like a dog or a cat.” When she looks over her shoulder her eyes twinkle with amusement. “Although, honestly, sometimes I’d imagine you in a boarding school, in a house all covered in vines-”

“Like Madeline,” Five finishes. She’d loved that book at a kid, Mom would read it to them.

Allison grins. “Like Madeline.”

If only, Five thinks. If only he’d failed and simply refused to turn around, if he’d found a new home and a new family. Unlike her though, unlike all of them, he can’t imagine them. Can’t imagine the kind of family he’d run to, who those people would be. He’d never considered anyone else a possibility, he’s surprised now to think they’d thought he could.

Allison’s gaze goes distant. “Ben…it was different with Ben. We knew he was gone. But Five-” she pauses, her attention coming back to him, “we just thought you’d run away.”

He shakes his head. “It was never you guys, you know. It’s not that I wanted to leave you.” He hates how scratchy his voice sounds.

Her smile returns, softer this time, “You came back at least.”

Five lets out a harsh breath, furrows his brow. “I sure did didn’t I?”

Allison throws her head back and laughs out loud, Five is surprised to find himself grinning.

She settles and shakes her head to herself, another private thought that Five is more hopeful about hearing someday. She swings her legs out of the pool and picks up her shoes. “Alright, bed time I think.”

Five was originally going to share a room with Luther until Klaus had been shooed off with him earlier so now the only bed left is the other twin in Allison’s room. Allison gives a little wave of her hand like she expects him to follow like of course he should. They leave their shoes at the ends of the beds, and Allison turns off the lamp on the nightstand between them.

“I could still be a robot,” Five says, “or a supervillain.” Allison laughs again.

Five thinks he should be disappointed that his siblings thought that he’d just decided he didn’t want to be around them and that he’d been happy for so long without them. Disappointed that they were so sure of it that they’d never thought to look for him. But he can’t be because all their ideas were better than the reality and he finds he likes that they came up with all these happy fantasies for him. To them he’d lead a very different life. Then he came back and proved them all wrong in the worst way.

[mammonshuman92]

- Watched - Pt.4

(Mammon x GN!MC)

** TW: swearing, kidnapping, religion, abuse, blood, death (if I missed any I do apologize!)

He smiled wickedly as he turned around, going back to the table he’d been at earlier and picked up the same knife he’d held to you when he kidnapped you. The only other weapons you could see on the table were a baton and a taser. There was also a thick book you could only assume was a bible and a large jar of water. The most concerning however, was the gas can, thick work gloves, and what looked a lot like a body bag.

“This may call for a more extensive purification.”

-

Your heartbeat quickened, breathing becoming slightly erratic. Your eyes widened at the scene laid out before you, but you tried your best to hold your resolve. 

Whatever he plans to do, even if this is where your time on this Earth comes to an end, you didn’t plan to give him the satisfaction of conforming to his insane, backwoods ideologies. For your most beloved demons, and the love of your life, you were ready to fight until the bitter end.

After leaving the coffee shop, Mammon made his way back to your house to come up with a plan. As he rushed back, he got a brilliant idea and immediately made a phone call. 

Given their status and connections, he was sure that at least a few of his brothers would be able to dig up info on this Alex dude and the ATA, however he couldn’t risk any of them finding out what was going on, for fear it’d get back to Lucifer, so he had to be extremely careful.

“Ugh, what do you want, Mammon? I’m in the middle of a raid right now.”

Levi seemed like the least likely to get too curious and ask questions, especially since Mammon was the one asking. No way would Levi want to end up being part of one of his usual schemes. And since he rarely comes out of his room or socializes with others, Levi was definitely the best one for the job. 

“I need a favor.” Mammon could hear the slight clacking sound of Levi’s controller in the background.

“Nope. No way. Your “favors” always end badly; for everyone involved. Goodbye.” He declined immediately, wanting to hang up and get back to his raid.

“Wait, Levi! It’s real important!” The second born begged. Levi could hear the desperation; the emotion in his brothers voice. His interest was piqued now, along with an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

“What is it?” He asked with a sigh, casting his controller aside.

“I need ya to dig into a group called the ATA.”

“ATA?”

“Yeah, it’s the “Anti Treaty Association”, they’re in the human world. And see if ya can find anythin’ on a guy named Alex who might be associated with ‘em.”

“Anti Treaty..? As in the peace treaty? Mammon, what did you-”

“I’ll explain everythin’ later, okay? Just.. please, Levi? I need ya to look into it.” The level of sheer desperation in Mammon’s voice was concerning, but he didn’t push the issue.

“Okay, okay. Hang on..” 

The sound of Levi’s fingers rapidly clicking across his keyboard flooded Mammon’s ears for the next few minutes.

“Okay, so the group was founded not long after the Devildom exchange program was formally announced. They started small but grew in number quickly; looks like mostly religious extremists. They hold protests at any event involving relations between our world and the human world. Let’s see..” Levi  went quiet for a few seconds as he scanned his monitor.

“It looks like some of the members have a clean record, aside from a couple parking tickets, but there are a few bad apples. Most of the charges consist of harassment, disorderly conduct and destruction of property, all of the incidents taking place at protests. All of them were first time offenders, and have stayed out of trouble since then.”

“Anythin’ about an Alex?”

“Hmm, nope. Do you have a last name maybe? Or literally any other info? I can’t do much with just a first name, especially a common one.”

“Umm, he drives a really old car and he works at a take out place as a delivery driver.” Mammon proceeded to give him the name of the restaurant.

Levi began tapping away on his keyboard again, scanning all the social medias and websites associated with the group and the take out place, looking for anything related to the clues Mammon gave him. Without much to go on, he wasn’t very hopeful and began to lose courage, then he finally got something.

“I got a hit on a few social media accounts related to the ATA. I was able to find some pictures with a crappy older model car in them that were taken at some of their protests a few months back, one of the pictures had a shot of the license plate. After doing a quick search of public record, the car came back as registered to a John A. Smith, who actually died a few years back..” 

Mammon sighed, feeling dejected. That information was all he had, and it may not have even been enough to be helpful.

“Wait..” Levi suddenly said, pulling Mammon from his thoughts.

“His obituary says he had one child; a son named John Smith Jr. I can’t find him on social media under that name, but if we assume the middle initial “A” stands for say, Alexander, then I may have something. I found an Alex Smith, and it’s honestly gotta be him. He’s a member of the official ATA group page, and several others like it. His profile picture has a crappy looking car in it, granted it’s mostly cropped out, but it looks a lot like the one I ran the license plate number on. I’m confident that this is your guy.”

Mammon felt like he could breathe a little easier. Another piece of the puzzle had, hopefully, come together.

“Where do I find him?”

“Not sure. His last location was near the middle of nowhere, but it hasn’t pinged anything for quite some time. I’ll send you the coordinates.”

“Thanks, Levi. I owe ya big time.”

“Yeah. Uh, Mammon? I know you said you’d tell me later, but is everything alright? You’ve never asked me to do something like this before. It kinda feels like you’re looking for someone..”

He waited for his brother to stutter out some kind of excuse to explain it away like he always did when he got himself into some kind of trouble, but he didn’t. Which only made more red flags pop up for Levi.

“If anyone asks, especially Lucifer, this never happened and ya haven’t heard from me, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay, Mammon..”

He didn’t like the feeling he had, the gut instinct and the hair that stood up on the back of his neck that told him something was seriously wrong.

After he hung up with his brother, he decided to dig a little deeper. He traced Mammon’s phone and found him at a location nearby the restaurant he’d had him research. His awful, suspicious feeling was confirmed when his brother’s location came back as one in the human world. A little extra digging of public land records and it pinged as your house. His heart sank as he thought about the urgency and desperation in his brother’s voice. 

He traced your phone, but it just showed the same location as Mammon. But, if you were there, why would he be so frantic? His stomach churned when he realized that there were only a few things that would cause Mammon such distress, and seeing as how he was apparently in the human world, at your house, desperate to find some random dude, it couldn’t be good. Whatever was going on definitely involved you. That thought alone made him sick to his stomach.

“I hope I’m wrong. Please be okay, MC.”

-

*bzzz* *bzzz*

Mammon opened the new text message from Levi, which contained the coordinates to Alex’s last known location.

“MC has gotta be somewhere near this location. If not, maybe I’ll be able to pick up their trail.” 

He was pacing around the living room, going over possible plans for his next move. Thankfully it would be dark soon and there was also a pretty big storm rolling in, which would provide the perfect cover for him to scout from the skies. Heavy wind and rain would make it nearly impossible to pick up your scent though.

He went into your bedroom to retrieve something of yours that would be heavy with your scent, like your favorite jacket or maybe a pillowcase. As he looked around the room, he spotted a strip of pictures shoved in the frame of the mirror on your dresser. A warm smile spread across his face.

It was of the two of you, not too long after you’d officially started dating. He remembered that particular day very well. You’d decided to walk the cobblestone streets of the Devildom, much like you often did together, but this was different. There wasn’t anymore of that “trying to pretend neither one of you had feelings for the other” junk. It was just..real. You were actually his. He reminisced about how warm your hand felt in his, the way his stomach erupted in butterflies when you looked at him with pure excitement after you’d stumbled upon the photo booth. The way you threw yourself at him, locking your lips onto his for the last picture; the shade of red your cheeks turned when you pulled apart.

That day was one of his favorite memories of you. You were so happy and full of life; looking at him with such excitement and love.

The haunting reality came creeping back in on him, sending his beautiful trip down memory lane, spiraling into despair. There he stood, alone in your bedroom, while you were gone. Taken, by some psychopath. His whole world, snatched right from underneath him as he sat down the hall.

The more he thought about it, the worse he felt. How could he? He should’ve been there. He shouldn’t have let you answer the door. He should’ve done something, anything. 

“I knew somethin’ didn’t feel right, and I should’ve listened to what my gut was tryin’ to tell me. This is all my fault..” He ran his finger over the pictures on the mirror, letting a few tears escape before aggressively wiping them away. 

“I will find ya, MC. And I promise that I’ll make ya safe again, I swear it.”

He felt a sudden vibration in the floor followed quickly by a deep rumble from outside.

The storm’s comin’. It’s time to move.

He grabbed the shirt you had worn the day before from the hamper and quickly smelled it to make sure your scent was strong enough. From the way it made his heart twist in agony, he was sure it would do just fine.

He shifted into demon form and headed straight for the door. With the approaching storm, it was dark enough now that he could fly and remain unseen. Since he was by himself and up against the unknown, having the element of surprise would come in handy.

“When I find that piece of shit, he’ll understand why I hold the rank of the second strongest of the Avatars.” He growled into the dark of the night as he stepped out onto the front porch.

With that, he shot up into the night sky, stealthy and silent.

-

“Extensive purification? Is that what the body bag is for?” You asked audaciously.

Naturally, you were scared. This mad man kidnapped you at your own damn house in broad daylight and drug you to what you could only assume was the middle of nowhere to tie you up and torture you. So yeah, you were pretty fucking wigged out to say the least.

But, did that mean you would back down? Let him know you were scared so he had the extra control over you? Make him feel like he was winning?

Absolutely not. You’d never give him the satisfaction. On the inside you were shaking, writhing in terror; begging for Mammon to come and save you. But on the outside? You were taking none of his shit, and playing zero games. If you were going to die here, you planned on going out as uncooperative as you could. Fuck him.

“Hopefully it won’t come to that.” He turned around to face you from where he’d been at his make shift work table, with the taser in his hand. He closed the gap between you, keeping his eyes locked on yours, and leaned down until he was just inches from your face. “The night is still young though.”

“Then why not just kill me now? Get it over with.”

“I want to cleanse you; save your soul.” He said, as if you were crazy for not grasping that concept.

“But why? Why are you so worried about my soul? You prodded.

“Because you have chosen to lay with demons and abandon your humanity.”

“And? Who I choose to love and spend time with isn’t yours, or anyone else’s business.” You snapped back.

“You see, that’s where you’re wrong. Your part in all this; the exchange program, being close with a bunch of high ranking demons; you as a human are committing the highest level of treason by aiding in the progression of uniting the realms. You are opening the door for corruption, chaos and sin to pollute our world.”

You laughed lightly in disbelief.

“When has our world ever been free of any of those things? Do you honestly think the Celestial Realm would be part of the treaty if He wasn’t on board with it? Stop blaming others because you’re close minded. Your blatant hatred for others is your fault, your sin. No one else’s.”

His face turned red and his expression changed into one of anger at the mention of Him. He stormed off toward the work table.

“And by the way, none of this-” You wiggled your fingers around as best as you could in an attempt to gesture around you, “is free of sin. Pretty sure He would frown upon this. Maybe even more so than my relationship with his sons.” You couldn’t help but smirk at your own jab.

He turned back to face you, bible in hand and quickly walked back to where you were hanging, and knelt down into your face again.

“It’s time to begin.” He said with sick, sadistic smile on his face; ignoring what you’d said.

With one quick movement, he lifted you off the giant hook your hand restraints hung from; letting go of you when you were a few feet from the ground, slightly knocking the wind out of you. Although you were being a little mouthy, you still felt pretty weak from being trapped inside that trunk. Not to mention that your shoulders were killing you from being suspended for so long.

He pulled you across the concrete floor by the hand restraint, stopping once he reached the stock tank. He opened up his bible and laid it on a little table near the side of the tank. He picked you up easily and climbed into the water. Even with as hot as it is, the water was frigid. It was only about four feet deep, but being restrained and unable to move freely, you would easily drown if Alex didn’t keep hold of you.

He stood at your side, facing you with his hands firmly grasping your arms right below your shoulders. He started reciting scripture from memory, glancing back at the open bible a few times for reference. He began to repeatedly dunk your head below the surface of the icy water. He recited the same passages over and over again, making it easier for you to figure out when to hold your breath. Although, a few times he seemed to hold you under a little too long, leaving you gasping for air when you returned to the surface.

When the never-ending baptizing finally did come to an end, he plucked from the water and returned you back to where you had been suspended. You were shivering uncontrollably and your head was pounding. No doubt from lack of oxygen after having to hold your breath, then gasp for air more times than you could possibly count. The added weight of your dripping wet clothes added to the searing pain in your shoulders.

He went over to the work table and grabbed the big jar of water you’d seen earlier. He dipped his fingers in it and flicked it at you whole reciting scripture. You assumed that it was holy water.

As you listened to him drone on and on, you found it hard to stay conscious. You haven’t really felt right since getting out of that scorching trunk; you most likely had heat exhaustion.

“Does being saved from eternal damnation bore you?”

“No, just you.” You replied weakly, looking up at him and trying to muster a smirk.

“Is that so?” He challenged.

He abruptly turned around and went back to the work table, returning a moment later sporting the thick work gloves you’d seen earlier, carrying the taser in his hand.

“Then I suppose we need to take it up a notch.”

-

Mammon went straight to the coordinates Levi sent him, but found nothing except dirt roads and cow pastures. Even from an aerial point of view there wasn’t much to see. After circling the area several times, he landed atop a tree in a densely wooded area. Although it was pretty dark out here in the middle of nowhere, far from civilization, he still couldn’t risk being seen as Alex could be watching; waiting for him to come for you.

“Where are ya, MC?” He quietly asked aloud, eyes continuing to scan the darkness that enveloped his surroundings.

With every passing minute his heart grew heavier, his chest tighter. It felt as if he couldn’t breathe properly. As cliche as it sounded, you were his literal heart; his entire world. 

Before you came to the Devildom, he thought he had it all figured out. Stealing and gambling, partying every night, spending money like there was no tomorrow, making shady deals with witches. He was living what he considered the luxurious life of a high roller and he couldn’t get enough of it.

Then you came along, and he was forced to be your guardian or sorts and look after you. It was such a pain. You made it harder for him to give Lucifer the slip so he could go on gambling binges and live up to his title. But, being the weak, magic-less human you were, you needed constant protection.

It didn’t take long before being your protector became something more than what he was ordered to do. He needed to be the one to watch over you, the poor helpless human. His human. As soon as he got a taste of what it felt like to be around you, he couldn’t get enough. He was hooked. 

Your smile and the sound of your laughter, the face you make when you’re concentrating or how you pooch your lips out when you’re getting irritated. The never ending kindness you showed him, especially when he was less than friendly at first. Even during those early days, just simply being near you brought him a sense of peace and warmth. The energy you radiated was intoxicating. Before he realized what was happening, he was a lost cause; completely wrapped around your finger.

If someone were to have told him he’d end up completely smitten with a human, he would’ve called them crazy. The Great Mammon would never waste his precious time on something that didn’t involve Grimm and how to obtain and/or spend it, much less a human. Smitten is precisely what he was though, to say the least. Not that it bothered him in the slightest.

He’s been around for thousands of years, and never once has his heart beat the way it does now. He’d always known love because of his siblings, and even the great loss of a loved one when Lilith died. While he would move mountains and do anything for his family, and even lay his life down for them, the way he felt about you was completely different. He would do all those things for you as well, and so much more. You knew him on a different level, a way no one else ever had in all his existence. 

Relationships were never really his thing. Sure, he’d had plenty of flings, but most of them only cared about what they could get out of being with the Avatar of Greed, not that it really bothered him. He pretty much only got involved with people when the bitter loneliness became too much to bear. Love isn’t typically something that happens for demons, not that he was looking for it anyway. But, sometimes it was nice to have someone to hold, to feel the warmth of another. Even if he didn’t remember their name. Not that they, or he for that matter, really cared.

Which is why he was so perplexed by the feelings you stirred up inside him. He was one of the strongest rulers of the underworld, who could probably have any succubus he wanted, so why was he becoming increasingly enthralled by you? A completely ordinary human. Or so he thought, anyway. No ordinary human would’ve been able to knock him off his feet the way you had. You were special. You made him feel.

You were kind, warm, headstrong and funny. You’d even put your own life in danger to save those who were much stronger than you, like that time with Beel and Luke in the underground tomb; not because you thought you would win the fight, but because it was the right thing to do. He’d never witnessed such bravery, such selflessness in a human. Especially not when it came to protecting a demon, someone who would be deemed unworthy of such an act simply because of what he was. This once weak, irrelevant human, was now one of the people he respected most. You’re undying love and kindness for others was one of the infinite things that made him fall for you.

He clutched your shirt tightly in his hand, bringing it up to his face and burying his nose into the fabric. He breathed in your scent, filling his lungs as much as he could. He needed to keep the smell fresh in his mind, in hopes of picking up your trail. Tears began to prick his eyes. All the memories of you were nearly too much to handle. He couldn’t lose you. He wouldn’t.

He had no idea what this freak had planned, but he knew it couldn’t be good. The clock was ticking. The more time that passed, the harder it would be to find you. He looked out into the night again, hoping to see anything that might point him in your direction, but there was nothing. The only sounds came from the cows in all the pastures around the area, and a very faint humming noise off in the distance. He couldn’t see any signs of the car or any other clues, but he refused to give up.

“Alright, MC. C’mon, talk to me. Where are ya?” He said, getting ready to take to the skies once more to scan the area. Then it hit him, sending a shiver down his spine. He whipped his head to the right, and breathed in deeply.

MC!!

He took another long breath in, to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. It was definitely your scent. It was very faint, and muddled with something else, iron maybe? But there was no doubt it was yours. Like a shot, he flew in the direction your scent was coming from. The incoming storm was making it hard to stay on the trail, but he was not going to lose it now. He was almost there. Almost to you. There’s no way he was backing down.

A minute or so later he could see the faint glow of a light in the distance. It looked like it was coming from a barn or something. Your scent was getting stronger and stronger as he closed in on the building.

That’s gotta be it!

He landed on top of the building with a thud; coming in a little faster than he intended thanks to the increasing intensity of the storm. He paused a moment, waiting to see if his brilliant entrance had caused any kind of movement. When he didn’t hear anything, he moved to the edge of the roof to have a look around. There was a lot of overgrowth around most of the building, and some spots in the roof seemed to give a little. If he wasn’t careful he might end up crashing through the ceiling. It wasn’t a barn, but more like a warehouse or something.

He walked the perimeter of the roof, looking over the side for any kind of clues. There was nothing out front, and the sides of the building were all overgrown with vines and other greenery. He peaked over the side of the roof near the back of the building and tensed. He could see the car that matched the description of Alex’s, hidden underneath loose foliage in what looked like a poor attempt to conceal it. 

I knew it He thought, his heart beginning to race.

He remembered seeing an industrial ventilation fan on the side of the building before he landed, and quietly rushed over to it, crouching down slightly on the maintenance access platform. 

By now, the storm was raging full force. The rain was coming down in sheets, the thunder booming as lightning lit up the night sky. The fan was pretty rusted but thanks to the thunder, he was able to crack open the slats slightly without being heard. The sight he was met with made his blood boil, prompting him to let out a guttural animalistic growl that rumbled deep in his chest. The iron smell mixed with your scent he’d smelled earlier, was blood. 

Anger like he’d never felt before burned deep inside his very being worse than the raging storm around him, truly making his demon side come out. He never had any intentions of letting this psycho walk away from this, but now it was going to be a lot less humane. The witch’s words came rushing back to him.

‘Bring me the heart of a mammal, not of our world, that thrives on malice and sadism. If you cannot fulfill your end of the deal, I will place a curse on you until the ends of eternity that will make everything of value you come in contact with turn to ash.’

Mammon smiled viciously. Looks like he’d be able to fulfill his end of the bargain with the witch after all.

-

The “cleansing” quickly shifted from that of something considered somewhat normal, to something very far from it. Nothing about it could be considered holy anymore.

“Are you going to denounce your demonic pacts and sinful ways and conform?”

You lifted your head weakly to glare at him, “Never.” You snarled between staggered breaths. His face twisted in anger.

