#what is she mad that i bled out in her bathroom

[mapsareforbraindeads]

i only got clothes for christmas. clothes that are very much not my size

[saturnmosaic]

succulent berries nestled in the yard.

pairing : ellie williams x female reader

synopsis : ellie, your wife, gives your cat away, out of envy or circumstance, you can't tell. leaving behind the past, you and your wife move into a new home. but with a relationship on the brink of ravage, the house seems to harbor sinister forces. and with the insatiable hunger for berries you discovered in the yard, things crumble rather fast.

warnings : pussy eating, mentions of miscarriage, animal deaths, blood, cannibalistic yearning, figures/ creatures sorta?? haunted house.

wc : 1.8k

a/n : um yeah...it's kinda bad and not executed well but i wrote this during the week of my exams, can you blame me? also i got kinda lazy during sum bits sooo

betrayal lingers in the car, stirring amidst the crisp air of the AC. the tapping of the rain against the mist covered windows, like the rhythmic pumping of your ruptured heart, does no good to the gnawing feeling inside you. how could she have given away your blythe. the tiny creature always so nimble on her feet at the call of her name, so fond of seeking slumber on your lap.

you’d found her on a similar day like this— grey hues enveloping the sky, water droplets crashing the tender and moist earth with all their might, and the rumbling of thunder in the distance. amidst all that chaos, her meek meow had stood out. her black fur was sleek with the heavy rain, and her belly was smeared plum dark.

you’d taken her home on an impulse. time and medical care healed her. and she had healed you. a lovely year spent with her, reminiscent of a lilac bloom in the summer. but now she was gone, taken away from you by your own wife. your own wife! a blasphemy.

"are you still mad at me? we had no other choice." aventurine eyes dart away from the distorted road to get a glimpse of you. your eyes still bleary and bloodshot, hair ever so tousled, and the silk of your dress embracing your petal-like skin. a bittersweet sight.

"don't say we." not even a glance spared her way, the face you’d seek for in every room you entered, now a face foreign and surreal.

"oh come on, she was sick anyway. it was only a matter of days before she died!" her temper, planted in her like a tempting hydrangea, speaks before her rationale can articulate words, knuckles gripping the charcoal leather of the driving wheel.

"she was not sick."

she sighs, the guilt of her deed looming over her like a sickly, withered willow. “baby, we both know she was and i’m really sorry but we can’t do anything about it. we’re moving to a new town, a new house. bringing her with us would be..a burden. besides i’d rather you not witness her death, i don’t wanna see you suffer like that.”

“i’m already suffering, aren’t i?”

“well, what the fuck do you want me to do, huh? i’m just trying to do what’s right. a-and it’s like i’m always second to that cat!”

the confession, lays bare like an ornate scroll, and makes you ponder if envy was the cause of it. but was what she said entirely fallacious? maybe you had been giving blythe more attention that she’d felt frivolous in your eyes.

“just- i’m sorry, okay? but i promise jesse will take good care of her.”

silence ensues, and soon the quaint house surfaces into your eyesight. the rain and dusk obscured it's intricacy but from what you could make out, it was painted in warm whites and browns, with ivy weaving up the sides and windows curtained in white lace.

…

a house is a body, your mom used to tell you. a haven meant to be worshipped in return for solace and warmth. this house became your body. its walls were alive in the daylight, screeching and beckoning for something while ellie was at work. it fed on your sorrow and resentment like a famished beast, stripping them away to procure life. your heart was indented in these walls.

the house would foist bad omens on whoever visited. aunt daphne had a miscarriage, the frail thing of a baby was bled out on the black and white tiles of your bathroom. it stirred memories of your own miscarriage, and ellie thought that was the reason you leaned so heavily on blythe, loving her as though she were your own child. when uncle luke visited, his golden retriever was found dead in the yard, leaves sitting idly on its fur like an atonement.

ellie wasn't one to believe in curses or anything remotely superficial, but she'd felt something innately sinister residing in the hollow of the house. she wanted to move, but moving away meant leaving behind your body, so you stayed, which compelled her to stay rooted to the house too.

…

on a sunny morning, beads of sweat kissing your skin, damp hair heavy under the sun’s gaze, you’d been lead to the brambles in the yard by the house itself. the raspberries were glistening and plump with saccharine juice.

they might’ve been tainted with fox piss, so you gather them in a dainty basket and slip back into the confines of your home to wash them. the water from the tap cascades down onto the fruits in your hand, ridding them of the insect debris and other dirt.

a tatted arm snakes its way around your waist and a head heavy with sleep rests on your shoulder. it had almost slipped out of your mind that it was a weekend.

ellie's other arm reaches out to turn the tap off and put the dampened raspberries away from your hand. without warning, pearly whites bite down on your neck and her tongue flicks out to languidly soothe the bruised splotch.

a carnal desire courses through your veins. ever since you moved here, and ever since blythe was no longer in your gentle arms, words barely existed anymore. and sometimes silence felt like a human presence, mocking the insubstantial souls around it. without words, sex was your salvation.

she turns you around to hoist you up on the counter, shadows smudged under her eyes. she'd come back from work late last night, you figure.

her calloused hands are on your thighs, pushing them apart with a fervor. a similar fervor that'd paint itself on her whenever you showed her a hint of normalcy. your hands still in her tousled hair, as the velvety pads of her fingertips tug your underwear off.

her knees hit the marble tiles, warmed by the sunlight streaming in through the kitchen windows, as she lifts the fabric of your dress up, a gentle rustle against the morning ambience, revealing your slick folds.

her tongue teases your weeping cunt, one hand clutching the dress up and the other resting on your thigh. you whimper in desperation, pushing her head further.

“ellie..”

she pats your thigh in response, fucking you with her warm muscle, feeling your insides devour it with a hanker. noises flow out of your mouth as smoothly as the tranquil descent of a waterfall, as your fingers dig into her scalp.

a sultry moan muffles into your hole, and she pulls back, the taste of you lingering on her tongue.

“what the fuck? why’d you-” your whine is silenced by the solace of her lips. her tongue slides into your mouth and presses against your own, slick and insistent. your own taste dissolves into your mouth, mending with your saliva.

you bite the soft pillow of her lower lip, drawing crimson liquid and earning a throaty noise from her. somewhere between a moan and a grunt.

“babe..” she lowers her gaze in an attempt to catch sight of the fresh blood. before she can wipe it away with the pad of her thumb, you lick the red off her pillowy cushion of flesh.

the taste is seraphic as it sits on your taste buds, a pure bliss, like thyme on a wound. the sensation of her tongue back inside your clenching walls heightened this feeling, if not subdued it wholly. but the taste still lingered.

her fingers soothe your swollen clit, circling around it as if afraid it’ll be seized from her grasp someday.

she laps at every drop of juice that manifests, like she’d done to your tears, as a fatuous inside joke, a long while ago. so long, she can’t remember if it was a hazy dream.

“fuck. i’m so close.”

her mouth pulls away when you reach your pleasant climax, her fingers still on your clit, helping you through your high. your hands go limp in her hair, and she languidly wipes the glistening slick from her mouth and chin with the back of the hand that releases your bunched dress.

...

the berries stay forgotten until the next morning, when it’s delicacy is withered and rotten away under the exposure to air and temperature. you throw the shrivelled fruits away and pick several more.

the new ripe ones sit snug in a ceramic bowl, alluring and tender. you feast on ten, eleven, twelve, and then the count numbs in your brain. the fluid so grossly alike to ellie’s blood, makes you delirious. it’s utterly enthralling, the juice dripping down your chin, its sticky residue settling on your skin. your teeth and lips and hands stained in a crimson hue, a crimson hue reminiscent of ellie’s blood. ellie’s blood. they chant themselves on the tip of your tongue.

spindled figures, engraved on the floors, long limbs and pulsing eyes, they seem to close in on you. the bowl is emptied, raspberries already in the pit of your stomach. the yearning grows in agony, an animalistic desire surging through the ivory of your bones.

you feel light like you’re meandering through the air, though you can feel the faces of the figures underneath your feet, something metallic making its home in your hand.

you blink and you're standing in your bedroom, ellie coddling her apatosaurus plushie, as her eyes stay fluttered. a vulnerability so immensely coating the room. the knife glides down her supple skin, the smell of meat stirring your senses. was her heart the sweetest part of her body?

"what the fuck are you doing?" her raspy voice cuts through your trance and suddenly the object in your hand feels foreign. with a sharp yank to your arm, the metal clanks on the marble floor.

"what is wrong with you?" ellie's gripping your arms, her face contorted with disbelief, shock and wrath.

"n-nothing." but something is. you both know. tears gush through your eyes, the salty pearls melding with the sweet smear of berries on your skin.

"god, it's this fucking house! we should've moved. fuck!" her grasp on your arms are gone, her hands fumbling for her phone. frustration envelopes her like a smothering blanket as she talks to demolition contractors.

your pleas fall on deaf ear, your mere presence as measly as a lamb. you let yourself be escorted out of the house, eyes sodden, red flickering in them, as you watch- watch the house your body collapse to the ground.

the berries come retching out of your mouth, along with a hideous flow of blood. the walls crumble and the world around you dances like an uncanny painting. sirens wail in the distance and layers of black pierce through your eyes, shutting them for slumber.

[bosinclairsgff]

Slasher's reacting to their s/o on their period

Yeahhhhh I just felt like writing about it because I am in fact on my period, anywho! Enjoy :)

Includes: Bo Sinclair, Corey Cunningham, Patrick Bateman and The Grabber

Warnings: Mention of kidnap, implied nudity and just some of them being mean..

Bo Sinclair

Bo woke up to you saying his name and shaking him softly. You had just started your period and you had bled through your underwear onto the sheets. At first, he was a little annoyed that it had gotten on the sheets but then he looked at how bad you felt and calmed down.

He would still be an asshole, but he would be a nicer asshole.

