#like i feel like in the not even two decades i've been alive my neighborhood though not perfect was still like..

[phantomspren]

The absolutely fucking wild thing about media is how in many ways it resists the linearity of time.

Full disclosure, I'm a baby, I'm nineteen.

I do not limit my media consumption by when it was created.

I read a lot of classics, I read The Count of Monte Cristo (published from 1844-46 I think) this winter. That story has been in the world for 200 years. It's still wildly entertaining and millions of people continue to enjoy it and interpret it in new ways and inspire them to tell stories.

Don't even get me started on older stories! One of my favorite musicals is based on The Iliad and The Odyssey!

Shakespeare? You can't get through high school without reading some of his stuff. The 1996 Hamlet is one of my favorite movies ever. I've got a copy of the play from 1888.

I have totally normal relationships with these kinds of media.

But my brain gets really weird with media that was coming out from around the 70s to maybe 2010. (I was born in 2005.)

It almost can't accept that I wasn't alive/overly coherent when those things were coming out. They feel really recent compared to things like The Odyssey or Hamlet or The Count of Monte Cristo. But like. I know people who were alive and functioning adults in the 70s. So those feel way less separated from me, especially because a lot of that media is still well known. I'm listening to Queen right now, and I'm listening to Queen because of Good Omens, which was published in 1990, Good Omens also got me into Sandman which started coming out in 1989, and I just watched Return of the King today (2003). (Good Omens and Sandman are largely as active as they currently are due to the shows, which are fantastic and I'm really grateful the fandoms are still going strong.)

I know I'm nineteen. I feel like I'm nineteen. I know I was born in 2005, I'm very much an early 2000s kid. But at the same time my brain cannot wrap itself around the fact that I just wasn't alive when some of this stuff was coming out.

Beyond just knowing people who were alive at that time, I think there may be two other reasons I feel like this. One is that my mom is weird, and was kinda adverse to showing me more modern movies and TV shows when I was a kid, so up until I was maybe ten, I would primarily watch stuff like original Disney movies, Zoboomafoo (1999), Mr. Rodgers' Neighborhood (1968), and Fraggle Rock (1983). So I was just kinda disconnected from more recent stuff. My mom would also regularly read books to my sister and I, and a lot of them were things that she read growing up, like Over Sea, Under Stone (1965) by Susan Cooper. So I really just had a weird perception of media. I wasn't allowed to watch Spongebob.

Another is that maybe almost every other thing I've gotten into the last five or ten years, I've gotten into while it's in the middle of it. Owl House? I started watching when season two was wrapping up and actively coming out. The Locked Tomb? Just read this last year, we still don't have a release date for the final book. Hollow Knight, still no Silksong release date. I got into Good Omens through the show, and season three is going to start filming in January. Brandon Sanderson has been putting out like ten billion books a year since I started reading his stuff in 2017. Most music I listen to is by small indie groups who are still putting music out. So I'm largely really used to being in the thick of things and experiencing it all.

On one hand I do feel like I missed out on so much.

Which I did.

But that's kinda how being human goes. (I also missed out on some really terrible things and I'm really grateful for that, though I'm definitely worried about the future.)

Maybe people will feel this way about tOH and tLT and GO and Silksong at some point a couple decades down the line.

On the other hand, it's. So fucking cool that these things are still around and easily accessible. I mean, everyone knows Queen for a reason. Sandman and Good Omens are getting TV adaptations now for a reason. A bunch of people at my job are listening to Tolkien while they work for a reason.

And it's so exciting just thinking about all the amazing things that have yet to be created.

This is secretly a post about why we should be able to physically own media so that things like this can still be easily accessible for years down the line, not subject to the whims of streaming companies. /hj (I've really been enjoying my access to my parents' fancy DVD player while I'm home for the summer. :p And this is making me grateful it is now nearly impossible to watch VHS tapes, I did not like those things.)

Okay thanks for coming to my really weird ted talk.

[mxbitters]

hm.  this building that was like sort of in my neighborhood (i don’t typically walk that far but yeah i guess same neighborhood) that was like, old but kinda beautiful to me, apparently it used to be a casket place, but like they were gonna convert the building into a train station which would’ve been fucking great considering all the goddamn stigma against my neighborhood has left it so empty so like it would’ve been nice to at least have someplace to go!!!!  transportation is good and i don’t like driving!!! also my whole thought was hey!!!  maybe train = more people = yada yada demand for stuff = opportunity to bring back arts culture to the neighborhood like finally getting that theater moved in and also oh idk getting a music venue like we’ve been trying to do for years,,,,,,,, but lo and behold!!!!  yesterday morning that building got into a MASSIVE fucking fire and is gonna be demolished and like.  oh the town sure as HELL isn’t gonna be building something new for the possibility of a train station because they absolutely hate our neighborhood.  they absolutely loathe it.  so like there goes that like entirely.  damn.

[sanityshorror]

[The creepypasta ft Julius the Dressmaker by Sanity's Horror]

Julius the Dressmaker

[official creepypasta; also known as/former title: the dressmaker from hell]

2024 illustrations of Julius the Dressmaker will be shown after you finish reading. The ones above are from June 2022

I don't have much time left, he'll return any moment. It's beyond me how I'm still conscious, let alone alive. Even the smallest movement causes indescribable excruciating pain. However, I feel it necessary to push through this agony because everyone desperately needs to be warned of him. It's far too late to save myself, anyone who attempted to try would be embarking on a suicide mission. This is simply a warning I hope could save others. The fate of meeting this man, this demon, isn't something I would even wish on my worst enemy.

My name is Casey O'Sullivan. The events that lead to my predicament all truly began a long, long time ago. My youngest days, actually. Maybe even before my birth, this fate had been determined for me. The more I think about it, yes. It was inevitable I'd meet my maker at the hands of Julius Doherty. Hopefully, this will all make sense to you by the time you're done reading. I don't know if I'll be able to even finish telling my story before my imminent death. Forgive my rambling, I'm very foggy in the head. I've gotten ahead of myself. Let me get back to where I started.

Ever since I was a little girl, I'd dreamed about my wedding day. In fact, I actually began planning it as a child, going so far as to have my gown picked out by the time I was 8. After seeing a photo of my great, great grandmother on her wedding day, I knew I wanted a replica of the gown. As expected from a photo from 1890, it was rather low quality and unfortunately deteriorating. Every time I touched the image, another bit of ink seemed to fade or blur into nothingness. Despite this, I could still make out most of the details on the gorgeous dress. Given my determination to preserve the treasured image, I didn't look at it all too often. I'd made a great effort to keep the grainy photo from further eroding. Sealing the photo airtight in a Ziploc bag, I'd tucked it into a labeled envelope and kept it locked in my nightstand drawer.

Logan was my highschool sweetheart. We've been together ever since he asked me to junior year prom. He's the first and only boyfriend I had. In fact, we'd been close friends since childhood, so much so that both our parents joked about us marrying when we grew up.

It was a lovely day when Logan proposed to me. The location may not have seemed anything special to your average person, simply the gardens of our neighborhood park. However, for us, it was the park we'd played as children where we'd met nearly two decades ago.

Logan sat me on one of the aged swings that hung on the faded red set, the same swings that were nearly as old as we were. He'd gotten down on a knee in front of me and asked me to marry him, right there in the wood chips. Being the sentimental person I am, and how much thought he'd clearly put into the proposal, had me in tears of happiness. Of course, I said yes without hesitation.

It was at our engagement party when a tall, strawberry haired, well dressed man approached me. I felt like I knew him but couldn't quite place the name to his face, which was obscured by a pair of mirrored sunglasses despite being indoors. The scar on his neck stood out though, and I wracked my brain attempting to remember where I recognized him from.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

Interrupting my thoughts and before I even could open my mouth, the man spoke quickly but confidently in a hushed tone, "I heard through the grapevine you wanted an authentic Victorian wedding dress. I know where you'll be able to get the perfect, handmade dress better than you could dream. I was sent by the owner to extend this offer, he says to consider it a personal invitation." He took my hand in his own, pressing a slip of paper into my palm before letting go.

Taken aback by the unexpected and sudden encounter with the stranger, I wasn't sure how to immediately respond. For a moment I just stared at him and blinked, then glanced down at the paper he'd given to me. On what appeared to be torn from a notebook page, the words 'Doherty's Dress Shop' had been scrawled, accompanied by what I assumed was the address, along with a date and time. It was only a few blocks away from my apartment yet initially I couldn't recall ever seeing it.

The man startled me as he suddenly spoke again, "It's the Victorian era styled boutique store," he told me, as if he'd read my thoughts.

Hearing that from him was all it took for me to suddenly remember the place. "Oh, yes! I've always been curious to pop in there and have a look, actually. Unfortunately the place has always either been closed or I was in too much a hurry when it was open."

The man smiled widely. "Well, you'll finally get the chance to do so. Simply show up on the time I wrote, the owner has it scheduled as a personal appointment for you."