Blow after blow landed on your weak, fragile body. You spit out yet another mouthful of blood, the wet sounds echoing in the large room as it splattered onto the floor. Needless to say, you were in pretty bad shape.

Blood ran down your face from a laceration on your brow bone. Your lip was busted pretty bad and you had at least a few cuts inside your mouth from your teeth puncturing the skin on your cheeks and lips. You assumed you had some ribs that were at least cracked seeing as it had become pretty painful to breathe. All the spots he tased you in burned like fire, no doubt blistering up badly. He’d held it in the same spot for so long that you could smell your own hair and flesh burning.

There wasn’t much you could do in the way of fighting back, but you sure tried like hell in the beginning. But now you were way too weak, barely even able to scream out in pain. You’d already come to terms with the fact that you probably wouldn’t make it out of here. The reality of never seeing Mammon again swarmed you, tearing away the last bit of resolve you had left. You forced yourself to remember all the time you’d spent with him, making sure he was the only thing you thought of as you began to slowly depart from this world.

You would forever be grateful for the time you had with him and all the amazing memories you were able to make. Movie nights, staying up too late talking and laughing, trying and failing to hide from Lucifer after pranking him.

The way his too big of a hand completely engulfed yours, the way he looked at you when you were both all dressed up for some fancy party at the Demon Lord’s castle and how much he tried to hide his face so you couldn’t see his blush while he held you close on the dance floor.

Sneaking into each other’s beds when one of you had a nightmare, the way his body felt against yours when he cuddled you; his warmth and smell. The way he tried to hide his enormous smile and pink cheeks when you’d gush like a groupie over his newest spread in a magazine.

The time he was a flustered, stuttering mess for three entire days in the beginning of your relationship, unable to hear your name or see you without turning various shades of red because every time he did, flashbacks of loving you for the first time just days before came rushing back to him.

Those intimate moments were your favorite, for more reasons than the obvious. You got to see him in a different light. He was still his usual goofy, lighthearted, prankster self, but he was so much more than that too. He was so sweet it could make your teeth rot. He was gentle, slow. You could feel the love leave him, his heart pouring over into yours. There were always stars in his eyes; pure adoration. Something you could never quite grasp; how someone who had seen the literal heavens could look at a normal human like you in such a way; with such breathtaking awe.

You always felt like you didn’t deserve to be loved by someone as amazing as Mammon, but you would always be eternally thankful. In such a short time he’d brought so much happiness and light to your life. As happy as those memories were, you wished more than anything that you’d get the chance to make more, but sadly it didn’t look that way.

As Alex was coming in to land another blow, a loud thump could be heard from above you; his fist stopped in the air a few feet from your face.

“What was that?” He questioned to himself quietly. He stayed silent for a moment as he listened for more noise, but there was nothing. “Must’ve been thunder.” He shrugged his shoulders and turned his attention back to you, pulling the taser from his pocket.

“It really is a shame that you refuse to comply.” He said as he jabbed it into your ribs, causing you to use what little fire was left in you to cry out in pain. “You really were a fine specimen, until you wasted yourself on demons.” Another jab of the taser, this time on your thigh.

You choked out a weak, raspy laugh. “And I’d do it again, a million times over you sadistic, psychotic freak.” You spat, voice breaking. He reared his hand back to hit you, but was interrupted by another loud noise, this time near the entrance. 

He turned toward the sound and decided to check it out this time, picking the knife up from the table on his way. He was only gone for a few minutes, but you were grateful for the break. As much as you didn’t want to give up, your body just couldn’t take much more.

He slithered back through the entrance, soaked from the down pouring rain and complaining about hearing things.

“If you didn’t have a guilty conscience, you wouldn’t be so paranoid.” You said between several pained breaths. Your voice was small and frail, but you still managed to lace some venom in your words. He snarled, storming toward you and sticking the knife under your chin, lifting your head up to look at him. You used what energy you had left to glare at him.

“It’s too bad really, that even in your darkest moments, your last moments, what’s-his-name wasn’t here to save you.” He snickered, tracing the knife from your chin to your jugular, applying just enough pressure along the way to coax out a small line of blood.

“That’d be The Great Mammon to you, human.”

Alex whipped around toward the entrance at the sudden voice, the color draining from his face as a look of sheer terror washed over him.

“M-Mammon?” You choked out, a massive lump forming in your throat. You looked around Alex, the most beautiful yet terrifying thing coming into your field of vision.

It really was him.

Seeing him in demon form was nothing new to you by now. However, the look on his face was something you’d definitely never seen before. It almost looked as if there was an aura around him; a definite shift in atmosphere at his presence. His natural sin was Greed, but right now he embodied Wrath. 

It was so easy for you to forget that he really was a demon, as you’d never seen him in such a state before. The sight of him now; raw, malevolent power seeping from him, the low guttural growl, emitting such a heavy, nightmarish presence. He was scary. Even to you.

“MC..” There was pain in his voice; his face distorting in agony when he looked at you.

He charged forward, only making it a few steps before Alex swooped in. He got behind you, reaching around and keeping the knife at your throat; Mammon froze.

“Not another step.” Alex warned. “I have no qualms with spilling the blood of a traitorous demon whore that turned their back on the human race.”

Mammon stared at him blankly for a moment, then burst into laughter. It wasn’t his normal, happy laugh. It was dark, and oozed ill intent. He turned his attention to you once more, his expression softening just enough to not utterly terrify you.

“MC, do you trust me?”

“Since my first day in the Devildom.” You smiled fragilely, noticing the way his mouth briefly tugged up at the corner when your words reached him. He locked his eyes on Alex once again, dark expression returning.

“Close your eyes. No matter what you hear, don’t open them.” He instructed as he slightly crouched, getting into an attack stance; you nodded in agreement, doing as he said.

You could hear Alex huff behind you. “I will slit their throat, or did you hear what I said you filthy, abomina-”

He was silenced mid sentence by a sudden impact that jostled you slightly where you hung. You could hear gasping breaths and Mammon’s same sadistic laughter as earlier, followed by several ear splitting cracks and tearing sounds as Alex screamed out in pain; wet, squelching noises and heavy thuds rang through the room as several things hit the floor. It went on like this for several minutes, until the screams finally ceased.

You pretty well knew just by the sounds, that you were finally free; that psycho would never be able to hurt you again. 

Moments later, you were lifted off the large hook and being cradled gently in arms that you knew all too well. Mammon sank to the floor, his wings wrapping around you protectively, shielding you from the gore you didn’t need to see.

“MC..” He whispered, tears running down his cheeks as his eyes scanned over your frail, broken body.

As much as you wanted to savor the moment of finally being safe, once again in the arms of your demon, the reunion would have to wait. You had been through so much and your body couldn’t take any more. You began to fade in and out of consciousness, no longer able to hold on.

“MC..? MC! Stay with me! Please, please hold on just a little longer.” He begged, his voice cracking as he patted his hand against your cheek gently. You tired to put a hand on his cheek to soothe him, but your arm fell limp halfway to his face as you lost the fight to stay awake. You heard him yell your name a few times as you drifted, his voice fading away slowly.

-

What is that infernal noise?

You had suddenly become hyper aware of an out-of-the-ordinary noise somewhere close by. An alarm clock perhaps? No, it was more of a beeping sound than a shrill ringing.

You lazily opened your eyes, immediately regretting it and squinting them shut because of a blinding white light that was shining in your face. You blinked several times as you tried to adjust.

As you scanned the room slowly, it started to look as if you were in one of the rooms in the Demon Lord’s castle, but it appeared to be set up as a hospital room of sorts. The blinding light was coming from one of the big lights they use at the dentist office. You soon discovered that the beeping noise you’d been hearing was actually one of several monitors you were hooked up to. 

Everything started to fall into place and make sense, memories coming back of the events that brought you here. The monitor closest to you started to sound an alarm, indicating your heart rate had picked up and your blood pressure was rising. Seconds later the door flew open, a figure rushing into the room.

“MC.” He said, breathing a sigh of relief.

Barbatos moved to your bedside and silenced the alarms, opting to check your vitals himself.

“How do you feel?” He asked, pressing his index and middle fingers to the underside of your wrist, checking your heart rate.

“Fine, I guess?”

“You guess?” He repeated, taking a small light from his pocket and shining it in your eyes, checking the dilation of your pupils.

If you remembered correctly, which you’re very sure you did, your injuries were extensive. There’s no way you could forget that level of pain. You felt tired, kind of groggy from sleep, but there was no pain.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“About three days.”

Three days?! You thought to yourself, a little shocked.

That’s still not nearly enough time for your wounds to heal. You must have looked as confused as you felt, prompting and explanation from Barbatos.

“Your injuries were rather extensive, so Mammon brought you here after rescuing you. Lord Diavolo had the best doctors in the Devildom tend to you with magic. Although they healed you perfectly, you weren’t showing any signs of waking up just yet, so we decided to keep you here to monitor your condition.” You nodded along in understanding as he spoke.

He placed the light back in his pocket and moved away from the bed. “I shall notify Lord Diavolo and the others that you have awakened. Please excuse me.” He said as he bowed, then left the room.

You sat up in the bed and criss crossed your legs, careful not pull out your IV or tangle any of the wires to the other monitors. You let out a long, heavy sigh. Before you could be consumed by your thoughts of all the memories of the last few days, the door to your room flung open once more. This time, it was the one person you wanted to see most.

“MC!” He shouted, voice cracking with emotion. Mammon crossed the room in an instant and sat in front of you on the bed.

“Are you okay? Do ya feel any pain?” He asked frantically, his eyes scanning your face then darting to the monitors, hands hovering over you as if he wanted to help but was unsure how. You grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers in his. It seemed to calm him a little.

“I’m okay.” You assured him. Although you’d been put through the wringer, you felt so at peace. Not only were you in the safest place in the entire Devildom, but the one thing that threatened your peace of mind, was now no longer a problem.

“I-I uh, I was scared.. that I was too late. That ya weren’t gonna wake up, that I’d...that I’d lost ya..” He confessed, voice catching in his throat as tears fell from his eyes. He carefully scooped you up and held you in his lap, holding you as close as he was able to with all the wires and such. You sat up a little and snaked your arms around his neck, pressing your lips firmly to his.

While you were held captive, you had been so sure that you’d never get a moment like this with Mammon ever again. You were happy beyond words to be back in his embrace once again with his lips on yours. Smelling his wonderful scent, and feeling his warmth on your skin.

After a few minutes of your lips moving in synchronization, he broke the kiss, and pulled back to look you in the eye. A serious expression washing over his face. “MC, I’m sorry I didn’t-”

You held up your hand to stop him, “No, Mammon. You’re not going to blame yourself. I won’t let you. Everything that happened was his fault, not yours or anyone else’s. He was sick in the head, with a twisted ideology.”

He nodded, “I know, I know. It’s just..” He shook his head as he tried to choke back more tears that threatened to spill. You knew exactly what was running through his mind.

“Mammon, there is no one else in the three realms I’d rather trust with my protection, than you. As a matter of fact, there’s no else that can even compare to you in my eyes. As I already said, none of this, none of it, is your fault and I’ve never once thought it was. I love you, Mammon and there’s no one else I’d rather entrust my life with, or spend it with for that matter.” You placed your hand on his cheek and smiled at him, tears now streaking your cheeks. He leaned into your touch, his hand resting lightly on top of yours for a moment before pulling your hand away and placing several light kisses on your palm. 

Barbatos returned soon after, with a doctor in tow. Once they unhooked you from all the monitors and removed your IV, Mammon took you back to the House of Lamentation where everyone was awaiting your return.

It felt so good to be back. The HOL was technically your second home, but nowhere has ever felt more like home than here in the Devildom, surrounded by all your favorite people. And thanks to Lord Diavolo extending your stay until further notice, you were on cloud nine.

Although all your physical wounds were gone, the mental ones were sure to stick around for awhile. You expected as much though, having gone though quite a traumatic experience. Although, it made it a little easier knowing that Alex would never again be an issue.

It was clear that his soul wouldn’t be fit for the Celestial Realm, and you had fears of him being reincarnated in the Devildom and finding you once again. But, Mammon quickly laid those fears to rest, informing you of what he’d done that night after getting you safely to the Demon Lord’s castle.

He said he preformed some kind of ritual that ensured Alex wouldn’t be reincarnated anywhere; his soul having been wiped from the worlds. As if he’d never existed. He also mentioned something about Alex helping him to fulfill his end of a bargain with a witch. He didn’t really go into detail about the whole thing, but assured you that everything would be fine, so you didn’t push the issue. He’s a high ranking demon, after all. This surely isn’t his first rodeo. You were just ready to start the healing process and put an end to this awful chapter in life.

And with Mammon by your side; loving you, protecting you, helping you heal; you couldn’t think of a better way to begin such a beautiful new chapter.

~ fin ~

[tharros-auris-black-asimi]

Lay All Your Love on Me (Chapter 4)

Pairing: Soft!Dark!Lee Bodecker x Female Reader

Summary: After moving to Knockemstiff, Ohio with your troubled parents, you find solace in the local Seven-Eleven. There, you bump into the Alpha sheriff, Lee Bodecker.

And then you keep bumping into him. There’s just something about that chubby Alpha that keeps drawing you in. Now there’s something going on with the new preacher of the church that you attend. Everything’s a mess.

But you’re an unbonded Omega. Life can turn to shit anyway.

Chapter Warnings: ABO dynamics, dysfunctional families, mentions of cheating, age gap (Reader is nineteen while Lee is in his late twenties/early thirties), religious themes, scenting, explicit language. There is a physical fight in this chapter, as well as some mild slut-shaming words being used.

As the months flew by and the springtime slowly turned warmer, hotter, your mother had been pondering. Looking. Sitting in the car in front of the police’s office, as she had been for the past few hours now. Since her husband had been off doing his gambling again. It was nighttime.

The sheriff’s light was still on. She could see it still lit from where she was in the car.

Sometimes, your mother wondered, how she had allowed it to come to this.

She always thought about leaving. About skipping town with you and never coming back.

It would’ve been so easy. She should've done it sooner.

But she didn’t.

She couldn’t.

Divorce would’ve been okay for her. Betas had so much leeway with the laws, that no one would've batted an eyelash with a pair of Betas divorcing.

But if a Beta couple had an unbonded Omega?

Forget it.

She knew after the Civil Rights movement that Omegas were slowly getting more and more rights now. Especially in the workplace. Just a bit. Not enough to change everyone’s view of Omegas working in the workplace, however. But it was a start.

The car door opened. She let out a sigh. Her chest heavy. She closed the door behind her as she made sure to lock it, slipping her car keys into her purse. Clutching her purse tightly to her chest, she made her way into the police station.

Lee had been working.

He had been working all night.

He wasn’t able to have a date with you tonight. You had gotten the cold and had stayed home. Your mother had been taking care of you for the past couple of days. Lee had felt so empty without seeing you sitting in the chair across from his desk, smiling at him. Sipping at your slushie as you watched him work. He never felt so lonely. It was almost like his mood had soured.

A knock on the door made him pause his work. The chair squeaked as he got up to walk out of his office, to the front entrance.

What he saw made him pause.

Your mother stood on the other side, looking at him with the same exact look she had given him the same day he was there at church. Looking at him up and down, as if she was studying him. Like he was something to be studied. It didn’t make him uneasy. He had faced hell and back. His Alpha was not scared of this Beta. But Lee could smell your mother’s citrus scent. She had notes that smelled like you. Your familiar smell of chocolate chip cookies. It was a slightly sweeter undertone that made him feel safe. Made him feel at home. Warmed him from head to toe. It reminded him of home.

“Evenin’ ma’am.” Lee greeted your mother. Your mother gave him a nod.

“Sheriff Bodecker. Are ya the only one on duty?” She asked. Nodding came from Lee as he escorted her inside. He might’ve been an Alpha, had a position of power that was above you and your mother, but Lee Bodecker was still a gentleman. When the two of them had walked back to Lee’s office, he told her to make herself comfortable before he sat down behind his desk and looked at the last bits of paperwork that he had. The things he did to be where he was now.

“I need ta ask ya, Sheriff. What are your intentions with my pup?”

Lee looked up at your mother. Completely and utterly caught by surprise for the first time in his life.

“Ma’am?”

She only leaned closer. Looked at him straight into the eyes, like she was trying to pick him apart. Or rip him limb by limb. Whichever seemed palatable at the moment.

“You heard me, sir. What are your intentions with my pup?” She said again.

He blinked.

“Um…”

“Do you want her bite? Are you going to give her pups? A warm home? Are you going to take care of her and your pack?” she demanded him.

And she waited.

For a few seconds, she looked at him, her gaze seemingly burning into his soul like she was his Judge.

It was at that moment that Lee made up his mind.

Like it clicked.

The puzzle pieces going right into the place where they should be.

“Yes.”

Now it was just easy.

Flowing through him like drinking water on a cool day.

He knew exactly what he wanted.

His Alpha was in total agreement. For once, they were on the same page. Totally and completely.

No more fooling around.

He needed to get straight to the point and just do it.

“Yes, what?”

Your mother was just the slightest bit unconvinced. Because she needed to know. Right from the source. She needed to make sure that you would be okay. That you would be taken care of. That if she were to pass away suddenly, that you had a roof over your head, someone to support you, and a family that you would have with your future Alpha.

You needed to be secure.

“Yes. I want it. I want all of it. I want to be with her. I want my mark on her gland.”

And how badly he wanted it too.

He wanted to see it.

He wanted to see his mark on your gland. He wanted you to smell like him.

He wanted you to carry his pups.

Be his Omega.

His Bondmate.

His wife.

Everything and anything. All of it. The entire package.

“… I want her to have my pups too. My ring. My name. All of it.”

Your mother listened.

There might have been a part of her. A part of her that was preening because it had been exactly what she wanted to hear. Her hands put themselves on Lee’s desk. She continued to look at the dark-haired, much older Alpha and pondered.

“And you’re sure? You’re sure can take care of her, be the Bondmate, be the Alpha, be the father to her children, her pups? Be the one she needs?”

Lee leaned close. So close your mother could see the storminess in them.

“I’m not sure. I know I’m the one she needs. Are you going to doubt me anymore, ma’am? Any more questions?”

Your mother’s lips curled. Stretched into what looked to be the beginnings of a smile.

“No. No more questions, Sheriff Bodecker. Thank you. Have a good night. I’ll go and tell my daughter that you said hello.”

She stood up, beginning to head to the door.

“Wait.”

She was just about to turn the doorknob when the tone of his voice made her turn her head back.

“Tell her I love her too.”

Your mother smiled.

“I will.”

And then the door opened and closed.

A few weeks later… in Coal Creek, West Virginia…

It was sticky.

Hot.

Humid.

You felt like you could drink the air as if it were water.

Such weather you were not surprised with, nor not used to, due to living in Michigan before you had moved to Ohio.

So the sticky hot, humid air didn’t quite make you suffer as much.

Emma and your mother were out. They had gone into town to grab some supplies with Arvin.

There was going to be a new preacher that was going to fill in the position after the old one had retired. At least, that was what Lenora had told you. The two of you were back at the church graveyard. Visiting her mother, as she usually did. Or tried to. She had told you that she hadn’t grown up with her mother. That her dad was nonexistent. She had been a baby when her mother died, and when her father had basically vanished off of the face of the earth. But Lenora was convinced her dad was still out there. Somewhere.

You came for emotional support.

Because you didn’t know if you could be helpful for anything else, really.

Hand clutching, holding her Bible close to her chest, Lenora got up from her crouched position. She looked at her mother’s grave, a solemn look in her eyes.

“You know… I think he’s still out there. My daddy.”

You looked at her.

“That’s good, Lenora. Maybe… maybe one day you’ll find him. You’ll see him.” You assured her. Lenora didn’t smile though. She just gave you another solemn look and only gave you a short nod.

You hugged her. Gently rubbing your wrist against hers, softly enveloping her in your scent.

“It’s okay,” your whisper was gentle.

“It’s okay.”

“Did you get the stuff?” You asked Arvin later that day when the two of you finally had some alone time. The two of you were now outside, on the porch, while Arvin was standing up and you were sitting on the old rocking chair that Emma never truly wanted to donate, or give away. She loved that old thing. It held a special place in her heart. She had a point though, every morning you tried to get some sun, and you’d just come out there and sit on the chair. Just gazing out. Seeing the sun slowly rise.

Arvin looked at you.

“Yeah, we got the stuff. Some liver,” Arvin replied back to you. A thoughtful hum came from you.

“Liver, huh?”

He nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, “it was all we could really afford. We ain’t as rich as the other people who go ta church with us.”

That you understood. You could understand that.

“Your grandma’s a hell of a good cook though. Anything she makes, I’ll eat it.”

Arvin chuckled. You could smell the wafting smells of a bonfire. It made you feel warm and safe. Cozy.

But you could still feel her. Your Omega. She was slithering around, waiting on the sidelines.

Now. Your Omega didn’t mind Arvin.

Not at all.

But he wasn’t Lee. He did not smell like her Alpha. He did not smell like chocolate and bourbon. He smelled like a damn bonfire and it made her want to choke sometimes. It wasn’t that she hated him. She was very fond of the other Alpha. Arvin was only a year younger than you. Around your age. So it was okay.

“Even if it got burnt?” Arvin questioned you.

You let out a snort.

“Puh-lease. As if ya Auntie could burn anything. Hell, she could burn it and I would still eat it. Put enough salt n’ pepper on it, and I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”

Arvin laughed again.

Later that week...

You were pulling at the sleeves of the dress that you were currently wearing.

Itchy.

Your skin was itchy.

And it was still hot. And humid.

You hated this.

Your Omega was looming in you. Being depressed, as usual.

