#Alice Hatchett

[emdoesstufff]

Cars Picrews Pt 2

Junior Weathers (Cal Weathers Jr)

Kiara Swift

Alice Hatchett

Chase Hardley

Danny Swervez

I was inspired by my fanfic to make more of these for my oc's and Danny. Chase's hair is supposed to be more orange, but this is all this picrew had.

Again I don't own this picrew, just used it to make these.

There's the link to the fic if anyone wants read it.

[vulcanmulti]

Ocs!!! Their names are Alice and the Gamemaker :)

[little-peril-stories]

The Queen of Lies: Faith and Freedom

Story Intro | Contents [Warnings] | Mood Board | Vibey Song Lyrics | Ao3

Contents: blood, injury, illness, guy whump [all just leftover stuff from the last few chapters :) no new bad stuff]

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Word count: 3650 || Approx reading time: 15 mins

Faith and Freedom

Teaser: “Just give me a minute,” he said, grunting and coughing as he sat up. After a moment, he drew up his knees and rested his forehead there. “Feels like I’m dying.”

The world beyond the prison walls was cloaked in shadow, with thick cloud cover blocking out the stars, leaving only the yellow gas street lamps to illuminate a city that had mostly gone to sleep. Two frantic figures, a boy and a girl—a thief, a prisoner who had been set free, and his rescuer, who had spent four long year being Baden Hatchett’s wife and who no longer knew what she was—stumbled through the streets. He did not speak, nor did she; rather, they fled in silence, letting their ceaseless, hurried footfalls break the peace of the autumn midnight. It was not long, however, before the boy’s strength waned, his steps growing unsteady and his breathing more laboured.

The hand that was still clutched in the girl’s went slack.

And the thief fell.

Fear spread through her, so strong it sent numbness to her toes and fingertips, as the boy hit the ground. “No!” Dropping to her knees, shaking his shoulder as gently and urgently as she could, she breathed, “Please, please, no, no, no, wake up, wake up—”

He groaned, blinking open eyes that in the gloom appeared a much darker hue than the gold-and-green colour she knew them to be. “What?”

She almost collapsed to the cobblestone, too, but not with exhaustion; rather, it was with relief that she’d been able to rouse him. “You…you scared me.”

He glanced around, seeming to perceive that he was on the ground and woozy. With a soft groan, he took a deep breath and let his head fall back against the stone. “Fuck. Just…”

The girl swallowed. “I’m scared you’re…” She wanted to say, too weak to keep going, but how would he react to those words? If she’d ever said such a thing to Baden, he would have slapped her hard enough to leave a bruise for a week.

“Just give me a minute,” he said, grunting and coughing as he sat up. After a moment, he drew up his knees and rested his forehead there. “Feels like I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying.” He couldn’t be; she wouldn’t allow it, not after everything she’d gone through to get him out of that awful prison cell. She glanced around, wishing it weren’t so dark. It had been a blessing as they crept from the prison grounds, but now it served only to make the towering houses and unlit storefronts seem dingy and menacing. “We need to get somewhere safe. It’s only going to get colder, and you need to eat. And drink. And rest.”

“What?” he said, half-heartedly mocking. “Can’t I stay at your house?”

She clenched her jaw and refused to take the bait. It was too cold, and she was kneeling in a puddle, and the wind was picking up into a sinister sort of howl, and she was too frightened to chase down whether the teasing was good-natured or not. “I’ve got an inn room booked, but we need to make it there.”

The secret note for Alice, hidden in the returned copy of The Scarlet Letter—tucked into the last marked page and written in the tiniest hand she could form: As I am unwell and cannot make the arrangements myself, could you please visit the Whitemoor Inn and book a room for my cousin, Lucy Cooper, for one night? I’ve enclosed enough funds to cover her stay.

One night for a young woman named Lucy Cooper to fleetingly exist, and come morning, she would dissolve into the ether, gone forever—as would the girl and the boy who’d occupied her room.

“A room booked?” he repeated, holding his head now. “You—you actually got some kind of plan? Seriously?” His eyes were still hazy with pain, but he was alert, and his gaze had gone wide. “You got money?”

“Yes,” she said, “I do.” She’d had one chance, one, between Baden letting her out of her room and him taking her to the prison to beg for forgiveness—one fleeting blissful moment when no one’s eyes had been on her. She’d taken as much money as she could from the safe in his study, the one he thought she didn’t know about.

That wasn’t all, though. In her coat pocket, sewn into the lining, there hid as much jewelry as she’d dared to take from the box on her dresser—enough to pawn for extra funds, not so much that it would weigh down her clothes or jingle as she walked.

Finally, there was the second half of her entreaty to Alice: if her friend had come through for her and done as she asked, a parcel waited for “Lucy Cooper” at the inn, containing a necklace and a ring, all she could reasonably and surreptitiously fit into Alice’s book. They would fetch a good price somewhere. Of course, the girl had no way of knowing if Alice had acquiesced, but she’d picked that friend over the other for a reason. Marguerite would never have gotten involved, but Alice was sensible and kind, and she knew—she knew. So surely, surely, she’d made the arrangements.

As long as that was true, and as long as the innkeeper didn’t turn them away at the sight of her companion, they would have somewhere warm and safe to sleep for the night.

If only the thief didn’t look like he had just stumbled out of a street brawl.

“Do you think you can keep going?” Her voice slipped out high-pitched and breathy. Too many worries, too few answers to soothe them.

He fixed her with a look of pained, miserable resignation. “Gonna have to.”

She pressed a hand to his face again. Despite the chill of the night, it was still hot. “I’m scared...” She couldn’t finish her thought.

The thief groaned again as he got cautiously to his feet—not pulling away when she held his good arm to steady him—and said, “Scared? Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”

For a moment, she didn’t even know what to say. Her eyes roamed from his blood-flecked shirt to his black-and-blue skin to the entirely useless arm in Mrs. Bristow’s apron-sling.

They landed on his lips, which were ever so slightly quirked upwards.

“Well, good,” she finally managed. “If—if we are set upon by an army of kittens, I’m very glad you’ll be here to defend me.”

He choked out a laugh, coughed, and took a few wary steps, letting her cling to his arm; he wobbled slightly, but he stayed upright. “Lead the way, princess.”

She was going to have to do something about the name problem.

As they moved through the winding streets, she stuck close to him, partially because she feared he would pass out again, but also because she had never wandered the city at night before, by herself or with anyone else, and the warm presence of his body—beaten and worn-out though it was—gave her a peculiar sense of security. She knew it was probably false.

Still, she clung to it anyway.

“What am I to call you?” she dared to ask after a while. Although she was, indeed, desperate for an answer, she also worried that if she remained too quiet, he’d slip back into unconsciousness. “Am I allowed to know now?”

“Don’t get all uppity about that,” he mumbled. “Can you blame me for being suspicious?”

No, she thought, but she didn’t say it. She merely pointed the way down a nearby street. Almost there. They had to be almost there. “That’s not an answer.”

It was a long while, it seemed, of something happening behind his eyes that she could not decipher, some tug-of-war between giving a real answer and not until he at last told her, “I don’t have a name.”

Another lie, of course; he had a name, but he didn’t trust her with it. What a surprise. Why should he? All she had done was give up her entire life and risk everything to break him out of prison. “Please.”

He bit his lip and again took a long time to answer. “I…I can’t.” His gaze flitted around, as if he expected someone to burst out of the dark and streak towards them. As if he feared they were being followed.