That night, I debated whether to go to the shop, ultimately deciding to. Despite the odd invitation, it easily could be explained. Likely one of my sisters or close girl friends, all of whom would be bridesmaids, had gone to the shop to surprise me. Yes, that had to be it, given how many times I remembered bringing up the place and my curiosity of it. As for the unnamed stranger who'd given me the invite, I gave up trying to remember where I recognized him, reason being he obviously was an employee of the shop he'd invited me to.

Upon entering the store the following Saturday, I was greeted by a tall, flamboyant man who I assumed to be the owner.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

The heels of leather boots he wore clacked loudly, giving audio to his already striking appearance. Dressed in a button down shirt with shiny gold and blue stripes, it had an oddly pleasing clash with the dark yet bright purplish hair that framed his face, which reminded me of a porcelain doll. On his right cheek bone, a small, black heart had been tattooed beneath his eye.

With a soft, almost harmonic voice, he spoke to me, "I see you accepted my invitation, how wonderful to meet you, ma'am!" The man smiled gently, "and congratulations as well, on the engagement."

Offering my hand out to shake, "Nice to meet you. I've been looking forward to our appointment!"

He didn't take my hand, instead crossing his arms in a manner that felt a bit intimidating. However, the relaxed smile on his dollish face kept me at ease. "As have I! Your sister is acquainted with an employee of mine and happened to mention your wedding to him."

"Oh, yes, that would explain how you knew." Though it hadn't been exactly what I'd assumed previously, it made even more sense and calmed the bit of remaining anxiety I held.

"Mhm," the purple haired man nodded at me "I heard you had something specific in mind?"

"Yes, my great, great grandmother's dress," I reached into my purse to get the treasured photo, "I have a picture I brought with, in fact!"

The tall male wordlessly uncrossed his arms and held out a rather delicate hand. His long, slender fingers were manicured better than my own. I hesitated upon noticing how sharp his glossy, black nails appeared to be.

"Well?" he raised an eyebrow, "I can't read minds you know," the tone of the man's voice was playful and friendly. Once again, my worries were put at rest and I proceeded to hand him the photo.

Snatching it out my hand, the man studied the photo in silence with a blank face for well over a minute. I figured the faded and smudged ink of it was causing him to struggle to figure out whether he'd be able to replicate it accurately.

When he finally looked up at me again, the soft smile had returned to his face. "I can most certainly do that for you," the man spoke enthusiastically. "We'll make sure this dress both meets and exceeds your expectations. You must have a perfect dress for the big day, after all, weddings are always something to celebrate to the fullest extent. How about a lovely pair of white, leather ankle boots to match?"

I beamed, the idea sounding perfect. "Yes, absolutely! Thank you so much!" I had agreed without a second thought.

The photograph was handed back to me. I looked down to inspect the old picture in my hand, expecting to see another mark of wear. Oddly enough, not only was it in the condition it had been previously, the ink actually appeared less faded than before and wrinkles not as noticable. I would have thought more about the weird predicament of the photo, if it hadn't only then occurred, "What's your name, I don't think I caught it?"

However, by the time I looked back, the dark haired male had disappeared. Shuffling through my bag I took out the appointment card which I'd received at the engagement shower. Though I didn't remember any name being on it before, I was surprised to find it had been scrawled on the bottom: Julius Doherty. The name rang a distant bell in my mind, though I couldn't place it.

Tilting my head back up to look for the man who had seemed to vanish in thin air, I was startled to find he now stood directly in front of me.

"Do you believe in God, Casey?" Julius asked softly. His icy blue eyes locked on my own, catching me in a stare down I couldn't escape from.

I blinked at the question, confused at not only the seemingly instantaneous, silent way he'd moved but also baffled at the sudden curiosity in my faith. "Yes," I answered carefully.

"You believe in heaven and hell?" Julius asked in a manner that felt a bit more like an interrogation.

Nodding, I answered, "of course."

"Where would you rather go?" the man asked in a tone that filled me with dread despite the gentleness of his voice.

"Heaven, of course," I told him.

Julius chuckled, shaking his head to himself as if I'd said some joke and motioned me to follow. "Very well, let's go measure you for your gown now, dear. We must make sure it's just perfect!"

As odd as the man's behavior was, I foolishly wrote it off. Chalked it all up to his obvious eccentric and rather quirky personality. Julius was odd, certainly, but as he began to casually chat with me about life and latest celebrity gossip, the strange aspects of him were forgotten. As our lighthearted conversation flowed while he'd taken my measurements, he began to feel like an old friend. Julius was friendly, sweet and kind, even. He decided to make the veil for my wedding gown free of charge and when I pushed back, he insisted.

Once we'd finished covering all the bases for my wedding attire and scheduled my next appointment, Julius saw me out. He walked me to the door and held it for me, a real gentleman.

"You get home safe, now, Casey," he'd told me, opening the door into what I only now realized was early night. I could have sworn I'd been there no longer than two hours at most.

"I will, thank you again, really! Just gotta give Logan a call and let him know I'm alright, he must be worried," I reached to take my phone out. 8:30pm. How the heck had it been over eight hours?!

"You can just blame me," Julius chuckled lightheartedly. "I shouldn't have kept you so long chatting. Time is an odd thing."

I didn't understand exactly what he meant by the last part so I just agreed, as I was running late already and didn't have the time to ask for an explanation. "It is. Alright, I must be going now. I'll see you in a month for the fitting appointment, Julius!" I smiled and gave a wave goodbye. Julius returned the gesture before disappearing into the shop, while I began my trip home.

The appointment for the fitting of my gown had been scheduled for exactly one month later. Today. I woke up this morning thrilled, clueless to the hell, quite literally, I would be walking into.

It was raining and despite leaving a bit early, the weather caused me to run late, albeit only by a few minutes. I was half soaked once I made it into the shop, which seemed to be scented by fresh roses.

"You're late," Julius's voice alerted me to his presence. His tone was flat and he appeared to be rather unpleased by my tardiness.

"My apologies, Mr Doherty, I left early actually. I'm excited for today!" I held my hand out to shake with an apologetic smile.

Upon hearing me, a small smile spread across Julius's face, though it appeared very forced. Rather than returning the offered handshake, the tall male simply crossed his arms across his chest as he'd done our previous meeting. "I, as well, have been looking forward to showing you the dress I've made for you." He turned on the heel of his boot, walking towards the back of his shop and motioning me to follow. "No need for such formalities between us, yes? It's just fine for you to address me as Julius."

"Alright, then, Julius," I agreed, following along, admiring the dresses and various accessories that the shop was packed with.

"Every customer of mine is special to me and means a great deal," he told me as he walked over to a curtain hung in a circle, obscuring whatever was behind it from view.

"You're a kind man," I'd chuckled.

"Oh, you're far too sweet, my dear," he laughed lightly.

For some reason, his reaction made a pit of dread form in my stomach. However, I didn't have more than a second to register it. At the same moment, he whipped open the curtain to reveal the mannequin that modeled what would be my wedding wear.

What immediately caught my attention was how life-like the mannequin appeared to be. A woman, strikingly similar to Julius's own appearance, down to the doll-like face. However, her eyes were ocean blue instead of the near white, icy blue of the dressmaker's.

"Do you like it?" Julius's voice cut through my distraction.

I looked at the gown finally and was taken aback by just how perfect it was. The attention to detail was stunning. Each bead and sequin was placed flawlessly in a manner that could have only been done by hand. The dress successfully made me forget about the oddness of the mannequin that wore it.

"Yes!" I nodded, blinking back tears of joy, "I love it! It's-"

"-perfection." Julius cut me off, finishing my sentence for me. The man smiled proudly at my reaction to his hard work.

"Beyond perfection, thank you, Julius," I beamed at him.

"Shall we get you in the gown to make sure it fits properly, then?" Julius began unbuttoning the gown to remove it from the mannequin, leaving it in a plain underdress slip.

"That sounds wonderful!" I agreed.

Julius showed me over to the dressing room. I changed into the dress in privacy, emerging only once I was ready for him to help button up the back and tie the corset for me.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

Bringing me over to a mirror, Julius helped me on a small platform.

"You remind me so much of my sister," Julius hummed to me in his soft voice, "look just like she did on her wedding day."

He did up the buttons of the dress.

"Oh, you have a sister?" I asked while admiring myself in the gorgeous, hand crafted gown. It was so flawlessly made that may have as well have been a true Victorian era vintage dress.

The corset was laced and tightened to the extent I could hardly breathe.

"I did," the man sighed, placing the lace veil upon my head. Julius stood behind as he adjusted it, while I watched both our reflections in the mirror.

"Did?"

A sad smile on the dressmaker's face was visible. "Yes," Julius spoke, "but she's dead now." There was something about the way sweetness dripped from the words that made my stomach twist.

"I'm sorry to hear," I turned my head to look him in the eyes while expressing my condolences.

"Don't be," Julius's voice grew softer and sickeningly sweet, "she was a real bitch." To my horror, his sad smile warped into a demented grin, showing razor sharp teeth that were inhuman.