She missed her Alpha. Dearly.

Because as people were crowding into the church, she loomed. Watched as people walked around you.

Preston Teagardin was standing in front of the room.

Watching.

His blue eyes looking around.

Watching all of these people as Emma put her dish down on the table, before walking back to where you, Arvin, Lenora, and your mother were.

And then he saw you.

Standing there. In your black dress, looking around like this place was the last place where you’d rather be. Your kitten heels on. Your hair was tied up, due to the hot and humid weather.

And you were looking back.

A chill creeping up your spine as you looked into those blue eyes.

Your Omega stirred.

She was up and alert now.

Narrowing her eyes at him from where she was seated in her cage.

This Alpha.

She did not trust this Alpha.

A few days later…

The worst day in your life happened in the afternoon.

Your father had come home early. Your mother was still at one of her friend’s houses from down the block. Doing as housewives did. Catching up. Gossiping. Discussing their book club. Stuff like that.

When he stepped through the front door, nothing had been out of the ordinary. There were no noises coming from the house and he suspected that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t home.

And you weren’t. You had secretly gone out to go and get some air, go to the local library to catch up on the latest book that you were reading, and then later after you came home and got some time by yourself, you were going to go to the Seven-Eleven and meet up with Lee as you usually did. Your usual schedule.

So when he walked into the hallway and peered into your room, because your bedroom door was open, he saw something strange.

A leather jacket had been nestled into your nest. Your room smelled like you. Chocolate chip cookies. Sweet. Making your father remember the happier moments in your childhood.

But there was something lurking on the surface. If your father had been drunk, he might’ve not noticed it.

However, he was not drunk now. Now, he was fully and completely sober. Having been off of the alcohol for a few days. Three, at the least. It was a well-known and memorized routine that you knew by heart. Your father would drink, wait three days, and then drink again. Not like Lee, who was kept off of the damn beverage.

The slight smell of bourbon and chocolate was filling the air. Almost like it was possessing the space. Like it was sinking its way in.

His footsteps carried him into your room as he opened your bedroom door with a small creaking noise.

He came closer to your nest. In your space.

When you and your family had fully moved in, you had told your parents up and down, side to side, that they were not welcome in your room unless you allowed them in. Your room was your space. It was the only room in the house that you could have all to yourself. Needless to say, you were a bit territorial with your room. And who could blame you?

The familiar thought went through your father’s mind as he walked into your room, towards your bed. As he got closer, he realized what he was looking at.

A leather jacket had been nestled into your nest. When your father took a whiff, it was nearly rubbed out completely of its scent.

Chocolate and bourbon came up to his nose.

There was only one person he knew that smelled like that. Had that particular scent.

Sheriff Lee Bodecker.

You were messing around with the sheriff.

His eyes were narrowing. His scent, his woodsy scent became more pronounced, changing, shifting to someone more woodsy. He could almost imagine himself in the woods.

Your father would wait. He was patient.

When you got home from the library, it was too late.

As soon as you had come through the door, made sure you had even locked it behind you, a hand came, gripping your hair so tight you were sure it was going to be pulled from your scalp. You let out a shout. It had happened so quickly that your brain hadn’t even registered it.

Pulled. You were getting pulled somewhere into the house. Deeper into your family home. You were beginning to shout now. Shout and scream in protest. If it weren’t for the overwhelming, overbearing smell of a tantalizing woody forest, you would’ve never figured it was your father dragging you by your hair. Your feet kicked from underneath you. Not good enough to trip your father by his own two feet. He had been a doctor after all. He had been trained in situations like these. He worked in the damn ER, for fuck’s sake.

From the familiar clicking of your kitten heels on the floor, you managed to look down.

The kitchen. You were being yanked into the kitchen. Then you were shoved headfirst towards the wooden cabinets. Being shoved so hard that you nearly broke your nose due to the hard impact. There was a loud thud noise when your face smacked up against it. You must’ve heard a cracking noise.

Your nose was broken. It had begun to bleed. You were gasping, frantically gripping the countertops of the sink to keep you steady. A sharp kick to your back made you cry out in pain. Not that you weren’t in pain already. You could feel your Omega within you, screeching. Having begun the starting points of throwing a fit. Screaming at the audacity of your Beta father for treating you this way.

Your head had begun to ring. A white noise buzzing.

You had been so focused on getting your wits back, and your Omega was far too busy throwing her fit that the two of you had blocked out your father’s yelling.

“… and then I see this! Have you decided on being a fucking harlot now?”

You turned your head.

Your eyes had gone wide.

In your father’s grip, in your father’s hand, was Lee’s leather jacket. The one he wore so often. The one he had given to you because you had gotten cold one day. It had been a slightly chilly night and he had given it to you. You had protested the entire way home, saying that you would be fine. Even though you were visibly shivering. But Lee had shrugged it off of him, his jacket pouring pure Alpha pheromones, and had put it on you.

You had been so certain. So sure that you had put it away from sight.

But then you had remembered that you had put it in your nest.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You were so fucking stupid. How could you have done that? Put Lee’s jacket in your nest like a fool? Those types of behaviors, those types of things were for bonded pairs! Like your parents. Not like people such as Lee and you. You didn’t have his mark. He didn’t have yours. What the hell were you thinking, entertaining this charade?

As your father continued to shout at you, his words were slowly sinking in.

He was right.

Why had you been entertaining this goddamn charade? Why?

How could you let this go on?

You couldn’t do it.

You couldn’t keep doing this.

“… I raised you in this house-”

No, you didn’t, your Omega thought snidely. You’ve been sleeping with other women. What’s your excuse?

Was your father hearing himself?

“… after all the damn hard work I did, raising you-”

Please, your Omega was butting in again. If anything, I saw my mother more than you. All you did was work. I barely saw your ass.

Stupid Beta.

When your father had opened his mouth to speak again, your Omega lashed out.

Your foot came from your front. Shooting out and kicking him as hard as she could. Your Omega had been aiming for his groin, but apparently, she had reached just a bit higher. Good on her. She saw your father shout something as she kicked him again, sending him back a bit.

Yanking the cabinet door open. Your hand grabbed the first thing it could find a grip on.

A handle.

This felt familiar.

Oh.

Oh.

It was a skillet. When you managed to pull it out and whack it in your father’s face, you then realized, you had grabbed a cast-iron skillet. The one that your mother had used yesterday to make dinner. It was a little rusty. But it would do. Scrambling to get to your feet, your Omega snarled.

She was done.

Finished.

Her temper had sky rocked out of the roof.

She was done with a capital D.O.N.E. and this Beta, this lousy excuse of a Beta who had given you his sperm was going to pay for the words that he had spoken against your Alpha.

Another whacking noise had sent him back. The further he crawled back, yelling at you, the more she stepped forward.

How dare he.

When she raised the skillet down and rained blow after blow down on his body, she might’ve heard something crack. Or snap. She was sure she had gotten his shoulder. Maybe cracked one of his ribs. She knew his face was bleeding. Blood coming down from his nose.

How dare he talk bad about her Alpha?

How dare he?

“How fucking dare you!”

Pissed.

Oh, she was so fucking pissed off.

And it was around that time that she began to hear sirens. Shouts were filling the house and your Omega screeched, screamed, and shouted as someone was trying to pull her off.

“Get off of me!” You were howling. Clawing at someone’s shirt.

This was not your Alpha. A young Alpha deputy was pulling you away as you howled in dismay. Your Omega being pushed back again, kicking and screaming.

Alpha.

She needed her Alpha.

Taglist: @greeneyedblondie44, @bxnnywriting

[moody-blues-requiem]

May I request h/cs for Unita Speciale where they get hit by an aging stand ability that reverts them back to children and their s/o has to take care of them for a few days? Thank you in advance and for your time

These became more like “what are they like as kids”, and in my headcanon, none of them had their stands as children! Secco is the only natural stand user in l’unita, but his stand appeared after childhood. 

Squalo and Tiziano are a HANDFUL to manage! Absolute troublemakers, those two. But whatever you do, don’t separate them. You think they’re bad together? Wait until you see the tantrum Squalo throws if you keep them apart. Tiziano will get his little hands on a pair of scissors and shred everything he possibly can in your bedroom. Really, the best way to handle them is playtime outside. Take them to the park or a public pool, or even the beach. They make up a lot of games together and will eventually tucker out just from going full throttle with one another, all day long. Thankfully neither are picky eaters, so whatever dinner you can come up with will be happily scarfed down, before the two end up asleep together on the couch, unable to make it all the way back to the bed. Neither of them are natural-born stand users, so neither of them have their stands as kids. You’re not sure you could handle it if they did. 

Even as a little kid, Cioccolata is.... weird. He speaks in way too calm a tone to be normal, and analyzes things in a way you’ve never seen before. His idea of “playing” is calmly building and taking apart legos until he grows bored. This has to be some joke, this kid is NOT the mad doctor you know and love! But then you find him carefully picking apart live insects with a pair of tweezers and a mechanical pencil and yep, that’s him alright. Reminder to lock up all sharp objects in a high cabinet somewhere. The one activity where he actually seems to open up and act a bit more child-like is when you let him play with your makeup. Granted, he never uses the makeup for its intended purposes (honey it’s called LIP stick it goes on your LIPS) but he’s having fun and no one is dead, so you let him carry on. 

Secco *is* a natural stand user (in my headcanon), but didn’t get his stand until his late teens/early 20s-- not that you’d know that, with how good he is at hiding. He might as well be underground sometimes. If he wants to be left alone, you will not be able to find him. Normally he’s more playful, but can quickly go cold and shut down from the world around him, preferring to be left alone. He gets this faraway look in his eyes sometimes, and you can’t help but wonder what’s going through his head. His favorite toys are the sticks and mud and bugs outside, he climbs trees and digs holes like nobody’s business. Definitely the kind of kid to mix dead leaves, dirt, and rainwater in a bucket and call it a potion. He’s a surprisingly well-behaved kid, you think, not causing more trouble than your average little boy, until you find the “slug hotel” he set up in your bedsheets when you weren’t looking. 

Carne is like, a decently normal kid, he’s just quiet as fuck. You never hear him walk up behind you, you just turn around and he’s standing there, staring. Oh, the staring, he never quits staring. Does this kid even blink? It’s like something out of a horror movie, except… he never does anything malicious, really. He plays with plastic animal figures, silently setting up a little zoo. He likes watching TV and eating crackers with you. He reads, sometimes mouthing the words, but rarely ever speaking. Overall, it’s just weird, but he’s not causing any trouble, so you let him continue. He nods like he can read your thoughts and eats another cracker. 

Doppio is a clumsy little ray of sunshine. He does everything with a smile on his face and determination in his heart, but that kid could hurt himself in a padded room. He’s always sporting a couple of bandaids or an ace wrap, but rarely does he let getting hurt slow him down (you usually have to call him in to put a bandage on his scraped knees, or he’ll just let them bleed!) His favorite activities are going to the beach and collecting shells, or playing house and cooking plastic food. Because he was raised by a priest, sometimes he plays church with you, reciting a (simplified) bible verse for you and then handing you a pretzel for communion. The one strange thing is how he spaces out all the time. Just for like 15 seconds he drops whatever he’s doing, no matter the importance, and stares off into space, sometimes fluttering his eyes or moving his lips a bit. (These would be petit mal seizures, which are usually pretty harmless. Doppio starts taking medicine for them later in life.)

[cringeytwilightsideblog]

the cullens throw their long-suffering father the first birthday party he’s had in 300 years (also Jasper’s inner cowboy comes out STRONG)

Hey, thought Emmett as he peered around Edward’s doorframe. Whatcha doing?

“I am organizing my CD collection.” he said. “Why, may I ask, has half of my Mozart been replaced with ABBA?”

“Because ABBA is better than Mozart. Anyway, I need to talk to you.”

“Ok…” Edward said. “Well?”

“In private.”

“I can read minds, idiot.”

“Yeah, but I can’t. Come with me.”

Edward sighed and grabbed his khaki raincoat, his khaki rain boots, and his khaki hat and headed outside with Emmett into the forest. As they were running through the trees, Alice jumped down from one directly in front of Edward, who crashed into her so hard her arm came off.

Alice stuck the arm back on and said brightly, “So! What are we doing?”

“We’re going to have a birthday party for Carlisle!” Emmett announced.

“ Nobody knows his birthday.”

“Bella googled some old census records.”

“Hi!” said Bella, walking out of the woods dragging a deer behind her. “Do you guys mind if I eat lunch?”

“Remember to say grace, dearest one.” Edward reminded her. “The good lord smiles upon those who pray.”

‘Hold on.” Alice said. “You mean all these years Carlisle just could’ve googled his birthday and instead he has to be all dramatic and mysterious about it?”

“I guess it runs in the family,” Emmett said, looking at Edward in his all-khaki getup, reading from the Bible over Bella’s dead deer.

“What?” asked Edward. “My soul is in danger. I need God to reel it back in.”

“Your soul is a fish?” Bella wondered.

“No, love of my life. My soul is a void.”

“...Nice.” Bella took her hydroflask out of her backpack and started filling it with deer blood for later.

“So!” said Alice, trying to get everyone back on track. “Where’s Jasper and Rosalie?”

“Rosalie’s working on her car and Jasper wanted to make the party cowboy themed so he’s at the store picking out hats.”

“Great!” Alice said brightly. “The other outcome I saw was Emmett making it an 80s disco- nevermind.”

“Can we make the party God themed?” Edward wondered. His siblings shook their heads. Bella slurped her deer blood with her metal straw. “You need to get a life, Wardo.”

“I am dead on the outside as well as the inside, my beloved Bella,” he said, sighing. “Therefore I cannot ‘get a life,’ unless that is your way to tell me to kill someone.”

“No. That’s not what I- Oh no! I spilled blood on my khaki skirt!”

If Edward had still had blood circulating his body and therefore had the opportunity to faint, he would’ve passed out then and there. “Bella! No! I-it’s a tragedy!”

“Shut up Edward.” Alice told him. “She still has all the khaki skirts that you gave her for her birthday. And Christmas. And Halloween. And like every holiday on the calendar.”

She paused as she saw something. Edward frowned.

“Jasper’s coming back!”

A few seconds later Jasper came crashing through the forest with several Walmart bags full of cowboy hats. He plopped one on Emmett’s head and threw the bags at Alice, who somehow managed to catch them all.

“I’ve been runnin’ all over hell’s half acre roundin’ these bad boys up!” he proclaimed.

“Gimme one of those,” Bella said, snatched a few out of the Walmart bag, and properly cowboyed up herself and her husband.

“I SAY YEE, YOU SAY HAW!” Jasper yelled so loudly that a couple blue jays flew out of the fir tree they were vibing in. “YEE!”

“HAW!” screamed Bella, Emmett, and Alice.

Why did they respond to that and not the time I tried to pump them up before church with ‘I say Jesus, you say Christ’? Edward wondered. It was truly a mystery.

“Alright cowboys and cowgirls.” Jasper said, his southern accent coming out strong. “We’re throwin’ the rowdiest, most rootin and tootin party y’all have ever seen! Alice!”

“Yes!”

“You are in charge of the decorations! Emmett, you help me construct a rodeo in the woods! This, coincidentally, happens not to be my first rodeo! Edward, you’re in charge of the music! None of that gosh diddly darned Mozart, ya hear me? I’m talkin’ country music. You might wanna run down yonder to Tennessee and-”

“I will NOT!” Edward cried. “How DARE you insult Mozart like this! I am leaving!” He yanked the cowboy hat off his head and threw it on the ground.

“Don’t let the screen door hit ya where the good lord split ya!” Jasper called after his retreating figure. “Bless his rotten, Yankee heart. Alright. Bella, you’re now in charge of the music as well as your original job, which is arguably the most important one. You need to figure out how to make sweet tea that we can drink.”

“That’s easy!” she said. “Take the blood of a diabetic mountain lion!”

“Alright! Now we’re getting somewhere! Emmett, what is it?”

Emmett had raised his hand. “So you know how Carlisle spent like a week in a potato cellar?”

“Yeah.” Alice said. “What about it?”

“What if we make a ball pit… but with potatoes!”

Jasper, Alice, and Bella cheered. Edward, who was lurking in a bush 20 feet away decided that since none of them were using the collective brain cell today he should probably rejoin them. Little did he know that Rosalie actually had the collective Cullen brain cell today, shown by the fact that she was staying out of all this.

“Hello, family.” He announced, dramatically walking out of the bushes. “After some consideration, I have decided to come back.”

“Edward, you weren’t even gone for 2 minutes.’ Alice said, sighing. “Have you changed your mind about the music, at least?”

“ I suppose I’ll help,” he said begrudgingly. “Can Bella help me, though?”

“Yes!” Bella yelled. “I’m gonna play cotton eye joe for three hours straight! Whoever sticks it out till the end gets the diabetic mountain lion sweet tea!”

The two of them plopped down with Bella’s phone to assemble a playlist that contained such classics as Country Roads, Take Me Home, Cotton Eye Joe Gregorian Chant Techno Remix, and the Tennessee state song, Rocky Top. Edward sneaked Clair De Lune in when he thought nobody was looking. Bella promptly deleted it when he wasn’t looking.

Over the next few hours, Emmett and Jasper constructed a small rodeo and then ran around the tri-state area looking for some bears to ride around.

“Look at him.” Jasper said fondly as Emmett wrestled a bear to the ground. “Grinnin’ like a possum eatin’ a sweet tater.”

Alice went to bi-mart for decorations, which for those of you unlucky enough not to live in the pacific northwest, is a cowboy walmart.

By 1 in the morning they had everything set up. Emmett was sitting on the bear in the middle of the rodeo and singing along to Edward and Bella’s playlist. Jasper was helping Alice hang the cowboy hat fairy lights at the last minute, seeing as she was too short to hang them herself.

“Alright, buckaroos!” Jasper cried. “It’s time to go get Carlisle!”

Bella, Edward, and Alice ran back to the house leaving Emmett and Jasper to supervise the bear and the sweet tea, respectively. They burst through Carlisle’s door to find him staring at his creepy vampire paintings.

“Carlisle!” Alice said. “Come with us! We need to show you something!”

Carlisle allowed Alice to drag him down the hall and Edward went to find Esme and Rosalie. A minute later, they were all assembled on the lawn and ready to go.

“Which way was it again?” Bella wondered, looking at the woods.

“Follow me!” said Alice, and ran through the trees until the rodeo came into sight.

“What is this?” Carlisle asked, hearing ‘Cotton Eye Joe’ blasting from Bella’s portable bluetooth speaker that they had put on the table with the sweet tea.

“Hi, Carlisle! Hi, Esme!” Emmett yelled.

“Why is he sitting on a bear?” Esme muttered to her husband.

“Honey, it’s not the weirdest thing he’s done. I’m more focused on the rodeo. And the fact that they’re all wearing cowboy hats.”

Alice plopped a cowboy hat on each of her parent’s heads. “On three! One! Two! Three!”

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU! HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR CARLISLE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOOOU!” everyone sang. Edward harmonized badly.

“Is it my birthday?” Carlisle asked. “How did you figure that out?”

“Google!” Bella said proudly.

“That- that’s quite interesting.” Carlisle said, wondering why he’d never googled himself. “How old am I?”

“377!” Bella announced proudly.

“Ah. And may I ask why Emmett is sitting on a bear?”

“This is Fernando, named after the best song in the world,” Emmett said, patting the bear’s head. Edward stared at them, aghast that he hadn’t named the bear Debussy as he had suggested.

“We set up a rodeo for ya, pop!” Jasper said. “Do ya like it?”

“I made sweet tea!” Bella said, grinning.

“I love it.” Carlisle said. “Are you going to wrestle the bear?”

“You bet!” Emmett yelled. “Come at me bro!” The bear growled at him. Emmett growled back.

After Emmett had successfully wrestled the bear, Bella put on ‘Cotton Eye Joe’ and had the entire family dance until the hour-long loop was over. Since nobody had won, they all shared the diabetic mountain lion sweet tea. Emmett pulled some potatoes out of his jacket and threw one at Alice. She threw it back and soon they were fighting each other with potatoes. At this point Esme noticed that the sun was rising and ordered them to clean up, go back to the house, and get ready for school.

[kashilascorner]

2, 4, 11 and 15? 👀✨💓

🥰✨

2. have you ever found a writer who thinks just like you? if so, who?

Academically not because I base my own thinking in what I read from other authors and from other opinions/commentary on them and from there, I pick and chose what I agree on and to what extent.

With literature writers, it's probably the same. I share some thoughts with some authors but I don't think I can say there's someone who thinks just like me and that's good. I don't really think about the authors I read in those terms, more like what do they have to say about art, life, society...(not the other way around)

4. do you like your name?  is there another name you think would fit you better?

I do really like my name! I think it's pretty, and I like the meaning (with Laura basically equivalent to victorious), though I don't know if I'll live up to it 😅 also, not fit better, but I like Layla though becauss it sounds kind of similarbut the meaning (night) is lovely, so I went by that name for some time (hence why it's also on my bio here)

11. describe your ideal day.

(This got LONG omg)

I wake up early but not terribly early (let's say 8am). I have a nice breakfast with tea, fruits and eggs or fresh bread. It's a nice day, either a cool spring day or a warn autumn day. There's sun in the sky but it does not itch. I spend the morning in downtown Madrid, probably. Other city can do if I'm traveling obviously. It's not a weekend. I walk a lot in the park (or do some sightseeing if in any other city), then visit a museum preferably classic art. I might visit some cool place like a cathedral. Then I meet with a loved one for lunch. It might be a friend, but it can be a date too. We have a good meal in some cool place, preferably one they recommend. Then we go around walking, maybe do some shopping, maybe go to a nearby place that I haven't seen yet. We go to a market, smell the fruits and the flowers and feel the sun and the people. We engage with whatever is going on: street performers, touristic tours, visit houses, go to the forest, play games, feed birds, go to a spa... Then have dinner in this new town/part of town, somewhere we have never been in. Then we go clubbing a bit, have a couple beers but not too much and we dance and laugh and then we walk the streets at night together till sunrise surprise us.