I think he would offer taking a shower with you to help wash you off so you would feel better.

If you asked him to buy pads, he would say yes but REALLY complain about it and be a bit pissed off. When he gets to the store and sees how many different types there are he gets STRESSED. He would grab you a random one and hope it's the right one.

If you asked him to buy tampons he would make some weird joke about using them. He would buy them for you though, still annoyed. Again he wouldn't know if there is a right size to get or what. So just be thankful for whatever you get.

Corey Cunningham

Corey had taken you out for a ride and you guys were having so much fun. But when the ride as over and you stood up to get off, he noticed a small blood stain on your pants. You were so embarrassed, but he assured you it was totally fine, that its normal and nothing to be embarrassed about. He gave would give you his jacket to wear around your waist.

He would be so sweet about it and would buy you all the chocolate in the world.

Corey would run you a nice bath then when you got out, he would cuddle and watch your favorite movie.

If you asked him to grab you pads, he would say yes but internally panic. He wouldn't know which brand to buy, or if it had to be a certain size. I think you'd get a text of a picture of the isle asking you to tell him which one to buy. Same thing with tampons.

Patrick Bateman

You were sitting in his bed just talking about your day when you stood up to use the bathroom. Once you got up, he sees blood on your panties and on the sheets. He. Was. Pissed. Patrick would defently yell at you for getting blood on his sheets. He would say something like "don't you know when you're going to start your period? You should be prepared. You have made such a fucking mess".

He would make you take a shower while he changed the sheets. Then he would ask if you even had the things you need.

He would you out and grab you whatever you choose to you and be really mad about it.

When he gets back to the apartment he would toss the pads in the bathroom and not say a word to you for the rest of the night.

The Grabber

He's not used to being around people who have periods so he would be so awkward.

One morning while giving you your breakfast he noticed you weren't eating, and you looked like you were in discomfort. He would ask once wrong and shyly you told him you had started your period. He would freeze. The Grabber hadn't even planned to keep you for this long so now that you had started your period, he had no idea what to do.

He would ask you if you needed anything or if you could just stuff toilet paper in your panties and that would do. When you explained it's better to have pads or tampons, he tried to not cringe while talking about it. This stuff made him so uncomfortable.

The Grabber would tell you he would be back in 30 minutes, and he was going to get you pads. Of course, he had no idea what to buy.

One of the older ladies working their noticed how long he had been standing there staring at all the pads. So, she helped him get what she thought would be best. His face was bright red the whole time talking to her.

Once he gets home, he would go downstairs with a few wet paper towels so you could clean up the best you could. No, he would not give you privacy and would watch you.

[jarofstyles]

FICTOBER DAY 2- Was It Worth It?

Hello lovebugs. Welcome back to day two, we got a shortie blurb for all of you!

Fictober Prompts/Masterlist

Patreon

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“Was it worth it?” Y/N grumbled as she gently wiped the cut on his forehead.

Harry had always been a hothead, but with a few drinks in him, his confidence flew. It flew all the way into a bar chair after trying to start a fight in the pub for a guy pulling Y/N close to his lap. She’d gone to report the creep for attempting something but had only gotten halfway through the crowded area when she heard someone yelling Harry’s name and for him to ‘chill out’.

 

The halloween trivia night had been a bust, it seems, but Y/N’s cat ears stuck well to her hair and her half assed attempt of a cat nose and whiskers had only smudged a tiny bit. She called that a win. The black bodysuit had been a hit with Harry, so much so that he had been extra touchy the whole night and kissing on her in the way that was gearing up for some fun at home.

The fight had sobered them both up, Y/N hissing when she saw the blood down her boyfriend’s face. It was a halloween theme so thankfully no one gave them much of a second look when they got into the uber, but she was annoyed he wouldn’t let her bring him to a hospital. 

“It was.” He hummed, pawing at her hips. Y/N was ignoring it mentally, but her body was only so strong. “Totally worth it. I told you I’d always protect you, my sweet girl. Always. And yeah, probably shouldn’t have thrown hands but he commented on your ass when I was going to tell him off so…” He shrugged his shoulders. Thankfully the only injuries seemed to be a superficial cut and a few split knuckles. Still she was going to keep him awake in case of a concussion. 

“You can keep me safe by not throwing hands in the middle of a pub.” She squeezed his chin, giving him a look as she finished tending to the head wound. They bled a lot and it was intimidating no matter what. 

“Hm. Maybe.” He pulled her in between his split legs. “I’m never going to not defend your honor. You’re my love. S’fucked if I just let someone say shit. And then they touch you?” He went to raise his brow but winced, the tender skin making him grunt. “Fucks sake. It was worth it, though. It’ll heal up and maybe I’ll have a cool scar and you can always remember who loves you enough to get his arse handed to him.” 

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, squishing his cheeks before placing a kiss to his mouth. “Fair enough, babe. Fair enough.” She was just glad she didn’t have to bail him out with a cat tail tied around her waist. “Get in the shower and wash the blood off of your hair so I can finish this up.” Her hands smacked his thighs, the sound echoing in the bathroom. “And before you ask, no. I will not join you. I will sit here and make sure you don’t pass out, god forbid, but if I step in there you will give yourself more of a headache trying to touch me.” 

She knew exactly how that would go. Harry wasn’t at all subtle when his shoulders fell, a groan leaving his lips as he stood up from the sink. “Fine. Only because this means you forgive me and you won’t be mad anymore.” He sang over his shoulder as he strolled over to the shower stall to turn on the water. “ No taking it back!”

[nothing0fnothing]

I legitimately believe my mum was a possum in a past life. She just loved digging through trash.

No I don't mean she was a dumpster diver trying to find free, discarded hidden treasures. I mean she would dig through the household trash to find things to be mad about.

Us kids knew we couldn't get away with eating snacks while she was out, because she'd be rooting through the bin at the end of the day and find the evidence to scold us with later. I learned super fast that any notes or pages I didn't want her to see needed to get thrown out at the bin in my school because she would dig through the bins at home, find it and read it out loud to me to make me feel extra embarrassed and ashamed.

One day, when I was about nine years old, I hosted a slumber party with a group of girl friends. We painted nails and played games and went to bed on time. The day after the slumber party I'm called into my stone faced mothers bedroom for "a little chat". Oh god. What now?

She starts asking me if I know what puberty is in a very accusatory tone. Demanding I tell her who told me what a period is.

I have. No clue. What she's talking about.

Turns out that after my sleepover my mother went digging through the bathroom trash, finding a used sanitary pad in the rubbish. She explains to me the brand and the size, the manner of which it was thrown away and even noted that while it had been used, it had not been bled on. This, to her, was the smoking gun that it was mine, because I hadn't gotten my period yet.

This, logically, led her to believe that I had been clandestinely informed about the existence of periods and I, a nine year old girl with pokemon cards to collect, decided that in a bid to look cool at my sleepover, spent the pocket money I usually spent on Pokemon cards on a packet of Always Nighttime Ultra Protect sanitary pads with wings, snuck them into my bedroom so I could wear them at my party and impress all my friends.

And not that, yanno, one of the 10 year old girls at the sleepover wore one before going to sleep in someone elses bed just in case.

When it dawned on her that the latter was probably the most viable scenario, she did the normal thing and let it go.

Nah, just kidding. She actually called up all my friends mums and grilled them about their daughters stage in puberty and what kind of period protection they used.

After that, every time it was my turn to host the slumber party, their mums all had them very busy doing something else.

[annie-creates]

Take a day off

Pairing: Lady Lesso x reader

Genre: fluff

Words: 1000

Note: This request was very specific but i did my best to follow it as closely as I could so I hope you'll like it. I hope we can get out of the shadowban, or did people just stop reading?

Warm and snuggly, that’s how you felt with the rays of sun on your face when you woke up. It made you not want to get out of bed, in the best-case scenario for the whole day. Your girlfriend laid right next to you enjoying the depths of sleep with her red hair sprawled over the pillows. Digging lower into the blankets you felt a weird wetness between your legs, hurriedly getting up realizing you forgot about your upcoming period.

“Shit.” You jumped out of bed forgetting all about the sweetness and laziness of the morning.

Running to the bathroom you notice your pajama pants are bled through. In a hurry you try to minimize the damage, washing the bottoms in cold water to get the blood out. You tried to do anything and everything to get everything back in order and stressed to do so before your partner wakes up. Returning in the room hoping to not disturb your girlfriend, you find her stripping the sheets and covers. A cold feeling of embarrassment and shame washes over you as you couldn’t clean up after yourself in time.

“I’m sorry…” you mumble with your gaze shamefully fixed on the ground.

“What are you sorry for?” Lesso looks at you incomprehensibly.

“I didn’t mean to.” You sniffle a little trying to suppress the tears welling up in your eyes fidgeting uncomfortably.

“Oh honey, it’s just a period. Everyone has it, it’s nothing to be sorry about.” Leonora lets go of the sheets to come and hug you to her, shocked by your reaction as you pull away a little.

“Please don’t be mad at me.” Her hug and tenderness made you cry even more, partly with embarrassment and partly with relief that she didn’t immediately scream at you.

“Of course I’m not mad at you. How did you come up with that?” The dean could hardly understand your reactions or reasoning.

“Well… Chris broke up with me for my period stains.” You admit even more embarrassed having to explain the end of your last relationship.

“Baby it’s nothing to be shameful about, and if they did, they were just a stupid immature idiot.” She assures you kissing the top of your head. “How about I make you some nice warm bath, hm? You can relax and relieve the pain a little.”

“Yeah I’d like that.” You mumble nodding slightly.

Leonora puts the laundry into the washing machine and filles up the tub with hot water, bubbles and relaxing essential oils. You didn’t have many opportunities to take a day off and just lay down and relax, so she decided this is going to be one of those days, starting with a nice bath. She helps you undress and into the water, washing your back and massaging your shoulders how you used to do for her when she was stressed out or stretched herself too thin with responsibilities.