Why should her chest feel so tight? He came from a life of crime—of course he was perpetually suspicious. Surely, he had to be. It had been foolish to hope for he might give a straight answer. “Something. Anything.”

After a moment, after a third agonizingly long pause, he said, “Fox.”

“Fox?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

A phrase she’d heard the day Baden found her in his cell drifted back to mind. “Fox-thief…”

He stiffened. Yanked his hand from her grasp. “Don’t—don’t. Don’t call me that. Please.”

“All right,” she said, horrified. “I won’t.”

When silence fell again, she didn’t chase it away.

He stumbled once more, dropping to his knees but staying conscious, and when she pulled him up, her tears blurred her vision enough that it obscured the strain in his features and the violent shaking of his limbs.

Finally, when the inn loomed before them, she pointed at its dimly lit door. “This one.”

“This one,” he repeated. Voice weaker now, words slightly slurred. He was failing by the second, she realized, perhaps having depleted the frenetic, urgency-fuelled strength that had helped him run once Mrs. Bristow got them beyond the prison gate.

“Let me go in first,” she said. “I’ll settle up if I need to and come get you.” That, she supposed, was the best course of action. The innkeeper might not notice her bruises—but Fox? A superstitious person might take one glance and conclude that he had risen from the very pits of hell.

“Okay,” he said, bracing his good arm against the wall, and she turned on her heel and hurried inside.

The woman who presumably ran the inn was dozing, and no wonder; it was the middle of the night. Her eyes snapped open, however, at the sound of approaching footsteps.

“My name is Lucy Cooper,” said the girl whose name was not Lucy Cooper. “One Mrs. Wright made arrangements for my room a few days ago, I believe?” Too late, she remembered she was wearing trousers. “I—um—please excuse my appearance. I’ve been...um...I’ve been travelling.”

The woman peered down at a piece of paper in front of her, appearing merely drowsy and rather bored. “Just one night?”

Relieved that the woman either hadn’t noticed or did not care what she was wearing, the girl said firmly, “Yes. Only one.” Once Baden learned that she was missing, he would search for her, and at some point, he would speak to Alice, and Alice, not knowing what else to do, would lead him here.

He would find neither Breanna Hatchett nor Lucy Cooper in this inn.

Instead, the boy called Fox and the girl who was called—well, who was called something—would be long gone.

“You’re already settled up for the room.” The woman tapped a list of meals and their fees and turned it towards the girl. “You want to pay for food, too?”

“Yes. I would.” The answer rushed out. “Whatever you have now, if you please, and some breakfast, too, before we depart.”

The woman raised her eyebrows and glanced toward the grandfather clock behind her, which displayed an hour not typically associated with taking a meal. “Now?”

“Yes,” repeated the girl firmly.

The woman frowned. “We might have some broth still,” she said. “It won’t be hot anymore.”

“That’s all right.” She paused. One more inquiry before she paid. “Did Mrs. Wright leave a parcel for me, by any chance?”

With a sigh, the woman turned away to rummage somewhere behind her. After a few moments, she returned with a wrapped box, slightly crumpled but intact. “There you are, Miss Cooper.”

“Thank you.” The girl took it gratefully, promising silently that she would one day find a way to repay Alice for her kindness.

As the innkeeper took the money and filled out the rest of the paperwork, the girl tried to steady her breath, bracing herself against the new fears that rushed in. Never mind the fact that she was renting a room for herself and a strange, half-clothed, terribly battered man who bore only a false name and who was not her husband. Now she had to contend with bringing him inside without drawing attention. What if the woman took one look at his bloody skin and the tattoo on his arm, and threw them out?

“All finished up, Miss Cooper.” The woman handed her a key. It lay cold and heavy in her palm.

At first, she couldn’t find the man in question at all. It took a few moments to realize he had sat down on the ground, back against the wall, slumped and half-conscious.

“Fox,” she whispered, tapping his uninjured shoulder, eliciting a moan. “Wake up.”

His eyelids fluttered open. “Hmm?”

“We can go in now.” He groaned, and she tried again to rouse him. “Do you want to sleep out here in the cold?”

“Not really,” he mumbled, letting her help him to his feet. “I’m so fucking tired. Everything…everything hurts.”

“I know,” she said, her heart cracking open in her chest. “We’ve got our room. Let’s find it.”

In the narrow, lamplit corridor where she located their room, he leaned against the wall, waiting for her to finish struggling with the key in the lock. With his head resting on his good arm, as he breathed heavily from the climb up the stairs, he watched her, or seemed to, although his eyes kept drifting closed.

“Bed. Now,” she said, pointing toward it when they made it inside. His exhausted gaze swept the room, obviously counting.

“Just one. It’s for you,” he mumbled.

“Don’t be absurd.” She pulled him toward the lumpy-looking mattress with its yellowed sheets and woollen quilt. “You’re hurt and sick. Lie down.”

“You gonna sleep on…what? The floor?”

He really thought she would be able to sleep? After everything? “Never mind about me. Get yourself in that bed, now, before I throw you into it.” She resisted the urge to clap a hand to her mouth and backtrack as she realized she had practically shouted at him. “Uh—” Fox was staring at her with a wide-eyed expression she could not read. “I mean…please.”

He laughed. It was weak and riddled with coughs, but it was genuine, and relief swept over her like a warm wind, because…

Because if she’d ever ordered Baden around like that…and threatened him like that…no matter how empty the threat was…

“There should be a meal waiting downstairs,” she said. “I’ll go get it. You can rest, but you must at least drink. If you fall asleep, I’m going to wake you.”

Fox sat heavily on the bed. “You’re the boss, princess.”

By the door, she paused. Princess. The name was silly, and she got the feeling he wasn’t using it to be cruel, but her thoughts on the matter of her name had been boiling over since she gave the innkeeper her false one. The girl closed her eyes, imagining who she would have to be once the light of dawn broke. Someone courageous and clever, someone who faced her fears instead of burying them or running scared. Someone who was bold enough to grasp the life she wanted with both hands.

Hopes and memories flashed in her mind, bringing with them disembodied faces and disjointed pictures—flames, ink, books, blood, and a heavy sunrise filled with promise.

She let her eyes fly open, the answer to the question Who am I? coming to her in a sudden burst.

“You can keep calling me Bree,” she told him, and he raised his eyebrows. “I decided I like it after all. So that’s—that’s my name now. Bree. Bree Scarlett.”

Fox nodded slowly, his eyes on hers, repeating the name to himself, at first under his breath, then a touch louder, as strong as his weak and tattered voice would go. “Bree Scarlett. I…I like it, too.”

Cheeks suddenly blazing hot enough to be unintentionally—and newly—eponymous, Bree Scarlett hurried away, closing the door behind her. As she bounded down the stairs, tempted to take them two at a time like a giddy schoolgirl, she repeated her name to herself, and she found that the very taste of it on her tongue filled her soul with glee.

***

Defying her own prediction, Bree did fall asleep, the siren’s song of slumber suddenly irresistible the moment she let herself rest, and she awoke curled against the wall, which was where she settled after determining that the room’s wooden chair was even less comfortable than the floor. She startled awake with a gasp, trapped for a moment in the dizzying space between the waking and sleeping worlds, wondering where on earth she was and how she had gotten there.

She took one look around, and reality came crashing down: she had run away from her husband, set his prison on fire, and sprung a thief from jail.

Bree waited for the panic to set in, for the bone-breaking terror that, at any moment, Baden would burst through the door and tear her to shreds for her betrayal and her crimes.

It did not come.