"Excuse me?!" I attempted to back away but didn't get very far as I stumbled on the long gown.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

The sound Julius's boots made was deafening as he stepped forward, grabbing my wrist and digging, what I realized in terror were claws, into my flesh. Julius's expression grew unsettlingly gentle again as he spoke, "just as I said, she was exactly like you. No worries, though, my dear Casey! I'll turn you perfect just as I did for her!"

Those words made it click why the mannequin which had modelled my dress resembled the man, the demon, in front of me. That…had been his sister.

I yanked my arm out of his grip in disgust and fear, adrenaline helping me ignore the pain of his claws ripping through my skin. Julius just stood there, watching me with icy, dead eyes and an unreadable expression as I backed up, clutching my injured arm to my chest.

"You…you fucking monster!" I spat.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

I'd made him angry, furious. He reached a clawed hand out towards me again but I managed to just escape it, making a mad dash towards the door.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

I tried the handle but it was stuck, locked. I was trapped.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

I felt my stomach drop as outside the glass, the world blurred and faded until it was nothing but black. It was surreal to witness, as if suddenly everything had been drowned in the darkest ink. There was truly nothing beyond the window panes of the shop.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

"Unfortunately, heaven was never an option for you," Julius hummed.

Clack! Clack Clack!

He was right behind me now. "You're in Hell, Casey."

"Let me go!" I screamed, turning to face my capture.

Julius didn't respond, he simply raised a hand and struck me across the face with enough force I fell to the ground. Something heavy hit my head, there was a searing pain, and then my own vision faded to black just as the world outside the shop had.

I awoke strapped down on the surgery table in the most severe pain of my life. The stench of blood was mixed with the overpowering sweet scent of rotting roses. Looking down at my body, I realized to my horror, I was missing multiple patches of skin. Though I was still dressed in the gown, the fabric had simply been removed along with my flesh beneath. The amount of anguish my body was in prevented me from being able to tell if I was dreaming or not. I was still groggily coming back to reality when I heard the unmistakable sound.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

The clacking of the dressmaker's heels alerted me to his presence. My vision was blurry from pain but I could make out he carried a large pair of old, rusting and dulled but jagged scissors. The blood covering him confirmed that he indeed had skinned me.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

Julius leaned over me while threading a long needle. He almost was singing as he softly spoke, "Pain is perfection…and you'll be perfect forever…here, with me…in Hell."

I wrongfully interpreted this as him possibly wanting company, a friend. "I'll stay, be your friend even! Just don't kill me like this! Please!" I begged, "we can forget about all this and just chat and gossip and-"

Suddenly enraged, Julius cut me off with a smack across the face, snapping loudly, "what in the damn world would make you think I want your friendship, you worthless slut?! You'll be perfect company for me, once you're dead and cannot speak!"

Shocked and in even more pain, I didn't have a chance to respond, as he instantly switched back to a calm and relaxed demeanor.

"Why are you doing this?!" I finally managed to ask between tortured screams.

"Oh, I'm simply making you your wedding dress, my dear." Julius's voice dripped with sickening sweetness. The gentle smile on his lips contrasted with the pure maliciousness in his cold, dead eyes was enough to make bile rise in my throat.

I forced down a gag, choking out, "what?!"

"Skin is such a lovely fabric," Julius hummed the words with a content sigh, stepping next to the makeshift surgery table I was tied to.

The man stared down at me silently for a good minute before slowly lifting his hand which held the scissors into the air. As if to put on a display, he used his index finger and thumb to hold up the large, worn scissors. He smiled for a brief moment before his expression changed into one of focus with pure evil intentions.

Without waiting another second, the demon took the scissors to my skin, cutting in effortlessly. He seemed deaf screams of pain, like he'd tuned me out while going about his slow, torturous work. I thought I was going to pass out from the pain as the old, razor sharp scissors unceremoniously tore into my flesh repeatedly. My vision blackened again and everything spun. For a brief moment I thought I'd be spared from any further agony before my death.

Then, just as my eyes drifted shut and everything faded, I heard his voice. "Oh Casey, wakey wakey!" followed by a painful jab of a large needle into my arm. A sudden, searing pain shot into my body followed by an intense wave of energy and euphoria. I looked over, becoming even more disturbed upon realizing his actions. It was a large syringe that he'd stabbed into my arm, obviously to inject some sort of drug into me.

"We can't let our bride fall asleep on her special day!" Julius sneered in the most gut wrenching sugar sweet voice.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, demon?!" I spat, energized by whatever concoction he'd given me enough to ignore the pain a bit.

"Nothing is wrong with me, my dear," Julius spoke softly in a tone that sounded like he genuinely believed the words. "The only problem here is you, in fact." He talked while continuing to cut into both my dress and skin.

My throat was raw from screaming in agony. The pain had become so blinding I was not sure whether I was beginning to fail to register it completely or if it simply encapsulated my entire existence.

"You see," Julius kept talking. When I didn't look at him, he smacked me across the face with a bloody, clawed hand, "hey! You look at me when I speak, goddamn worthless bitch!" The demon dug his claws into my cheeks, making me turn my head towards him. Shockingly, Julius looked rather calm. "That's better." He patted my cheek then returned to cutting my body. "As I was saying, to make sure your dress is actually perfect and fits flawlessly, I have a trick."

"Oh lemme guess? You sew it right on me?" I managed the sarcastic comment through my misery. My brain ran at warp speed, fueled by whatever amphetamines had been given to me.

"That's exactly right!" Julius responded, delighted. "No need for new hair, so we won't have to scalp you," he smiled, "that's always a very painful process, no one has lived through that. You've actually lived much, much longer than most. I must say, I am impressed, Casey."

"Fuck you!" I spat.

"Such rude language," he responded as if he hadn't been throwing around curses moments ago. "And to think, in response to compliments? A 'thank you, Julius,' would be much more appropriate." He punctuated his words by cutting into my waistline.

"Stop!" I screamed, thrashing about in the restraints.

"Got to make your waist smaller if we want perfection, dear," he patted my cheek again with a blood soaked hand. "No worries, though, we'll get you right stitched up, we will!" A large needle pierced into my skin and I could feel the thread tugging my body into the shape he desired.

"For the love of God, stop, please!" I begged as tears streamed freely down my face.

"There's no God here, Casey, you're in Hell," he repeated his earlier words as he finished stitching me. The other side of my waist was given the same treatment, though I could tell he purposely was taking his time. His expression gave away how much he enjoyed my suffering.

Finally, once Julius was finished, he straightened up right. The noise of his boots could be heard as he backed away.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

"Time to put your boots on you!" Julius declared, moving to the foot of the table.

"Huh?!"

With a grin, the man held up a hatchet for me to see before raising it into the air, preparing to deliver a strike.

"Don't, please-" I never got a chance to finish my sentence.

In one, brutal but clean blow, the limb was severed. I didn't even realize I'd been screaming until I felt a hot iron press against the stump to cauterize it. That feeling was what caused me to screech so loud my vocal cords blew out.

Julius spoke as took his large needle and thread back up, "finally, you've shut the fuck up, thank goodness." With quick yet small pristine stitches, he sewed a white boot over the injury to replace where my foot had been.

I glared the best I could through the torture and my tears, ignoring excruciating misery I was in to give him the middle finger.

Julius simply rolled his eyes and stretched his shoulders before giving my other foot the same treatment as the first. This time he seemed to work quicker, almost in a rush. I couldn't scream but I didn't even want to anymore. Instead, I silently wept and accepted my fate.

….Clack! ....Clack! ….Clack!

He backed away again, covered in my blood. Julius wiped his face down with a cloth then told me, "Usually I prefer to do all my work in one go," he told me as he stared, seemingly admiring what he'd done to me. "However, I have a matter I must attend to briefly."

I must have given him the most baffled expression because he grinned and patted my cheek. "Oh, I'll be back Casey, don't you worry about that." Julius undid the one of the cuffs which had restrained my wrists down. The man took my hand in his own, placing what I realized was my phone in it. "Go ahead and amuse yourself while I'm gone, there is WiFi in Hell." And with that he turned on his heel and walked away.

Clack! Clack! Clack! Bang!

Julius had left the room, slamming the heavy door behind himself in what seemed like a rage.

That leads me to where I am now, typing this out, trying to finish in time before he returns. It's been well over an hour.

Before I began writing this, I spent a brief bit of time searching up his name. After browsing various results, I discovered something that disturbed me deeply. His sister…Annabella O'Sullivan, she's my great, great grandmother. And she…she killed him, back in 1898. Behind his shop, she murdered Julius single bullet to the face. Which I realized is right where his heart tattoo now sat. It was only a few weeks later Annabella disappeared under mysterious circumstances, along with her husband, my great, great grandfather. Their children had been left orphaned, which explains why I'm here today.

What led her to kill him remains a mystery to me. Maybe he'd hurt her…or maybe, just maybe, could she have done something that warranted her to meet the same ending which I soon will?

These questions will never be something I'll find the answer to. I don't have much time left. Once Julius returns, it's inevitable my death will come swiftly. I'm already bleeding out. My vision is turning hazy and I'm beginning to no longer be able to think straight.