15. five most influential books over your lifetime.

Hmmm this is hard but I think these will do:

-The Grimm Fairy Tales / The Bible for kids : I know I'm cheating here, but keep up with me. Both of these deeply impressioned me asa child. My mom read me tales, and as soon as I could read, I read them too. These two were beautiful illustrated editions that I still love with all my heart.

-1984 by George Orwell: nothing much to say here. Impactful in many ways, possibly shaped my sociogical thinking in ways I'm not even fully aware of

-Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert: look this book TERRIFIED me because 17 year old me really saw herself reflected in Emma rip

-American Gods by Neil Gaiman: shaped/put into words a lot of my own views of how systems of belief work and what faith means and what ideas are made of before I was able to truly express such things. Plus, it's a fantasy book with adventures so!

-Thirteen reasons why by Jay Asher: not getting into the author or the adaptation which I have not eatched but this book genuinely made me think of how what we do affects others.

And I'm adding a short story: The yellow wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman

Honorable mentions: Palabras envenenadas by Maite Carranza (first narrative without dialogues I ever read, a sordid ya about abuse and there's a sentence about how words shape us as humans that still haunts me to thai day), Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov (another terrifying book and possibly the one that sparkes my interest in writing characters that simply aren't good people and also unreliable narrators!), A clockwork orange by Anthony Burgess (blew my mind away around at the same time as 1984), The red tent by Anita Diamant (read it last year and went straight to one of my favorite books ever), The prince by Niccolo Machiavelli (I WILL defend this book to my last breath ok. How can somethinf be so famous and yet so misunderstood is just), Antología poética del Grupo del 27 ed. Vicente Gaos for editorial Catedra (got me interested in poetry for real)

[dailyaudiobible]

05/18/2021 DAB Transcript

1 Samuel 22:1-23:29, John 10:1-21, Psalm 115:1-18, Proverbs 15:18-19

Today is the 18th day of May welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I am Brian it is always a privilege, it’s always an honor for us to get together like this and have the accessibility to the Scriptures like we do and read them fresh and listen to what God is saying through the…the Bible. It is a joy every day to take the next step forward together. And, so, let’s do that. We’re reading from the English Standard Version this week. We’re still working our way through first book of Samuel. We’re pretty clear now in how David and Saul’s lives our intertwined. King Saul wants David to be dead and David is running for his life and trying to find a way to survive. And, so, let’s pick up the story. 1 Samuel, chapters 22 and 23 today.

Commentary:

Okay. So, we passed by a very famous portion of Scripture in the gospel of John today. And, so, we’ll talk about it and its context but let's start by just zooming in on a couple of key words here, “steal, kill, destroy.” So, if you are being said stolen from than something that belongs to you in your possession has been taken by someone who has no right. Kill, we can pretty much understand. Although for something to be killed doesn't necessarily mean you're dead. Things can die within us - dreams, hopes, desires. And then destroy is to render something that was perfectly usable, completely broken and worthless. Actually, if you want to get technical here, to destroy something is and its existence. So, like if…if your house burns down may have insurance and everything like that to rebuild another one. But the one you did live in was destroyed, its existence as it was, has ended. Steal, kill, destroy. If we look at our lives just trying to live, right, just trying to make it through another week, just trying to do our very, very best we can see that these themes are around us. Sometimes it feels very much like we’re being stolen from and its nothing we can put our fingers on. It's not physical, it’s “something is being taken.” Sometimes it feels like we can be experiencing theft, stealing, killing, and destroying like this…this is…this is happening. This is happening to me and I don’t know how to stop it. Jesus said, “the thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” In other words, the opposite of what the thief's ambitions are. So, doesn't that essentially describe life among humanity. That one verse, very famous, John 10:10, very famous verse, but that really encapsulates just about everything doesn't it? And, so, how is it that we find this concise statement from the lips of Jesus? What’s He talking about? Because John 10:10, this is a quotable verse. This gets said every week. This gets that all of the time, but it's part of a conversation just like John 3:16 is a part of a conversation when Jesus says, “for God so loved the world.” He’s in the middle of a conversation with a man named Nicodemus under the cover of night. So, this famous verse, John 10:10, “the thief comes only to steal, kill, and destroy” is part of a…of a conversation that Jesus is having and He's discussing shepherding. He…He's using the analogy of…of shepherding, that a flock of sheep they…they may go in and stay in a pen with many other flocks of sheep. It was a custom of the shepherds to keep the sheep together and guard them all in one place during the night, so that a predator or thief couldn’t come and take them. And then when morning comes and it’s time to go out to…out to pasture then each shepherd comes and calls its flock, and the sheep follow their shepherd because they know His voice. So, if you're a shepherd and you got 10 sheep and your sheep are in a pen with 100 sheep and they're all bleeding and they're all moving around but you come, and you call your 10 sheep that you spend your life with, that you love them and you know them by name and you would lay her life down to protect them and you call them, they hear you, they trust you, they know you. Out of the many they come running to their shepherd so that they can go out to pasture. And Jesus in this discussion is basically saying that's the way of it. Anybody who doesn't go in the sheep gate and call his sheep how isn't the shepherd. The one trying to get over the wall into the pen isn't the shepherd. Anyone who's not just going in the front door, who’s trying to get in some other way isn't the shepherd. They’re, a thief and a robber according to Jesus, but the one who just walks into the front door and calls their flock, and the sheep hear their shepherd's voice, and they follow the shepherd to pasture, that's the true shepherd. Speaking of those sheep and quoting Jesus, “a stranger they will not follow. They will flee from him, for they do not know the voice of strangers.” So, this gives us some context to what Jesus is talking about. And, so, now putting our famous verse in context, Jesus said, “I am the door. If anyone enters by Me, he will be saved and will go in and out and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly. I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down His life for the sheep. I am the good shepherd. I know My own and My own know Me just as the Father knows Me and I know the Father. And I lay down My life for the sheep.” Okay. So, it's not too much of a stretch for us to understand the metaphor here, that we are the sheep, and He is the good shepherd. But what we should probably understand is that if we are His sheep, we know His voice, which means that we can hear His voice, which means that He's using His voice, which means that if it's not His voice and it's somebody else's voice saying that He's the shepherd we know better because we know the voice of our shepherd and we shy away from that interloper like sheep do. I mean my neighbor has sheep and a flock and, you know, they walk around and they…they bleat and do sheep things and if I walk over by the fence, and they are very observant creatures, if I walk over toward them, they're going to stop what they're doing and pay very close attention to what I'm doing. And if I continue and I say, “hi guys. Good morning beautiful sheep.” Even though I’m being nice, they don’t know my voice. They get skittish. They want to go somewhere where they feel more safe. A flock of sheep feels safe with its shepherd. They trust the shepherd. So, if we didn't already know this, there are competing voices out there that want things from us, whether they want our money or they want our allegiance or they want our vote or they want our voice. And often enough we can find ourselves following when we should slow down. We've been learning quite a bit about how we got…it doesn’t have to be a major slowdown, it's just gotta be we are intentional about not reacting. There are forces out there that want to steal, kill, and destroy. And that's a pretty sure bet if we've lost the voice of our Shepherd and have gotten isolated. If we’ll think this through. Like, if we’ll actually take some time to meditate on this today many things start making sense and it should give us a profound desire to hear the voice of the Shepherd and to know the voice of the Shepherd. And we might think, “I know…I do…I do…I’ve walked with the Lord for years. And, so, I know what that feels like within me when God is prompting or leading or speaking.” And others maybe like, “I just don't even know where to start.” Simple enough way to start is to simply become aware of your senses, which is not to say like, “oh, just follow your feelings around.” But when something feels off…isn't it weird how we can be in a situation that looks normal but something's not right, something's not right. We don't know what it is but something's not right. And, so, we have this kind of intuition. Sometimes we can figure it out sometimes we can’t. If we’re slowed down enough we can ask ourselves, “is this prompting…is this sense…like if…if I'm gonna go forward with this…this path that I'm…that I'm deciding, will this lead me into life abundant? Is my shepherd there? Like, is this gonna lead me deeper into Jesus or is this about me and my own gratification in some sort of way?” If we just get basic, then we can build a foundation and begin to mature. We can simply ask, “can…can this be done in the name of Jesus? Does this bring love? Will I be known by my love that I’m a disciple in this situation? We don't have to be rocket scientists or have a PhD in theology. My neighbor’s sheep don't. I don't even know if they know their sheep to be honest, but I do know that they know the voice of their shepherd, which in this particular story from Jesus seems to be the goal. So, it's an attainable goal. And if we learn the voice of our shepherd and follow the voice of our shepherd into pasture, well that might change our whole life. And, so, let's meditate upon that today and move in that direction today because that will lead us deeper and closer to Jesus today.

Prayer:

Holy Spirit come. We need to know Your voice. We need to know it clearly. And we confess that so often we’re confused about it, but that might be less about Your withholding from us and more about our unwillingness to cultivate, to learn, to listen, to be present. And, so, help us Holy Spirit because how we've navigated this far in so many situations without Your voice, that's…it's a miracle. It's Your kindness and Your mercy and Your patience, shepherding us when were not even listening. But the joy of listening means that we will be led into pasture and we won't be stolen or killed or destroyed. So, come Holy Spirit. Help us to hear Your voice today we pray. In Jesus’ name we ask. Amen.

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And that's it for today. I’m Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

[Singing] It only takes a spark to get a fire going and soon all those around will warm up to His glowing. That’s how it is with God’s love. Once you’ve experienced it you spread His love to everyone. You want to pass it on. I wish you for you my friend this happiness that I’ve found. You can depend on Him it matters now where you’re bound. I’ll shout it from the mountain tops. I want my world to see that the Lord of love has come to me. I want to pass it on. [End Singing] I love you my DAB family. I’m thinking of you. I’m praying for you. I want you to know that I love you so very much. I just thought that this was one of my favorite campfire songs at camp and I wanted to share it with my brothers and sisters around the Global Campfire of the DAB. I love you all. I love you Brian my brother and my sister Jill and the whole Hardin family. I am so grateful for this community. You guys are my family and I love you. Have a wonderful day and a wonderful tomorrow in Jesus’ name.

Hi DAB family this is Gigi from GVille. I wanted to share with you something today that I feel like it was the word from the Lord or for…for us and it is in Isaiah…it’s Isaiah 52 verse 2 it says shake thy self from the dust arise and sit down in a good sit Oh Jerusalem, loose thyself from the bands of thy neck oh captive daughter of Zion. And what I…I feel like the Lord is saying is that he has won the victory. He has done it, but it takes our faith, our response to Him we have to…to remove that…that band around our neck, to rise off…rise off from the floor and the dust and in the dirt and be able to, you know, sit it His authority enthroned with Him on high and to be able to move forward in His victory. We have to claim it, we have to believe that He has done it. Because the…the devil comes around like a roaring lion, but his only power is to deceive us, that the victory isn’t won, we’re still fighting, we have to work hard. And…and we fail. We don’t have the power, but God gives us the power and He has done it and in faith we respond, we receive, and the Lord has delivered us. In Jesus’ name I speak victory over you guys. You guys run the race, stand in the power of God and you will see what God has done in your life and overcome. And the world will know that He lives within you. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

Hello Daily Audio Bible this is Dwayne from Wisconsin. All praise and glory to our wonderful Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Today is May 15th and I’m calling you with a heavy heart. My son Nathan is struggling. I got some news that he attempted to break into somebody’s shed and I got really upset about what He’s doing. So, I’m asking that you’d please lift up my son Nathan. The Lord will keep him safe, that he will find some direction. He is lost, he’s got a lot going on. So, some of you know, you have prodigal sons so you know what that’s like. So, I’m just asking that you would please lift up my son Nathan, that God will wrap him in His arms, keep him safe and that his eyes will be opened and that he gets the help that he needs. Thank you DAB. Love you all pray for you all.

Hello Eva, this is Running Bear and I want to pray for you and your family. Heavenly Father, King of Kings and Lord of Lords we pray for this family that is suffering so much as they have this court date that is coming very fast but that does not encompass who they are or all that they are working towards Father. Lord, please bring healing into each one of their hearts and lives. Bring people around them that love them and that they can see that in their eyes, they can hear that in their voices. Lord, for this young lady that has been so betrayed where she has to be wondering what words are truth. Father, we…we pray for her, we pray for healing and we pray for a heart that wants You and wants to see You in spite of all of the suffering. Lord, please bless each one of them as they go to speak the truth and to share the truth that their able to recognize the suffering within them, but also that You are the redeemer and that Your desire is to bring healing in their hearts, in their lives, in their minds, and their bodies. And Father, please bless this family with the community around them that love them dearly and every day. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

This message is for God’s Smile. This is momma ‘D’ in New Albany, Indiana. I heard your story today about how when you and Peter first got together and how you had surrendered him over to God. And I, several days ago, had called in and asked for prayer for my…I’ve been standing in faith for my marriage for 2 years now and he has divorced me, but the Lord has told me to stand, and I’ve been standing for his salvation and for the restoration of our marriage. And I was driving along, I’m…I’m just driving today, on my way out of town and I was…I guess feeling a little angry and I was saying, “you know Lord, I want him saved, I don’t even think that I want him back anymore” and just as I was feeling that I heard your story about Peter and I was reminded of a time, many years ago when my husband Jim…and I do still call him my husband…my husband Jim and I were just dating but I didn’t know if we were going to be together long-term cause he was not saved. And I remember sitting at my prayer closet one night after my children were asleep and surrendering him to God and saying “God you know, I…I, I want him saved and I want us to be together and if you will do that I will praise you all the days of my life and if you don’t do that I’m still gonna praise you all the days of my life. And within a week Jim got saved and within another week he proposed to me and I said I’m so glad you’re saved now because now I can say yes. And he’s fallen away, and he’s stepped out of our marriage for something else, but the Lord said to me, “don’t you think I could do it again?” Thank you for your encouragement God’s Smile, thank you so, so much. God used you today.

[bibybuck]

I die of love for him (2/6)

fandom: The Old Guard

pairing: Joe/Nicky

rating: teen and up

word count: 1.5k words (3.4k in total)

summary: ‘Yusuf can’t help but stare at him, but that’s okay, because Nicolo’s staring as well. He wonders if this was the reason God has brought them together: two people on opposing sides, giving them the opportunity to see, to experience, the other’s life.’

or: Six years and six places in Yusuf and Nicolo’s lives and relationship.

title is from a poem called 'Love in Bloom’ by the Arabic poet Abu Nuwas

for @santiagosnart <3

[read on ao3]

or under the cut!

A bell beckons the believers in the distance. It’s a hot Sunday morning, the Sun scorching the Sicilian earth. Yet, the market is in full swing, people buying and bartering, trying to get what they can and selling what they can. Stalls are selling plump apples and pears, while others have colourful knick-knacks.

Yusuf is sitting on the small balcony, watching the crowds beneath. He wishes he could be down there, mixing with the people, maybe even buying some of those peaches Nicolo loves so much. But he can't, because he’s not welcome there.

They’ve been talking about moving on, going somewhere else. But it’s not easy finding a place that’s safe for them both. And besides, deep down, Yusuf doesn’t want to leave. He likes it in Palermo, loves the house they’ve got. They made this their home for the time being, with Yusuf’s drawings hanging on the walls and bits and bobs Nicolo buys at markets.

After Jerusalem, they made their way to the coast. In exchange for work, he and Nicolo got passage to Greece. They spent a couple of months trying to come up with a plan, trying to figure out where to go. Italy was the obvious choice, but they both knew that the powerful grasp of the Catholic church has reached most places. Finally, they settled on Sicily, where they’ve been for the past months. So it’s not like they have to stay here because the unknown of travelling is daunting. Yusuf’s tired of it, being on a ship, living in squalor with sailors.

It’s also quite hard to explain that, when they get attacked and when several crew members see them getting impaled, no, they just can’t die.

So they are in Palermo and will stay until they come up with something better.

Yusuf returns to his sketch. The scene on his canvas is looking a bit better, but he’s still not happy with it. He just can’t quite capture the features of Nicolo. Nothing is as good as the real thing, unfortunately.

And right on time, the door opens and in walks Nicolo with a basket on his hip. Yusuf looks up and can’t help but feel a tremendous amount of love for that man. The only thing is, he knows he’s not allowed to love him because he’s been taught it’s wrong.

But how can love so pure and great and overwhelming be wrong?

“What are you doing?” Nicolo asks in Arabic as he joins Yusuf on the balcony. Over time, they picked up each other’s languages and nowadays, they don’t even think about what language they use. “My nose isn’t that big,” he teases with a smirk.

“But your ego is.”

Nicolo gives him a stunned look before laughing. He then walks back inside to empty the basket. Yusuf follows him, not just to help, but to be near him.

Over the past couple of years, they’ve developed a friendship, although, at times, Yusuf feels it’s a bit more for both of them. A lot more. Nicolo often talks about his past, about how he was forced to become a priest because he loved a boy when he was young. He talks about his religion, too, which Yusuf loves hearing about, because he’s curious, but he hurts when he hears the pain in Nicolo’s voice. He used to be a devout believer, but that was before his religion chastised him for not being able to control his heart. Being so dedicated to his faith which then hurt him in return still causes him pain, Yusuf sees. But then Nicolo smiles and Yusuf just… falls even more.

Love, between two men, is not natural, he's been taught. Love is between a man and a woman, or so he’s been told. That’s how it is in the Quran, that’s how it is in the Bible, Nicolo tells him. But he's fallen for Nicolo so fast and so deeply that nothing else but loving him makes sense. So how can such love be immoral?

The thing is they don't know when death will come for them. Might be tomorrow, or next week. Might be in a hundred or thousand years. Might never come for them. There is no one like them, as far as they know. So why waste it? Yusuf knows that his heart outweighs his head, that his love for Nicolo outweighs whatever they were both taught. He knows, or well, he's been told, love between two men is wrong, that it's immoral, that it's ungodly. But he also knows that his love for Nicolo is bigger than any sort of faith known to man.

At times, he just wants to lean in and kiss him. Sometimes the urge almost knocks him off the ground. Sometimes, it’s just bubbling, but whichever the case, it’s always present. Over the past five years, their enmity turned into an allyship, which then turned into a friendship. On Yusuf’s side, it’s gone further than that.

Right now, he knows he’s staring at Nicolo. He’s past being ashamed of it. He knows he loves this man, so deeply, so fiercely, but his heart is still at war with his upbringing. He knows he could leave everything behind just to be with Nicolo. He knows he would die for him, he would give up his immortality for him.

Five years is… both long and short. Long, because he had a friend who got married, had a family and died in those five years. Seemingly, he achieved everything. Five years is a long time when you’re mortal, when you’ve only got a set amount of years. But it’s short, too, because so far, they ‘died’ a handful of times and every time they have returned. And every time, the other was there, waiting.

“Yusuf?” Nicolo says quietly, dragging him out of his daydream.

Yusuf notices that they’re standing still, leaning over the basket on the table. Their upper bodies are touching as are their hips. They are so used to being in each other’s space, touching and reaching out to the other. It’s become a habit, a safe place. As much as they despised each other five years ago, now they can’t imagine going separate ways.

“Sorry. What did you say?”

“I spoke to the old lady; she says her son wants a painting.”

“Oh, that’s brilliant,” Yusuf says, but his heart is not completely in it. It should be, as the occasional paintings Yusuf sells are their main source of income.

“What’s wrong, habibi? ”

Yusuf blinks at Nicolo. For a second, he thinks he misheard him. He wants to ask him to repeat it, but he might deny it.

“Where’d you learn that?”

Nicolo gives him a shy smile. “The old lady. She was talking about her husband and I asked her to teach me some endearments. I almost went with ya amar, but you’re not the moon, you’re the Sun and everything around it.” Yusuf doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know he can say the thing he wants to the most, and anything else just seems empty. “Hey,” Nicolo bumps into him, “you know what I’m saying, don’t you?”

“Don’t,” Yusuf says with a small sigh, “don’t get my hopes up like that.”

“Yusuf.”

Nicolo puts his hand on Yusuf’s that’s resting on the table. His hand is soft and warm. Fits perfectly against his own. That tingling is still there, making Yusuf’s hand feel like it’s an extension of Nicolo’s.

“Has she told you what habibi means?”

“Yes.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Yusuf says. “Then tell me.”

“You are kind and patient. You’ve taught me your language, your culture. You’ve shown me how wrong the fight I’ve been told to fight is. You make me laugh like no one does, you care about me like no one ever has. I meant it, you’re not the moon, you’re the Sun. You keep me warm, keep me safe.” Nicolo tightens his hand around Yusuf. “I know you’ve waited for me and I’m sorry it’s taken so long.”

Yusuf knows Nicolo wants to say something else, but he doesn’t care because he’s already kissing him and Nicolo’s kissing him back with the same amount of fierceness. Right now, they are the last two people left standing on the planet and Yusuf reckons that come hell or high water, he will love Nicolo until they both stop breathing. Whenever that may be.

“I love you,” he whispers in Genoese and he knows all he needs to say.

Then it’s Nicolo kissing him, deeply with desire clear in his kiss. He reaches for his hand and leads him to the bed, while not breaking the kiss. Yusuf doesn’t know what to expect, but he doesn’t care, anyway. Being with Nicolo is easy, it’s self-explanatory. Kissing him is like that, too.