Instead, she felt strangely calm, detached from the chaos she had wrought in her pursuit of freedom. Her eyes wandered over the room, with its wood-panelled walls, slightly uneven floors, and inarguably paltry sleeping spaces, trailing her gaze over the door and the window that by some miracle remained silent and unassailed by constables pounding and breaking through. It was a veritable marvel, how unafraid she felt.

As she looked around, her inspection paused upon the boy who called himself Fox.

He was still asleep, lying on his side, looking for all the world serene despite the blood still crusting his skin. Her throat tightened, horror creeping through the short-lived peace she’d just been enjoying as she took in the sorry sight of him again.

How many of those wicked bruises had been dealt by Baden himself?

She forced away the thought. There was little she could do right now about the guilt that stole through her and would not retreat; however, she had a new problem to contend with that she could solve. Fox had fallen asleep so quickly after she brought him water and the inn’s lukewarm broth that he hadn’t even gone under the wool quilt, and now he shivered in the chill of the night air.

Bree searched for something to keep him warm. Ah—there—her jacket, abandoned in a crumpled heap near the door.

How furious, she thought, her fatigue doubling as her husband invaded her thoughts again, Baden would be if he could see how carelessly and messily she’d flung aside her clothes. And how furious he would be if he knew how much she wished she could simply escape the thought of him for even a few minutes.

How furious he would be to see her pausing at the bedside of his foe, gently laying her own clothing over his body and tucking in the sides to keep him warm.

For a moment, it seemed as if her mission to blanket Fox’s shivering form without waking him had been a success, but as she turned away, his fingers curled around her wrist, the unexpected touch sending a jolt through every limb.

“Why?” His voice was rough, thick with sleep and whatever sickness ailed him. But the word was intelligible.

“You’re cold,” she said. “I could see you shivering.”

“No.” When she turned slowly back to him, his eyes were open. Bleary, yes, but he knew her. And he remembered what she had done for him. “Why. Are you. Doing this. Hel… Helping me?”

Good god, what was she supposed to say to that? What explanation was there?

“Because,” she said, failing to banish from her mind the image of him chained and on his knees, horrified at the sight of her for fear that it would bring him more agonizing pain, “you didn’t deserve what he did to you.”

He watched her, still shivering. “I…am. You know.”

“You are, what?”

“A criminal. A thief. In. In…IA.”

The cough that had been so quiet while he slept returned. Bree bit her lip, wondering what to say to quell his anxieties and allow him to rest. “Sleep more,” she said, deciding to ignore what he had mumbled—what he’d told her like she didn’t already know. “I’ll be here.”

“Bree.” He winced, overtaken by some phantom pain whose source she could not discern. “Bree. Don’t…”

He didn’t finish, and for a moment she thought he had fallen asleep mid-sentence. But his eyes were still on her when she looked back down. “I won’t leave.”

“No.” He closed his eyes. “Don’t fuck me over. Please.”

Even now, he feared she would betray him. Bree blinked back tears.

“You won’t, right?”

“I promise I won’t,” she whispered. Gently, she tried to pull her arm away, yet his fingers didn’t let go.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. So quiet, so indistinct, it was difficult to make out. “For saving me.”

Unable to bring herself to speak, and uncertainly unable to give the reply that came to mind, Bree swiped at her face with her free hand, her treacherous tears spilling over despite her efforts to hold them back.

She did not move until his fingers loosened and fell away—until the boy called Fox was asleep once more, perfectly still save for the rise and fall of his bruised, battered chest.

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@starlit-hopes-and-dreams

@clairelsonao3

@gala1981

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✨

[braindamageforbeginners]

The Chemo Playlist

There’s no real news, or nothing of any great interest, other than I don’t seem to have deteriorated much, although I’m still feeling exhausted. And filled with hatred and confusion, thanks to the masses of paperwork I’ve still got to fill out. I’m applying for Medicaid (while it’s still Medicaid and not just a guy who comes to harvest your organs)(don’t pretend that’s not Paul Ryan’s ideal healthcare system). Apparently, things have changed since last time I applied (sadly, my net worth has not, which how i know I’m a candidate)(I suppose even a life as hectic and tumultuous as mine needs a little certainty, and that certainty is in that I’m dirt broke). I still have a dozen pages and a lot of research to do on that - precision counts, here. And I may have refills ready over the weekend, or perhaps by the time we have a new presidential administration (more on that momentarily). And I still have to get on the phone with CVS and negotiate an extraordinarily expensive poison be sent to my home address. Which always pisses me off; there’s cheaper poisons out there - and I don’t even mean that in my cynical way; if I drove up to Canada, I’d be able to get these drugs for a small fraction of the price (that’s not even news; it’s so well-known that old people have taken advantage of Toronto’s pharmacies since the 1990s). Of course, that is illegal, so I might be forced to pay in cash and lie on my way out. Meanwhile, even though I can, for an unfair amount of money, order poison over the phone from a stranger; there are actual waiting periods on my ambien. Let’s just pause for a moment and consider that. The next time someone brings up the second amendment, I’ll ask them if they think handguns should be as well-regulated as sleeping pills. I realize that the phrase “sleeping pills” puts it all in perspective and adds the proper fear of overdose or addiction. Meanwhile, I have cardboard boxes papered in biohazard symbols sitting on my doormat. But, sure, drug safety is an issue (not really; it’s a political hot-potato)(aspirin probably wouldn’t pass modern safety testing). But that’s just a little part of the ongoing bureaucratic madness that’s slowly swallowing my life. God forbid we had a system of universal insurance where pharmaceutical/physician coordination was as simple as a phone call. I’m going to do the periodic self-assessment here, before moving on to the main part of today’s essay: WEIGHT: 216 lb. CONCENTRATION: Not great, although it was much worse this morning. APPETITE: Okay. I’m still eating unpleasant amounts of plants and protein shakes, which tend to suppress appetite. ACTIVITY LEVEL: Good; I went to the gym and library, but I felt disturbingly tired all day. SLEEP QUALITY: Pretty good. COORDINATION/DEXTERITY: Pretty good at the moment. MEMORY: Excellent, though, I haven’t been inundated with memory-dependent tasks today. PHYSICAL: I woke up exhausted, but that’s the standard on all non-post Captain America Serum days. SIDE EFFECTS: Nothing new or particularly note-worthy.

And now, I thought I’d share the playlist I made for my chemo sessions (I realize I did that previously, but I don’t know if I’ve made that playlist public on Spotify). I had a little more time on this one than the radiation playlist (to be honest, I still have 10-11 more months to perfect this mix-tape). And, unlike the radiotherapy playlist, which was relatively limited (nuclear/radiation/nuclear war), I got to cover poison (that’s what chemo is), toxins and toxic waste (chemo drugs do not qualify, but you feel like a walking Superfund site), death (I know that sounds emo, again, it’s not like the odds on my long-term survival suddenly changed, and it meant i could sneak in “Don’t Fear the Reaper;” I’m not made of stone), pain, and/or generalized hangover sensations (which also opened up the genre of country music), and insomnia or weird dreams (those are two other big side-effects of the experimental chemo drug. I’d recommend them if you’re about to go into chemo, but, as with everything related to cancer, these songs are not for the faint-of-heart. Because I know everyone occasionally needs a morale booster, I’ve included a few of those types of songs (but nothing like Rachel Platten’s “Fight Song,” you can get that shit from Barney the Dinosaur). Like it or not, there’s a lot of hard rock and heavy metal on this list - that’s kind of an unfortunate limitation of the themes at hand. Unless Raffi ever collaborated Slayer and I didn’t find out about it.