I'm no longer afraid. Telling my story has come to set me at ease with my fate. The pain has faded to numbness. I'm already at peace, knowing this will all be over shortly.

One final time, I must beg of you: do not fall for this demon's tricks and trap. Don't fall for his disguise as harmless, he's anything but that. Should you be invited to a place by a tall man with a scarred neck, don't speak to him and run away as fast as you can. I figured out once you engage, these monsters can plant false memories. I never knew this shop, in fact, it never was here before I was invited. And if you can't, then may Lord have mercy on your soul. I met the Dressmaker from Hell, I hope you never do.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

Please, tell my family, friends and fiance, Logan, that I love them all, so very much.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

Sincerely,

Casey O'Sullivan

…Clack! …Clack! ….Clack! …BANG!

[art from 2024]

Redone concept cover art (2024)

[what happened after the end; that's Casey, yeah]

[freedomfireflies]

Promises, Promises | 1. This Is How We Do It

Summary: Harry Styles and Calliope St. James only have one goal in common.

And that's getting out alive.

When a mysterious invitation appears on the doorstep of fifty-five local teenagers in Chicago, the group of excited and naive kids begin a night that might never end.

Word Count: 2.8k

| Chicago, 1995 |

"Are you sure?"

"Very sure."

"I don't know... I think it's a bad idea, let's just go home."

"Callie... relax. It's just a party—"

"We don't know that. Look at the invitation. Who says stuff like that? What game? What victor?"

Lexi sighs as she throws an arm over Callie's shoulder, subtly tugging her further down the street. "Everything is gonna be fine, Cal. Besides... Derek is gonna be there—"

Callie's cheeks flush a dark ruby red at the mention of her crush's name, but she forces herself to roll her eyes. "So?"

"So, you can't stay home with your nose in a book when you could be out with him," her best friend explains, rather triumphantly, but Callie isn't convinced.

"I don't need to be out with him. I need to be finishing my assignment—"

"An English essay is hardly the important thing right now," Lexi scoffs. "Besides, no one's gonna care if you have an A in the class if you walk in with Derek on Monday morning."

"Lex—"

"No, hear me out," Lexi commands, now stopping in the middle of the street to step in front of Callie and grab her shoulders. "I've been your best friend since we were six years old. I know everything about you, which means I know exactly what you need—"

"But—"

"And what you need is to finally get over your nerves and talk to Derek."

"I... talk to him—"

"No, you let him cheat off you," Lexi corrects. "Not the same thing."

Callie pauses a moment before sighing, and the two girls continue their walk along the quiet, suburban street. "I just don't think going to a party is going to help my case. Besides, Brittany will be there. He won't even notice me."

"Which is why we're gonna make him notice you," Lexi smirks. "That's why you're wearing this."

Callie glances down at her black dress, smiling softly at the way it looks and makes her feel. She can't deny, Lexi has amazing taste. And maybe she's onto something about finally getting over her fear and talking to the boy she's been in love with since the fourth grade.

But... parties have never been her thing. Her thing is staying home, reading books, doing homework, and knitting with her grandma.

Her thing is not alcohol and drugs and having sex in a random bathroom at some stranger's house.

And even though Lexi reminds her that that's what you do in your twenties and in college... she can't say she feels the impulse to do any of it.

She likes her quiet routine.

"I'll stay for an hour," she finally concedes, and a grin bursts across Lexi's face.

"Attagirl," she praises, hooking her arm through Callie's to continue dragging her along. "This will be a night you won't regret."