“Thank you, you are the best.” You whine, your worries washed away along with some of the cramps pain.

“No, you are. You never have to be ashamed of being the wonderful woman you are, love.” She soothes you with another kiss.

After washing you up Leonora wraps you up in a fuzzy bathrobe and puts clean bedding onto the bed, snuggling you in. The sun that you were content with almost an hour ago irritated you now as you tried to get comfortable with the pain and feeling of hunger you suddenly had. Periods were always a little crazy and unpredictable.

“Mph, can you get the blinds?” you ask your girlfriend covering your eyes in annoyance.

“Sure. Is there anything else I can get you? Nice warm cup of tea? Or hot chocolate? Some sandwiches?” Lesso offered closing the window sills and creating a dim atmosphere in the room.

“Yes.” You nod and snuggle under the covers.

“Yes to all of it?” Leonora laughs a little.

“If it’s not a problem, please.” You kindly specify.

“Okay.” She gives you one last kiss before leaving the room to get all the food she could find. “I’ll be right back.”

“You don’t have to hurry…” you assure her half asleep already. “Ow, or maybe you do.” You change your mind with a wave of period pain.

Leonora roamed the kitchens for anything that could be of use to her and you could like, warm cup of tea, a bottle of water, sandwiches with different meat in them and a bowl of soup. She also got a few sweet pastries in case you were craving a sugar bomb for breakfast this morning. With a tray stocked with food she returned into the room setting it down on your bedside table.

“I got a few of everything.” She strokes your hair seeing your face contorted in pain.

“Thank you.” You squeak out over your cramps.

“Here, let me get you a warm blanket.” Leonora got a blanket from the armchair sat by the fireplace that was still nicely warmed up. “That should help with the pain.”

“What would I do without you.” You sighed content with her care.

“Be the incredibly strong and wonderful and beautiful woman you always are.” Lesso answers without missing a beat as she gets into her side of the bed.

“Will you read me something?” You ask her not having the energy to read yourself but wanting to listen to her voice telling you stories.

“Sure.” She agrees hugging you to her and opening the book waiting for her on her nightstand.

As she draws little circles on your back with her nails and reads to you, you slowly drift off to another peaceful sleep. Leonora could hardly imagine a better morning than having you snuggled securely in her arms having no other things to worry about than your wellbeing. If this was the happy ending everyone always warbled about, she was quite happy to find it with you and she was going to do everything in her power to keep it.

[bumblesimagines]