Poison - Alice Cooper Shot of Poison - Lita Ford Lord of the Wasteland - Toxic Holocaust Down Poison - 3 Doors Down Poison Whiskey - Lynyrd Skynyrd Bad Medicine - Bon Jovi The Waiting - Tom Petty The Acid Queen (Demo) - Pete Townshend Tarantula - Wavves 4 Degrees - Anohni Subtle Poison - Screaming Trees My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink, and I Don't Love Jesus - Jimmy Buffett Don’t Fear the Reaper - Blue Oyster Cult Hangover - Taio Cruz, Flo Rida Thirteen - Glen Danzig Hungover Together - Supsuckers Hungover - Kesha Love Hangover - Jason Derulo Hungover on Heartache - Cam Ride the Sky - Revolution Mother Hungover - Brandy Clark Hungover Heart - Gary Allan Hungover - 3OH!3 Many Happy Hangovers to You - Jean Sheppard Hungover Tonight - Gary Allan Chris Stapleton Hangover - Max Webster Trashed - Black Sabbath Ride On - AC/DC Cheap Sunglasses - ZZ Top Take Your Whiskey Home - Van Halen From the Inside - Alice Cooper Sunshine - Atomsphere The Night Before - Lee Hazlewood Tougher Than the Rest - Bruce Springsteen Fuck and Run - Liz Phair (Okay, this is less hangover and more the morning after, however, there are very few women on this list, and I’m sure headaches and muscle pain are involved at some point) Sunday Morning Coming Down - Johnny Cash Toxic Trace - Kreator The Poison - Alkaline Trio Room at the Top - Tom Petty Poison in Your Veins - Yngwie Malmsteen Poison in my Veins - Bayside Poison Sugar - Reba McEntire Poison Pen - Molly Hatchett What's Ya Poison - Mobb Deep Poison - George Strait Baba O'Riley - The Who Familiar Taste of Poison - Halestorm Poison Years - Bob Mould Poison Door - Sisters of Mercy Poison Oak - Bright Eyes Poison Girl - HIM The Poison - Bullet for my Valentine Poison - Nicole Scherzinger Poison was the Cure - Megadeth Before the Poison - Marianne Faithfull The Warrior's Code - Dropkick Murphys The End - The Doors Misery - Soul Asylum Streets of Philadelphia - Bruce Springsteen (Yes, I know this one's about HIV, but does describe the cancer experience quite well, also, I'm a sucker for a Springsteen song) Touch Me I'm Sick - Mudhoney Hurt - Johnny Cash Hurts so Good - John Mellencamp Life Ain't Always Beautiful - Gary Allan Let's Hurt Tonight - OneRepublic Her Diamonds - Rob Thomas Do You Really Want to hurt me - Culture Club Whiskey Lullaby - Brad Paisley Fall - Clay Walker Feel No Pain - Sade Valley of Pain - Bonnie Raitt Bad Day - Daniel Powter King of Pain - The Police Joanne - Lady Gaga Precious Pain - Melissa Etheridge The Cure for Pain - Jon Foreman Used to the Pain - Keith Urban Get Off on the Pain - Gary Allan Wonder - Emeli Sande Looking Out My Window Through the Pain - George Strait Pain Told Love - Tribe Society, Kiesza Worn - Tenth Avenue North Just Keep Breathing - We the Kings Shine - Ricky Fanta The Fighter - Gym Class Heroes Doctor Wu - Steely Dan Needles and Pins - The Searchers Detox Mansion - Warren Zevon Splendid Isolation - Warren Zevon (being the chemo ward is still very isolating) Keep Me in Your Heart - Warren Zevon Poor Poor Pitiful Me - Warren Zevon Life During Wartime - Talking Heads Scar - Def Leppard My Ride's Here - Warren Zevon (I love this song, it's especially applicable to me because the fascists at the DMV yanked my license after my seizure in November) The Flame - Cheap Trick The Rising - Bruce Springsteen Enter Sandman - Metallica Captain America March - Alan Silvestri Straight to Hell - The Clash I Go To Sleep - Pretenders Daysleeper - REM Sleep Walk - Santo and Johnny Insomnia - Faithless Anxiety Attack - Jffery Lewis, Jack Lewis Heaps of Sheeps - Robert Wyatt Black Coffee - All Saints Congratulations - Traveling Wilburys

[im-a-buffalo]

Music tag

Shuffle your music and pick your favourite lyrics from the first ten songs then tag ten friends. I was tagged by @whelved-thoughts (thanks bro!) 1. Comfortably Numb-Pink Floyd Just a little pinprick *ding* There'll be no more AHHHHHHHHHHHHH But you may feel a little sick 2. Gimme Three Steps-Lynyrd Skynyrd Cause he was LEAn, MEAn, and Big and bad, Lord, pOINTING THAT GUN AT ME 3. Flirt in' With Disaster-Molly Hatchett I got the pedal to the floor our lives are running faster We got out sights set straight ahead but I ain't sure what we're after 4. The Other Side of Rainbow-Gogol Bordello So wake up (wake up) my principessa And don't let me out of your sight I have seen the other side of rainbow And it was black and white It was black and white 5. Alice's Restaurant Massacre-Arlo Guthrie honestly?? the whole damn song. actually one of my favorite songs ever 6. Where The Devil Don't Go-Elle King Drown my woes in a lake of fire Sinner's song gonna take me higher 7. You Never Even Called Me By My Name-Avid Allen Coe once again, the whole damn thing 8. Black Betty-Ram Jam Black Betty had a child, bam-ba-lam The damn thing gone wild, bam-ba-lam 9. Honky Tonk Badonkadonk-Trace Adkin (not even gonna lie, this is my fuckin jam) Hustlers shootin eight ball Throwin darts at the wall Feelin damn near ten feet tall 10. Firewater-Old Crow Medicine Show Yeah buddy it's a short life, it's a hell of a life It's a mean old world when you're kicked to the gutter And the firewater's got you talkin in circles again It's an empty bottle passing around When your hopes and dreams have all burned down And the firewater is the one think tho put out the flame and that's it! tbh i feel like this doesn't represent how much southern and classic rock (yeah, ok, i KNOW y'all think it's mullet rock but what the fuck ever man what do you want from me) i actually listen to i'm not tagging ten people bc i don't actually have ten friends but i will tag @what-i-really-meant

[full-imagination]

Hester O'Shields Farmer "Mooma"