Which is exactly what Callie is afraid of.

~~~

The invitation did nothing to prepare them for the size of the mansion they were being invited to.

The street leading up to the mansion is quiet. Quaint, even. Lexi and Callie have passed by the large gates hundreds of times before, although the tall pine trees always prevented them from seeing what lay beyond.

Now? Now it's hard to believe that a structure like this even exists their very own neighborhood. So hidden. So magnificent.

The gates are open by the time they arrive and the large, winding driveway ushers them closer. 

With surprise and wonder, the girls begin the journey towards the house, their eyes darting all across the landscape to admire each statue, each flower bed, and each decadent light post.

"Whose house is this?" Lexi wonders aloud, but Callie can only shake her head.

That had been the question on everyone's mind since the invitations first appeared on their doorsteps last night. All anyone could talk about today was who got the invite versus who didn't. Who could have sent it out, where it might be held, why now?

Callie couldn't figure out why she'd been invited. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe it was because Lexi was her best friend. Or maybe they were inviting her just to make fun of her.

But, for whatever reason, she was invited, and while she has a million questions on her mind, she knows she can't focus on them right now.

Instead, she needs to focus on surviving the one hour she promised to act pleasant for, and hope that it passes by quickly.

They reach the front double doors, their eyes meeting apprehensively before Lexi raises her fingers towards the golden knocker.

She's barely finished her first knock when the door swings open, revealing the face of Patrick, one of the kids from their history class.

"What's up," he slurs excitedly, seemingly already drunk, and Callie has to resist rolling her eyes. "Nice, Lex. You, too?"

"Me, too," she nods, smiling as well, before tightening her grip on Callie and dragging her inside. "This your party?"

Patrick shakes his head as he closes the door behind them, but Callie hardly notices.

Her eyes are too busy fluttering from one person to the next. The room already seems to be packed and she wonders if they're the last to arrive.

There's loud music, people laughing, screaming, dancing. And the furniture... it looks like something right out of a catalog. Gold details and accents, gorgeous fabrics and wallpaper, and the rooms are huge. Large enough that it makes everyone else inside look rather tiny.

"Nah, don't know whose house this is," Patrick admits, now coming shoulder to shoulder with Callie. "But it's fucking sick, right?"

"Totally," Lexi agrees, shooting him a grin before raising her eyebrow at Callie.

Callie smirks.

"Alright, well, keg stand is over there," Patrick tells them, clapping his hands together as he begins to back away. "Bedrooms are upstairs."

"Why... do we need to know where the bedrooms are?" Callie asks, head tilting, and Patrick snorts as he looks to Lexi. 

"Is she serious?" he asks, and Callie feels her stomach drop.

"Okay, bye now," Lexi answers instead, rolling her eyes as she begins to pull Callie into the next room. "Jackass."

"Did I... I mean, did I miss something?"

"He's being a perv," Lexi scoffs under her breath. "Ignore him. Let's get a drink, yeah?"

"Lex, I don't—"

"You do tonight," Lexi announces, shooting her a wink before dragging her towards the kitchen.

As they walk, Callie lets her eyes trail up and down the bodies of the different people all packed inside the delicate rooms like sardines.

She recognizes almost everyone, although it only further convinces her that she's here by mistake.

"Oh my god, there he is," Lexi suddenly hisses in her ear, stopping so suddenly that Callie almost collides into her.

"Who?" she asks just as quietly, and Lexi thrusts her chin forward.

Callie follows her eyeline until she finally sees what caused the commotion, and when she does, her mouth goes dry.

Derek.

Standing there, leaning against the fridge, a red solo cup in his hand. 

She feels herself swallow as she takes him in, hand coming up to smooth her hair back subconsciously, and Lexi begins to smirk.

"Okay, follow me lead," she tells her in a hushed tone before confidently striding over. "Hey, boys."

Nervous, and a little flustered, Callie follows after her like a lost puppy, her eyes trained on the floor as she walks.

"Hey, Lex," she hears Derek greet, and she can tell he's smiling in that handsome way he always does. "Got an invite, too?"

"Damn right I did," Lexi replies. "We both did... didn't we, Cal?"

With her ears burning, Callie hesitantly looks up, her lips twitching up in a smile. "Yeah."

Derek studies her for a moment, and her heart thumps inside her chest as she waits... and then, he smiles. "Cool," he responds, before taking another sip. "Do you know whose fucking house this is? We can't figure it out."

We.

For some reason, Callie hadn't noticed anybody else in the room, but at the mention of a second person, her eyes drift over.

Harry.

Better known as Derek's best friend, and a constant pain in her ass. She can feel her face contorting as she looks him over from where he's sitting on the counter beside the fridge, and true to form, his eyebrow cocks upward as their eyes meet.

"Hey, Har," Lexi greets, and slowly, his head turns to her. "No, we don't know either."

"Shame," Derek sighs. "It's a fucking sick house."

"It's fine," Harry finally speaks up, leaning back against the cupboards. "If you like pretentious shit like this."

"It's not pretentious," Lexi argues, now reaching behind Callie to grab a cup for herself. "It's just—"

"Rich," Harry answers for her. "And rich people are always pretentious. That's like... a rule."

"It's not a rule—"

"It's a rule." 

Callie's eyes flicker between the two as they continue their banter, but before she can think of a comment herself, Lexi is shoving a cup in her hand. 

"Cheers," Lexi grins, pushing their cups together before taking a giant sip.

Callie, always hesitant, gingerly brings it to her nose to have a sniff. Immediately, her face crinkles, and she pulls the cup away, only to notice that Harry is giving her an odd look. 

"Problem?" he asks as Lexi and Derek begin chatting about the music. 

Surprised, she looks helplessly at her friend before turning her eyes to Harry. "No."

His lip tugs up in a smirk. "It's vodka."

"Oh."

She doesn't really know what that means but she decides that whatever vodka is... she doesn't like it.

"It's strong," Harry continues, his voice almost taunting. "It's gonna burn."

"Great," she grumbles to herself, eyeing the liquid inside the cup with disdain.

She can feel him watching her still, but before she can look up, he's grabbing something from beside him on the counter and tossing it to her.

"Here," he demands, and she struggles to reach out and catch the plastic can. "Chase it with this."

Curious, she glances over the label. "Lemonade?"

"Nobody drinks vodka for the taste," he informs her, his arms now crossing over his chest. "But it gives you one of the best buzzes. Chase it with that, you'll be fine."

It's a better idea than what she had been expecting, but she still isn't looking forward to putting that awful smell in her body.

But... Lexi is already downing her second cup and she did promise that she'd at least try and step out of her comfort zone.

So, she pops the tab on the lemonade, and brings the vodka to her lips.

She takes the tiniest of sips before gasping. Immediately, she yanks the cup away from her mouth before rushing to the lemonade, the sweet taste sliding down her throat, and chasing the bitter taste of alcohol away.

So that's why they call it a chase, she thinks to herself, taking a deep breath.

She hears Harry chuckling lowly, and she looks up as she wipes the back of her wrist against her lips. "You're right, that was better."

He seems amused, his eyes falling over her screwed up expression. "I'm guessing that was your first drink?"

Feeling slightly mortified, her eyes fall to her hands. "No, I don't... I mean, well—"

"Relax, Tinkerbell," he snorts, his legs spreading as he leans back. "I kind of figured."

At this, her eyes begin to narrow. "What does that mean?"

"What do you think it means?" he scoffs. "You don't exactly have a reputation for being a party girl. You don't drink, you don't go out, you don't have friends—"

"I have friends—"

"You have Lexi," he corrects, glancing over towards the aforementioned teen still chatting with Derek near the couch. "That's it."

"Well..." she stammers, crossing her arms as well. "I don't need anybody else."

Harry is still smiling, clearly not through teasing her. "She the one who dragged you here?"

"No, I was invited."

"Really?" he hums, almost surprised. "Bit odd... don't you think?"

She does think, but she won't let him know that. "No, I think I was meant to be here."

"Sure," he scoffs. "Okay, Tink."

She begins to glare at the nickname, the very one she's always despised. He's been calling her that since the eighth grade, when she decided to cut her hair short for the first time.

She happened to love the hairstyle, but Harry made sure to point out that she looked like one of the lost boys from Peter Pan.

Every day, she'd be forced to sit next to him in homeroom and listen to him taunt her relentlessly.

Even now, in college, the nickname continues to stick to her like glue and in that moment, Callie decides she no longer has to listen to it.

She turns on her heel and heads for her friend, leaving Harry and his cruel jokes behind.

She hears him laugh under his breath, but she simply straightens up, readjusts the bow in her hair, and finds her spot next to Lexi.

Lexi smiles when she sees her, throwing her arm back around Callie's shoulders as she nods towards Derek. "We were just talking about you."

Her heart drops as she looks between them, smiling sheepishly. "Oh?"

Derek nods, leaning his hip against the back of the couch as he shoots her his famous toothy grin. "Yeah, 'bout you and Slim over there."

At the mention of Harry, she glances over her shoulder, watching as he takes a sip of his beer before saying something to some brunette currently batting her eyelashes at him.

She turns back around with a roll of her eyes. "Oh."

"He's such a fucking asshole," Derek laughs, and Lexi smirks. "Didn't even wanna come tonight."

"Oh, really?" Lexi replies, now sending a pointed look Callie's way. "Who would have thought?"

"Said he'd rather stay home," Derek continues, still smirking at his friend. "With Angela."

The familiar name has Callie lifting her eyebrows, a little surprised by the mention. As far as she knew, Harry and Angela hadn't been together since their junior year of high school.

But she can't seem to be surprised that Harry would go running back to the beautiful, blonde cheerleader. After all, he's always had a type.

"Is she here?" Lexi asks now, glancing around the room, and Derek shakes his head.

"Nah, didn't get an invite," he sighs, running his fingers through his hair, and Callie's eyes linger on the movement. "Plus she's doing some squad shit or whatever. He said he'd meet her later."

"I can't believe they're back together," Lexi muses, seemingly as surprised as Callie was.

"They're not, they're just fucking."

"Of course," Lexi replies now, laughing a little herself as she glances over at Callie. "So, what do you think? Not bad, right?"

Callie shrugs as she looks around the room once more. It's still loud. Still crowded. Still odd that only fifty-five people seemed to have gotten an invite when their class has at least three hundred kids. "I guess," she admits softly, and Lexi beams.

"Told you," she replies triumphantly, before Derek begins to brush past them.

Callie watches him go, sighing to herself as he begins high fiving some of the football players in the other room.

"He'll be back," Lexi decides, before shooting her a wink. "Okay, let's dance."

"No, Lex—"