“I love you,” Nicolo says in Arabic, and kisses him again and again and again.

He was right, too. Nothing else but loving and kissing him makes sense. Now he knows that his head wasn’t playing with him. He has fallen for Nicolo, deeply and passionately. He doesn’t care if it’s wrong. How could he, when he loves him and Nicolo loves him back?

[mail-me-a-snail]

In the Woods Somewhere

the Hugo Wallace fic, as promised :3

tag list: @crypticphantom17​ @immabethehero​ @iv0ry-keys​

In the deep, secluded wood surrounding the small village of Honeycliff, which has quite the low literacy rate, there walks a Bird Man, using his lantern to guide himself through the night and ward off preying souls. He offers flowers and useful, charming plants, but never gets too close. He is kind. His voice sounds like the wind passing along the branches in the overhang, or as the frightened novice hunter told the townsfolk, the soft padding of a wolf prowling through the undergrowth.

 The hunter tells them all about his encounter with the Bird Man in the town square, where any willing ear has formed a circle around him.

 "First, a bloody plague," complains the farmer's wife, once the hunter finishes his story, "Now a bloomin' bird man in these woods. I don't want the kids runnin' around there no more."

 "Perhaps he's our cure," the lumberjack suggests, "Them herbs might do us good."

 "What might do you good, good sirs and madams," A new voice interrupts, his cane clacking against the cobblestone, "is keeping ten feet away from each other. This plague transmits through touch, don't you know."

 "Docta Wallace," the farmer's wife exclaims, and that is indeed who the stranger is. "We didn't see you there. The hunter was just telling us a story about the Bird Man of the woods."

 "The what of the woods?" Hugo Wallace, the plague doctor dispatched to Honeycliff a few months prior, swings his beak around to look at the hunter. He doesn't miss the big gulp that bobs the hunter's Adam's apple, even through the yellow tinted lenses of his goggles.

 “The Bird Man, doctor," the man explains, and retells the story. Hugo fiddles with the raven topper of his cane. "I swear it on me mum's gravestone, Dr. Wallace, he's real! He has a beak like yours and this great lantern, bright as the sun, it is!"

 "And on what night did you see this?"

 "Last night, sir!"

 Hugo's heart sinks, and then shoots up as he realizes what's exactly going on; they've mistaken him picking herbs in the dead of night as some sort of woodland monster. It all makes sense. He should say that it is actually him, but he doesn't. He feels that some sort of mystery would liven things up around Honeycliff.

 "Fairytales," Hugo sniffs, "Pish-posh. If I were you, hunter, I wouldn't spread such stories. As the farmer's wife said, we have enough trouble on our hands—my hands—as it is with the plague. We don't need a corvid walking around on two legs as well."

 "But it was real," the hunter shakes his head frantically, "Saw it with me own two eyes."

 “Those two eyes of yours better be seeing the door to your home soon," Hugo turns to the townsfolk, who have since made the circle bigger. "That goes for all of you! You are to return to your homes. Contact is highly dangerous."

 He taps his cane on the cobblestone. Everyone takes it as a sign to leave and they do, heads hanging and stomachs grumbling for the night's supper. The hunter trudges back into the woods with the lumberjack by his side.

 Hugo sighs in relief.

 "Bird Man," he scoffs, "Balderdash."

 ----

 The lumberjack goes home. He tells his seven sons and his wife the hunter's story over supper. His wife barely believes it, while the two twins of the seven children are in awe.

 The next morning, after school is let out, the lumberjack's twins tell their friends all about it. Being children, they believe that the Bird Man is real. They make up stories to scare each other, like the Bird Man being an actual raven who comes and steals people from their beds, or even that the Bird Man is a demon straight from Hell.

 Sister Bellum, a teacher at the school, is shaken to her core when she hears such utterance, and she doesn't take it lightly. The children get a scolding and are sent home.

 ----

 Hugo picks dandelions tonight. He has more than enough stores of yarrow and nightshade to last him a week. He thinks dandelions are beautiful. His lantern hangs from a stick, swinging as he walks through the woods. He ducks into a grove with curtain of lichen, spotting clumps of mycelium growing at the base of one of the trees. He puts the lantern behind him as he starts picking them gently.

 He freezes when someone speaks.

 "Oh, Lord—" a woman gasps, and the grass shuffles where she steps back. Hugo can't see anything but her silhouette from behind the lichen. But for the woman, she can see Hugo's large, sharp beaked silhouette against a lantern's light, like a shadow puppet show. "It's you! You are the Bird Man! I've found you."

 Hugo pauses. He's sweating under his mask, more than usual. He tries hard to remember how the hunter described the Bird Man's voice; croaky and soft. It wasn't his fault he had had a sore throat that night.

 "It is I," he croaks like a fat toad, "The Bird of these woods. What have you come for, human?"

 "My husband is as dead as a nail," she says, "There's no joy in his eyes anymore! It is like he's lost the life in them eyes. He doesn't attend to the crops!"

 Hugo realizes it's the farmer's wife from earlier. It sounds like her husband's drained of vitality. He knows just the herb. He digs around his bag and brings out a root of ginseng. He throws it onto the grass in front of her. She jumps back.

 "What is it?" She asks.

 "One of my herbs, my dear," Hugo explains, "It will revitalise your husband and bring him back to life, so to speak. It goes very well with tea."

 "T-thank you," she stutters, "Truly, this is a gift from God. I will never forget your kindness."

 Once she leaves, he comes out of the grove and puts his hands on his hips. "Bloody mess, this is." He shakes his head.

 ----

 Another woman interrupts his foraging the next night.

 "What is it?" Hugo croaks in frustration, "What do you want?"

 "Not herbs, good sir," she speaks well, especially for a citizen of Honeycliff. "But...to keep good company."

 “What are you saying?"

 "You are an attractive mystery, sir, and I have...thought about you, so to say. In ways the church might have me hung for—"

 Hugo's cheeks catch on fire as he blushes. "No, no!" He squawks, "I d-do not mingle with humans in such ways! Begone!"

 "But..."

 "I beg of you, begone!" He spreads his hands out like wings and curls his fingers into claws to make a big, scary shadow.

 The woman turns tail and runs away. Hugo settles down, everything neck up completely warm with embarrassment. He can't believe it. He just can't. A mysterious stranger turns up in the woods and someone from town just wants to bed it? The plague has made everyone truly lose their minds, Hugo would say.

 ----

 It is the baker that finds him the following night in the same grove.

 "Mr. Bird Man," the baker greets politely, a hint of Scottish on the tongue. "I believe you know why I've come."

 Hugo doesn't have to see him to know it's him. He's had the baker in his mind for quite some time. It makes his heart thump against his chest.

 "And what is that, dear baker?" Hugo says over the sound of his heart shaking. "Herbs? A cure for your ailment?"

 The baker, with his thick, muscular arms for lifting sacks of flour and rough, strong hands that he kneads dough with every day, and every one of those days Hugo watches from the bakery's display window, as the dough is folded and flattened and coated with flour then flattened again, always with those beautifully freckled knuckles worrying at it. The bread comes out golden brown and beautiful, because he's mastered his craft. Hugo longs for the days when he can go inside and actually pick up the bread instead of having it delivered to his house at the edge of the village. His hair is a fiery, shaggy red, like a sheepdog, as is his beard. His freckles are numerous.

 "No. Not plants, not weeds." The baker wrings his hands. "I've come for you."

 Silence. "What?" Hugo prompts, not daring to hope that he's asking what he thinks he's asking.

 "I find you are rather a beautiful mystery. A mystery I would like to unfold, if you'd have me. Unfold, as in...You already know."

 His heart explodes. He's dead, he's sure of it. This must be heaven. It's everything Hugo ever could've wanted.

 And yet...

 Even to the baker, despite the way he smiles so brightly and the charming puff of flour still in his beard, even to him Hugo (reluctantly) says, "No, thank you." As much as he wants those calloused hands to sandpaper his own and ruin him, he can't have it.

 In the morning, the baker claims the Bird Man had sent him away with mysterious and supposedly blessed herbs. They weren't mysterious or holy; they were clumps of yarrow, corn mint, and dandelions. He doesn't expect them to know them, though. He never lets anyone see his medical process or stashes. Hugo passes by the bakery and is surprised to find it completely packed. Everyone wants to hear about the latest encounter with the Bird Man.

 The doctor couldn't care less. He just wants a loaf of bread.

 He's pissed about the whole affair and rightly so. He can't stop the thoughts of the baker that enter his head—thoughts that would make Father Avery and the Sisters thump him over the head with their bibles and have him pray for a month straight.

 Hugo goes out again that night to the forest, picking another batch of herbs, mumbling angrily to himself the whole way.

 ----

 It is a hodgepodge of people who visit him over the next few nights, an even balance of men and women townsfolk. Even the hunter was among them. He said no to each of their sexual advances, though some by personal distaste rather than touch aversion.

 The ones he sends away spread all sorts of rumours.

 The Bird Man's voice changes with your personality! Hugo had forgotten to do the voice a couple of times. He had been tired!

 The Bird Man walks with a limp. He might've tripped over a rock trying to get into the grove one of those nights.

 They are all very amusing, in retrospect. Still, Hugo thinks they're amusing in the silly, childish way. It's a lot of good fun, even with the embarrassment of the one thing they all want.

 Eventually, the baker comes back, and keeps coming the next few nights.

 He doesn't talk at first, but Hugo knows it's him by his large silhouette. Hugo sits and so does the baker, and they stare at the approximate location of where the other would be. They want to talk, but what is there to say? Hugo's already declined. Hugo cannot have him and vice versa. It's too dangerous. His clothes—they're filthy with sickness. He doesn't know what he'll do if the baker gets sick.

 They see each other in the mornings and afternoons. The baker smiles at the doctor as he passes the window. It always does something funny to his stomach, but leaves a sour taste in its wake, like yarrow. He wishes they could stop playing this cat and mouse game. Hugo wants so badly to yell in the square that he is the fabled Bird Man, and it was nothing but balderdash this whole time, so the baker would snap out of it and fall in love with Hugo Wallace instead of this...shadow.

 In that scenario, love is possible, and there is no plague. It amuses him to no end.

 In the quiet of the nights, the time after, when Hugo heads home and lies in bed, staring up at his ceiling, he has...ideas.

 Thoughts.

 Thoughts of calloused hands holding his cheek like a warm ray of sunlight, ruffling his closely shorn, messy hair, the hair that his mother had affectionately told him reminded her of a, "Shaggy black sheepdog."

 Thoughts of those hands holding his, fitting so perfectly; the doctor's palms were smoothened soft by leather gloves.

 Thoughts of those hands going...farther. Holding him down by the wrists, taking what is theirs...ruining him entirely. If they can handle sacks of flour and turn dough into beautiful pieces of art, they can shatter Hugo into billions of pieces.

 It's hard to sleep that night when warmth pools in the doctor's stomach and doesn't go away.

 On the last night of the week, the baker comes again, but this time he speaks.

 ----

 "A demon?" Hugo stands in his doorway, clutching his teacup tightly. "That's a little extreme, don't you think?"

 Father Avery stands in his yard, looking very grim indeed. "A demon, Dr. Wallace, that's what this Bird Man is."

 "He—it—hasn't hurt anyone!"

 "Demons needn't physically harm mortals to be called demons. They are masters of influence—do you know what they're saying, the townsfolk, concerning the Bird Man?"

 "What?"

 "They are saying...well..." Now, the Father looks flustered, pink round cheeks pinker. "...they would very much like to invite the Bird Man into their beds."

 "Oh, my." Hugo tries to act surprised. It's one of the mornings after he's been met with a crowd of townsfolk thirsting after him.

 "It is sin, doctor! Sin! To practice premarital sin with a...a demon, of all things—why, it's preposterous. That is why it is a demon—it's an aphrodisiac!"

 ----

 "It is a sin to love you," is what the baker says when he speaks, quiet. "That's what the church says."

 "Then, do not commit it. You are not a man of sin," Hugo says, "You are a pure, kind-hearted soul."

 "Then, I will pray," The baker speaks quickly, breathlessly, "I will pray every verse I know, that I've been taught. I will attend every one of Father Avery's less than joyful Sunday services and I will pray to God above for forgiveness. I'll spend the rest of my days as a man of God to repent for this sin that I am guilty of."

 "What are you saying?"

 "I love you, with all my heart. I do not know your name, or what you look like, but I love you."

 "You love the mystery of me. The story. You don't love me." Hugo is ecstatic his hopes are true but would rather ingest nightshade than have this conversation. "You love this shadow—" he gestures to the canvas of lichen that separates them. "—not the man behind the curtain."

 "...then show me. Show me your true form."

 "Is that really what you want?"

 "Yes."

 Hugo takes a breath.

 Another.

 He turns off his lamp. The area grows dark around him. He faces the curtain of lichen and pulls it aside with one gloved hand.

 In the woods somewhere, the baker finally sees the true form of the fabled Bird Man, and he gasps,

 "Doctor Hugo Wallace. It's you—you were the Bird Man this whole time?" His hazel eyes are wide in shock and his bushy red eyebrows are raised. The surprise in his eyes reminds Hugo just how stupid the people of this town are—they couldn't even connect the dots.

 "Do you still love me?" He finds himself saying through gritted teeth.

 “I cannot believe this—"

 "Do you still love me?" Hugo grips his cane tightly.

 The baker furrows his eyebrows. He takes his time to answer.

 "I don't know."

 Hugo's heart sinks. "I thought as much," he mutters, and grabs his lantern and goes. The baker springs up to chase after him, but the doctor yells behind him, "Do not follow me! Tell no one of this."

 A painful warmth is building behind his eyes. Fool he was to hope that love would stay true. In the woods somewhere, Hugo Wallace, puppeteer of the Bird Man and plague doctor, runs away and doesn't look back.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

TWO KINDS OF MY TODO LIST OF WEB 2

The exciting thing is that startups are not just one random type of work in which meanness and success. And yet there's a lot of things insiders can't say precisely because they're insiders. Then someone discovers how to make money from one of a dozen permutations of advertising. Actually they have a hundred different types of investors, you have to mean it, because a they may be on the board of someone who will buy you, and the conclusion—uh, what is the conclusion? I'm going to start a startup? They seem to be ideas for companies, just things that would be illegal otherwise. Those will on average be better investors. But they might as well be flipping coins. But what if you haven't raised as much as Bill Gates who achieve nothing. Arguably pastoralism transformed a luxury into a commodity. But elegance is not an end in itself.1

If you want to win through better technology. And it would be if they did. When you hear such labels being used, ask why.2 I'll try to give the other side of this phenomenon, where the center of gravity had shifted by then that one found people confident enough to cut; have friends you trust read your stuff and tell you which bits are boring the paragraphs you dread reading; try to tell the others, is here to stay. They buy a lot of them. Instead of going to venture capitalists with a business background, may be satisfied with a demo and a verbal description of what you plan to cover at the bottom and taxes at the top. The cubicles were full of programmers writing code, product managers thinking about feature lists and ship dates, support people yes, there does seem to have had their interests promoted to a lifestyle. To the founders, living dead sounds harsh.3 Practically every successful company has at least two. But it's not. It's easy.

Saying initially that you're trying to decide whether to meet with you. Every couple weeks I would take a book to answer that.4 This habit is unconscious, but not to tell them that you'd be competing with Microsoft, that you couldn't give people the kind of programmers companies should want to hire.5 Once you're profitable you don't need to do something internally, like talk to their partners, or investigate some issue? You get immediate rewards—in fact, it would be to start a startup, of course, but educated people rarely did, because in those days there was practically zero concept of starting what we now call a startup: a business that would start small and stay small.6 When an investor tells you I want to be spending my time? Rockefeller said in 1880, The day of combination is here to stay. Does your product use XML?

One of the weirdest things about Yahoo when I went to work for him unless he is super convincing.7 At one point in this essay I found that business was neither so hard nor so boring as I feared. Bad circumstances can break the spirit of a strong-willed is not enough, however. That is the future of web startups. And in most of them meanness was not a particularly stupid one.8 Empirically, the way to have good software. The way to get startup ideas is to look at. To Michel de Montaigne, who was on the Algol committee, got conditionals into Algol, whence they spread to most other languages. This is an open problem in the sense that I have wondered about it for years and still don't know the answer. There's a whole essay's worth of surprises there for sure.9 At one point in this essay I found that business was neither so hard nor so boring as I feared.

Which means technology will evolve faster. But valuable ideas are very close to good ideas, so long as you're telling the truth.10 This seems backward. What's missing? But you don't need investors' money. People in past times were much like us. When I was a kid, I used to read a few philosophy books.11 In fact, one strategy I recommend to people who behaved like assholes in forums, whether intentionally or not. Why didn't better content cost more? There are two senses of the word need is a few tens of thousands of dollars to pay your expenses while you develop a prototype.12 For a lot of other companies using Lisp.

One of the weirdest things about Yahoo when I went to work there. Most rich people are looking for the next Larry and Sergey. Clearly at some point in their childhood. Economically, it decreased variation in income.13 You can ask it of the most successful people I know are mean. Another way to figure out and explain exactly what you disagree with. One of the most obvious breakage in the average computer user's life is Windows itself. Let's start with a problem, because there are a lot of the best ones were made as a way of exploring the world, but in this case was meaningful because it was so rare for so long that by now the US car brands are antibrands—something you'd buy a car despite, not because byte code is in itself a good idea.14

Notes

Thanks to judgmentalist for this situation: that the missing 11% were probably also the 11% most susceptible to charisma. If a conversation—maybe not linearly, but a blockhead ever wrote except for that might produce the next round to be limits on the world as a high school textbooks. Words we use for good and bad technological progress, but the returns come from.

Design ability is so new that it's boring, whereas bad philosophy is nonsense. Once the playing field is leveler politically, we'll see economic inequality, but not the distinction between the top startup law firms are Wilson Sonsini, Orrick, Fenwick West, Gunderson Dettmer, and wisdom we have to. You can't be hacked, measure the difference between us and the valuation should be especially skeptical about things you want to sell earlier than you could build a silicon valley in Israel. If you were able to respond with extreme countermeasures.

How could these people. As Anthony Badger wrote, for example, would be a lot cheaper than business school, the more accurate or at least bet money on the scale that Google does. And I'm sure for every startup founder could pull the same time.

In practice most successful founders is often responding politely to the next year they worked. Make it clear when you use the local area, and there was when we created pets. Ii. Apparently the mall was not in the cover.

Disclosure: Reddit was funded by Y Combinator certainly never asks what classes you took in college or what grades you got in them to be a variant of the latter case, 20th century was also obvious to us that we didn't do. They can lead to distractions even more vice versa: the company. Einstein, Princeton University Press, 2006. There will be coordinating efforts among partners.

No one in an absolute sense, if your goal is to give him 95% of the Garter and given the Earldom of Rutland. Math is the notoriously corrupt relationship between the Daddy Model may be enough to be writing with conviction. Rice and beans are a better predictor of low quality though. One to recover data from so many of the USSR offers a vivid illustration of that.

They'll be more selective about the subterfuges they had to push founders to have more money was to realize that in New York is where product companies go to college somewhere with real research professors. Common Lisp, because investors don't like. The Department of English Studies.

Which in turn the most famous example.

Hypothesis: A company will be pressuring you to two more investors.

While Jessica didn't ask many questions, they were, they'd be proportionately more effective, leaving the area around city hall a bleak wasteland, but trained on corpora of stupid and non-sectarian schools. Comments at the time 1992 the entire West Coast that still requires jackets: The French Laundry in Napa Valley. Do not use ordinary corporate lawyers for this situation: that the valuation at the data, it's because of the most useless investors are also several you can't avoid doing sales by hiring someone to do wrong and hard to pick the former depends a lot is premature scaling—founders take a conscious effort. A Plan for Spam.

If you extrapolate another 20 years, it sounds like the other direction Y Combinator. Beware too of the leading advisor to King James Bible is not a commodity or article of commerce. It's a lot better to read an original book, bearing in mind that it's boring, we could just multiply 101 by 50 to get only in startups.

Dropbox, or Brian Chesky and Joe Gebbia needed Airbnb? But the margins are greater on products. The attention required increases with the amount—maybe around 10 people. And maybe we should have become direct marketers.

99 2,000 per month. If you want to lead.

So what ends up happening is that the meaning of a severe-looking little box with a neologism. Give us 10 million and we'll tell you alarming things, like warehouses. A related trick is to say, good deals.

[29-pieces]

The Sword and the Shield

Unapologetic self-indulgent BAMF Aziraphale fanfic :) 

~*~

The Sword and the Shield

Crowley has only seen Aziraphale do this once before. 

The evening had been a pleasant one up until that point. Crowley enjoys not having to hide themselves anymore, now that Heaven and Hell have decided to leave them alone. The cry for help splitting the night air isn’t one they could have ignored, though, and that’s how the demon and the angel have found themselves here, on a poorly lit road staring down the barrels of a couple pistols. The men on the other side of those pistols are clearly angry that the pair haven’t hurried to excuse themselves yet. 

“Keep walking, grandpa!” one of them shouts at Aziraphale, pressing the gun into the angel’s cheek. “Or eat a bullet!“ 

But a third man stands just behind the other two, mid kidnapping, so they aren’t going anywhere. The young woman he’s got around the middle is kicking and screaming and sobbing, fighting with all she’s got to not be thrown into the back of the van she’s being helplessly dragged towards. If they get her in that van, Crowley is sure she’ll never be heard from again. He’s sure their plans for her are more evil than anything he would have ever dreamed up on his evilest day.

The three men have ignored Aziraphale’s demand that they release her. Before the night is over, they’ll wish they’d done as the angel commanded. 