Hester O’Shields Farmer “Mooma”, 97, of Pauline, SC, died Sunday, February 24, 2019, at Spartanburg Medical Center. Born March 24, 1921, in the Friendship Community of Spartanburg County, SC, she was the daughter of the late Wallace and Myrtle Adair O’Shields. She was married for 59 years to the late Roy Hartwell Farmer (1999). Mrs. Farmer was the eldest member of Mt. Lebanon Baptist Church where she taught Sunday School to the youth, was WMU Director for many years, served on the Funeral Food Committee, and was also a Vacation Bible School volunteer. A graduate of Pauline High School, she was co-owner of Farmer Saw Mill, Orchards & Farm and also worked taking the local census around 1960. Mooma was devoted to her Lord, family, friends, and community. There was always room at her table. Survivors include her children, Jimmie Farmer (Jane) of Enoree, Warren Farmer (Elaine) of Pauline, Brenda Compton (L. C.) of Pauline, Robert Farmer (Marie) of Enoree, and Sammy Farmer (Pam) of Pauline; grandchildren, Les Farmer (Kim), Lynn Isler (Keith), Jeff Farmer (Rebecca Mary), Gina Ponder (Danny), Richard Compton (Rhonda), Mark Compton (Melissa), Tammy Hatchett (Phillip), Chad Farmer (Kim), and Heather Farmer; great-grandchildren, Austin, Dylan, and Joshua Farmer, Emma Jane, Joel, and Seth Isler, Nicholas Farmer, Carrie Ann and Abigail Compton, Connor and Courtney Hatchett, Noah and Kennedy Farmer; great-great-grandson, Braylin LeMaster; and brother, Donald O’Shields. In addition to her parents and husband, she was predeceased by five brothers, Lester, Earle, Wiley, Herbert, and Lloyd O’Sheilds; a sister, Alice Parker; and great-great-granddaughter, Alydia Carrano. Visitation will be 6:00-8:00 PM Tuesday, February 26, 2019, at Floyd’s Greenlawn Chapel, 2075 E. Main St., Spartanburg, SC 29307. Funeral services will be conducted at 4:00 PM Wednesday, February 27, 2019, at Mt. Lebanon Baptist Church, 2153 Mt. Lebanon Rd., Buffalo, SC 29321, by The Rev. Melvin Shelton, The Rev. Jimmie Farmer, The Rev. Jeff Farmer, and The Rev. Guy Langston. Burial will be in the church cemetery. The family is at the home. Floyd’s Greenlawn Chapel from The JF Floyd Mortuary via Spartanburg Funeral

[emdoesstufff]

Chapter 4

Chapter 4 is up! Sorry it took so long.

Please feel free to leave comments and feedback! Be nice :)

Also, anyone who draws Cruz in her suit from this and her cowboy hat (or anybody in the fic at all) is super cool and awesome.

[little-peril-stories]

Intro: The Queen of Lies

AU for The Prince of Thieves / WC: keeps changing, will let you know someday

Masterlist | Content Warnings | Mood Board | Vibey Song Lyrics | Ao3

I sold myself to a loveless thing / And I walk'd to the altar and there I lied

C.W.S., Harper's Weekly, 7 July 1866

At a Glance

Genres: romance, historical, whump

POV/tense: 3rd-person, past tense

Small main cast; single narrator two narrators lol

You can enjoy the story without reading TPOT - the side characters just won't feel nearly as fleshed out here (I think so, anyway.)

tbh it's a romance with added bonus of torture, captivity, dread, angst, intimidation, and fun whumpy happenings

Description

THE QUEEN OF LIES is a tale of quiet courage, inner strength, and forbidden love—and the ways we can change our lives for the better if only we dare to take a leap of faith.

Four years ago, Breanna Cooper made a choice that altered the course of her life forever.

She stayed.

Instead of running away from a man she knew did not and could not love her, she remained—and became Mrs. Breanna Hatchett. Now she exists quietly in a life half-lived, striving to be the perfect wife and always falling short.

One day, a chance encounter in Constable Baden Hatchett’s prison brings her face to face with a captured thief from the notorious thieving gang Iustitia aecum. Though she swears she will forget the boy to whose brutal punishment she bears witness, it soon becomes clear that forgetting him is something she simply cannot do.

On a whim, for the first time in years, Breanna takes a chance and seeks out the thief—and yet again, her life is changed forever.

Vibes & Tropes

Forbidden love

Tragic backstory

“Who did this to you?”

Gazing through cell bars

"I'll fight for you"

“Why are you helping me?”

Gloomy skies, autumn leaves, rain & thunder

Against all logic and reason…

"I will always find you"

Alternatively, if you are a music-minded person, I collected some song lyrics that make me think of this story.

Cast of Characters

Main & Major Characters

BREANNA HATCHETT: Our heroine. Four years ago, she married into an abusive relationship, and since then she has been going through her life like a ghost, doing as her husband says and trying to be the perfect wife. When fate sends her careening into the story of an imprisoned thief, her entire world is rocked to its core.

FOX/THE THIEF: Our hero. If you’re new here, enjoy spending 50% of the story not knowing his name. Sharp-tongued and defiant, impulsive and reckless, the thief is determined to take his secrets to his grave to protect his family, if that’s what it takes. He is slowly losing hope…that is, until he is granted unexpected kindness by the least likely person imaginable. Suddenly, there’s more hope and light in his life than he ever expected to see again.

CONSTABLE BADEN HATCHETT: Our bad guy. Breanna’s husband. Vindictive, controlling, and manipulative, he wields his power and influence inside and outside the prison where he works as a constable. Above all things, he despises disobedience and disorder the most. When Breanna begins to take her life into her own hands, he will stop at nothing to gain control over her once again. Whatever it takes.

JUNIOR CONSTABLE CURTIS LENTON: A constable who is not-so-secretly pining for Breanna. He is a friend to her in the only way he knows how, but this means he is sometimes overprotective of her—to a fault.

DR. ALLAN ARMSTRONG DALE: A newly employed doctor who has a habit of getting in over his head no matter what universe he's in.

SPIDER: An elusive woman who helps to run the thieving gang Iustitia aecum.

HARE: The fourth and final member of IA’s inner circle.

WOLF/THE THIEF’S BROTHER: A mysterious character whose identity the thief goes to great lengths to protect.

ALICE: Breanna’s friend who encourages her to take more risks in her life.

Other Characters

MRS. BRISTOW: A nurse working at the prison. Better at the job than the medic.

MRS. DENNISON: The Hatchetts' housekeeper.

MR. GYSBORNE: The prison medic.

JUNIOR CONSTABLE MICHAELSON: A vicious officer who works under Baden Hatchett. Notable for his leering gaze and sadistic tendencies.

MARGUERITE: Breanna’s other friend.

DR. RICHARDS: The other, not-so-nice doctor.

INSPECTOR BULWELL: The head of the prison where Baden works.

MISS DUGFORD: A cruel bully of a nurse

FAQ

What will I like about TQOL?

Well, if you liked the thief’s snark in TPOT, then it’s, like, tripled, especially in the early chapters here. But this is a different story—far more romantic—and you might like getting to see a much softer side of him, too.

You might like Breanna’s character development from a very frightened and sheltered wife to a courageous young woman who is willing to take risks and face her fears.

If you like romantic tension, forced proximity, pining, and lots of caretaking/comfort, then I hope you’ll like this story!

How do I know if this story is for me?

You can check out the Contents/Warnings here. There are spoilers in that post, so click at your own risk.

For TPOT readers:

>>>>>

stop here if you don't want any vague spoilers for The Prince of Thieves!

>>>>>

What are the biggest differences between TPOT and TQOL?

Shorter. Fewer but often longer chapters. 3rd-person past tense.

There's the whole name thing. The name "Cooper" only shows up 3 times in the whole thing. "Mrs. Hatchett," on the other hand...

In TPOT, we know the thief’s name right away because he and two other inner circle members are POV characters. Breanna is the only POV character in TQOL........uh....listen. We just have to wait until she learns his name. For stylistic reasons.

Since Breanna didn't run away and never joined IA, all her serendipitous meetings with the thief in her past never happened. Her first encounter with him is in Chapter 1.

Obviously, since they're married, the relationship between Baden and Breanna—while strained and 100% toxic, problematic, and unhealthy—is not as antagonistic as it is in TPOT.

In the beginning, we get a little less existential dread because the thief isn’t expecting execution but rather long-term imprisonment, labour, or exile to a penal colony (no actual plot reason for this, I just wanted to play with the stakes and see how it changed the dynamics. because I can). This means that Ezra Johnston (the captured runner from TPOT) was never hanged and so we catch up with the thief in a slightly better mental state than the same point in TPOT.