"Come on," Lexi laughs, grabbing at her hand to drag her towards the speakers.

Despite herself, Callie begins to relax, watching her friend with admiration as she begins to dance around to whatever song is blasting from the cassette tape.

"This is how we do it. It's Friday night and I feel alright," Lexi begins to sing at her. "The party's here on the west side."

"So I reach for my 40 and I turn it up," the rest of the room continues loudly. "Designated driver take the keys to my truck. Hit the shore cause I'm faded. Honey's in the street say, Monty, yo we made it—"

Callie can't help but join in, letting Lexi grab her waist as she begins to sway them back and forth to the addictive rhythm. 

Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves, all smiling as they dance and sing. The energy in the room is infectious and suddenly, Callie can't remember why she was so hesitant to come in the first place.

And even though Derek is nowhere to be found, she doesn't mind. All she wants to do is dance with her friend.

"I'm kinda buzzed and it's all because..." the room yells. "This is how we do it—"

"South Central does it like nobody does," Lexi sings along, smiling at Callie, and Callie laughs. "This is how we do it—"

"To all my neighbors, you got much flavor," the kids continue, the words echoing across the house. "This is how we do it. Let's flip the track, bring the old school back. This is how we do it—"

However, right before the second verse can start, a loud piercing cry is heard throughout the house, slicing through the music until everyone suddenly freezes and begins to look around.

The cassette tape is stopped, the house now quiet as the group begins to mumble amongst themselves.

The party is still for a moment longer before another scream rips through the air, making everyone jump.

Like a wave, everyone rushes towards the sound, their eyes wide and curious as they begin to gather in the backyard.

And then... the murmuring becomes a lot louder.

Callie and Lexi push and shove their way from the back of the huddle towards the front as Lexi demands everyone move out of her way. 

And once they reach the front, Callie's eyes nearly fall out of her head.

There, on the ground, is Brittany, the one who screamed.

And in front of her? Lying unconscious on the ground? A sharp knife in his neck, as blood pools from the blade onto his skin and into the grass?

Derek.

Next:

~ Promises, Promises | 2. Trust Nobody

Previous:

~ Promises, Promises | 0. To Whom It May Concern

Full Masterlist

[eomerra541]

I wanted to share a portion of the first chapter of Blood and Ink with you all!! Zierra LeFay is my leading lady in this fanfiction with a two-world plotline. Middle Earth and a fantasy style Earth. Hope it draws you in!!!!

YTD 2019, October 31st

Location: Hillsboro Oregon, USA Bishop/LeFay/Boleyn Coven

"So, what do you think?" Zierra had been facing her over-the-door mirror and swiftly turned to look at Tutela, who had taken her most frequent form as a black cat. Her tail swayed as she meowed approvingly, rubbing herself against Zierra's leg. Her vibrant eyes smiled as she seemed to almost break out into a gentle grin.

"You're totally right. I look gorgeous." Running a finger through her dark curls, Zierra adjusted the waist armor that was snug against her maroon long sleeve tunic. Zierra's black pants were tucked beneath a pair of black leather boots that dawned a hidden pocket inside meant for a small weapon but she used it to hold her cell phone(she was a witch after all… Zierra was a weapon all on her own).

Moving toward her dresser, Zierra grabbed two silver wrist guards, placing them over the sleeves of her tunic before tying the leather strings. She then reached for her satchel, double checking to make sure all the essentials were still inside before readying herself to leave.

To Zierra, Halloween was much more than a chance to dress as her ancestor Morgana LeFay(though she thoroughly enjoyed that part). It was also her birthday and a day when witches, like herself, felt a sudden boost to their magic. For All Hallows Eve was one of the nights where the universe's magic was at its most potent.

Grinning, Zierra motioned for Tutela to follow. "Vamonos, let's get to the coffee shop."

With a nod, Tutela moved toward the open window while Zierra headed for the door of her one bedroom apartment. Grabbing her keys, Zierra watched as Tutela examined the area, making sure no one would see her transformation, before taking the sudden form of a blue jay, flying about and patiently waiting for Zierra to meet her outside. With Tutela outside, Zierra used to magic to close the window and made her way outside

Zierra's apartment was located near the Trimet( Tri-County Metropolitan Transportation District of Oregon) at Orenco Station, an urban neighborhood filled with decades old brick buildings as well as those with wide windows and a modern appeal.

It was within walking distance of her work as an RN at a senior living facility, and an even closer walk to her mother's coffee shop, LeFay Lounge. Orenco Station was by far her favorite neighborhood in the Portland area, and as Zierra stepped outside, she smirked taking it all in. It was a view sje wouçd admire for years to come.

Her eyes fell on Tutela before she began to walk toward LeFay Lounge. The lively street was filled with evening joggers, mom's taking their kids out trick or treating, as well as a young man playing his guitar for money. She threw in a few dollars as she passed while Tutela flew overhead, keeping her flight patterns headed in the same direction as Zierra, without looking as if she were following her.

Taking a right, she could see her mother inside the coffee house just ahead. She was nervously pacing the floor while typing some message in her phone. The sudden ping from inside the pocket of her boot made her realize Ellie, Zierra's mother, had been texting her.

Reaching for her cell, Zierra glanced toward the screen.

I thought you were gonna get here before everyone else?!

Zierra's mother had never been the controlling or worrisome type, always trusting her daughter to do the right thing. More than that, Ellie had an amazing truest gift(every witch can do most spells but every witch also has their own strength known as their truest gift) of foresight and was always one step ahead. She knew when danger was truly imminent and when to roll with the punches. Still, that didn't mean Ellie could foresee every outcome. The future was often unpredictable and depended on the decisions of others(if everything was black and white, Ellie would have been able to protect her husband from his untimely death). Nevertheless, it was because of that special gift that if Ellie was worried, Zierra ought to be as well.

"Ay dios mio." She said, quickening her pace. She gazed toward Tutela, pursing her lips. "We better get in there fast. I'll let you in from the back." Tutela made a loud chirp in reply just as Zierra took a deep breath, hoping it wasn't too serious before reaching the front door.

Inside the shop, lanterns adorned the walls along with quotes written in an Old English font. The floor was made of stone, and the arched ceiling was painted to look like the night's sky. In every way, the coffee house symbolized their great heritage of Medieval Times.

Ellie, who had been facing toward the large fireplace, quickly moved toward her daughter as she entered. "Zierra, we don't have a lot of time." Ellie's voice sounded panicked before she fixed her eyes on the large glass window that showcased her coffee house. She raised her hands as a gold mist began to emit from Ellie's fingers before floating toward the walls of the building, circling it entirely.

The Glamour Spell was used to keep those without magic from ever witnessing or hearing the practice of magic. From outside, LeFay Lounge would appear silent and still, without a soul occupying it, concealing their every action, no matter who arrived for the meeting or what magic they chose to use.

"Mom, what's going on?" Zierra asked worriedly. She hadn't seen her mother this distraught since the night their father died.

Turning to face her daughter, Ellie looked anxious. "Zierra, I've just had an awful vision. It was about you, and it's going to happen soon."

Zierra, seeing the sudden fear in her mother's eyes moved forward. Her mother reached for Zierra's hands before continuing. "In the vision you were standing before a hideous creature with flesh that looked burned. Its' fangs were long and it had stocky legs. It wanted to kill you. It wanted to eat your flesh." Ellie's breath seemed to hitch as a tear fell across her cheek. "You used your magic to defeat it but then as many as fifty came toward you, with some riding on the backs of unnaturally large dogs." Ellie shook her head as her eyes closed for a moment, carefully remembering every detail. "I- I thought at first they were werewolves but their structure wasn't quite the same. Not to mention wherever you were did not look familiar at all."

Zierra could hardly keep up. She pinched the bridge of her nose trying to comprehend her mother's words. "Mama, calmete." She placed her hands on her mother's shoulders. "What are you talking about? What creature? Werewolves? I thought they were extinct?"

Ellie drew in a breath, feeling frantic. "No, I'm saying I thought it was a werewolf." She waved her hand as if to move on. "That's not what's important Zierra, I'm trying to tell you something bad is going to happen, and whatever those things were, I have never seen in all my studies of magic."

Zierra bit her lip. This was supposed to be a typical meeting between three joined covens. Those that were direct descendents of Bridget Bishop, Anne Boleyn, and Morgana LeFay. She thought she'd get to celebrate her birthday as well as Analise Bishop's(they'd both been born on All Hallow's Eve and as such their magic was a great deal stronger than even those on the councill). She thought the two of them would finally be initiated into the councill, as it was typical on a witch's twenty fifth birthday. Instead, she began to fear for her own life.

"Have you told the council your vision? What did they say?" She asked, hoping the coven could help. Whatever her mother had seen, she strongly wished to prevent it.

Ellie gripped her daughter's hands, her eyes growing large at Zierra's question. "You can not even mention my vision! We have to figure this out on our own and be ready for anything that might happen tonight."

Zierra was growing more concerned by the second. "Why aren't you going to bring this up to the councill? I thought all visions of foresight had to be shared-"

"Not when I think a bloodwitch is the reason these creatures were created!" Ellie interrupted.

Zierra furrowed her brow. Analise had been the first bloodwitch in centuries. They were uncommonly rare and could use their own blood to spark life to inanimate objects or bring back dead things(though no matter what they brought back to life they were never entirely the same, their bodies needing constant repair). The two girls had never truly gotten along but Zierra wouldn't suspect Analise of wanting to harm her. Analise had always been full of herself but given that they saw each other a few times a year it just didn't make sense. Analise was a beautiful girl with her own damn life in Rio De Janeiro! She had money, power, and popularity and was miles away from Zierra.

"Mom I don't understand-" Before Zierra could continue, a blue flame suddenly formed within the large fireplace to her left before the stone began to expand. Then, stepping beyond what Zierra knew as Doorway Flame, a woman with red hair and pale skin gave them both a warm smile.

"Merry Hallows Eve, Zierra and Ellie." Lisa greeted. "And Happy Birthday, Zierra."

"Merry Hallows Eve." Zierra and Ellie replied in unison.

Lisa's smile began to fade, taking in Ellie's blotched face. She knew she must have been crying. "What's wrong Ellie?"

Ellie composed herself, giving Lisa a wide grin before waving her off. "Oh we were just reminiscing of when Byron was still alive." She lied.