Midnight Beach

Part 9

Request: Yes or No

Nearly at double digits y'all

Taglist: @nathan-no @hyubg @ash455

~~~

"Quit squirming."

"It stings!"

"And it'll sting a whole lot more if it gets infected, Sarah." The blonde dug her teeth into her bottom lip and her face scrunched up again. A soft whine emitted from her throat and he tightened his grip on her wrist before she could attempt to tug it away and plead her case about how she was perfectly fine. He gingerly rubbed the cotton swab over the lines on the side of her palm, small cuts that bled slightly when he ran her hand under some water. Small red spots appeared on the swab and he sighed heavily, flicking it into the trashcan and getting out a white gauze pad. He carefully placed it over the scrape, listening to Sarah hiss softly when it made contact. Once finished, she inspected the gauze and ran a finger over it with a small pout as he shuffled around the bathroom, putting and tossing things away. 

"How long will I have to wear this?" She asked, tucking some hair behind her ear and hopping off the sink. Sarah poked at the gauze a few more times, picking at the sticky edges. (Y/N) turned and smacked her fingers away, earning a soft huff in return.

"Probably until the end of the day. You're lucky you didn't fall from any higher. You could've broken a finger or even your wrist." 

"Well, thank you for taking care of me, doc." Sarah cooed with an effortless smile. 

"I wouldn't have had to if you hadn't picked a fight with Routledge." (Y/N) pointed out, his mild exhaustion making his tone come out monotone and causing the smile on her face to fall as quickly as it'd appeared. He stepped around the girl and into the guest bedroom, inspecting the still messy bed. He'd allowed Sarah to sleep the rest of the night off before waking her up to treat the scrape she'd gotten from the party properly cause he knew that otherwise, she'd let it go untreated. Sarah appeared in his line of sight again, holding her hand to her chest and mustering her best puppy eyes.

"I didn't start it!" She sputtered. "That girl did! Did you see how she got in my face?"

"Uh huh, and who exactly walked over to them in the first place? And who shoved John B first? And who-"

"Okay, I get it! I messed up." Sarah tossed her hands up. "I just... I didn't think he'd move on that quickly. It's been one day and he was already flirting with another girl."

(Y/N) pursed his lips. He itched to point out she'd moved on from him before they had even properly broken up. She'd blindsided him at the biggest summer event without warning or sympathy. He found it hard to feel sorry for her. To pretend as if she hadn't taken his feelings and trampled all over them with a couple words and a single action. But he also found it hard to stay mad at her while looking into her pretty doe eyes.

She stared up at him through her lashes, brows knitted upward and lips still pulled into a pout. She had pulled her sleeve-covered arms around her abdomen, her shoulders lowered and her weight shifted on one foot so she appeared smaller than she was. Whether intentional or not, she looked vulnerable and appeared genuinely upset by her actions. His heart twinged and he internally groaned, head rolling back and eyes meeting the smooth white ceiling. 

"I get it." He didn't, but maybe the loss of her father had muddled her memory. Besides, she hadn't started the physical altercation. John B had. From the videos scattered across his social media feed, Kelce had sprung at him verbally and John B responded with his fist. Seemed like he couldn't hold a proper argument without throwing punches first. What the hell did Sarah Cameron even see in him? Maybe he wasn't as mad about the cheating as he thought. Maybe he was more mad about the fact she cheated on him with a guy who looked like he had no idea how showers or washing machines worked and wore clothes with stains that looked years old.

Soft hands grabbed him and he looked back down at her as she ran her thumbs over the back of his hands. Sarah smiled sweetly at him and reared up onto the tips of her toes to plant a swift kiss on his cheek. She released his hands when she rolled back onto her heels and turned around, picking up her Converses and slipping them on. Oh, that's right, she'd asked him to drive her around to the Cameron Residence to pick up more clothes. She was essentially moving in for the unforeseeable future.

"Are you sure you want to go? I could ask Topper to distract Rafe some other day-"

"I'll have to face him eventually, (Y/N). I'll be quick about it. Besides, I need to check on Wheezie." Sarah plopped down on the bed and reached down, tying the laces of her shoes and standing back up once done. Leaving the guest room and heading downstairs, (Y/N) swiped his keys from the table and stepped outside, walking toward his jeep with the same level of excitement a dog had when heading to the vet. He got inside and turned it on, the rumble vibrating through his body. Once Sarah got in and buckled up, he reversed out of the driveway and headed down the street of their neighborhood.

The houses in their neighborhood were large and extravagant with yards large enough to fit another mansion. Nearly all the houses resided on the bank, giving the families the excuse to buy expensive boats and yachts that they rarely ever used. Most of their neighbors were part of the same group: families that lived in Figure Eight and enjoyed luxuries because of generational wealth. The (L/N)'s were a family that slotted perfectly into that group. (Y/N)'s great-grandparents from both sides had established a name for themselves amongst the wealthy locals in Figure Eight and the money they generated from their time still made its appearance in their bank accounts present day. He was expected to take up a high-paying job and contribute to the wealth for future generations, just as his parents and their parents had. And yet, all he wished to do was start a life somewhere where nobody knew him.

Pulling up the long driveway of Tannyhill, (Y/N) parked by the front doors and tilted his head upon noticing them wide open. Sarah unbuckled her seatbelt and popped open the car door, keeping her foot pressed against it to hold it as she turned her head to look back at him. "I'll be right back." She said and hopped out of the car, closing the door behind her and heading inside. He leaned back in his seat and tried to calm the uneasiness that bubbled in his stomach at the thought of encountering Rafe. The last thing he needed was to be hounded by a high and delirious guy. Anxiety scratched at his back, digging lightly into his skin and making his mouth dry. 

"Don't think about it..." He whispered quietly to himself, turning his attention onto the radio and fiddling with the knobs in search of a good station. Sarah appeared from the house moments later in new clothes and with a bag slung over her shoulder. She opened the door and sat down, tossing the bag in the backseat and turning toward him with bright eyes. 

"I have to tell you something."

"Uh oh." He grimaced. 

"You know about the Royal Merchant, right? Well, it turns out that the slave who escaped with the gold, Denmark Tanny, is related to Pope and he went looking in his grandma's old house for information after this woman named Carla Limbrey tried to basically kidnap him-"

"Wait, what-"

"-cause she wanted a key that his family had in relation to the Santo Domingo cross. He found that key and it had an inscription on it about an island room and where to find the cross. Our dining room wallpaper got torn up and there were these drawings behind it showing the island. It's the island room! I-I- There's a lot going on, I know, but I need you to drive us to John B's place so I can tell Pope what I found. He needs to know." Sarah rambled, each word making him more and more confused. A cross? A key? Attempted kidnapping? He stared at her, no doubt looking as if she'd grown three heads, and wordlessly stepped on the gas pedal. His head turned back toward the road and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment when he reached the end of the driveway.

"Start from the beginning, Sarah."

And so she did. 

Sarah told him about how she'd accompanied John B to Chapel Hill where he revealed to her that they'd found- or were in the process of finding- the Royal Merchant Gold. She'd given him maps to use and together, they'd snuck into the infamous Crain house and found the gold in a well in the basement but when they tried to return for more of it, Ward had already intercepted and stolen the gold for himself. On the day of Sheriff Peterkin's death, John B had intervened and while attempting to arrest Ward for the murder of Big John, Rafe shot her and thus propelled the island into chaos. Sarah and John B survived the boat capsizing during the storm and were rescued by a crew heading to Nassau where they attempted to steal the gold back from Ward and Rafe shot Sarah. After fleeing from the police, they got on a boat (where John B proposed to Sarah with a piece of string from his bandana) and returned to OBX to find out Pope had been invited to the Limbrey household and pressured to hand over a key for the Santo Domingo cross that'd been onboard the Royal Merchant. His head throbbed by the end of it.

Arriving at the old, practically crumbling mobile home, (Y/N) turned off the car and got out with Sarah, approaching the porch of the house and stepping inside. His gaze immediately went over all trash and clothes laying across the floor, the mere sight of it making his skin crawl. Four people staying in one place and not a single one of them had the bright idea of cleaning up the space? None of them could be bothered to pick up old chip bags and soda cans? (Y/N)'s nose crinkled as he stepped over a moldy piece of bread on the floor. JJ whistled to his friends and smiled sleepily at them, tossing up a peace sign. Kiara groaned softly and pushed up her beanie, shifting around on the worn couch and greeting them tiredly.

"Well, hello, Prince and Princess of Kooklandia." JJ cooed teasingly, a puff of smoke slipping past his lips.

"Shouldn't you be on Figure Eight with your little group of polo players?" John B spoke next, a bitter tone to his voice at the sight of (Y/N). He didn't bother sitting up or buttoning up the rest of his crinkled shirt. "Why'd you bring a bodyguard? Or did you promote him back to boyfriend?"

"We're just friends, Routledge. But I least I wasn't demoted from fiance." JJ hissed under his breath, covering his mouth to hide the string of snickers that left him. John B's head snapped in the direction of his friend, leg lifting to kick JJ's thigh and scowl at him. Pope chuckled quietly, head leaning back against his seat. Sarah rolled her eyes at them and turned toward Pope, a smile settling on her features.

"I think I found the island room." She revealed, her words causing Kiara to shoot up straight and exchange wide-eyed looks with her friends. "It's at Tannyhill. I went home to grab some things and noticed one of the rooms had basically gotten torn down but when I looked further, I saw drawings that look like they were supposed to represent the island. This island." 

"Holy shit." Pope breathed and stood up, the blanket he'd had tossed over him slipping onto the floor. A wide smile broke out on his face and he threw his arms around Sarah, practically vibrating with excitement. JJ grinned and bummed out the blunt between his fingers, pushing himself off the wall and clapping his hands. 

"What are we waitin' for? Come on!" Kiara and John B scrambled off their seats and the Pogues piled out the porch door toward their equally old and crumbling van. (Y/N) swallowed and pressed his lips into a thin smile, walking toward his jeep. Pulling the back door of the van open, Pope looked over his shoulder at him.

"It's better if we stick together, (Y/N)! Your jeep will be fine here." Pope told him, stepping aside so Kiara and JJ could get in while Sarah took the passenger seat. John B swiveled around and stared at Pope wide-eyed.

"I'm sorry, why is he coming along? He's a Kook!" John B protested through gritted teeth. JJ snorted as he fell back into the seat before he leaned forward and propped his elbows up on his knees. He lifted his hand and pointed a finger at each of his friends with a cocked brow.

"I have no problem with (Y/N). Kie, do you have a problem with him?"

"No problems here." Kiara shook her head, curls bouncing around wildly. John B scowled.

"Pope?"

"None here either." 

"Sarah?" 

"Nope." 

Settling back in his seat, JJ folded his arms over his chest and smirked at John B. "It's settled then. Get your ass in here, Sancho!" He called, waving (Y/N) over. A smile slipped out onto (Y/N)'s face and he tucked away his car keys before approaching the van and climbing inside. It reeked of weed and booze and looked just as dirty as the house. He took his seat beside JJ and felt the blonde bump their shoulders together with a wink. Pope chuckled and climbed inside, sliding the door shut and sitting beside them. Grumbling quietly, John B started the van and drove out onto the street.