Wolf and Jr. Constable Michaelson have reduced roles (compared to TPOT), while Jr. Constable Lenton (who literally only appears in two TPOT chapters) has an elevated role and gets a first name.

The time period is slightly different (because of reasons), but I doubt this is actually noticeable in the writing, only in my brain. I had to do a decent amount of research for this one particular plot thread, so now I know what decade we’re in lol.

What’s the same between TPOT and TQOL?

Well, Hatchett is still an asshole, and actually, so is the thief (affectionate)...he's still a snarky, potty-mouthed rascal. The IA setup is pretty much the same, the tattoo hasn’t changed, and the thief’s determination to keep the inner circle safe and out of Hatchett’s clutches is as strong as ever. On the IA end, everything up to the flogging has played out pretty much the same (see above q for a few lil differences). It's Breanna's life that has been wildly different.

In terms of tropes/plots….yes, I repeated a few. I don’t want to say them here bc spoilers but if you really want to know, send me a DM and I’ll spill which TPOT parts get their own AU twist.

Thanks for reading! <3 Hope you like it!

If you've made it this far, here's your reward:

Image ID: a square image of the external wall of a brick building with barred windows. White text reads: “No, not a hanging. It’s not for ladies to see or think of. No need to trouble yourself with such things.” End ID.

[little-peril-stories]

My Most Common Tropes

I was tagged by @i-can-even-burn-salad in this post. (....in August, lol.) Thanks, Elli!

Rules: Look back on your work, both past and present, finished and unfinished. What are five to ten narrative elements or tropes that continuously pop up in your work?

OPEN TAG

My most common tropes and narrative elements are....

Angst

Girl Power

Violence & Power Dynamics

(Sad) Family Stuff

Slow Burn

Classic Big Bad Villains

And because I'm me, find four billion examples below the read more. :)

✨ Angst

What more can I say? I love it when my characters are sad. And hurting. And feeling hopeless. And helpless.

No matter what I do, I can’t move. I can’t get to her. I’m helpless. I’m useless. Maybe that’s all I’ve ever been—failing Jamie, failing IA, and now I’m going to fail Bree, too. - TPOT

What difference did it make? He would take her home, and she’d be his pretty possession once again, and every choice she’d made to escape the fate she’d so foolishly chosen for herself four years before would mean absolutely nothing. - TQOL

Yes, the thief thought, he was lucky. Lucky to have had Bree—who didn’t even know him—and her gentle hands on his skin, taking care of him for reasons he didn’t know or understand, doing something for him when he could never, ever pay her back. [...] Lucky that she was real, and that she had been there. Lucky, most of all, that she was gone, and that he would never see her again, because if he did, he’d have to face all over this alien, unwelcome pain of farewell. - TQOL

Being dead and suffering through some kind of purgatory was the least palatable option he’d come up with, yet the scholar half-hoped it was true. If he had died, the hell he was living through now was the false reality. It would eventually crumble into oblivion, blown away on the wind with his ashes, or buried in the ground with his decomposing corpse. - Man of Letters

✨ Girl Power

Action Girl / Plucky Girl / Determinator

Pour one out for my girls Bree, Colette, Alice, Fen, Ivy, Bridget, Nalia, Oriana, Ker, and Balain. Even when they're fucking up, which they do a lot, they're making it through and, in some cases, saving the day. Girls rule, boys drool. (shhh I'm just kidding)

Those same fears come back, renewed and armed with sharper, more vicious teeth than before. But so, too, does that promise. And even though the wind is just as cold as it was that night, and even though what I am leaving behind is infinitely more precious than what I abandoned four years ago, the taste of freedom on the wind is just as sweet. - TPOT

“Put the princess in a pair of pants and watch what happens.”- TQOL

“I chased a fucking wagon across this goddamn city. And then I chased a carriage across it again. I nearly got trampled twice. Do not fucking start with me.” - TQOL

They didn’t know what they were getting themselves into when they decided to kidnap me. I hope I get the chance to make them regret it. - TCOR

“I may be dying,” she said, her voice trembling with fury, “but I’m not dead. And I’m not going to lie around waiting to die, either.” - Book 1

✨ Violence & Power Dynamics

Violence is the Only Option / Jack Bauer Interrogation Technique / No-Holds-Barred Beatdown / Restraints / I Will Punish Your Friend For Your Failure / Defiant Captive

No respite—the rope grew tight again, accompanied now by Baden Hatchett’s hand on his chin. “Tried to take what wasn’t yours, and when she was rightfully repulsed by you, you thought you’d get to me another way instead?” - TQOL

I can’t suppress the cry that escapes as he twists and presses his fingertips against the wound. - TPOT

“Answer me,” the prince said softly, tightening his grip just enough that the scholar’s jaw began to ache. - Man of Letters

“Try to run away and I’ll let him drown your friend,” she said, digging her fingers into Nalia’s arm. - Book 1

✨ Family Stuff

Annoying Younger Sibling / Disappointing Older Sibling / Dead Parents / Abusive Parents

When Will kept bouncing, seeming not to hear their mother’s question, Jamie picked up one of his brother’s abandoned socks from the floor, crushed it into a ball, and hurled it at his head. - TPOT

“No one says anything. No one. Even you. You got arrested and you never fucking told me and he had that old record and that’s how he knew your name, and I can’t believe you never said anything, for fuck’s sake, and that happened when Ma was still alive—” - TPOT

The entire time I was in jail, truly believing and even hoping that my brother had skipped town and saved himself and left me to die, I never wanted to hurt him as much as I do right now. - TCOR

A knife under the ribs. It was Bridget’s fault. “I didn’t—I should’ve—I know I waited too long to go to the feds. I’m going to regret it forever, you know.” - Fen and Freddie

“Keeping me here to suffer more because your mother died on you, that’s not fair.” I know these words will hurt her. I don’t care. “I watched my ma die, too.” - TPOT

“My mother…she used to. She lives in the country now.” A distant look came into his eyes. “My dad’s dead. Of the fever. When it came here.” - Book 1

The soft words of her mother often came to her in such moments—the gentle but fragmented counsel that had helped Cecilia Cooper through her own marriage to Silas Cooper, a bitter man prone to temper and partial to drink. Stay with me, my love, she had whispered so often, and I will keep you safe. A mostly empty promise, untrue but well-meant; Breanna had known even then that her mother had tried her best. Let’s practice some sums, she would sometimes say, smoothing away her daughter’s tear-damp locks, watching the door with a frantic eye in case the handle began to turn. - TQOL

✨ Slow Burn

Make them go through a billion and a half awkward moments and almosts before they kiss!