Lisa's head tilted as she gave them both a look of sympathy. "I can imagine how hard it must be to not have him here for a day like Zierra's birthday." Lisa turned to Zierra just as the others began to arrive. "I heard about you finishing your degree. Congratulations on becoming an RN and for snagging such a prestigious job right out of the gate!"

"Thank you." Zierra answered with a smirk. "I did apply on a friday the thirteenth." She admitted, which was açeatd a day of luck for witches and wizards.

Soon each young descendent(future council women when they were of age and maturity) and council members began to arrive, totaling thirty women. There were ofcourse male descendents, but their magic was typically never as strong(an old curse caused by Mordred was responsible) and as such it was always women who led councils across the globe. They greeted each other kindly, taking seats at the many tables in Ellie's shop, with Ellie LeFay, Lisa Boleyn, and Octavia Bishop standing near the fireplace as the head council women.

"Zee!" Zierra spun around when she heard her cousin's voice, who immediately wrapped her arms around Zierra. "Happy birthday, gorgeous!"

Zierra released her cousin with a pleasant grin, momentarily pulled from her troubled thoughts. Her eyes lit up at the sight of Aliyah's costume.

"You look, muy bonita!" She exclaimed, remembering the dress as one of Regina's from their favorite TV show, Once Upon a Time (The pair loved the world's interpretation of magic and all the irony behind its hidden truth)."I think you could give Lana Parilla a run for her money!"

Aliyah slowly spun around to give Zierra a full view nodding as she spoke. "So true, cousin. So true. But it's not just the party that has me looking so spectacular." Aliyah's smile was wide and filled with excitement, she gripped Zierra's forearms biting her lip. "I'm going to ask Ezra to marry me!"

Zierra's mouth fell open. Ezra Leveau's- who was a half witch half Faery- ancestry came from Marie Laveau and his coven held a council with two other families in France. His mother's marriage to Veyro, an ambassador for the Fae kingdom, had also helped solidify a peace treaty between both parties.

Zierra had been so happy to see them together. And though it had only been six months since they started dating, anyone with eyes could see it was meant to be. "Does that mean you're asking him-"

"Tonight? Yes! And at the Festival? Also yes!"

Zierra practically screamed before giving Aliyah another hug. "Yey! I am so happy for you both! Seriously he is perfect for you! And at the festival no less! Which I get to see happen!"

The two girls sat at one of the round tables, still giddy from excitement just as Analise Bishop had taken the last chair. Zierra's smile immediately dropped as fear crossed over her eyes.

"How were your summers girls?" Analise asked quietly, looking down at her black polished fingernails. Her skin was painted green and her dark hair was fastened into a beautiful dutch braid. She glanced at Aliyah first, waiting for a reply.

"Paris was just as romantic as they say." Aliyah answered with a reminiscent grin. Despite how annoying Analise's ego could be, Aliyah had never been rude to her. It wasn't in her kind nature. But as she looked toward her cousin, Aliyah was quick to notice Zierra's sudden apprehension. Her body had stiffened and her eyes were momentarily filled with vigilance and though Zierra had been quick to recover, Aliyah was much too close to her cousin to miss it.

"I got hired at a senior care center. It's great money and I'll always have the same shift, unlike if I took a job at a hospital. It was a gig most wouldn't have fallen into having just finished school but I did apply in a day if luck, so I was bound ti get it, but I plan to stick around."

"Oh yeah, you finished your nursing degree." Analise stated. She glanced Zierra up and down as if she were beneath her. It was the same self righteous expression Analise often carried, but this time her eyes seemed sinister and it only caused Zierra's fear to grow; her mother's strange vision painting gruesome images inside her head as she contemplated whether Analise would ever want to hurt her. What would she gain from doing so? She asked herself, not able to come to a rational conclusion.

"Love the costume by the way, and happy birthday." Analise added, taking Zierra by surprise. Her smile seemed genuine and the darkness she had seen a moment before was gone "Don't I look ravishing in green?" She winked, gesturing to her costume as The Wicked Witch. Maybe I hadn't seen it at all, Zierra considered. But mom seemed really scared.

"Thanks, and happy birthday to you as well.' Zierra's eyes narrowed for a moment. She truly didn't know what to think. The two had never had any bad blood. So why now? Trying to hurt Zierra meant Analise risking her position on the council and giving up even the slightest opportunity at power felt out of character for Analise. Still, her mother's vision kept Zierra on guard. She gave Analise a slight grin before nodding, turning her attention to her mother who was about to speak..........

Here's a link if you want to read more!!!!

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13695267/1/Blood-and-Ink

[m1serere-n0bis]

Anyways. I don't care what the rest of you all have been doing during this but I have been trying to listen better and pray more.

For those of you who don't think that's "enough"... Sorry but I don't owe public opinion shit. The only person I owe an explanation to is God. I don't owe anyone information on what I'm doing in private. I don't owe anyone information on what I am/am not supporting financially or otherwise. If your personal opinion is that I'm not making adequate use of my voice or platform then that's rough buddy, but my voice is not the one that needs to be heard right now and also what platform? As a society hyperfocused on social media ESPECIALLY NOW DURING THIS PANDEMIC we have to come to terms that we all have lives outside of it and we don't "owe" each other ANY information about that in spite of what our culture tells us. Like if this is what "community-based policing" means, I can already tell you I hate it and it's oppressive.

For those of you who think this is a political power play, I would say those concerns are valid but there IS a REAL problem that will still be there when all the political pandering and posturing is done. And we need to fix it. Part of the reason I haven't been hyping what everyone has been telling me to hype in the name of activism is pretty much this:

Do I think it honestly matters which political party is in charge for changes to happen? No, because I do not trust the SAME GOVERNMENT BACKING THE POLICE to take the money THAT IS STILL TECHNICALLY IN THEIR POSSESSION and funnel it into the communities that need it in any way that will actually address the racism inherent in the system. HOWEVER, that doesn't stop me from listening to what my brothers and sisters in Christ are telling me are their experiences not just in a society that is supposed to have progressed past racism but in the BODY OF CHRIST itself. Because it's there, everyone. Yes, it's not overt. Yes, not everyone is actively engaging in it but if we are truly One Body then we owe it to each other to make reparations for sins that aren't ours. It's what we've been doing for the child abuse scandals, is it not? The majority of us were not involved but do we not still carry the burden of that sin simply because we're Catholic, because one part of the One Body committed this massive hurt?

So anyway. The goal of this post is not to make anyone feel bad and it is not an invitation for people to pile on me because I haven't vocally supported x, y, z. This is an invitation to listen and to pray... which should always be the first step, EVEN WHEN THERE IS AN IMMEDIATE NEED FOR ACTION. (Maybe ESPECIALLY when there's an immediate need for action.) And holy shit are we not good at that or what? 😂

1) Fr. Mike Schmitz' homily this week was an invitation for us to listen to God and let Him tell us who He is because only by doing that can we see the image and likeness of God in each other. We've lost that in our wishy-washy prayer lives that inevitably end up with us trying to force God into an earthly construction in which He doesn't belong. We try to tell God who He is because the world is too noisy for us to hear Him tell us about Himself. And that inevitably trickles down into us trying to force each other into boxes before recognizing the human dignity instilled by God in all of us. The internet feeds into that by making us faceless virtual entities, thus making it that much more difficult to recognize our humanity. I can read faceless stats for days but if I don't have ANY CONTEXTUAL IDEA where those numbers are coming from, they're empty. They're easily manipulated into whatever whoever is selling me them wants me to think of them if I don't have someone LIVING THOSE STATISTICS giving me context. Right now the media wants us to feed on the controversy surrounding BLM movement without telling us that these communities have been MARCHING IN THEIR COMMUNITIES FOR YEARS AGAINST THE VIOLENCE THEY INFLICT ON THEMSELVES and it is the same media blackout as any March for Life. The media doesn't care unless they have drama they can use to stoke more division and that's the tea.

2) Fr. Josh Johnson is on fire right now, everyone. Like him and Chika Anyanwu are two voices I wasn't listening to before that I'm thankful to be hearing now. If you're wondering how God can be good even in the midst of chaos, turmoil, and pain, this is it. If you're struggling to separate the Black Lives Matter Organization from the heart of the issue, this is how God is doing that. The Church needs to hear these voices. They have real experiences to share. They are part of the Body of Christ, and they are really hurting through these thousands of small cuts.

I would recommend listening to the Jeff Cavins Show episode Distance Amplifies Difference where he has a conversation with Fr. Josh. They both have tremendously unique WORDLY perspectives to bring to the table on the issue (Jeff Cavins is a white man but has children who are black and they live in Minnesota and are literally witnessing the heart of this first hand in the trenches, and Fr. Josh is the son of a black former chief of police) but ultimately discuss how we as a Church can work towards fixing it.

Fr. Josh and Fr. Mike's dialogue on Ascension Presents is also really top notch. I still have to finish watching it, though. 😅

I can't believe I wasn't following Chika before because as another single Catholic woman, I feel like I've found a sister in Christ experiencing the same ups and downs of Catholic singlehood (her Instagram Highlight was like HILARIOUS and also a truth 😂). Her family's small business got looted during the rioting but I believe they've since been able to shut down their Go Fund Me since people gave them enough support to get it back up and running. Anyways, I'm glad this amplification of black voices brought me to hers.

3) Fransican Friars of the Renewal Fr. Agostino and Fr. Pierre Toussaint discuss their hopes for the movement from their perspective as people of color and as servants of one of the poorest neighborhoods in NYC, the South Bronx. Their dynamic is great because Fr. Agostino is like a Gryffindor on fire and Fr. PT is like a soft-spoken, phlegmetic Ravenclaw. I understand that energy. 😂 (I'm also a phlegmetic Ravenclaw) One of my takeaways was Fr. Agostino's opinion that we can't just posture and leave it up to the government or orgs with ulterior political motives to make things right because he's seen firsthand how well THAT goes. However, all that means is that we as people of God have to dig in and do the work our own dang selves. They're also hopeful that this discussion of the police force being built on a foundation of racism will eventually lead to the discussion of Planned Parenthood being built on the same. They said that 42% of the pregnancies of the predominantly black and Latino population in the South Bronx end in abortion. 42%!!!!!!!!!!! If that is not a wake-up call that systemic racism is alive and well and we are abjectly failing women of color as a society Idk what is. But also their analogy that society is a MESS of a dilapidated house and we have to pick ONE place to start and stick with it if we really want to fix it up is also the truth.