Pope took out some folded papers from his jacket pocket and began inspecting them closely. Looking down at the papers, (Y/N) noticed they were black and white pictures of old writing and drawings. Pope went over them, mumbling and reading the writing to himself before he perked up and cleared his throat. "Guys, listen to this. The diary says the cross holds the most holy relic in all of Christendom, the Garment of the Savior."

"So, wait," Kiara blinked. "He's saying there's a holy garment inside the cross?"

"Yeah. It says the garment is capable of healing the sick from any malady." Pope replied, tracing his thumb over the drawing next to the writing of the cross. (Y/N) hummed quietly and leaned in slightly, reading over the blurry dark words.

"Mmm, yeah. 'If only I may touch His garment, I shall be made well'." JJ recited with a nod, making everyone's heads turn toward him in confusion. JJ looked between them all, tossing up his hands and furrowing his brows. "What? I went to Sunday school."

"Well, that explains why Limbrey would want the cross so bad. She thinks it can heal her." Pope concluded and looked at a different piece of paper, this time showcasing the Royal Merchant and the Santo Domingo cross being taken from one ship to another. Pope continued on to read the words below the drawing. "'Many feel that we have sinned to steal such a sacred thing, and God will strike His vengeance on us.' God ended up having vengeance. He sent a hurricane out to sink the ship. Only Denmark survived."

"Damn.." JJ whispered. 

"And what do you guys know of Limbrey?" (Y/N) asked and leaned back, feeling JJ's fingers lightly drum against his shoulder. Pope sighed heavily and folded up the papers again, turning slightly in his seat to look at him properly. 

"She's this frail white lady who's a descendant of the captain of the Royal Merchant. Her nephew does all the dirty work for her while she sits back and waits. She claimed to have been business partners with Ward while they searched for the gold but he apparently tried double-crossing her which is why she gave us the tape that proved John B's innocence." Pope explained and (Y/N) hummed quietly, still processing the fact he had willingly joined them on an adventure to find a long-forgotten cross.

"This doesn't make you one of us, by the way." John B piped up, taking his eyes off the road to look at (Y/N) through the cracked rearview mirror. Sarah turned her eyes away from the window and narrowed them at him, scoffing quietly at his words. Kiara reared around and landed a smack on his arm with a scowl of her own. "What? It's true! He's a Kook. He can't be trusted."

"He's an honorary Pogue is what he is, ain't that right?" JJ grinned and snaked an arm around his shoulders, lightly shaking them and giggling quietly. (Y/N) snorted softly and leaned back against JJ further, feeling unusually comfortable around the blonde. John B's fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

"Yeah? Who decided that?"

"We did." JJ's voice took an edge to it and his eyes flickered over to meet John B's reflection. "He saved our asses from Rafe and his buddies plenty of times now, John B. You got to bring Sarah into this without talking to any of us about it, and now we're bringing (Y/N) into this. He's our friend, believe it or not. A lot of shit happened while you were gone, alright?" 

"Thanks, J." (Y/N) murmured quietly and flashed him a small smile. JJ returned it before planting a purposely sloppy kiss on his temple and chuckling at his disgusted groan. John B remained silent for the rest of the ride, eyes straight forward, though they occasionally trailed over to his ex-girlfriend. Sarah tucked her knees toward the door, one arm propped up against the window as she gazed at (Y/N) through the side-view mirror. Her lips curled upward at the sight of him casually nestled between Pope and JJ, fitting perfectly among them.

"We're here." John B called, pulling into the driveway and turning off the van. The group piled out of the van and Sarah pushed open the front door, guiding them through the mansion. JJ and Pope's jaws dropped every couple of minutes, muttering about rich people and their decorations. (Y/N) snorted at their awe-struck looks. The mansion had lost its luxurious shine to (Y/N) long after he began frequenting the residence. But to the two teens who'd only seen the house from the yard or dock, it must've felt like going to Disney for the first time. 

"Pope, look." Sarah opened the door to one of the dining rooms and stepped inside, pushing the door wider for them. Stepping inside, (Y/N) attention dropped onto the floor where wallpaper and even bits of wood were tossed about. Whoever had waltzed into Tannyhill and torn the room up had done it with a single mission in mind. Trailing his eyes upward, he spotted the drawings Sarah had mentioned. Across all the walls spanning the room, there were drawings of specific landmarks they knew all too well and drawings of other things that must've had a specific meaning to whoever created them. 

"Yo, this is a map of the whole island." John B pointed out, just as breathless as everyone else. (Y/N) ran his finger over one of the drawings; a sign that read Kildare Island. His brows furrowed and he shifted on his heels, gazing over each of the presumed landmarks. The gears in his head began turning as the Pogues went around the room, pointing out things they recognized and wandering out loud what they could mean.

"How did you know to uncover this?"

"I didn't," Sarah replied, running her palm over the wall. "It was like this when I got home."

"Then, who did it?" Kiara questioned, a hint of panic lacing in her voice. 

"The freaks." The group flinched and whirled around to face the youngest Cameron, Wheezie. She blinked at them, the tip of her lip quirking at their reactions to her sudden appearance. "The sick lady and her attack dog. They showed up last night, and they wanted to talk to Rafe." She clarified with a casual shrug. 

"Pale blonde lady? She have crutches?" JJ questioned and squinted at the brunette.

"Uh-huh." 

"Wh-What happened?" 

"Well, first, they searched the whole house looking for something, and then Rafe told me to go upstairs but I didn't want to miss out, so I listened through the grate. They started ripping the wallpaper off this room and they were talking about getting across the sand flamingo." Wheezie explained.

"The cross of Santo Domingo?" Pope questioned.

"Yeah! And they were talking a lot about angels. Something about angels. I don't know."

"Denmark's famous last words, guys. He buried the real treasure at the foot of the angel!" Pope pointed out with a large grin. 

Clearing his throat, (Y/N) pulled their attention onto him. "I'm going to assume you guys have already done this but, uh... You guys have searched for a church, right? I mean, if Denmark Tanny was a religious person, he wouldn't have put a cross just anywhere on the island. He would've put it in a holy place like, let's say, a church or at least near one." The Pogues fell silent, exchanging looks. Oh, so they were as dumb as they looked. (Y/N) rolled his lips into his mouth and rubbed a hand over his eyes. Esaxpserted and overcome with a hint of regret, he faced the only drawing of a church and walked toward it, eyes flickering all over it until he noticed the large tree beside it had an oddly shaped hole in its trunk that looked almost like a keyhole.

"Here we go, guys." (Y/N) motioned to the tree and the five teenagers nearly toppled over each other rushing across the room. JJ put his face close to the drawing and squinted, running his finger over it.

"You know what..." JJ stepped back and gazed up at the tree, a smirk slowly stretching across his face. "This humongous tree is still on Goat Island. And you know what it's called? Angel Oak."

"That means the cross is buried at the foot of the angel... That must be where he put it... Near the church at the Angel Oak! That must be where they are right now which means we have to go! Now!"

                    ✽        ✽       ✽       ✽       ✽       ✽

"Guys, we're coming up on Freedman's Church. That's the church Denmark built for all the slaves he freed." (Y/N) lifted his head from Kiara's shoulder at Pope's words, leaning forward to peek out the window and catch sight of the old church, a near replica of the drawing at Tannyhill. Near the road leading toward the church sat an old stone sign that read 'Freedman's Assembly Of God.' Denmark Tanny must've worked tirelessly to ensure others like him had a chance to prosper. And now, years later, his descendant searched for the missing parts of a forgotten history. His family's forgotten and stolen history. 

The dirt road led them down a thin strip of land surrounded by water on both sides. (Y/N) eyed the sparkling water with a small frown. If it rose any further, they'd be trapped in unknown territory and possibly be alongside the same people threatening the Pogues. And Rafe. The hair on his body rose at the thought of being stuck somewhere with Rafe. He hadn't seen him since the unforgettable and frightening night when he showed his true colors and showcased his unstable and dangerous personality. (Y/N) still heard the shots and heard Rafe's words echoing in his mind. 

"There it is, Angel Oak." Kiara pointed it out, body sticking between the two front seats to catch a better look. Pope moved forward and peered through the cracked windshield, catching sight of the tree towering over the others, long and thick branches sticking out in every direction. Traversing into the foliage, John B clicked his tongue and sat up straighter.

"Shit, the tide's coming in." He informed them and (Y/N) looked around Pope. Water had begun settling in around them, pouring out onto the road and making it muddy. (Y/N) had little faith in the rickety van, especially considering the way it sputtered when John B slowed it down to a stop. 

"Hey, wait a second. Look. They already came through here." Pope pointed at the barely visible tire marks in the mud. "Those have to be Limbrey's tire tracks. Guys, we gotta go."

"It's looking a little dicey." John B winced, earning a nod of agreement from JJ.

Scoffing, Kiara spoke. "Okay, clearly, they made it, no?"

"In a two-wheel drive? I don't know about that." 

"Are ya'll acting like you're not going to do it anyways cause (Y/N)'s here? Like, when have ya'll ever done the safe thing?" Sarah asked, one arm looped around (Y/N) and body pressed against his side. (Y/N) hadn't questioned it throughout the ride, too focused on how comfortable Kiara's shoulder was to sleep on. But catching the way John B's jaw clenched at the sight of them huddled up together, he started rethinking the seating arrangement.

Regardless of his jealousy, John B turned to JJ and nodded, shifting the car into reverse and backing it up a bit. At JJ's signal, he stepped on the gas pedal and booked it through the road. Mud flung up, coating the sides of the van and Kiara's hand shot out to hold onto the passenger seat. (Y/N) dug his feet into the floor and prayed it'd be enough to keep him from flying forward if the van suddenly stopped. But the van thankfully made it through the slick road and onto dryer land. (Y/N) breathed a sigh of relief and Sarah giggled in his ear.

"Alright, here's good. Angel Oak's right through here." JJ hopped out of the van and slid the back door open. "By the way, gators definitely nest back here so keep your eyes peeled. You don't want to step on a mama gator. That's the last thing you want, alright? You don't want to be a Pat Womack. She had her calf chewed off by a gator."

"Pat Womack was injured in a car accident, but I hear you." Kiara corrected, climbing out of the van and following the boys into the foliage. (Y/N) waited for Sarah to step out before sliding the door close and tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He walked forward, trailing after the Pogues and feeling Sarah wrap her arm around his again.

"So," She began, grinning up at him. "Ready for your first adventure as a Pogue?"

[hannahssimblr]

“Do it, just do it.” 

“Okay well stop moving around all over the place then will you?”

“Jen, wait, maybe-”

“Uh, guys, is there going to be blood?”

“What the hell? No of course there won’t be blood, shut up Joe.”

“No I’m just asking ‘cause like, my ma got mad the last time youse were over when one of you spilled blue powerade on the carpet so…”

“I said there’ll be no blood, relax.”

“Well I’m just saying that I might faint if I see blood, because this time at school before some lad in my base class threw a whiteboard eraser and it hit my face and my nose bled and then I blacked out in the boy’s bathroom and nobody found me for like ten minutes, even though, like, to me, like it felt like no time at all was after-”

“Oh my God, Joe, if you don’t shut the fuck up I’m going to stick this thing crooked.”

“Um, try not to, please.” 

She grabs my chin and holds me still, “Then don’t move, and Joe,” She jabs a finger in his direction, “Not a word from you, I’m dead serious. Right,” Her tongue pokes out the corner of her mouth as she eyes my ear with determination. The ice she’s holding melts a trail down my neck and into the collar of my t-shirt and I don’t dare react. “Has that gone numb?”