Almost Kiss / Rescue Romance / Sleep Cute

I bet that hair practically glows red when the sun hits it just right. Especially in the light of sunset, when the sky turns to pink and orange flame. - TPOT

Dawn, of course, does not reach us inside our cell. Its rays can’t drift inside and wake us gently, can’t illuminate our fingers that remained entwined through the night; perhaps it is some innate, natural understanding that it’s almost time to rise that makes my eyes flutter open. A pair of hazel ones stares back. - TPOT

Are we closer than we were a minute ago? Can I better see the flutter of her eyelashes, glittering with tears, as she looks up at me, her cheeks pale, her lips parted to let every frightened breath pass, her hair brushing against her skin in perfect disarray? - TPOT

This was different: lovely, potent, thrilling. Like silken threads woven with bronze, like some entity of creation had crafted this man from warm earth and molten metal. - TQOL

This gaze burned like sunshine—like spring, like warmth on meadow grasses, like the glint of golden light off a pond. It burned, and it didn’t waver, and she knew where he was looking when he shifted a strand of damp hair away from her neck. - TQOL

He fixed her with that annoyingly penetrating gaze, like she was a book he wanted to read. - Book 1

✨ Big-Bad Style Villains

Big Bad / Lack of Empathy / Blaming "The Man" / The Chessmaster / Implacable Man / Evil Gloating

“Mouth off to her again,” he said softly, “and I’m going to make you very sorry.” - Book 1

“Oops,” Brockhurst said. “That might have broken a rib. Or several.” - Fen and Freddie

“Look at you. You’re no hero,” Hatchett says. My eyes fly open again. “A thief is all you are—a terrible one at that. Iustitia aecum, indeed.” He bares his teeth. “You and the others, you wear your guise of honour. Still, you are nothing more than lowlife, thieving criminals. Her, just as much as you.” He scoffs. “She says you saved her, once upon a time. Today, you will not.” - TPOT

“I most certainly am not mistaken,” says Jean Regent. “I did hope we could be civil from the start, but if you continue to be evasive and spout pointless lies, then I am afraid I shall have to resort to more barbaric measures rather quickly.” - TCOR

“Remember this, will you?” Regent lifts the poker from the hearth. “Remember that I could have ended your sorry life and chose not to. Remember that I showed you mercy. And remember…” His smile widens to a grotesque, gaping grin. “Remember that if you anger me again, the girl pays the price.” - TCOR

OH MY GOD THIS WAS SO FUN THANK YOU FOR TAGGING ME IN THIS AHH

[little-peril-stories]

The Queen of Lies: The Looking Glass

Story Intro | Contents [Warnings] | Mood Board | Vibey Song Lyrics | Ao3

Contents: abusive relationship (discussed, not explicit or detailed)

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Word count: 2600 || Approx reading time: 11 mins

Chapter 3: The Looking Glass

Teaser: She’d kept them waiting because she’d slept late, and she’d slept late because she had been plagued by nightmares, and she’d been plagued by nightmares because…

“Oh, there she is! Mrs. Hatchett! Over here! So good to see you!”

Breanna smiled as she stepped into the tearoom, waving at her two friends who were already sitting at a table and beckoning her over. Marguerite’s golden hair shimmered in the lamplight as she waved back, as did the exquisite gemstone earrings that dangled from her ears. Next to her, Alice was clutching a book in her hands, no doubt one she’d picked up at the literary society meeting the night before. She snapped it closed as Breanna swept her skirts to the side and sat down.

“Were you reading that out of boredom?” Breanna asked. “I didn’t keep you waiting long, did I?”

She’d kept them waiting because she’d slept late, and she’d slept late because she had been plagued by nightmares, and she’d been plagued by nightmares because…

“Oh, not at all. I just can’t put it down.” Alice’s eyes shone with delight, and Breanna held out her hand for the book, which her friend relinquished with enthusiasm. “I think you’d like it.”

“No doubt I would,” said Breanna carefully, praying the gloom was not obvious in her voice. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it so far.”

Alice seemed about to launch into a summary of all she’d read so far, but Marguerite spoke first. “I haven’t even started yet, save for what we read yesterday, and she’s already halfway through.”

“It’s absolutely delicious,” Alice declared. Breanna ran her fingers down the book’s gold-painted edges. “Rather scandalous, in some ways. She had an—” She lowered her voice. “—an affair.”

Scanning the first page, Breanna let the opening lines jump out at her: A throng of bearded men…sad–coloured garments…wooden edifice…studded with iron spikes…human virtue and happiness…virgin soil… cemetery… prison.

A shiver ran down her spine.

“It looks good,” Breanna said, her stomach twisting as she handed it back. She wanted to join the society, but she wasn’t quite certain she wanted to read this book.

Marguerite patted her hand. “It’s a shame you couldn’t join,” she said. “Perhaps you’ll convince him, and you’ll be able to join later.”

Breanna’s spirits lifted slightly. “Are there still spaces?”

“Oh, plenty,” Alice assured her. “Seems there are a great many ladies out there whose husbands also have…” She lowered her voice and finished conspiratorially, “Sticks up their behinds.”

Marguerite’s eyes went as round as the teacups being delivered to their table, but Breanna laughed. “That’s good news for me, then.” Perhaps there was hope, after all.

“Did he really say no?” asked Marguerite, sipping daintily at her tea.

“Well…” Was there any point in lying? “I was too nervous to ask.”

Uncomfortable silence met this confession, and Breanna’s cheeks burned.

“Oh, darling.” Alice’s mouth twisted unhappily. “I despise how frightened of him you are.”

That, Breanna did not dare to answer.

He had been fine, if cold, when he returned from work the day before—his temper calmed enough that the conversation she’d been dreading had not come to pass—and they had settled into their bed in frosty civility, but nothing more. No shouting, no scolding, no rage.

“I’ll pluck up the courage,” she said, stitching a smile over her lips, and Alice nodded.

“Good,” said Marguerite. “I’m quite certain you’ll enjoy this whole literary society thing far more than I will.” She tossed her head. “If you join, I can quit.”

Deciding it was time to lighten the mood, Breanna said, “No doubt. What was the last book you read, anyway?” She giggled as Marguerite slapped her lightly on the arm.

It was good, she told herself, to drink tea and laugh and make plans with her friends. To jest and smile. To forget.

***

Marguerite insisted on visiting the dressmaker after tea, so Breanna walked arm-in-arm with Alice while Marguerite led the way to the shop.

“You will, won’t you?” Alice asked. “Ask him about the form, I mean.”

Swallowing around a sudden ache in her throat, Breanna said, “I’ll try.”

“It isn’t right, you know. That you need his permission. Well…that you’re so afraid to even ask for it.” Of course, it was easy for Alice to say such things. Her husband was some higher-up in the military and he was always in and out of their house. She could do as she pleased most of the time.

Breanna kept her gaze straight ahead and did not voice that thought. She had never told Alice or Marguerite the story of her marriage to Baden Hatchett or why it existed at all. That her relationship with her husband was more complicated, perhaps, than they realized. That marrying him had saved her from destitution after her father’s death, and that she owed him for the safe, luxurious life she knew now.

“It is what it is,” she said quietly.

She had almost run, four years ago, when her father finally died after years of making her life a living hell, and Baden came to bring her to his home. Terrified of what came next, dreading marriage, yet dreading not being married, too, she had tried to refuse—to release him from a betrothal he’d agreed to long ago, before her father lost his fortune, when the Cooper family was still rich and powerful and well-respected.

Baden had insisted on keeping his word, but there had been a matter-of-factness, a stiffness about it, as he gave her a stark reminder: she needed him to keep her from a life of misery on the city streets. What kind of life could you possibly make out there on your own?

In a fit of frustration when she’d continued to protest, he’d grabbed her arm and yanked her toward him, gripping hard enough to leave a handprint-shaped bruise. And it had almost been enough to send her running into the night and never looking back.

 But the night had been so deep and dark and cold, and she’d been haunted by his predictions that, without him, she would die penniless on the floor of an alley somewhere, disease-ridden or murdered or defiled.

Why risk everything, she’d wondered, for an enemy she didn’t know just to escape an enemy she did?

And, she’d reasoned, purple fingerprints on her arm came nowhere close to what her father had done over the years. Perhaps it was best to stay. People could change, after all.

Even if they couldn’t, surely a few tears here and there would be more bearable than dying on a street corner, cold and hungry.

Yes. Preferable. Bearable.