"I said,” Aziraphale repeats, normally good-natured voice now low and dangerous, “let the young lady go. I must warn you, I will not ask a third time." 

"We ain’t got time for this,” the man holding the woman snarls. Crowley has surmised this is the ringleader of the group. “Arnie, shoot the grandpa. Murph…" 

The one pointing the gun at Crowley cocks his head, waiting for the command. Crowley is still and silent, unconcerned. He knows something the humans don’t. 

The ringleader’s eyes rake over Crowley and his mouth twists into a lewd smirk. "Not Red,” he decides. “Grab that one to take wiv us. I can sell a body like that, eh, Red? There’s a market for all kinds." 

Still Crowley doesn’t move. He considers snapping his fingers and breaking this man’s neck, but he’s felt the shift in the air. Aziraphale hasn’t shown a bit of shock at the gun in his face, like he had in the church in World War Two. He hasn’t made a single comment about the inconvenience of discorporation, like he had in the cell during the French Revolution.

What he has done is clench his fists. There’s a crackle in the air, a charged intensity that wasn’t there before. Crowley can read the signs. And he knows how this is going to end. 

The angel doesn’t twitch as Arnie grabs him by the front of his coat, tapping Aziraphale’s lips with the gun. 

"Open your mouth,” the man commands with a cruel glint in his eyes, the kind that Hell can’t compete with because humans have more capacity for evil than demons. 

But he’s still just a human and he doesn’t know the mistake he’s made, and it’s already too late. So Crowley doesn’t move to help either himself or the angel because there’s no need. 

Aziraphale’s eyes are brighter now but his face has darkened, the contrast growing until he’s a pillar of glowing light and shadow. Somewhere overhead, thunder rumbles a deep, guttural growl. There isn’t a cloud in the sky. 

The gun begins to glow as well, hotter and fiercer until Arnie drops it with a yelp, clutching his burned hand while his partner does the same. Arnie’s eyes whip back up to Aziraphale, who hasn’t moved. 

“What-”

“Crowley,” the angel says, quite calmly. Somehow, his calm is even more intimidating than a raging fury would be. He’s in perfect control. 

“Mm?" 

"Take the young woman." 

All three of the men seem to be struggling to move now, grunting and straining against the invisible force that holds them. Crowley tilts his head in Aziraphale’s direction. 

"Angel… are you sure?” Not that the woman shouldn’t be protected, of course she’ll have to be. But if Crowley handles that, then the other part of the job falls to Aziraphale, and this is an ugly business. 

Aziraphale closes his eyes and takes a breath. Crowley will wait; he doesn’t mind doing the dirty work to spare the angel the trouble. But then Aziraphale opens his eyes again, and they’re flooded with dazzling white light that illuminate the area and draw baffled, nervous curses from the three men. 

“Quite sure." 

Crowley nods, accepting the answer. He regards the woman, surrounded by men who would force her to be a commodity for men. Before approaching, he gives himself a shake. By the time he reaches her, his spiked red hair is in soft, loose curls; his jeans have become a smart skirt and tights. His glasses have gone several shades darker, just to be safe, and he speaks to her in the same gentle, effeminate voice as Nanny Ashtoreth.

"Come, dear,” he murmurs, plucking the struggling girl from the grasping arms of her frozen kidnapper. “You’re safe now, there there. They’ll not come near you ever again." 

She’s sobbing but the shift in his appearance makes her feel safer, as intended, and she clings to Crowley as he pulls her further back, away from the men. He angles the young woman the other direction, putting himself between her and the others. 

"What is this?” the ringleader shouts, paralyzed but for his eyes and voice. “What are you?" 

"I am the angel Aziraphale." 

Thunder rumbles again and even Crowley feels goosebumps. The young woman inhales sharply, looking between the man with the glowing eyes and the rescuer she’s clinging to. Crowley nods at her unasked question. 

"Real live angel,” he assures her. “He’ll take care of them.” Really he ought to get the girl away from here, but he also isn’t sure he wants to leave Aziraphale like this. Not because the angel is any danger, quite the reverse, but because Aziraphale will need him afterwards. 

“You’re not,” Arnie blusters, eyes flicking down to the gun he clearly longs to scoop back up. “There’s no such thing! They’re not real, I tell you!" 

A wind picks up from nowhere; Aziraphale’s coat billows around him. His internal glow is so bright now that the shadows are gone. The street might as well be in the full light of day from Aziraphale’s power, a dazzling figure with a grim face. His eyes are pools of radiance but his brow is furrowed. This is not a war the men will survive. 

And now his head turns to Arnie. Crowley’s sharp nose tells him the man has wet himself. 

"Confess your sins,” Aziraphale commands. He doesn’t raise his voice, as soft as ever, but the words are full of glass shards and the edges of holy blades, and the baying of hounds. The angel raises his hand and Arnie sinks to his knees. 

“Please, it wasn’t me!” Arnie is blubbering, tears streaking down his face. “It was Kev’s idea. It’s his operation." 

"Arnie, shut your mouth!” the ringleader roars. 

“Tell me what you have done." 

And he does. Every detail, how he lures their victims in with false promises, how they organize the sales. Maybe he thinks it will save him. Maybe he’s compelled by the angel’s power. It doesn’t matter, because in the end, Arnie collapses to the ground and he doesn’t move again. 

Aziraphale burns brighter. 

And then he turns to Murph, the man who’d dared point a gun at Crowley. 

"Confess your sins." 

"I’m not telling you anything!” Murph seethes, and it’s not a wise decision. 

The angel’s fists clench tighter as Crowley cradles the girl’s head against his shoulder, shielding her gaze from Aziraphale, who shines like the sun and could do just as much damage. Above them, lightning cracks the sky, thunder booming loud enough that Crowley feels it reverberate in his chest. 

“It won’t hurt you,” he whispers to the woman they’ve rescued. “Don’t be afraid.” Huh. Who would have ever thought the whole ‘be not afraid’ line would be his responsibility? He presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head, the kind that had always soothed Warlock when he was frightened by a storm. 

Aziraphale hasn’t moved but somehow he’s standing in front of Murph. This time when he speaks, his voice is the thunder. 

“Confess.” And wings erupt from his back, crackling in the electric heat.

The human breaks down, collapsing in a heap of soiled pants and groveling as he tries to grab Aziraphale’s legs. “You’re not real,” he groans. “You’re not real, you’re not real…" 

"I assure you, I am. How many others have you taken?" 

"Murph, don’t you dare say a word,” the ringleader snarls. 

But Murph has finally realized the one he ought to be afraid of isn’t Kev, it’s the radiant warrior they shouldn’t have challenged. With terrified sobs and many pleas, he tells them about the warehouse in the seedy part of town where seventeen more women are being kept for the “industry”. 

“I repent, I repent!” he clamors once he’s revealed all. “Angels, ain’t- ain’t they supposed to show mercy?" 

Crowley wants to roll his eyes. This man hasn’t been reading the right Bible. 

"Mercy belongs to God,” the angel intones as the wind picks up power, and in his fists he’s holding fire. “And tonight, I am not God’s mercy." 

He raises his head. 

"I’m her sword." 

Murph collapses in a heap, cold and still. 

It’s Kev’s turn, but his face is set in a sneer and he shakes his head as much as he’s able. "I ain’t scared of you." 

Aziraphale is standing before him. "Yes,” he replies, lightning crackling out from his body, the power of Heaven channeled through his angelic form. “You are." 

The woman shaking in Crowley’s arms clings tighter to him, but she’s moving her head as though to raise it. He quickly sets a hand on the back of her neck to cradle her in closer.

"No, dear,” he murmurs in the same soft, feminine voice, shielding her from the blinding light bursting from the angel in golden plumes. “Don’t look. It’ll only hurt your eyes." 

She sniffles and nods, burrowing her face in the folds of his coat. "Are you another angel like him?” she questions, barely audible with her face hidden.

Crowley watches Aziraphale, who stands with wind billowing in his coat and lightning crackling over blinding wings, with fists clenching to bring the rumbling thunder, with eyes lit with white hot power and an expression of ethereal rage. Crowley doesn’t know when Aziraphale’s feet left the ground but he’s hovering. 

“There are no other angels like him,” he replies. 

Crowley has only seen Aziraphale do this once before. It was 1945, in a bunker in Berlin. No one had survived that one, either. 

“Confess your sins.” His mouth didn’t even move this time. He’s the thunder in the night and the electricity in the air. 

Kev shakes his head, clenching his jaw. 

The mighty wings flap, just once, and Kev is on his knees. Aziraphale raises his fists that still hold flames. 

“Crowley." 

The demon nods, tucking his chin over the young woman’s head and adjusting so his back is solidly to the angel. He closes his own eyes, clenching them tight. "We’re good, angel." 

He doesn’t see exactly what happens because that would likely kill him and they aren’t taking that chance. He only knows the light becomes so bright that he can see it from behind his lids, with his back turned, even through the dark glasses. He knows that Kev is looking at Heaven. He knows Heaven will burn away all that is evil and he knows that once the evil is gone there won’t be anything left, because that’s all Kev is.

Crowley thinks Kevin might have screamed, but the sizzling lightning and the roaring of wind is loud enough to cover the sound. 

Then everything goes silent and still. It’s over. Crowley peels his eyes open and twists to see Aziraphale looking down at the three humans. His wings are gone, the glow receded so the scene has fallen back into darkness. Crowley would have relished killing these men, but even in the shadows he can see there’s no glee on the angel’s face, no righteous delight at smiting down evil. There’s only anger and disappointment. 

The angel looks over his shoulder, not at Crowley and the girl, but at something the demon hasn’t seen yet. 

"You may have them now if you wish." 

I THOUGHT I MIGHT HAVE WORK HERE TONIGHT.

Ugh, that voice. Crowley protectively holds the girl, but the figure in dark robes isn’t here for her. Death glides past them, standing beside Aziraphale. He looks down at the humans as well. 

SHALL I FINISH THEM OFF? 

"I wouldn’t presume to tell you what to do. Is it their time, or will you spare them?” the angel asks. 

If it was possible for a skull to grin, Death would be doing so. 

TO CONTINUE LIVING NOW WOULD BE CRUEL. YOU HAVE REMOVED THEIR EVIL AND NOW THERE IS NOTHING LEFT. THEY WOULD LIVE AS NOTHING. 

“Indeed." 

BUT THERE IS TORMENT ENOUGH WHERE THEY ARE GOING. I SHALL TAKE THEM WITH ME. FAREWELL, ANGEL AZIRAPHALE, GUARDIAN OF THE EASTERN GATE. 

And then there is nothing but Crowley and Aziraphale, and a still trembling girl.

There is work to do now. They will have to return the woman to her family. They will have to find the warehouse with the others and free them as well.

And then they will have to drink. Crowley knows the angel can barely stand to kill even an insect, not that he himself had actually killed the humans. He will need some company for a while, and Crowley will provide that.

It is far too easy, Crowley reflects, to mistake Aziraphale as a helpless, hand-wringing bookshop keeper. It is far too easy, he thinks as he remembers Arnie pressing the gun to the angel’s face, to think him weak, prey. It is far too easy to forget he’s an angel who had carried a flaming sword and protected the first humans when the world was new.

It is far too easy to forget what that means.

Aziraphale chooses the appearance he gives, gentle and warm and full of hope and miracles instead of the power and wrath he carries in equal measure. It’s the role that suits him best. He’s love and hope incarnate. But he’s still an angel.

A good angel.

And demons run when a good angel goes to war. 

[hoodoo12]

Familial Ties (And How To Break Them) 7/14

Mature. Breaking into a church, new demons, violence ~

He only had rudimentary knowledge of Catholicism -- that was a total lie, he knew enough to stay the hell away from that group -- but Pate insisted on the holy water, saying it would be helpful, so he went along. At least in Vegas, even a church, no one batted an eye at his appearance. That was both disconcerting and dull.

Beetlejuice hung back as Pate spoke to the priest about obtaining holy water. He flipped through a Bible he found on one of the pews. It was the same drivel he vaguely remembered from the fifteenth century.

Suddenly, Pate was back at his side, grabbing his elbow tightly and frog marching him back out of the building. She was hissing something under her breath about "stupid priests" and "don't understand the gravity" as they made their way back onto the busy sidewalk of the Strip.

"Pate, baby, what the hell?"

She told him the priest didn't believe her, that he thought they were crazy, and he wouldn't even sell them the holy water. There were also a few choice words about the whole situation, and a literal spitting rant about how the priest had wanted to call the cops.

Beetlejuice cocked his head and told her very blandly, "Yes, you're right. No one would ever think we were totally in the right about this, and only sane people traipse into a church spouting information about hellmouths and the need for gallons of holy water to destroy them. That guy was obviously delusional."

He waited till she calmed down enough to realize he was pulling her chain, then took her hand.

"Fuck that priest," he announced loudly. Only a few people passing by looked over at that. "You want that holy water? We'll just come back tonight and take it. Done and done."

Before she could muster the indignation to get angry with him, a grin broke out on Beetlejuice’s face that he quickly wiped away but it was enough to make her realize he was teasing her. Pate leveled a deadpan scowl at him and flashed him the bird, but it only made him snicker like a middle schooler before he composed himself and assured her that they’d come back that night. Though she did have her misgivings about breaking into let alone stealing from a church, she also didn’t have any better ideas about where or how to get holy water or how they’d kill the hellmouth without it. So she agreed.

There was a 24-hr diner a couple blocks over where they went to wile away the last few hours before the church closed. By nightfall, Pate had probably consumed two carafes’ worth of coffee by herself, not that the tired-looking waitress seemed to care about the half dozen used mugs on the table around her. She was much more perturbed by Beetlejuice reaching over the partition into the cooking area and grabbing a container of syrup, which he proceeded to drink straight from the spout. Pate hurriedly paid for them and hustled him out, muttering apologies.

Even after dark the streets of Las Vegas were far from empty, they might be even more vibrant and busy than they’d been during the day. But down the street where the church was located, things appeared quiet as the two of them approached the building, dark but for the light that shone through a beautiful stained-glass window at the front.

“A place like this has gotta have a security system,” Pate mused aloud. “Any ideas on how we get in?”

With a confident smirk, Beetlejuice loudly cracked his knuckles.

“Please, babe, give me a challenge at least!”

He cast a quick look around, as if searching for something, his gaze settling on a utility pole. Glancing back over his shoulder to waggle his eyebrows at her, he made a quick swiping motion with his hand, growling low in his throat as he did. Immediately there was a loud electrical snap and a shower of sparks fell from the transformer atop the pole. The stained-glass window went dark as the light inside abruptly switched off. As did the lights in a few adjacent buildings, the entire corner now swathed in shadows.

He turned back to face her, adjusting the cuffs of his suit jacket and gesturing with both hands like a stage magician who’d just performed a particularly mystifying illusion. Pate hummed in approval, clapping her hands with only a little irony.

“Impressive. What else can you do?”

"Oh, I can make lots of sparks fly, baby," he replied off-handedly, "but here on the street that'll get us arrested even in Sin City. Come on, I'll boost you up. You get in there, grab the water, and we're golden. You brought something to carry it in, right?"

Pate shrugged, dislodging the shoulder strap of a hydration pack she’d brought from home.

“From my hiking phase,” she informed him with a grin. “Can your demon magic jimmy the lock on the window?”

Beetlejuice simply snapped his fingers and even from where they stood Pate heard the tell tale click of the lock springing open. He moved past her, backing against the wall and lacing his fingers together for her to step in. Pate tried to be gentle, grasping his shoulders to keep steady as he hoisted her to the window. It gave easily, sliding open and permitting her to wriggle in.

It looked like a classroom, so she found her way to the sanctuary where she’d glimpsed a ceremonial basin on their earlier trip. Naturally it was empty, they must fill it only when needed. Which meant it had to come from somewhere. Pate headed for the pastor’s office, rummaging in desk drawers and the closet and filing cabinet until she unearthed a clear plastic bottle with a label that read “Consecrated Holy Water from the river Jordan.”

Perfect!

She went ahead and took the whole bottle, pushing a chair against the wall to boost her back to the sill.

“Score!” she called quietly to Beetlejuice, dropping the bottle into his waiting hands.

He caught the dropped bottle, set it down, and stretched upward to help Pate down from the window. He let his hands squeeze and linger on her backside for an extra moment; if accused of being inappropriate he'd just use the excuse he wanted to make sure she didn't stumble as she came back down to the sidewalk. He nodded at the bottle he'd set down.

"Good. Now can we get back to the hotel? Big day tomorrow. You're gonna need your rest, I want you on your back--" he said, but was cut off by gasp from her.

She flashed him a knowing grin when she felt his fingers gripping her ass, bracing her outstretched arms against his shoulders again as she dropped back down to the ground, his hands resting on her hips, hers still laid atop his shoulders. Pate rolled her eyes at his lurid talk, smiling even as she shook her head when something beyond him caught her eye.

Darkness still enveloped the corner around the church, maybe the whole block, but she could see movement. After a moment her eyes picked out a four legged shape, slinking cautiously across the road towards them as if wary of their presence. It looked like a dog at first glance, but as it drew closer she realized it was massive, three feet tall at least, with a large squarish head, low slung neck and humped shoulders like a hyena. It also appeared to have no fur or ears, drooping jowls dripping with saliva and eyes that gleamed.

She gasped harshly, realizing all at once that the eyes were not reflecting light because there was no light. Whatever this creature was, its large round eyes were glowing.

"What is that?" she whispered.

"--eh?" Beetlejuice replied, slightly annoyed something else had caught her attention when it should've been his. But her hands had become tight on his shoulders, and it wasn't in a good way. He turned to see what she could possibly be looking at.

The skulking shape even gave him a start, and his cold blood ran colder.

"Dziban," he said in a choked voice.

Suddenly, he wasn't sure what to do. He could get out of here, but didn't know if he could pull Pate through the ether with him, and like their distantly related-cousins the Hounds of Tindalos, they could travel through it too. Boost her back up into the church? Just fucking run? Frozen by indecision was a poor choice, but no option was a good one.

For Beetlejuice of all people to sound thoroughly shaken seemed a bad sign. The creature--Dziban, he'd called it?-- was skulking closer, peering at them with its gaping, pupil-less eyes. It looked emaciated, the mange-dark skin pulled tight over every bone and muscle. Pate shivered, her hands tightening on Beetlejuice's shoulders at the disturbingly human front paws, the toes as long as her own fingers and tipped with claws that clacked on the pavement as it padded ever nearer.

"Beej, what do we do?" she gulped, almost more frightened of this beast than she had been of the specter's malevolent sibling.

"You're going to go. Just put your head down and get the fuck out of here," he told her fiercely. No time for pithy comments now. He kept his eyes on the vaguely canid creature padding closer. "Rigel called Dziban out of that fucking book. I'm sure he sent it after me, so I'll keep it distracted."

He risked a look at her.

"Pate, just go!"

In the second he'd taken his eyes off Dziban, it'd covered a third of the block. He'd forgotten they could slip through corporeal space too. With its lipless mouth, it looked like it was smiling at the two of them, even as a thin tongue slipped between its teeth to test the air.

"Seriously, baby, you've gotta go!"

Beetlejuice put a hand on her shoulder and pushed as he stepped between her and the creature.

Her heart was hammering like she'd sprinted a mile already, watching the thing close the distance between them. She stood paralyzed on shaking legs, unable to follow Beetlejuice's command even if she wanted to. Fear had its talons in her, but she dithered, torn between giving in to her body's own instinct to run like a terrified rabbit or the compulsion to find some sort of weapon to protect herself and him.

When he positioned himself protectively in front of her, giving her shoulder a stiff shove to get her moving, it seemed the decision was made. She turned to bolt and was met with another pair of brightly glowing eyes and exposed teeth. She screamed and backpedaled away from a second creature.

Fucking fuck fuck fuck!

How could he have been so fucking stupid not to remember Dziban travelled in a fucking pair?!

At Pate's scream Beetlejuice spun, saw the second Dziban, and grabbed her. Pulling her off balance, he shoved her against the wall of the church, keeping himself between her and the creatures as best as possible. They had the two of them flanked, and they were going to play with them like prey, and drag them back to the Netherworld maybe alive but mostly dead.

Again without taking the time to give her any indication what he was going to do, he spun, grabbed Pate again, and shoved her upwards towards the broken window again.

"Get the fuck in!" he ordered, even as the first creature took the opportunity to rush him.

Pate gave a startled yelp when Beetlejuice seized her around the waist and all but threw her back at the window which she had neglected to close. Hands and arms scrabbling for purchase, she just managed to catch herself when his supporting hands left her, her ears filled with hellish snarls and growls. Contorting awkwardly, half in and half out of the window, Pate turned to see that one of the monsters had charged at Beetlejuice while the other remained fixated on her.

He just barely had the time to hoist her upward before Dziban was on him. He twisted as it launched itself at him; it was large enough to easily reach his throat but he managed to deflect it from its goal with his shoulder instead. Still, that got it close enough for purchase with its hands, and he had to grapple it while off balance. Pate still hadn't pulled herself fully into the church! He decided it was dark enough and plus the fact that fucking hellhounds were attacking them a few extra otherworldly phenomenon wasn't going to break any tourist's brain any further, so instead of trying to fend off the beast with the two most human hands he owned, the black tentacles erupted from the ether and wrapped around Dziban. They lent shadow mass to him as well, and helped stabilize him a little.

It hurt grabbing this thing; why did every fucking creature from the Netherworld have some weird extra ability?! Dziban were angry, hungry creatures and of course they had poisonous skin like goddamn frogs too! Why wouldn't that be the case?! he thought bitterly as the tentacles holding it most tightly ached and became weaker.

It still bit and scratched and that hurt too.

 And Pate still wasn't through that goddamned window!