“I dunno yet.”

“Probably has,” She tosses the cube into Joe’s sink with a metallic thunk and positions the needle on my lobe.

Shane pipes up from the table, “any blue powerades going, by the way?”

“Shut up!” I can feel her hand trembling, and the sewing needle rasps against my soft virgin skin. She exhales slowly, “Okay, one, two…” she hesitates and my eyes follow her movements nervously as she pushes her hair behind her ears and then leans for a closer look. She’s so close that her shaky breath feathers against my cheek. Take two. “Okay, okay, seriously this time. One, two…” I feel it. I hear it. And a grunt of disgust comes from the back of her throat as the needle pieces through my earlobe. “Oh, God,” There’s silence. My eyes screw shut as I wait for the pain.

“Does it hurt, Jude?” Joe sounds queasy.

“Why? Does it look like it should hurt?”

“I told you it doesn’t hurt,” Jen dismisses, “...but it’s fine, right?”

“I think so. It just feels kinda… hot?” I peel my eyes open.

“Yeah, well, you’re grand, now,” she reaches to the counter behind her, “stud or hoop?”

“Stud.”

“Okay well too bad they only had very girly looking studs in Claire’s Accessories, so I got hoops.”

“Why’d you offer, then?”

She dangles the little purple shiny packaging in front of my face to distract me, “Look at that, hm? Very cool, manly hoops.” 

“Yeah, very manly.” and she fumbles around my ear for several moments trying to get it through the new hole in me, and that’s when it hurts the worst, as she’s tugging and poking and digging her sharp thumbnails in, but I pretend that it doesn’t because Shane and Joe are in the room and sixteen year old boys aren’t supposed to show things like pain and discomfort in front of each other, it’d be weird and socially unacceptable. Vulnerability is illegal among us.

If it were Jen and I alone in this caravan I’d at least be whining at her, if not actually tearing up about the discomfort of it all.

She closes the clasp at the back of the hoop and presents me to the room, “What do ye think?”

“A bit red,” says Joe as he clutches the rim of the sink with milk white knuckles “Is it meant to be that red? That’s not bleeding, is it? Ah Jesus, I don’t think we should have done this…” Shane glances away from the olympic basketball game on the TV and huffs out a laugh. “Gay ear,” he says. 

Jen pauses, “Gay ear?”

“Yep, ‘tis the gay ear.” 

“What do you mean by that?”

“Obviously, like, you’re after piercing the right lobe; the one that you pierce when you want all the other fellas to know that you fancy them or whatever, like, I dunno. I just heard that some place. Shoulda pierced the left.”

I tug on it self consciously though it’s tender. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Lads on the football team probably, look,” He crosses his arms with authority, “I go to an all boys school. I know what the Gay Ear is.”

I look up at Jen and tell her that I don’t mind that it’s the Gay Ear.

“That’s for life though,” Joe pipes up unhelpfully, “You’ll always have that hole in your ear now, so even if you take the earring out everyone is gonna see that you have your right ear pierced and they’re all gonna think-”

“I don’t care if they think I’m gay. What does it matter?”

“Yeah but you’re not gay, and it’s the Gay Ear,” Shane argues, “That’s the point. You’ll end up confusing everyone, and men won’t know what to do when they see you out and about and all that.”

“That feels like kind of a backwards, 90s thing to say, honestly.”

“Nobody’s being homophobic, fuck sake. It’s just the code.”

“Well it’s pierced for life now, isn’t it? What the fuck do you want me to do?” 

“Christ sake,” Jen seizes my shoulder and yanks me back into the seat, “Pass me that ice, Joe, I’ll just do the other side then and you can all shut up annoying me about it, alright?”

“Fucking Gay Ear, who comes up with that shite?” she mutters to herself, and pushes the mostly melted cube to my left lobe so we can start all over again. 

~.~.~.~.~

Afterwards I squeeze into the tiny caravan bathroom to look at myself in the mirror. My ears are furious red, but at least the hoops are even. I think. Jen has given me table salt from Joe’s kitchen cabinet to wash them with, and I do it, I fill one hand with limey water from the taps and pour a random amount of salt in with it. I don’t know what I’m doing, but it's fine because if they get infected I'll just take them out. I’ve never seen another boy with both ears pierced, but that’s fine too, because I’ll just pretend it’s a trend from America that nobody else has heard of yet. 

When I come out Jen turns away from the television screen to look at me.

“Looks okay,” she says.

“Yeah,” I catch sight of the clock behind her and realise that our ear piercing activities sliced only thirty minutes out of this long, empty July afternoon. “So, um, what now?”

“Any more bright ideas?”

I shrug, “I dunno. We could go play tennis?”

“Kids club is at the boat club until six and my sister is always hanging out with those inbred looking fellas at the one in the caravan park,” Shane says, “So no.”

“Joe, do you think your brother could go buy us cigarettes again? We could smoke up by the-”

“Nah man he’s working today.”

“Well the olympics are on so I suppose we could-”

“I couldn’t be bothered with sports,” says Jen, “nor do I want to sit here pretending to care. And now we’ve done all we were meant to do today and there’s nowhere else to hang out…” She looks at me for help as though I’m supposed to know how to keep three bored teenagers entertained through another endless summer day smack bang in the middle of a recession.

I sigh and throw my hands up in defeat, “Well… I dunno. Will we shave my head?” 

Prev // Next

[princess-of-the-corner]

Despite having sad its hard to fit an anti hero into ML I just realized I have an elaborate plot outline where I think it'd work great. The actual premise was "What if Chloe was the main character" but in the context of everything is the same world wise, its just that she got assigned protagonist by the narrative.

Thus rather than being a super hero coming of age story its, an urban fantasy thriller where someone used to having a notable amount of power (Real or otherwise) is suddenly gripped by a foe & circumstances in which their power is useless.

I think the gist was, when Adrien said he wanted to hang out with nicer friends Chloe was less huffy and more "Oh.... Oh I see..." Which kind of low key surprised anyone who knows her cos Chloe does not do understated reactions to anything at all. Ever.

Then she went to the bathroom to be a bit upset in piece before intending to pull herself together when boom, butterfly.

She however did not want to hurt Adrien & resisted which Gabriel wasn't sure what to do about & then he panicked when he saw the source of her intense emotions was Adrien & pulled away. But being new to the Miraculous he kind of fucked it up.

See its a two way connection to an extent & his panic over Adrien's safety bled through & obviously Chloe would why a supervillain would care about Adrien's safety... Unless Hawk Moth was Gabriel.

Gabriel also fears she knows but doesn't quite respect her enough to entirely view her as a threat. His efforts to use Adrien as a proxy to figure out whether she knew ended up failing cos Adrien fumbled his social skills role after Gabriel convinced him to call Chloe & "Sort out this silly dispute." Giving her both a pretense to be angry at Adrien (Only calling out of concern when she got attacked by an Akuma earlier that day because his dad told him to) & set her paranoia OFF.

So now she's convinced Gabriel is Hawk Moth & thinks he at least suspects she knows. Gabriel isn't sure if she knows and his main line of access is in the metaphorical dog house due to hurt feelings & paranoia. What's more, Marinette doesn't trust her & Adrien thinks she's maybe just mad at him, so they don't believe her.

Thus it becomes a story of Chloe like, aggressively seeking information, connection, trying to plot & scheme in ways she both is not used to & hates, because she is not used to being in such a powerless position. At worst she's used to dealing with sort of peers she can steamroll through sheer force but this, this is outside her ballpark & its her life on the line.

honestly though

[mariaofdoranelle]

Will we ever find out what Ansal said to Rowan in chapter 11? I'm too curious to know 🫢

Hey, Nonnie! I didn’t plan to loll I just classified their exchange as ‘unimportant to the plot’ and moved on. It can totally come up later on, but I don’t have specific plans for this.

However, I hate half-told gossip, and I’m that much of a people pleaser, that’s why I wrote:

LAUN - Ch. 11 (Rowan’s Version) - Bonus Scene

Warnings: language, mentions of drinking

Words: 1,2k

The whole time Rowan knew Aelin, she was never the type to sing or dance just because. So whenever he caught glimpses of her murmuring nursery rhymes or dancing to Disney songs with Maisie, he’d capture those moments in his mind, treasure them.

And now, in this overhyped bar he found her in, Rowan was still treasuring it… but in a different way.

Aelin looked like a goddess dancing on that stage.

Her sweet singing voice flooded his senses, and Rowan would take it even if his eardrums bled because of those deafening loudspeakers, but there was nothing sweet about the way she moved tonight.

The song wasn’t overly sexual, but it had so many undertones to it he couldn’t think about them now. Rowan found it very hard to think when Aelin was swaying her hips and playing with her hair like that. It was impossible to take his eyes off her. With every move, the lightning hit her metallic golden fabric—not a shirt—in a different way, outlining the swell of her breasts—

He looked away. Swallowed. Focused on a beer neon sign near him. He would not be weird.

Turns out looking away was harder than he thought.

Rowan looked back in the exact moment Aelin was bending over, sliding her hand over her legs as the song said something about hands and knees. His heart almost leaped out of his throat, his mouth moist and ajar.

This was gonna be the death of him.

When the song dimmed, he heard a loud hoot from his side followed by clapping, making him jerk. For Mala’s sake, he totally forgot he had a date. That had been currently on his side all this time.

“They killed it!” Ansel shouted so he could hear over the loud bar.

Rowan blinked, zooming his vision out of Aelin. They. He totally forgot Lysandra was dancing too.

He didn’t miss the moment Aelin stopped singing and really looked at the crowd, finding Rowan’s eyes. And his date. She shot daggers at Ansel, and that was enough to make him clench his jaw to the point it felt sore. Whatever she was thinking, it wasn’t her problem. Not when she was ‘on the hunt for Mr. Right’, as Fenrys liked to put it.

Lysandra took her by the arm, but Aelin’s murderous stare didn’t leave him until she disappeared into the bathroom.

“It looks like the blonde knows you,” Ansel commented.

Rowan tried and failed to keep a neutral face. “That would be Aelin.”

Her eyes slowly widened. “Holy shit.”

It was still a mystery if Rowan would regret telling Ansel his whole life or not. He liked to keep his life—especially the parts he failed—private, so she might be the only person to ever hear his full version of everything that went down between him and Aelin.

“Rowan, listen to me.” Ansel fully turned him to face her, keeping both arms on his shoulders for emphasis. “We need a damage control plan. Don’t go after her. Don’t apologize. Don’t act guilty. This is a friendly thing, not a date date, okay?”

He sighed, knowing that he had fucked this up already. “I know Aelin. It’s best if I just explain myself and let her be mad until she isn’t.”

“Dude, she won’t buy it.“ Ansel gave him a pointed look. ”You’re already fucked, it’ll be even more sus if you act guilty. You’re out with a friend, there’s no need to apologize for that.

He barely had time to process what she said. Next thing he knew, Aelin was next to him, jabbing and saying things he could barely cope with because Rowan was intoxicated with beer and the sight of golden shiny not-shirts.

Ansel told Aelin the truth about what happened between them, but in a way that made Aelin think it was a platonic date.

And it was platonic, but only because Rowan fucked the date up until Ansel completely lost interest in him. Not that he was interested in her to begin with, but it’d be nice to have minimal dating skills.

To make things worse, Rowan was very close to putting his foot in his mouth when Ansel elbowed him and dragged him until they were out of Aelin’s earshot.

“I’m leaving.”

Rowan froze. “What?”

“That woman.” Ansel pointed at Aelin with her head. “Is clearly distressed because her baby daddy is on a date with someone else, and I’m sure going out with other people won’t fix any of your problems.”