Now, as she and Alice followed Marguerite into the shop, Breanna fingered the new piece of paper she’d tucked into her pocket: an agenda and a mission statement, nearly a manifesto, from Mrs. Gage’s literary society. It even had a list of the books that members were suggested to read. Alice had looked a little guilty passing it to Breanna, saying she apparently wasn’t supposed to share, but that she simply couldn’t leave her friend out of the fun.

“Get him to sign it,” Alice said. “Maybe you can even make it to the next meeting.”

“Perhaps,” Breanna murmured. A skeptical voice at the back of her mind piped up to say, Not likely, but she shoved it down.

“After all,” Alice said, “there are nearly too many reasons you should join.” She gave Breanna a teasing nudge with her elbow. “You need to get out more.”

Despite herself, Breanna laughed. “What do you mean by that? I get out plenty.”

Wrinkling her nose, Alice said, “You rarely come out with us as it is. And visiting that horrid prison a few times a year and making small talk with the other constables’ wives at dinners don’t count. Do you even like any of those women?”

“Well…”

“See?” Alice huffed and tossed her head. “You need something different. Something interesting. Fun. Stimulating. You spend far too much time cooped up in that old Hatchett house.”

Breanna hoped her smile didn’t seem too forced. “It’s all easier said than done, Alice.”

“I know.” The squeeze on her arm was gentle. Comforting. “Look at you, though. All that time locked up in that stuffy old manor and you still look utterly exhausted.”

Breanna bit her lip and fought the urge to look away so Alice couldn’t inspect her any more closely. The reason for her exhaustion, the awful dreams and what had put them there, she could not tell her. “I had trouble sleeping last night.”

Alice smiled sympathetically, and for a few minutes, they wandered the shop in silence.

“But,” Alice went on suddenly, “there’s something to be said for taking a leap.”

Confused and a little startled, Breanna raised her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

“Not a literal leap,” Alice said with a roll of her eyes. “Rather, trying new things. Doing something that, perhaps, you mightn’t have done before. Being courageous.”

“Like joining Mrs. Gage’s literary society?”

“Like joining Mrs. Gage’s literary society.” Alice winked. “I’d be ever so delighted if you did. You know I had to beg Marguerite nearly on my hands and knees to go along with me?”

Breanna held her hand over her mouth to hide a giggle. She knew, of course, her friend was exaggerating, but she suspected it wasn’t terribly far from the truth.

“That’s right. You heard me. Beg. At least you’d be an agreeable companion.”

“All right!” Breanna said, laughing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was letting you down with my cowardice. I’ll try to convince him.”

With a squeal, Alice squeezed Breanna’s arm even tighter and laid her head on her shoulder. The moment was fleeting but tender, and Breanna’s heart swelled at the show of affection. “Excellent. I know you’ll wear him down.”

Breanna certainly hoped she could.

“Now, go look at all those lovely things,” she said, nudging Alice toward Marguerite, who was in deep conversation with the dressmaker about an order she wanted to place. “I’m going to run to the bakery.”

Alice shook her head. “Don’t you want to look around, too? She’s got some lovely new fashions. And…” She chuckled, a sweet musical laugh, good-natured and teasing, as if she already knew the answer. “Didn’t you have enough sweets with tea?”

“Never enough,” Breanna said, giggling rather sheepishly. “I’ll return when I’m finished. I have some things I’d like to pick up to bring home.”

“This is your problem,” Alice admonished, wagging her finger. “You try too hard to be his good little wife. Just stay and have fun. Weren’t you listening at all?”

Breanna responded only with a smile as she slipped out the door.

Did she try too hard to be Baden’s perfect wife? It certainly never felt that way. It felt like she didn’t try hard enough.

Or perhaps, that dark voice said, it wasn’t that she didn’t try hard enough. It was that nothing ever was enough.

At the bakery, the air was thick, warm, and fragrant with the smell of baking bread, an irresistible smell no matter how low Breanna was feeling. It was a comforting place, rife with delightful scents, beautiful baked goods, and smiling faces. Who wouldn’t be grinning as they unwrapped a sugary cake, warm bread roll, or honey-soaked bun? Her mood lifted, and Breanna purchased some bread to eat with dinner, knowing she wouldn’t have time to bake a satisfactory loaf by the time she returned, as well as some pastries. She couldn’t resist a fruit tart, decadent and sprinkled with powdered sugar. Although Baden didn’t, Breanna had a sweet tooth, and whenever she had the chance to indulge, she took it. If she bought anything for herself without also choosing something for him, however…

Well, she feared that after yesterday, such a thing would, at the very least, set him on edge.

Even if he did not intend to eat any of it.

Alice’s words turned over and over in her mind as she waited in line. Try something new? Be courageous? Pretty words, indeed, and yet what did they really mean?

The moment she tried to tidy Alice’s advice neatly into a cupboard at the back of her mind, memories of the day before hurtled in to take its place.

No. She did not want to think of the prison, or the thief, or the cat-o’-nine-tails. Hadn’t she lain awake all night wondering if Mr. Gysborne might have tended to his wounds sooner if she hadn’t fainted? If he hadn’t been too busy taking care of her?

She did not want to think of the prison, or the thief, or her husband’s blood-flecked face. Hadn’t she already seen it a thousand times while she tried desperately to fall asleep?

She did not want to think of the prison, or the thief, or those pain-misted hazel eyes that had seemed, for the barest instant, to see straight into her. Eyes that had reflected such agony back at her, it had taken her breath away. Had he been lucid when he looked up? Could he have known who she was? Or was it just by chance that he raised his gaze at that moment and found hers?

Back at the dressmaker’s—Marguerite and Alice were still inside—Breanna caught sight of her own face in the window.

The night she almost ran from Baden’s home, she’d done much the same—seen herself in a mirror by the door and paused. Really thought about what she was doing—and what she was about to give up.

And as her tear-filled eyes took in the skin-and-bone girl grieving too many things at once, a girl terrified of losing what little she already had, Breanna had chosen to stay.

Now, as the autumn wind blew brittle leaves through the air and threatened to rip her hat from her head, Breanna examined herself again: the neat brown hair pinned back in a sleek knot, the dusty-pink and cream-coloured dress patterned with fine-leaved roses, and the bruise-like circles below her eyes that revealed to all how haunted her night had been.

There she was—Mrs. Breanna Hatchett, the girl who chose the path of safety. Who always had.

What if Breanna Hatchett could be the girl who took a leap instead?

What if, just once, Breanna Hatchett did something bold?

Just this one time, she promised herself. Just to clear her conscience.

Because she’d distracted the medic while he bled.

Because her husband was the one who had flogged him so brutally.

He was a thief, she reminded herself, a gang member. A criminal who had taunted Baden so viciously before the flogging began. Her cheeks burned just thinking of the awful things he’d said.

But after, he’d been in such pain, and bled so terribly…

There’s something to be said for taking a leap.

Just one time, and never again. To ensure that he was recovering, and nothing more.

To clear her conscience and be done with the whole gruesome affair.

Yes, Breanna decided. Once that was done, she could concentrate on other things. Worry about signatures and literary societies and the like when her mind was unburdened with guilt.

Tomorrow—tomorrow, and then it would be ended. She would see him once more and then bury him in the sands of time and memory. Tomorrow, Breanna Hatchett would go back to the prison to see the thief.

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[Image ID: A square image of cells bars. The text, from Chapter 4 of The Queen of Lies, reads: "She came here to offer you a scrap of kindness, which if you ask me is far more than you deserve. The least you can do is show a smidgeon of gratitude back." End ID.]