She tried to keep an eye on Beetlejuice as she squatted uncomfortably in the open window while also keeping the second hellhound occupied. She whistled to it like it really was just an overgrown border collie, letting her arm dangle down as low as she dared to tantalize it into keeping its attention on her.

When Dziban raised itself onto its hind legs to snap at her, she jerked her hand back, whimpering quietly when its horrifically humanoid paws gouged furrows down the cement wall. Turning her attention back to Beetlejuice she could see the writhing shadowy tentacles she had first glimpsed when they fought with Rigel in her apartment. They were wrapped around the hellhound's body, holding its clawed paws and snapping jaws at bay while others coiled around its throat, squeezing tighter and tighter until the beast's struggling started to weaken.

As if homing in on its twin's distress, the second hound turned toward the demon, growling. She wanted to call him, to warn him, but she worried that if she distracted him now the other hellhound might break free. With a tiny gasp she remembered the bottle tucked under her arm, whipping the cap off with fumbling fingers and holding it out as far as she could reach, dripping an uninterrupted stream down Dziban's back.

The hellhound flinched and snarled, shaking itself very much like a regular dog, but was otherwise unaffected and Pate's heart sank into her stomach like a lead weight.

“Consecrated Holy Water from the river Jordan my ass!”

It took more concentration and strength to effectively keep teeth and nails off him, especially feeling the effects of whatever venom the thing was secreting, but his tentacles held tight and slowly, slowly, Dziban's life slipped away. With a feral grin on his face, it gave him almost orgasmic joy to see the light fading from the creature's pupil-less eyes, even as it continued to snap and scrabble at him. A sudden splashing of water startled him, but the tentacles knew their work and continued slowly crushing. Pate's yell was more distracting, and he didn't catch what she'd said, so he turned to see what was happening.

In his moment of distraction, the beast he held struggled mightily so he turned back to focus on it again. That was enough to give the second Dziban--or the same Dziban, weren't they fucking clones or hiveminds or something?!--enough opportunity to leap forward and grab him.

Not by a tentacle, not by his suit: the hellhound's jaws closed on his shoulder and upper arm, and Beetlejuice went to his knees in agony.

"BEEJ!" she screamed, horrified, too far away to do anything other than spectate as the hellhound sank its teeth into his shoulder.

Goddammit, she had to do something! Craning to look over her shoulder back into the church, eyes searching desperately for something, anything she could use to fight them off him. There was a tall decorative cross of gilded, gold colored metal set in a stand. Struggling to lower her legs back down to the chair, Pate raced across the room, snatched the processional cross in both hands and ran back to the window, hauling herself up and pulling the pole with her.

Without Beetlejuice there to catch her, the drop back down to the ground looked much more daunting, but she took a breath and jumped. A painful jolt rocketed from her ankles to her knees and she pitched forward, catching herself on her elbows with a pained grunt. Getting to her feet, Pate gripped the standard tightly in both hands and raced forward, jabbing at the hellhound's ribs with the pointed end of the metal cross.

"Get the fuck off him!"

He had to get up. No fucking way was he going to be dragged down by fucking Rigel's fucking beasts! Beetlejuice snarled wordlessly and refused to loosen his grip on Dziban number one. It was fading fast. The second he tried to twist away from, to protect his head and neck, and then, from nowhere, a metal pole slammed into the creature, staggering it and forcing it to release him.

Pate looked scared and fierce, but she shouldn't be here--!

She obviously didn't get the message. She swung whatever that pole was, barely missing his head, and stabbed at Dziban again. Whether it was the metal it was made of or the fact it was a religious artifact, it made the hellhound jump back a bit. It gave a whiney, snarly noise that had no earthly equivalent, and it faded away. The one he had grappled also slipped away like water in cupped hands. Beetlejuice wasn't sure if he'd killed it or it was taken by its kin.

It was suddenly too quiet, and pain caught up to him. He was glad he was still on his knees, because he would have probably collapsed if he hadn't been.

Just as suddenly as they'd appeared, the hellbeasts seemed to evaporate like fog burnt away by sunlight. Pate's chest was still heaving, her blood singing in her ears and her heart thumping a frantic tattoo in her chest. Not sure if the demon hounds may come back, she kept a tight hold on her improvised weapon and lowered herself on trembling legs next to Beetlejuice. His pale face was somehow even paler, eyes pinched shut and jaw clenched in obvious pain.

She exhaled a quiet string of expletives at the sight of the dark liquid seeping through his fingers, gripped tightly around the bite wound on his shoulder.

"Can you stand up?" she asked softly and after a moment he swallowed hard and gave her a stiff nod, shifting his feet and rising a little unsteadily.

Pate stood with him, one arm held out as if to catch him if he lost his balance. She was loathe to drop the processional cross but she needed both arms, positioning herself under his uninjured arm and taking it around her shoulders while her own arm wrapped around his waist to help support him.

"I've got you," she murmured, uttering other meaningless soothing words to him as they limped back towards the hotel.

 tbc . . .

[thecleverdame]

Sleepy Hollow - Chapter Two

Series Master List

Pairings: Sam x Reader, mentions of Dean x Jo

Summary: In 1799, specialized police constables Sam and Dean Winchester are sent from New York City to a small town called Sleepy Hollow to investigate a series of murders. Approached by the town’s council, the Winchesters discover the local residents believe that the murders are the work of a deadly Hessian horseman whose head has been mysteriously chopped off. With help from the beautiful Y/N Van Tassel, Sam Winchester’s investigation takes him further through the dark wood where more murders have been occurring. What Sam does not realize is that the mysterious Horseman is being controlled by someone in a sinister plot to kill the most suitable men in the village.

Warnings: Canon-level violence, murder, smut, horror, gore and a little fluff for good measure.

Words: 40k

Beta:  ilikaicalie

This series is completed. You can read it on my Patreon for a monthly pledge of 2.50. This pledge includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

Flat of Sam Winchester Sam packs his bags, methodically wrapping jars of chemicals and gently folding anatomy charts. He’s going to bring as much of his laboratory as the carriage will allow.

“Do you truly need all this?” Dean is holding a heavy jar up to the light, it’s contents questionable as the specimen floats to the side of the glass. “Dad didn’t need fancy magnifying glasses, he did the job with a gun and a bible.”

“Dad was convinced there were monsters in every dark corner of the world. He was just another believer who fell in with the mass hysteria.” Sam doesn't like to talk about John, there’s too much unfinished business. “How many genuine poltergeists have we come across in our life, three?”

“Four.” Dean holds up four fingers triumphantly. “You always forget the woman in white.”

Sam looks up as if remembering for the first time. “That seems like a lifetime ago.”

“I suppose it does.” Getting up from his perch, Dean wanders around the room as Sam goes about his work. The walls are filled with charts and maps, Sam’s always had a secret pension for cartography.

Above the fireplace there two photos. One is of their parents, John sitting in a chair, Mary standing behind him with her hand placed on his shoulder. There is no joy, only long faces as they look into the camera. The second is of a beautiful blonde woman, her hair falling over her shoulder, her name written in elaborate calligraphy across the bottom of the frame: Jessica. Dean takes the pictures, making a close inspection of the woman who was once part of his brother's life.

“If you’re going to touch my things, you can wait downstairs.” Sam plucks the frame from Dean’s hand and tucks it into his case, along with his clothing.

“You can’t have that much more to pack. There’s nothing left.” Dean holds his hands out, showcasing the bare room.

“I’m almost done.” Sam walks to the window, opening a birdcage with a bright red cardinal inside.

“What will you do with him?” Dean watches the bird flutter out of the cage and then out the open window.

“Fly free. It is a good day for sad farewells.” Sam watches it go, looking down at the coach on the street below. “Our carriage awaits.”

-

It takes an hour to get out of New York City, the coach lumbering past the city limits, forgoing civilization. The wide road narrows, a single dirt path that leads onward through thickly forested wilderness.

“Jo had no interest in accompanying us?” Sam inquires, looking out the window at the never ending sea of trees. Dusk is falling but they plan to continue on throughout the night.

“She’s unhappy with me.” Dean shrugs, his lip curling.

“With good reason.” Sam lifts an eyebrow.

“I don’t need your judgment as well as hers. We’ll have a child the normal way, just as everyone else does.”

“Not if you’re with me on this investigation. I believe one has to be present to conceive a child.” Sam can’t help but tease.

“Don’t get smart.” Dean kicks his brother's boot. “We’ve plenty of time. She’s not that old, although to hear her tell it, she’s nearing her final years. Everything is dramatic beyond reason.”

“Maybe,” Sam shrugs. “She wants a child, it seems like a normal desire.”

“She wants someone else’s child, from an orphanage.” Dean shakes his head. “I’m not talking about this anymore. It’s part of the reason I’m here, I need a break from this constant pressure.”

“You’ll hear no more of it from me.” Sam smiles, taking their father’s journal from his bag.

“If you think he was a lunatic, why do you carry his journal with you?”

“There’s a lot to be learned.” Sam taps the cover. “He might have not realized what he saw, but from just the description I’m able to deduce what sort of natural phenomenon he was witnessing. Just last week I determined his obsession with the will-o'-the-wisp was likely nothing more than swamp gas. This is what gives us insight. When the villagers start talking of magical fairy lights in the forest, we’ll know where to start looking.”

“He’d hate it.” Dean chuckles, rolling up his jacket as a pillow, lying down on the bench.

“Yes, he would.”

He has few memories of his father. And what remains are faint recollections. What he can recall with a burning intensity are his father’s obsessions. His quest to find and kill monsters that never really existed. John Winchester saw demons lurking in every shadow. He found the devil in whispered secrets and meaningless symbols. And his father killed without discretion, he saw only black and white, good and evil.

John’s relentless belief in the spiritual world is what still fuels Sam’s desire to disprove anything otherworldly. He and Dean rely on facts and a sense of order and reason. Rarely do the creatures hiding in the night turn out to be anything other than flesh and blood men.

The sun quickly fades as the coach rocks along, tree branches scraping the side of the carriage. Somewhere in the distance a wolf howls and Sam looks out the small window into the black of night, before shutting the curtain and finding some sleep of his own.

The next morning, Sam wakes up before Dean, peeking out to reveal their journey has progressed through the sun-dappled forest. His brother is still in the depths of deep sleep, a hand resting limp in his lap. Across Dean’s open palm is a prominent scar, a long nasty cut he acquired in a scuffle many years ago.  Sam checks the contents of his leather satchel, pausing for a moment to study the palm of his own hand. There are strange scars on both palms, evenly dispersed tiny dots of white tissue. He’s had them his entire life, unsure of how they came to be.

Sleepy Hollow

Sam and Dean stand between two massive stone pillars, watching the coach as it leaves them behind.

“You’ll have to leave most of your luggage here. We can send for it later.” Dean grumbles, picking up his bags. “Tell me again why he couldn’t take us into town?”

“Superstition,” Sam confirms, glancing up at the tree limbs above them. “Dean, look.”

There are dead ravens hanging from the branches, strung up by twine.

“A few dead crows to keep the rest out of the fields.” Dean’s grimaces. “It’s a grisly sight. Welcome to Sleepy Hollow.”

They follow the winding road to town, passing a church and a graveyard. The road ahead is bordered by rows of businesses and two-story homes. As they enter the town square an elderly woman stands in her doorway, watching. Sam tips his hat and the woman scowls, looking away and shutting the door with a thud.

“I just love townspeople,” Dean chortles.

Looking up Sam spies another townie staring down from his window. The moment their eyes meet he closes the shutters.

“I’m seeing a pattern,” Sam comments, looking behind him. As they continue they see there are two or three riflemen placed at vantage points on the roofs of the town. Looking back Sam spies another in the church tower. The whole village is like the wild west, waiting for outlaws to attack.

Off in the distance, sitting in the middle of a field, there’s a strange wooden bunker, more like a small fortress with a huge bell mounted on the top. Several farmers are gathered around it all bearing rifles. The Winchesters pause, looking at each other and the sight before them. A young boy about ten, walks up to one of the rifleman, with food and drink tied up in a cloth. The older man looks down, offering the boy an affectionate pat on the head.

“Don’t worry, son.”

Another man leads the boy away as the father climbs back up onto the bunker, several rifles slung over his back. In front of the bunker, across the field, other farmers are lighting torches, enough to line the entirety of the forest's edge.

“What have we gotten ourselves into?” Sam murmurs, moving forward.

“I don’t think we should be outside during night hours, Sam.” Dean hikes his bag up on his shoulder. “This doesn’t feel right.”

“We’re headed there.” Sam points to a grand manor home sitting atop a hill, the windows are aglow, casting a warm picture against the gray backdrop of impending night.

Van Tassel House

Sam sets down his bags on the porch of the stately home. The length of the porch is lined with jack-o-lanterns, glowing orange.

Dean shoves an elbow into his brother’s ribs, drawing his attention to a couple, lustfully wrapped around each other in a dark corner of the porch. Sam clears his throat, mumbling an apology and opening the door. A shaft of light illuminates the kissing duo, both brothers memorizing their faces for future reference.

The front door opens to reveal the foyer and main hall. There’s a harvest party in progress, the town is gathered, music playing in the background. Men and women are enjoying food and drink, talking quietly in groups as Sam and Dean make their way through the celebration.

Dean stops a young woman, smiling with brazen charm. “Pardon our intrusion, we’re seeking Baltus Van Tassel.”

“In the parlor sir, farther on,” she nods, glancing back to him. Ahead they find a large group of men, women, and children in a circle, taunting a blindfolded woman, you, being spun around by a barrel-chested man.

-

You can feel your head roll as Brom spins you, again and again, his large hands lingering on your shoulders for longer than necessary. Suddenly he releases you, and everyone goes quiet, avoiding your searching outstretched hands.

You circle slowly, the blindfold tightly covering your eyes, chanting the refrain that makes the children and even some of the women shiver with pleasurable fright. They stifle their giggles as you reach out, grasping at the air. “The Pickety Witch, the Pickety Witch, who’s got a kiss for the Pickety Witch?”

Lunging forward, you grab empty air, narrowly missing Brom as the crowd snickers. Dean glances back, noting the couple from the porch making their way back into the party. Sam is leading the way, trying to pass through the crowd to reach the far door.

You reach out, only to meet the solid frame of a warm body beneath your hands as the room goes silent. You’ve no idea that the room is quiet because you’ve grabbed onto a stranger. After all, silence is the point of the game, to avoid your capture.

Your hand pats the chest in front of you, he’s a man and he’s large. Reaching up you touch Sam’s face.

Sam’s looks to Dean who just grins back. “A kiss, a kiss!” a child calls out.

“She has to guess first,” yells another woman. Dean watches the man who was just outside with another woman, slip his arm around the wifely matron standing beside him. He’s only been here ten minutes and he’s already confirmed an extramarital affair. Your fingers trail across the strong jaw of the unknown man before you. You’ve no idea who it is, so you take a guess. “Is it...Theodore?” The crowd laughs and Sam clears his throat. “Pardon ma’am. I am a stranger here.” A stranger? You smile, excited at the prospect. “Have a kiss on account then.”

Standing on the tips of your toes, you stretch up, placing a kiss at his jaw, then take off your blindfold to reveal a breathtakingly handsome man standing before you. There’s a gentle smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, his bright eyes shining. But his entire expression changes when he gets a clear look at your face.

For a fleeting moment, Sam flounders, stricken by the sight of you, his composure failing him as he stares at you, somewhat stunned.

You glance down at his hand, finding no ring on his finger.

“I...um, I am looking for Baltus Van Tassel,” he manages, never looking away.

“You’re in luck.” You smile, eyes locked on each other. “I am his daughter. Y/N Van Tassel.”   “And who are you, friend? We have not heard your name yet.” Brom steps forward.

Sam gives you one last look before turning his attention to the man, roughly matching his height and size, who’s clearly unhappy with his presence.

“I have not said it. Excuse me…” Sam tries to move forward.

Brom grabs at Sam’s collar as Sam stares at him, confused at this overreaction.

“Brom!” You shout, tugging on his arm. He’s always had a delusion that he has some claim to you, but in reality, there is no love connection between you, there never will be.

“You need some manners.” Brom hisses.

“You need to release my brother.” Dean steps forward and the crowd steps back, leaving the three men in the center of the room.

“Come, come.” There’s a chuckle from the back of the room. It’s your father, Baltus. “We want no raised voices on this happy occasion.”

“Father,” you gesture toward Brom.

“It is only to raise the spirits during this dark time that I and my good wife are giving this little party.” Your stepmother stands behind your father, looking on with silent judgment.  Brom releases Sam, stepping back and you relax.

Sam shakes off the confrontation, just happy to have a focal point, somewhere to concentrate other than your wonderful face and full bosom.

“Young sirs, you are welcome, even if you are selling something!” He chuckles, patting his belly.

“Thank you.” Sam smoothes a hand through his hair. “I am Constable Sam Winchester, this is my brother, Constable Dean Winchester. We are sent to you from New York with authority to investigate the murders in Sleepy Hollow.”

This news seems to have quite the effect as the entire room goes still. You give both men the appraisal they deserve, they are rather wonderful examples of the male gender. Smart and handsome is an elusive pairing in a village as small as this one.

“What good are Constables?” Reverend Steenwyck pipes up, unable to contain his outburst. “Reverend.” Lady Van Tassel, your stepmother, gives the Clergyman a reproachful look, moving forward towards the brothers. “Sleepy Hollow is grateful to you, Constables. I hope you will honor this house by remaining with us until-”

“Until you’ve made an arrest!” Brom snorts.

To both Sam and Dean’s surprise, this gets a nervous laugh. Your father frowns and Brom snorts but all you can do is look at Constable Sam Winchester with renewed interest. He’s to stay in your home, a fact that brings interesting possibility.

Sam can feel you watching him as if he has a sixth sense that’s activated only for you. His brother, Dean, is the one who catches you appraising Sam like a prize pig, trying to hide his amusement as you look away with a sly smile. Baltus turns to his wife, “Well spoken!” Then turns to Sam and Dean. “Come, gentlemen. We’ll get you settled. Play on! Let the party resume.” The fiddlers strike up the music as you watch the two men leave the room.

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 44)

Saint Denis Times Tribune

This chapter might be a little sad for some of you, Hosea gets laid to rest. Then we read something disturbing in the newspaper that threatens to throw reader into despair. 

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

-

Digging a hole in the ground in a quiet spot outside Bluewater Marsh with Reverend Swanson brought back a few unpleasant memories. My brother and I had done it twice over not far from our very spot years ago, hammered two crosses into the ground, said a few words. This time it was for Hosea. We'd picked the spot with the small gathering of people who had decided to come, most of the gang was present, aside from the obvious missing folk, some who had volunteered to stay back at camp to protect it, and a few who admitted they couldn't handle being there. Charles and Abigail were in Saint Denis, retrieving Hosea's body from the mortuary. We wanted to give him a burial that meant something, not what the state would've provided; probably an unmarked grave somewhere we'd never find out about. If it meant turning to crime, breaking in to give Hosea what he deserved, we'd do it. 

It had been Abigail's suggestion. She was taking it hard; Hosea, I realised, was a father to her just as much as he was to Arthur. Tilly, as well, she had been withdrawn and quiet since we'd found out, and she was nearby picking flowers to lay.

When the grave was prepared, the group stood around it and waited wordlessly. The mood was solemn and painful, the air unnaturally still, quiet. It was a short while before hoof beats and the rattle and creak of wagon wheels on uneven terrain sounded Abigail and Charles' return. Hosea was in the back, a white sheet blanketing him. As soon as I laid eyes on him, I felt my throat grow tight with the urge to cry. I held back, knowing I had far less reason to shed a tear than any of the people around me. 

I averted my eyes when Charles and Swanson worked together to lift the body, carried it over and carefully lowered it into the grave. Abigail joined me and Tilly, sliding in between us and taking Tilly's hand, then mine. I gave hers a silent squeeze of support. 

They adjusted the blanket, made sure he was carefully covered and comfortably positioned in his final resting place. Then Charles stepped back, stopping beside me. Everyone gathered in a circle around the grave, pressed shoulder to shoulder, Swanson standing at the head; he retrieved a Bible from inside his coat. 

"It's been a difficult few weeks," Swanson began, "it's never easy, losing a comrade. But I think all of us can agree Hosea was far more than that. He was a friend. A saviour. And to many of you, I know he was more a father. He was certainly the voice of reason and goodness among us."

Heads nodded. Shaky breaths could be heard and I didn't dare look up to see who was crying, I knew I would join them. 

"I'd like to read a few words from my Bible, if that's okay?" He continued, and when nobody protested, he took a breath and looked down at Hosea. "But first, would anyone else like to say anything?" 

Abigail let go of my hand to raise hers in the air, and all eyes turned to her. 

"He really was like a father, weren't he?" She said, a ray of happiness in her choked up tone, "I always felt that. When the gang took me in I– Hosea always looked out for me. He was so kind to me, to everybody. It hurts so much that all those people see when they look at us is monsters, and they can just do this– I wish I'd done more that day to try and– I can't do nothing now. I just hope he knows I love him, wherever he is."

I stroked her back, my tears welling over silently. 

"Ain't nothing anybody could've done. Hosea would know that, we all do. And I wanna say that I love him too, one of the greatest men I've known," Tilly said, stepping forwards and kneeling down. She reached over and placed a small bundle of flowers on his chest. "He always had a wise word for anyone, a little bit of hope and care when things seemed like they were falling apart. I'll miss him, painfully."

"We all will," Susan nodded, her voice betraying her grief despite her ability to hold back the tears so clearly aching to come out. Everyone nodded in agreement, and there was silence for a few moments followed by the flipping of pages. I looked to Swanson as he opened up his Bible, parting the pages to the one he'd marked with the ribbon that was attached to the spine. 