His body stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“Look, I’m all for slapping some ass to take the stress out. But what’s the point of that if the whole time you’ll just wish the ass was hers?” She pointed at the door. “Now I have a smutty book to get home to. Gotta go.”

Rowan was nodding, pulling at his shirt’s cuffs. Ansel was right, but he had a lot of time to really process what she was saying to him. Preferably when the beers were out of his system. “I was such a bad date tonight.”

She gave him a small smile. “I wasn’t expecting much to begin with. But you’re paying for my booze and fries, so it’s already better than half the Tinder dates I had this year.”

Rowan chuckled. “Wait a second.”

He went back to Aelin, just to ask her to talk and explain he wasn’t leaving with Ansel—why would she think that in the first place?

“Is she waiting for you back there?” Ansel asked while Rowan ordered her uber outside.

“Yeah, she said we can talk.”

“Talk?“ Ansel whined. “Again?”

Rowan crossed his arms, but it was hard to hide his amusement. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Don't talk again! Dude, you give her too much space.” She gave him a determined look, looking a lot like how his co-workers did on a military mission, before he became a drill instructor. “You’re gonna make out tonight. Don’t go too far because she’s drunk, but enough to give her something to think about. Tomorrow when you’re both sober, what do you do?”

He frowned, unsure. “We talk—“

“NO! You kiss her again. Go as far as she wants to.” Ansel groaned and ran a hand through her hair. “You’re too much into the talks and all that therapy bullshit. You need action. Just keep going and before she knows it, she’s pregnant with your 5th baby. You can talk when you’re exchanging wedding vows.”

Rowan noticed her driver pulling up, but still snorted and said, “I fear you’re my therapist’s worst nightmare.”

Ansel shook her head in clear disapproval. “If you go to my bar and spend half of the money you’re paying your therapist, I’ll solve every problem you have.”

“I’ll think about it. Thanks for the date.”

“It was fun.” She took two steps towards the uber, then turned back and grimaced. “But I hope you know there won’t be a second one.”

Rowan waved while she left, chuckling. “No need to worry about that.”

Talking to Ansel tonight felt a lot like when Rowan was 17, and his friends would give him a pep talk before he talked to a girl and inevitably screwed things up.

18 years later, his uneasiness felt just the same, if not worse. There was no mistaking the way his insides quivered as he walked back inside to meet Aelin.

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[marvelgurl789fanfics]

Little One (One-Shot #3)

Check out Karra https://www.tumblr.com/marvelgurl789fanfics/733491072755466240/my-dark-urge-tav-karra-a-63-drow-with-ascended?source=share

Check out One-Shot #2 https://www.tumblr.com/marvelgurl789fanfics/734336966341083136/one-shot-2?source=share

A/N: Astarion ascended or spawn version gives me girl dad vides. I have a few other ideas for these one-shots, but if you have any ideas you would like me to write let me know.

warning: talk of child abuse. (but has a happy ending)

Masterlist:

-Little One-

Karra was walking down the streets of the city enjoying the sun with Astarion, and looking for new toys. Many people went by them as she continued their walk, but nobody looked too much like a fun toy. People moved out of their way as they walked not knowing her murderous nature but that he was powerful man. They walked past an ally and heard crying usually it would make her smile to hear such misery, but for some reason her heart broke at the sound. looking into the ally she seen a purple tiefling child looking no more than 7 years old with a broken horn and covering one of her eyes with her hand as it bled. looking over the child it looks as she's been beaten and cut up as her already rags of clothes torn horribly.

"Child what happened?" Karra asked approaching the child walking from Astarion's side to the ally. the Child flinched at her voice and curled up in a ball trying to protect herself. Astarion signed a bit annoyed that his lovely moment was ruined he had the two things he loved most the sun and his mad love. "Darling leave the street rat alone" Astarion said annoyed this child reminded him of his horrible past and he didn't like it one bit. Karra ignored Astarion and kneeled to the child with her red dress pooling around her as she did. She gently reached out her hand to the shaking girl, gentleness that's only given to Astarion and Scratch. The girl slowly looked at Karra still covering one eye as before. "May I look?" Karra asked gesturing to the girl's eye. The girl still shaking but allowed her with a small nod moving her hand away, Karra looked over the girls bruised face. the girl slowly opened the eye or the socket where the eye once was.

Astarion made a face of disgust "Really love, leave it be and let's go". but much to his surprise Karra picked up the child and began carrying the child back the way they came to their home. "I demand you put that thing down right now" Astarion said beyond annoyed, but Karra ignored him and continued on her way home with the child. Time like this he so wished she could be controlled like other spawns, damn tadpole. Astarion complained and demanded Karra to stop and put the child the whole way home but let out an aggravated sign as they reach their door. He followed Karra into their home and to their room to finally the master bathroom, where she finally put the child down. and began to use one of their many magic scrolls to fill their large tub and warm the water. Knowing at this point he can't stop her and left to go brood in his study.

Astarion didn't know how much time had passed, but he was shaken out of his thoughts as the door to his study open. the teifling child looked around in almost anew not noticing Astarion tell he cleared his voice. The child looked startled but calmed, at least she looked clean and patched up, bandages wrapped over her eye wearing one of his old shirts as a dress much to his displeasure. the child just continued to look at him, "what are you doing?" Astarion asked a bit harshly. "The nice lady said I could look around" the child answered no more than a whisper. Astarion pinched the bridge of his nose of course Karra would give the child free run of the place. Asterion looked up as the child approached closer to him. "Are you going to be my father? the lady said she's my new mother?" the child asked. Astarion bit his tongue from just yelling at the child. "Don't you have parents to go home to?" Astarion asked glaring at the child, but the girl just shook her head no now looking down at her feet. "My daddy left, mommy said it was my fault and hit me and told me never come back" the girl said sounding like she was about to cry, as much as he hated it the child words broke his heart.

"Your mother did this to you?" he asked and the girl just nodded yes tears begging to pool in her eyes. Astarion didn't know what possessed him but within a moment he had the girl pulled into his lap hugging her as she cried. rubbing small circles on the girls back the girl crying began to subside to just whimpers. knowing that Karra made her choice of the child is staying there was no use in fighting it she was too stubborn more so than him if possible. "Do you have a name?" he asked with a deep breath of defeat. "Abby" the girl mumbled into his chest. "You two look cozy" Karra smiled as she entered the room to the girl cuddled into her loves chest. Astarion snapped his eyes to her with a bit of an annoyed glare. "Well it appears you already made the choice of her staying" He said trying to sound cold but failed, as Karra moved to the two she noticed the child had fallen asleep on him. "Well we can't have children or our own my love and I don't know how to explain it but my urges aren't telling me to hurt her but to protect her." Karra said sitting by him gently running her fingers in his hair the way she knows he likes. "Well we better get her some proper clothing and bedroom if she is the be our daughter" Astarion replied still holding the sleeping child. "oh you don't want to be her bed she looks so comfortable" Karra teased placing a kiss to his temple while Astarion grumbled.

[geddy-leesbian]

romantic Serrennedy weed smoking scene because I don't want to wait until the stuff that happens before it is done to post it (think the necessary context is just that they're in a fancy hotel and fucked a lot the night before because they'll be apart a while for Luis's tour)

(basically just sweet fluff, but there's one paragraph where Luis talks about a bar fight he got into years before. but it's not angsty at all, he's laughing and bragging)

Baths are one of Leon's guilty pleasures. Leon wasn't one to appreciate life's finer things, so much of the hotel's luxuries were lost on him. But the bathroom? That he very much did appreciate. He was looking forward to the biggest bathtub he'd ever seen. Square, fancy jets, right by a huge window overlooking the city.

Leon soaks, Luis perches on the edge of the tub, bouncing his leg.

“You look like you want to ask something.”

“Would you mind if I smoked in here? Not cigarettes. Pot,” Well then. Leon figured he was going to ask if he could get in the tub with Leon, there's enough room. Pot is a surprise, but not an unpleasant one. It's been a while, but from what he remembers, pot makes Leon all sappy and romantic. “I know you don't like cigarettes.”

“Get in the tub with me,” Leon answers. “And share.”

“Deal.”

Luis leaves for a minute and then comes back with a joint he hands to Leon while he undresses. Leon would have liked to watch him undress (even though he knows what Luis looks like under the clothes, there's still something exciting about the process) but instead he takes a hit and coughs until Luis is already sliding in the tub next to him. He’s kind of embarrassed to be hacking up a lung. He has done this before, really, it's just been a while.

“This is nice,” Luis says, stretching out his legs and taking puffs that don't make him cough like Leon. “I've never been much of a bath person, but I've never been in a bathtub long enough for my legs.”

Leon is a lightweight and starts getting a buzz long before Luis, and slides to the other end of the tub. Luis looks a bit hurt.

“Just wanna look at you,” Leon explains. “You're pretty. I don't tell you that very much. You tell me I'm pretty all the time, I don't say it back. Not sure why, you are. Get why that girl threw her bra at you. Would've done the same thing if I had one. You looked so good up there. And sounded. Fucked up. Fucked up that someone's just allowed to look that hot. You shouldn't be allowed on the streets.”

Luis doesn't say anything, but smiles, very amused by the weed turning Leon into such a chatterbox.

“Perfectly imperfect,” Leon is still going, now staring at the scar on Luis's cheek. “I like the scar on your cheek. I wouldn't like your face as much if you didn't have it. You'd be too perfect, you need a flaw to balance it. How'd you get it? Sorry. That's rude to ask. I'm high.”

“Yeah, I can tell you are. It's okay. I really don't mind talking about it, I won the fight, it's a good story. I would have told you the story sooner if I knew you liked the scar. I've told you how people picked fights with my band. I got this the first time it happened. There was a girl flirting with me, I flirted back. Turned out she already had a boyfriend, who was very drunk. Also very confused. It was hilarious!” Luis succumbs to a giggle fit. He finished the joint, and while it's not hitting him like it is Leon, he's definitely high. “He was pissed I was flirting with his girl, but he was also pissed that I, in his opinion, looked gay. So somehow I wasn't attracted to women and that was bad, but I also was attracted to his girlfriend, which was also bad. He kept flipping between which thing he was mad at, it was so funny. But anyway, somehow it got physical, I really don't remember how honestly, just how it ended. My cheek got cut with a shard of glass. Bled a lot. The scar would probably be much less noticeable if I'd gotten stitches, but I was afraid to go… I broke a bottle on the guy's head. He had a concussion probably, his girlfriend dragged him out to take him to the ER. Was afraid I'd get arrested. So I just hurried to grab the rest of my shit and flee from the scene of the crime with my band, hoping he'd be too drunk to remember and tell the cops anything. Doubt they would have cared about what he did to me, just what I did. But it was okay. Didn't get in trouble, learned a lesson, got a neat scar. Never got into bad fights after. Learned to hit people with mic stands, things wouldn't escalate to emergency room bad if they didn't get close.”

“Really? The guy's head?” Luis nods. “What the hell. My boyfriend knows how to beat people up. That's hot. Badass. Didn't think that actually happened in real life. Thought it was just movie shit. Damn. I love you.”

“I love you too. All the time, but especially when you're high. Wouldn't have guessed you'd be a talker like this.”

“Should buy us a house with a big tub, we'll do this all the time then.”