4) Did y'all know about Our Lady of Kibohe? This is a Vatican-approved Marian apparition that appeared to three teenaged girls in Rwanda a little more than a decade before the genocide (which she warned them about). There is no one in Creation demons and Satan hate more than Our Lady, and there's no better weapon against them than the rosary. There has been a call from our brothers and sisters to rend our hearts and even if you don't see, think, or believe there is still racism within the Church, will you not pray for Mary and St. Michael to help continue keeping it that way, then?

Our Lady of Kibohe encouraged us to take up the practice of praying the Seven Sorrows Rosary. I tried it for the first time last week and I have to say, even with my super basic limited knowledge of black history in the United States, it was not hard to see how their suffering could easily be united to the sufferings of Christ and Our Lady.

I guess my conclusion is this: I have my own misgivings about blindly supporting any ol' cause that happens to be trending on whatever. The Black Lives Matter ORGANIZATION has a manifesto touting things that are contrary to the Catechism for SURE, but when my brothers and sisters in the Church are telling me they are in pain RIGHT NOW and saying, "Hey, listen... They're right about some things... These are the things and we've experienced it IN the Church..." then they deserve to be heard. We owe it to them to listen because they are a part of us. We need to expose these sins to the light instead of denying they exist or claiming to be past it. We ALSO need to be charitable to those in different parts of their journey. Is it FAIR to bear the burden of others' sins and make reparations for them? Heck no! But we do it. Jesus did it for us. We do it for our brothers and sisters in Purgatory. What's the difference for bearing it for our hard-hearted brothers and sisters on earth? Nobody is perfect but we all are made in the image and likeness of God and thus inherently carry human dignity.

[ketzwrites]

I've been tweeting #SaveShadowhunters like crazy at TV networks, I've requested Shadowhunters to Netflix a bunch of times, and I chatted with Ann Pauline M via Netflix customer support and got a general 'there will be 12 episodes for you to look forward to' response. Have I earned a drabble? If so, can it be Malec in an AU where the downworlders are in charge?

Here we go, nonny! I wanted to do this right because I love this “what if” scenario. I couldn’t just wing it, you know? 

Hope you like the result! Available on AO3 as well.

It wasn’t the first time that a Shadowhunter tried to get to the Soul Sword. In the little more than twenty years since it’s been under Magnus’ protection, he could safely estimate the fools had tried to recover the Soul Sword at least a dozen times. Truth be told, most of those attempts happened right after the Uprising and the installment of the Downworlder Council, when the Shadowhunters hoped to reverse the new system of government. That hope was gone now, but the occasional hero-wannabe still tried to do it every now and then.

Of course, none of them succeeded. It was no coincidence that the Mortal Instrument was given to Magnus Bane to safeguard. He had worked with Shadowhunters a lot during the Old Times, back when Shadowhunters were in charge of the Shadow World. If there was one Downworlder that knew how the Shadowhunters operated, it was Magnus. There was nobody better for the job.

The Mortal Instruments were the only thing that kept the Shadowhunters in line with the new regime. As long as the Downworlders had them, the Clave would obey. Magnus still remembered the day that Luke Garroway pried the Soul Sword out of Valentine’s cold, dead hands. Blood dripped out of it, both Shadowhunter and Downworlder blood. The other two Mortal Instruments, the Cup and the Mirror, were respectively given to the Seelies and the Vampires to guard. But Magnus got the Sword.

You keep this away from them, Luke Garroway had told him. He had been just a boy then, a shadow of the man he became two decades later. Promise me.

And Magnus promised. He had looked into the eyes of that young man and seen no fear, only determination. The brave, serious eyes of a man who wanted to protect his people and do the right thing.

Just like the eyes that were staring at him now. Only, these eyes belonged to a young Shadowhunter. One that had - rather impressively - found a way through Magnus’ protection wards and gotten to the chamber where Magnus kept the Soul Sword. 

He had come with a squad; a blonde man, a red-haired girl, and a black-haired woman. They defeated Magnus’ protection wards, penetrated his fortress like it was nothing. Magnus had to personally deal with each one of them as they also were smart enough to divide to keep him busy. The group had been efficient, well-trained, and almost successful.

Almost. After dealing with the others, Magnus had stopped the man right before he could take the Soul Sword. Now, it laid between them, its presence just overbearing as it was in the Uprising.

“Should I ask for your Hunting Permit?” Magnus said, cocking his head to the side. The Shadowhunter narrowed his eyes at him, but he couldn’t do much more. Magnus had him paralyzed, which was the one thing that stopped the man from losing the arrow pointed at Magnus’ heart.

For a second, Magnus expected the man to curse him, but he did something else instead. He cleared his throat. “I do have one,” the Shadowhunter said, voice neutral. Aside from direct calls from Downworlder Leaders, Hunting Permits were the only other way a Shadowhunter was allowed to leave Idris. “There is a hoard of Shax demons in this neighborhood and my team was hunting them down.”

Magnus almost laughed. It wasn’t a lie; he had heard about the demons. Magnus also didn’t think the Shadowhunter expected him to believe the excuse. But the way that the man had said it, the practicality of it as if he had predicted someone would ask... Magnus couldn’t help but snort.

“Too bad you didn’t stick to the mission, Shadowhunter.” Magnus sighed. “With some luck, you and your friends will be locked up for life instead of executed. It would be a shame to cut off that pretty head of yours.”

The Shadowhunter blinked, surprise coloring his face. But then he gasped. “My sister- Is she still alive?”

Magnus cursed his heart when it jumped at the man’s tone. The worry in it, the relief… Magnus knew very well how it felt to realize someone he loved had survived a battle. Angel or demon blood, they were all human in their own way. The young man in front of him loved and hurt, just like him.

Gritting his teeth, Magnus pushed that thought aside. That young man had tried to steal the Soul Sword, he was not to be pitied. Magnus would not go back to the Old Times. The Shadowhunters had taken too much from him.

But that didn’t mean he had to sink to their levels of cruelty. He was probably referring to the black-haired woman. She looked just like the man, beautiful and dangerous. Magnus had knocked her out with a spell but there shouldn’t be any side-effects except for a headache.

“She’s alive,” Magnus finally said. He moved his hand, feeling the power run through his veins. “Let go of your weapon now and I’ll ask the Downworlder Council to be lenient. If you tell the Council who put you up to steal the Soul Sword, they might-”

“We came on our own,” the Shadowhunter interrupted him tersely. But he did let go of the weapon and the bow and arrow fell to the ground. Half a point for that.

Magnus wasn’t surprised the young man wouldn’t tell on his superiors. Everyone knew the Clave would never accept the defeat and submission. They trained their youth to stay loyal to a fault. Still, it didn’t hurt to ask-

“But we didn’t come here to steal the Soul Sword,” the Shadowhunter continued. “We came here to destroy it.”

Magnus blinked, surprised to say the least. That was new. No Shadowhunter in their right mind would even dare to think such a thing. They worshipped the Mortal Instruments almost as much as the Angel himself. It had to be some sort of trick.

Thinking quickly, Magnus pulled the bow and quiver away from the Shadowhunter and gestured to the Soul Sword. “Touch it and say that again.”

The Shadowhunter gasped when he regained the control over his body. He inhaled sharply and his eyes went right to his bow. He probably considered it was too far away to reach and, instead, stepped closer to the Soul Sword, laying his hands over it.

The Sword began to glow, a pale shimmer raising all around it. The Shadowhunter gritted his teeth, breathing in and out. “My team and I came here to find and destroy the Soul Sword,” he said, loud and clear. It seemed the Mortal Instrument did compel the truth after all. And it wasn’t done. “Before the Clave can use it to destroy all demon-blooded creatures.”

Magnus’ heart skipped a beat. “Move away,” he ordered and the Shadowhunter obliged, stepping away until his back was against the wall. Recomposing himself, Magnus smiled. It helped to wash away the surprise from his face. “I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced. My name is Magnus Bane.”

“I know,” the Shadowhunter practically spat. He blinked, clearing his throat as if to start again. “Hm, Alec Lightwood,” he said and for some reason pointed at himself.

Strangely cute. And also… a Lightwood? The surprises didn’t seem to end.

“All right, Alec.” Magnus narrowed his eyes at him. “I’m going to trust you.” Maybe it was a wrong move, but Magnus felt Alec had earned it by now. He hadn’t been holding the truth-compelling sword when he revealed his true plans. That should count for something.

Or so Magnus hoped. “Now,” he said, eyes locked on Alec’s, “what exactly do you mean by ‘destroy all demon-blooded creatures’? What does that mean?”

“It’s a secret. Izzy and I overheard our parents talking about it. They work for the Clave.” Alec frowned. “If the conditions are right, the Soul Sword can emit enough angelic energy to wipe the world of demon-blooded creatures.” Alec pushed his lips together, angering coloring his face. “But that’s not right. We shouldn’t have this power.”

Magnus considered it for a moment. Alec was telling the truth, but was he right? It did explain why the Shadowhunters went for the Soul Sword more than the other two Mortal Instruments. But that was the first time Magnus had heard of something like that… Could it be true?

Sighing, Magnus smiled again. True or not, others should know about it. The Downworlders ruled as equals. “Congratulations, Alec. You got yourself an audience with the Downworlder Council. You will explain all of that to them. They might even let you and your team go.”

“A Shadowhunter can’t get an audience with the Downworlder Council-” Alec started to protest.

But Magnus interrupted him. “Unless they have a sponsor. Well, you have me now. Don’t give me a reason to regret it and we shall be friends.”

Alec swallowed hard. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Magnus grinned, even though he had no idea if he should. Hopefully, that wouldn’t blow up in his face. “Good.”

It all depended on this Alec Lightwood. This strangely honest and determined man. Magnus had met other people like him before, but there was something different about Alec. It didn’t even matter that he was a Shadowhunter or that he would’ve put an arrow in Magnus’ head given half a chance. There was something special about him. Something that made Magnus trust him.

And trust makes one do strange things, doesn’t it?