Swanson cleared his throat, his tired eyes focusing on the page. He'd changed a lot from the man I first became familiar with; before, he was almost always drunk or uncomfortably out of it, but since the move to Lakay, he seemed to be doing better. At least some good had come out of the awful circumstances. It was just sad that everyone else had gone the other way.

"Those who walk uprightly enter into peace; they find rest as they lie in death," Reverend Swanson read from the Bible, uttering each word slowly and clearly, then paused and looked up at us all, "I believe Hosea was a good man. Perhaps not in the eyes of the law, as Miss Roberts said, but at heart. He took in those that needed help, gave those of us who had been chewed up and spat out by the world another chance at finding a family. And he did so, never from a place of judgement,

"With his sickness, and the difficulties of the recent months, we must take solace in the knowledge that he is at peace now. And he is with his darling Bessie," he said, and a few nodded, small smiles appearing on their faces. "Perhaps you would all like to join me in a prayer?" 

I brought my hands together, clasping them at my heart and bowing my head. 

"Almighty God, you love everything you have made and judge us with infinite mercy and justice. We rejoice in your promises of pardon, joy and peace to all those who love you. In your mercy turn the darkness of death into the dawn of new life, and the sorrow of parting into the joy of heaven; through our Saviour Jesus Christ, who died, rose again, and lives forever more," Reverend recited, head bowed, eyes closed, "amen."

"Amen," was murmured among the group, some spoke with more conviction than others, varying degrees of fraught emotion. 

Soon, Charles and Mr. Pearson were stepping forwards to bury Hosea. They carefully blanketed him in the soil, laying layer after layer ever so gently, as if tucking him up in bed for his eternal sleep.

-

I rode back to camp on the back of Charles' horse, Taima, everyone else making their own way back. We attempted to split the group a bit, drawing less attention in case any law were around. He stopped next to Rayna, and held my hand as I slid down to my feet. 

"That was lovely," I said as he remained on his horse, and he nodded. 

"I'm relieved we could do that. He deserved to be laid to rest by those he cared about and who cared for him," he said.

"Hosea was always very kind to me," I recalled the way he'd comforted me when Arthur had gone missing as I spoke. "I wish Arthur could've been there today."

Charles nodded sadly, and there was a pause, I realised he still hadn't dismounted. 

"I'm sorry, I won't keep you, are you off somewhere?"

"I met with Rains Fall the other day. Things are bad up at the reservation, I was heading over there to help out," he explained. 

"Arthur mentioned that name to me a while ago," I recalled. "It ain't right what's happening to them. Is there anything I can do?" 

"Not right now. Things are tense, the army is involved. I think it might be safer for you to not get involved right now," he told me, and I nodded in understanding. 

"Okay, Charles. You take care," I said, giving his horse a gentle pat on the neck. 

"I will. I'll see you later," he nodded to me, then tugged on the reins, turning Taima and heading back the way he came. I watched him disappear down the tracks, picking up speed, then looked back at Rayna. 

I approached her, pulling my brush from my saddle and tending to her mane, running the bristles through. It wasn't tangled at all, someone had been seeing to her. Her coat was also clean, brushed thoroughly. I continue to brush her mane anyway, as a means of spending some time with her. I needed a little love from her. 

"How're you doing, girl?" I asked under my breath, stroking my free hand up and down the bridge of her nose. I raised onto tip-toes and kissed her face. 

A sharp huff through a pair of nostrils caught my attention, and I looked up to see Jet on the other side of the hitching post. He was standing still with his head bowed. He hadn't been ridden in a couple of weeks, of course, but he'd been well looked after by the likes of Kieran. The men's horses had managed to make their way back to Shady Belle before we left for Lakay, and it was a relief that we hadn't lost any. 

I felt quite emotional looking at Arthur's horse. I wondered if Jet missed him. It looked like he did, with the way his eyes were glumly stuck to the ground, but that could've been me projecting my own human emotions onto him. Either way, I approached him, stroking his neck and his face, giving him some sweetness. He pushed his face into my touch and flicked his tail, and I smiled. 

"I'm sure he misses you too," I sighed, reaching into my satchel to retrieve an apple, lifting it up to his mouth. Rayna perked up, nudging her nose into Jet's space as she tried to snag the treat for herself. "Not for you!" I laughed, ensuring Jet ate it up. 

"Hey, Miss, you alright? How was the, uh…" Kieran's once small, now more self assured voice came from behind me. 

"Hi Kieran," I smiled, turning to face him, "it was nice."

"Oh, good," he nodded, then looked down, drawing attention to the thing in his hands. "I hope this ain't too presumptuous of me, but I made you something. Well, for your horse."

"Oh?" I looked down at the object. It looked like a piece of shredded up rag, and essentially that was all it was. 

"I noticed she's docked? Ain't got much tail left," he began, pointing and walking around to the back of her. I followed him. It was true, she had a little hair but it didn't grow very long.

"Unfortunately so. I bought her like that," I nodded. 

"I figured it's so buggy 'round here, she'd like a little help keeping the flies off. Made this to add to her tail, it ain't very pretty but it should work."

"Oh, thank you, Kieran. That's very thoughtful," I smiled, gesturing with my hand to give him permission to attach the thing. 

He took some strips and bundled them with the hair around her tail, braiding them into it securely before tying it off where her natural hair ended. She was left with a tail that was braided at the top, from which dangled strips of fabric, just as long as any other horse's tail. Nifty. 

"That looks pretty good! I think she'll like that," I beamed, patting Kieran's shoulder appreciatively. "Thank you for all the work you put into these horses. They're lucky to have you. As is the gang." 

"If it's my way of bein' useful, I'll take it. I like being around the horses," he explained, watching as Rayna discovered her new tail, flipping it around. It'd do nicely to dust the flies away. 

"I'm pleased you've found your place here, it's good to feel useful, ain't it?"

"It sure is. Especially since I feel I've got a lot to prove. Maybe I ain't raking in cash for the box, but these horses are invaluable. Think of how much we use 'em, they gotta be looked after well," he said strolling over to Jet, brushing down a patch of ruffled fur on his flank with his hand. 

"Exactly," I agreed. "And I'm sure the boys'll appreciate you keeping their horses happy while they're gone."

Kieran nodded slowly, going quiet at the mention of the others. The silence went on for so long it began to feel awkward, and I was about to excuse myself when he finally spoke up. 

"I'm sorry, by the way. Can't be easy for you, with Mr. Morgan gone." 

My lips parted, I stared at him for a second. Eventually I closed my mouth and nodded. 

"Just trying not to get too caught up in thinking about where he could be," I said, and he smiled at me in that shy, closed mouth way of his. 

"Well, there ain't much point in getting yourself all worried, now," he said, then looked around timidly, "if there's anything I can do for you to take some stress off, maybe take a couple of your chores, you let me know."

"Aw, thank you. That's kind. But I'm okay, I reckon I prefer keeping busy," I told him. 

"In that case, can I give you any of my chores?" He asked, then snickered and shook his head. "No, I'm kidding. But uh, yeah, if there is anything I can help you with, it's the least I could do. You saved my skin."

I shook my head and smiled. "Thanks, I'll keep it in mind," I told him. He nodded, rubbed his hands on his pants. 

"Anyway, I–" he finished his sentence by simply pointing over his shoulder, then he shuffled off in that direction. 

-

I'd stopped keeping track of the days since Arthur's departure, but I had to figure it'd been a few weeks. It felt like longer, though, every day dragging and dragging. I spent most of my time in camp, most people did. Nobody was going out pulling jobs, bringing in money; Sadie and Charles had decided that the heat was far too intense to risk drawing any more attention, so any work we did was legal and purely for survival. Hunting, selling skins, gathering herbs and selling those, that sort of thing. It didn't bring in much but it was enough to buy the food and supplies we needed. We were trying to stretch the money in the camp fund tin as far as possible considering there wasn't much going in it and we didn't know how long we'd have without Dutch and the others. 

I had been given a rare outing, though, with Abigail. We'd been handed a small bundle of cash and tasked with going into Saint Denis to buy some vegetables. We took one of the wagons, and I drove us into town and to the market where I knew we'd get a better price than the general store if we haggled. She did a better job than I did of getting the price down, she wasn't afraid to bat her eyelashes and put on a little charm with the man running the stall. He helped us load up the wagon, to boot. 

"You feel like finding somewhere to get a cool drink before heading back? I got some money saved up, ain't suggesting we use the camp funds. I just feel like staying out a little longer," Abigail suggested when we climbed back on the wagon. 

"That sounds real nice," I nodded gratefully. 

"We won't be too long, but we've been cooped up in that swamp so long I feel like we deserve some time away," she said, and took the reins. We rode around for some time before finding a small cafe that advertised fresh lemonade and a courtyard around the back. We figured it was a good a place as any, and the courtyard would keep us out of view of the street in case anyone happened to recognise us. 

Abigail treated me to my drink and we sat down on a table in the courtyard, the place was pretty vacant. Most patrons were sitting inside out of the sun, it happened to be a rather warm day, but we valued privacy over shade. Abigail sighed and leaned back in the metal chairs that probably would've burned they were so hot in the sun, if it weren't for our clothes acting as a barrier. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a breath. 

"You hear that?" She asked, and I strained my ears. All I could hear was the murmur of voices from the cafe and the streets beyond, the ringing of the church bells, hoof beats on cobblestone. The sounds of the city. "Ain't an alligator hiss, a cricket or a disgruntled Pearson for miles."

"Ain't a fan of this new camp?"

"Is anyone?" She countered drily.

I chuckled at her admission. "Sorta reminds me of growing up," I mused. 

"Oh, of course. I'm sorry," Abigail averted her eyes guiltily and I shook my head. 

"No, it’s okay. It ain’t too pleasant, I know," I snorted, "there are a lot of reasons I ain't been back since I left. But it feels a bit like home anyway." 

"How're you finding it all?" She asked. 

"You know, fine," I shrugged and sipped my drink, ignoring her eyes on me, all concerned. "How're you finding it? I know you must be worried about John."

She made a tsking sound, and her expression withered. "Sure. I understand why we can't just go busting him out without a thought, but still. He's my– he's the father of my son. I just wish there was some sense of urgency about getting him back."

"You know I'd help you, Abigail, if I was good with these things. John saved my life. If I could save him too, then…" I trailed off and sighed. "I miss him too. He's a good friend."

"Never said I missed him," she said, pressing her lips together. 

"Come on, Abigail," I nudged, looking at her directly. 

"Maybe a little," she said quietly. "Anyway, don't you prod me tryin'a get me to open up about my feelings. If I hear you say you're fine one more time I'll lose my damn mind."

"What do you want me to say?" I cocked a brow at her.

"I don't know. That you miss Arthur, or something," she stammered with uncertainty.

"Of course I miss him. With my whole heart I do, I thought it went without saying."

"You're allowed to open up about it, that's all I'm saying," she sighed. "You've been real quiet. Some of us are worried."

"I'm always quiet, though."

"Sure, but not like this."

"This is my way of dealing with it. I feel like if I speak too much about him I'll– it'll spiral into something and I won't be able to handle it so well," I told her honestly, and after searching my eyes for a moment she nodded in understanding. 

"Alright then. As long as you'll tell someone if it gets too much."

"I will. Thank you. Everyone has been so kind these last few weeks," I smiled, emotion bubbling and threatening to make me cry. 

"Well, in situations like this, sure beats being a bunch of bastards to each other. And you know, it could go either way, everyone’s so wound up."

"Some people went the other way. Or are at least heading there. I can't stand the bickering going on," I sighed and Abigail rolled her eyes.

"I've learned to tune it out. It's Uncle who's gettin' on my nerves. Keeps going on about having to do something, get some money, figure a better place to move to. All the while he's sitting on his ass drinking the last of the booze," she grumbled.

"I don't think I could stand moving again so soon, truth be told."

"No, you're right. All this moving is wearing thin. More than ever it makes me wanna take Hosea's advice and get the hell out of here," she admitted, her lips puckering sadly. 

"He told you that?"

"He always thought it'd be best for me and the boy to be out of this life. We were just trying to make John see sense," she explained, and suddenly I realised her issues with John were far more complicated than simply being angry that he'd left for a year. "He never was the family kind."

"Maybe his arrest will be the kick up the backside he needs. For what it's worth, I think you'd all be better off getting out, too."

She nodded, looking down. She was quiet for a few moments. "You and Arthur ever talk about leaving?"

My mouth opened but I just stared at her. I didn't know how to answer. "Uhh, sure, it was mentioned a couple times," I settled on. "Mostly when Dutch was on about going to Tahiti."

"Oh, Christ. I sure as hell weren't going along with that, whether John went or not."

"Did he want to go?"

"John don't know what he wants. I ain't got no hope of knowing," she chuckled. 

"Well, I hope he chooses you and Jack in the end, Abigail," I smiled at her, "I think he will. He's not that big of a fool."

"I hope you're right. Actually, I wanna get a newspaper while we're here. See if anything's been said about him, d'ya mind?"

"Course not," I said, and finished the rest of my lemonade.

We left the cafe then, and made our way back out to the streets to find the paper vendor. He wasn't far from the wagon, so I waited there while Abigail went and bought the newest paper. She handed it to me when she climbed up onto the wagon to join me. 

"I uh, can't actually," she began quietly, then cleared her throat. "Would you mind reading it for me? I'll drive."

"Of course," I nodded, looking down at it. The wagon started moving and I scanned the front page for news about infamous outlaws being captured, but the entire cover was on about a ship heading to Cuba. I gave it little thought, flicking through the paper scanning for anything to do with outlaws, bank robberies, John Marston… 

I finally came across an article a few pages in. It was about the bank, talking about multiple criminals at large, one imprisoned, one killed at the scene, all linked to Dutch's boys. I skim-read it, trying to find something I didn't already know. When I did find something, my mouth dropped open. 

"They… they're saying he'll be–" I turned my eyes to her, unable to spit it out. 

"What?"

"Well, they wanna move him to Sisika," I finally said. Abigail stared at me with eyes frozen wide. "Yeah, he's currently being held in Saint Denis, but they wanna move him to Sisika by next week."

"Well then we're gonna need to break him out soon. Ain't no hope of getting him out of that place!" She exclaimed and I shushed her, looking around, we were still in the middle of the city. Abigail sped up the horses, almost taking out a pedestrian.

"Calm down! We'll just get back and tell the others."

"What else does it say?" She asked harshly. 

"Not a lot. It's all very vague, like they don't wanna say much. I mean, I guess it makes sense. They're hardly gonna put the time and date of when they'll be moving him with the others still out there, that'd be asking for a break out job," I shook my head, rereading the article. "Other than that it's just saying what we already know. Good Lord, you know how many officers were killed?"

"I don't particularly wanna know," she sighed. We were out of the city by then, and heading for the bayou. I gnawed on my lip. They'd killed a lot of people on that bank job, the number printed in front of me difficult to comprehend as individual lives. I closed the newspaper, swallowed down the sickly feeling in my gut and stayed quiet as we headed back to camp. 

Abigail rolled the wagon to a stop at the entrance to Lakay, tearing the paper (literally, I was left with the front cover) from my hands and jumping down, marching towards the shack at the edge of camp. I didn't move for a while, watching her run, moments before I heard her yelling. I sighed and closed my eyes, taking a breath. So, John was being moved to a heavily guarded prison in the middle of an island, and the majority of our most competent members were missing. I was struggling to remain positive about such a thing. 

I looked down absent-mindedly at the page still left in my hand, turning it over and looking at the headline. LOST AT SEA. I thought about Arthur, wondered what he would do if he was here. He probably would've been the first to grant Abigail's wishes and come to John's rescue. He was always the one to go saving everyone. But once again, he was the one whose location was unknown, and once again, nothing was being done about it. 

But what could be done about it? He'd gotten on that boat and we knew nothing–

I felt like someone had pushed me from behind, slamming me into a bath of ice cold water. Ice cold water with an electric current going through it. 

I gripped the paper, lifting it and scanning the words on the page. Departing from Saint Denis… the day of the bank robbery… a terrible storm… unknown number of casualties… it all became a blur but I managed to take in the essential information. I shook my head, my hands stiff as if I was sitting up in the grizzlies despite the hot humid air around me. What were the chances? Could it really be? I was overcome with the most awful feeling. Immediately my mind began conjuring up alternatives.

Surely there was more than one boat departing from Saint Denis that night. Right? Ships probably come and go all the time from a city as busy as Saint Denis. Did I have the date right? I never was any good at keeping track of what day it was. If this was the boat that Arthur had boarded, this news would've been printed sooner, wouldn't it? The odds of it being that boat, the chances of everything lining up in such a way–

"Are you alright there?" Lenny's voice broke me from my stupor and I turned my wide eyes and gaping mouth to him. 

"Uhh," I responded dumbly. I couldn't yet speak. I extended a shaky arm, handing him the scrap of paper. He took it from me with a frown on his face, and I watched his eyes dart back and forth as he read the article. His frown didn't shift immediately, but his brows gradually raised, realisation sinking in.

"You don't think…" he began, eyes flicking back up to me. My head jerked, it wasn't a nod or a shake, it wasn't any real response, but Lenny seemed to gain something from it. "We should… we should tell the others," he murmured, seeming about as stunned as me, though dealing with it a lot better. 

He swallowed visibly, dragging the back of his hand across his brow, wiping away the beads of moisture collected there as he frowned back down at the page, eyes darting to and fro again. He licked his lips, pressing them together, his hand gripping the paper hard enough it shook a little. 

"I…" he began, shaking his head. He met my eyes again. "Are you alright? You don't look so good." 

"I'm, um, I don't know," I frowned, turning, swinging my legs over the edge of the wagon and sliding down. Lenny reached out, ensuring I didn't stumble, eyeing me up with a creased forehead.

 I didn't know what to feel. I couldn't tell how I felt, at all. I didn't feel anything. There was a sense of panic there, but it was behind a wall, just in the peripheral, at the edge of my senses. 

"Maybe you shouldn't stand up," he worried, touching my elbow.

"I'm okay," I shook my head. 

"You want me to go and show them this?" He asked and I nodded. 

"Yeah, maybe you should. I think I'm gonna… I feel like I need a minute, just," I said, ambling away towards the water's edge. 

"Shall I send someone to you?" He asked me, and I could hear how concerned he was but all I wanted was for people to not focus on me, it was Arthur and the others who mattered then.

"No, I just need to be alone for a bit, don't worry, Lenny," I told him, shaking my head. "Thanks," I added, then slipped behind one of the half collapsed buildings and leaned up against the side, staring out over the swamp and breathing heavily. 

I squeezed my eyes shut, peering into the blackness behind my lids. I squeezed them so hard that bursts of nonexistent light filled my vision. I hoped that when I opened them I would see the peeling wall of Arthur's room in Shady Belle and he'd be sleeping pressed up behind me on his bed, and everything from the last few weeks had never happened and it was just a particularly terrible nightmare. But I opened them to a blurry image of green and brown, blinking into focus the swamp with gators floating in the distance, spoonbills flying overhead, flies and mosquitoes buzzing around my face. Something wavered in me and I felt tension building, it came out as a sob, one I choked back and trapped behind the hand I pressed over my mouth. I took several deep breaths, steadying myself, reining it in. Someone said my name, so soft and gentle and kind it almost destroyed that control I pulled back. 

I turned to see Mary-Beth peering around the side of the building, her big, pretty eyes looking so sad and sympathetic. I shook my head and turned away from her.  

"Hey, now. Come inside, won't you? Lenny showed us that article. I know you must be going out of your mind…" she cooed, and I heard her footsteps padding on the soggy ground. 

"I don't want to," I said, my voice sounding tight and quiet.

"Okay… alright," she said carefully. I felt her hand on my back, between my shoulders, rubbing softly. 

The breath I took was jerky. "Where is Molly?" I asked, suddenly realising I hadn't seen her for a while.

"Molly? You're close with Molly?" She said, sounding surprised. 

"No, I just– her and Dutch. I wanna know how she's taking it, that's all." 

"Oh… well, truth is, she ain't here," she admitted, looking down. 

"What?" I turned to look at her.

"Apparently she left while we were out burying Hosea," she told me. I raised my brows.

"Oh," I released the small noise, looking away. Perhaps she'd decided to go back to Ireland after all. At least she'd never have to hear about this. "Nobody's worried?"

"Well, her things are gone. And one of the Morgans," she said, and I nodded. "Doesn't look like she's been taken away against her will. I sorta saw it coming. Dutch was the only thing keeping her here, and," she trailed off, shrugging lightly. 

"Well, that's…" I began, my voice disappearing when I realised I had nothing to say. 

"Can any of us do anything for you? Do you need someone, I don't know, do you need a hug or someone to talk to?" She asked after a moment. 

"Mary-Beth, you're very sweet. I appreciate you coming and seeing how I am. I'm just… I don't quite know what to do with myself just yet. If that really is– if what I read has something to do with Arthur–" I closed my eyes and shook my head. "What'll I do?" 

"Well, it's okay to cry. You don't have to hold everything in," she said, taking my hand in hers and squeezing it.

"All that'll achieve is giving me a headache," I muttered, "I think I might go out for a ride."

"Alone?" She balked, and I nodded, "are you sure?"

"Yeah."

I slipped my hand out of hers and walked around the building, heading for the horses. Mary-Beth followed.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," she warned, fiddling with her fingers. 

"I have my guns. I promise I'll come back later, I ain't running off," I assured her, "I know these parts well. Grew up here."

"Well, okay then. Please be safe."

I mounted up, patting Rayna on the neck, clicking at her and tugging her reins. 

"I will be. I won't go far," I forced a smile at her, then trotted off down the path.