“It's not like we need to both be in a bath to do this.”

“Yeah,” Leon pouts. “But I like baths.”

“We'll remodel if whatever house we buy doesn't have a tub up to your standards,” Satisfied, Leon goes back to smiling. “So, you were excited for last night, it live up to what you were expecting?”

“Fuck. Sure did. Glad you made me wait, was pretty romantic.”

“So… Up for another round after we're out of the tub?”

“Shit,” Leon wishes he could say yes. He wants as much Luis as possible before he leaves today. But part of why he wanted to soak in the tub so much was that he got a lot of Luis last night, to the point he's sore all over, outside and inside. It's the good kind of sore, like he'd get after working out, but it's still soreness. “Was too good, I'm sore. Might actually die if you do anything to me. I'll suck your dick though.”

[larcenywrites]

How do you think young!Tony and older Tony would react if his girl unexpectedly got her period in the middle of the night while sleeping and accidentally bled on his bedsheets and even on him/his clothed due to being cuddled up? Specially if like once she wakes up to see all that blood she's like super embarrassed plus super emotional due to period hormones and whatnot plus bad cramps 🥺

Oh they wouldn’t be mad that’s for sure! Young!Tony would freak out only bc it’s a lot of blood and are you like- okay?? Are you alive?? And it’s also on him which he will also freak out about a little but he can deal with that in a second. And you’d have to show him that he can wash out blood from clothes really quick with cold water in the sink/shower lol and he’ll leave you to shower/change clothes while he gets some more sheets. If you start crying he’d panic a lot and would just keep sayings it’s okay and I don’t mind over and over with hands everywhere from your arms to your face, while also using them to usher you to the bathroom! He’ll probably wake up his mom because he doesn’t know what to do with the sheets 🤧 and then she’s like “does she need any medicine or anything??” And he’s like “uh- idk I didn’t ask ���” and Maria is just staring at him like “then go ask!!!” He’s trying his best, really 😔 If you’re still hurting when you’re back in the bed, he’ll be torn between wanting to tightly cuddle you and leave you alone. You’ll have to let him know either way, because he’ll just be laying there all pitiful and looking scared 😭

Older Tony is still a little freaked out just because A) it’s a lot of blood and B) it’s low key a little triggering for him to have blood on him ☹️ But more or less he kinda knows what to do, especially if he’s Iron Man by now since he’s not really a stranger to blood anymore. If you start apologizing, he’ll just start shushing you and ushering you into the bathroom. “Honey, it’s okay, don’t worry about it, just go get cleaned up.” He might sound a little short, but it’s just because he’s a little nervous and wants to get cleaned up too 😅 he’ll probably wipe off what he can on the sheets and just throw them away tbh because there’s lots of others in the closet lol, and while you’re in the shower he’s wash it out of your and his clothes with cold water in the sink, and this time he knows to ask if you need any meds or water! If you’re still hurting he’ll probably cuddle into your side regardless if you want him to or not lol

[blooblooded]

Cihad's Sister Backstory

The traitors would pay with their blood.

Halima Tariq did not know much, but she knew that. These people would pay.They were going to suffer. She had worked too hard and struggled for too long to let them win. They could do whatever they wanted to, they could hurt her, they could even try to kill her, but in the end the God of the Void would have his vengeance. The people who had torn her from the life she had built would die screaming.

She sat on the carpeted floor of the room they had left her in. It was a comfortable room with a bed and a bathroom, but a prison nonetheless. The men who brought her here had bound her hands. They knew. How could they know? They couldn’t know. All these years she had been so careful! Nobody knew. Not even her lover, not even the King Jean-Baptiste knew that with only a bit of blood and with her hands free she could take a life as easily as she could swat a flea.

No, they couldn’t know what she was capable of. Halima had not drawn her own blood for six years and without that power her eyes had faded to a muddy brown. There was no indication. Her prayers to the Great Devourer were silent, she had not prayed since she had been taken from her home. She made no sacrifices, she made no indication that she was anything but a peasant girl from Ile de Matane. When les yeux sanglants were mentioned— when the mindless slaughter of her family was mentioned– she didn’t even flinch. 

So why had they tied her hands? There was no other reason these traitors would be afraid of her. She was only a girl of 19, a delicate flower of the Imperial palace. Something pretty to look at, something soft and comforting to touch. Unless they believed that she could tear them apart with the power of the place beyond the stars, she appeared completely harmless.

Her hands were tied behind her back. Halima could not even press them down over her belly to comfort herself by feeling the small life that grew there.

The King’s son, she thought. These people would not harm her with the King’s son inside her belly.

That wasn’t true, was it? She knew firsthand what brutality the people from the outer provinces were capable of. They were savages, animals. Six years ago the King’s mad dogs, marshland soldiers from Kimanka, had come to her peaceful town and murdered her mother and father and almost everyone else she knew. They had murdered her brother Cihad and he had barely been any older than her.  Halima had just been lucky that she was so pretty or else she would be rotting in the mud with the rest of them.

Her eyes stung and she blinked. These people would not make her cry. She already knew who they were. King Jean-Baptiste trusted her like he trusted his own heart. She cared for him in his old age and he told her everything. She knew all about how a rebellion was brewing in the gentle valleys of the province known as the Strath. Something about taxes. Something about mistreatment. The Marchioness Florence Gauthier had unleashed her painted guerilla Partisans to pillage the surrounding countryside and if rumors were to be believed, thousands of men from Kimanka had already joined her after the Butcher Mikhail Surkhov’s mysterious death. 

The room was cold. The fire had gone out. Halima tried not to shiver but there wasn’t much she could do about it. The men who had kidnapped her from beneath the very nose of the King hadn’t given her a chance to change out of the gossamer silks she had grown accustomed to. At least they— a cripple and a gigantic lackwit— had the decency not to stare at her chest or bare legs.

Animals. Even if she bit her tongue until it bled there would be nothing for her to do with her hands tied. And if they weren’t tied, what then? Use blood magic? Expose herself as a survivor of Blagodat? As an Acolyte of the Great Devourer? Stupid. These people would gut her in a heartbeat.

Somehow she stood without stumbling and walked to the door. Halima drew herself up as haughtily as she could. “I want to talk to somebody,” she called through the door. She did not degrade herself by crying or screaming. Somebody would hear her. She imagined that there would be guards. “I want to talk to somebody in charge!”

Nothing. Halima pressed her ear to the solid wood of the door. A strand of dark wavy hair fell into her face and she blew it away. She couldn’t even hear anyone shuffling around out there.

Why would they take her, throw her in the back of a truck, and drive for hours if they were just going to lock her in a room? She tried again. “I want to talk to somebody now! The King will want your heads for this treatment of me, but if you let me speak to someone I will ask for your pardon!”

Her own voice sounded cold and superior to her ears. Halima had never made herself lower than what she had been born to be. The Faceless Priest may have been dead for 6 long years but she was still his daughter and beloved in the eyes of God.

The baby kicked inside of her. A tiny fluttering of half formed limbs, thin as matchsticks. She tightened her mouth.

What would happen if they left her here? What would happen if–

There was the squeak of a key in a lock and the door swung outwards. Pressed against it as she was, Halima stumbled and fell in a shimmer of red silk. Someone caught her roughly by the shoulders before she could hit the ground. They pulled her up and did not release their grip.

“Noisy bitch,” commented the sharp faced man who had grabbed her. He was young and wore the camouflaged uniform of Gauthier’s Partisans, streaks of green paint smeared in patterns over his cheeks and forehead. “Quit yapping.”

There were a couple more soldiers in the hallway with him, equally as young and armed. Halima sniffed. The grip on her arms was too tight. “Sir,” she said, then let her eyes drift to the leaf-shaped gold emblems on his chest and paused to remember what they meant. “Lieutenant, my name is Olive Vernier. I don’t think this is neccess–”

“Shut up before I smack you.”

Another soldier laughed. “This one’s got a nicer mouth on her than that little witch. Nicer everything.”

Halima supposed that she could struggle and scream but what good would that do? She had already suffered indignities at the hands of heathen soldiers. It was better to play to her advantage than fight against men who were stronger than she was, or worse, put herself and the baby at risk by using her magic.

She looked up at the sharp faced Lieutenant through her thick lashes. “I’ll be quiet then, sir.”

All of these traitors would pay with their blood when Jean-Baptiste sent his Imperials after her.

The Lieutenant grunted. He jerked his head at the other one. “Keep your hands off this girl. The Prime Minister will have you flogged like she did with Bedny if you try anything. She’ll know, too. That gimpy faggot of hers has spying eyes all over the estate.” His grip on Halima loosened and he slipped an arm around her shoulder as if he was only supporting her. “Come with us, girl. I know you’re not thinking about running.”

How stupid. Where would she run? If they were in the rebel stronghold of the Strath, there was a good 50 miles to Ile de Matane. It was mid-winter. Even if she ran, Halima would freeze or worse before she got to safety.

There were other ways to stay safe. She only had to wait.

The building – Florence Gauthier’s estate– was well built but lacked the opulence of the Imperial palace. The walls were made of carved hardwood. Green carpets covered the long winding halls and various oil paintings and old photographs hung on the walls. Halima glanced at them as she passed. Mostly portraits of people who she assumed were long dead. It was warmer than she thought it would be inside, heat pumping in from fireplaces fueled by lumber cut in the forests that covered the nearby countryside.

Most notable were the people. While the Imperial palace contained the usual armed guards, it was mostly populated by courtiers and visiting merchants bringing luxury items. Here? So many soldiers. Partisans with their fierce painted faces and machine guns as well as men with swords in high necked black jackets and gold epaulettes. Halima had never seen those uniforms before. She boldly made eye contact with one and he sneered back at her.

Marshlanders from Kimanka. So the rumors were true. The Butcher’s death had left that stinking province in such disarray that they had joined the peasant rebels from the Strath. When Jean-Baptiste rescued her, she would be too happy to tell him to destroy them as well. 

They stopped in front of a double paneled red door with twisting iron handles. Armed guards with painted faces stood before it was well, boredly holding automatic weapons. One of them glanced at Halima and let his eyes linger. He raised his eyebrows. “This is the King’s whore, Kimble? She’s a big bitch, isn’t she? Big tits.”

Halima’s mother and father had both been built powerfully. Even her brother Cihad had been nearly full grown when he was murdered and he had only been 14. That wasn’t what she took offense at, but Halima could only bite her tongue and look down. These men’s souls would be lost to the hungry things in the Void for their disrespect.

Sharp-faced Lieutenant Kimble laughed. “She’s carrying the royal bastard. Or someone’s bastard. Hard to believe Flick snuck into the palace last night and stole her out from under the Imperials’ noses.”

The other one rolled his eyes and made a rude gesture mimicking fellatio. “I’m sure he distracted them.” That got another laugh. “You taking her to see the Prime Minister now?”

“Mm.”

The guards at the door straightened their lazy stances and pulled on the iron handles. It creaked open slowly. The Lieutenant guided Halima inside.

The room beyond the door was not what she expected. She did not know what she expected– maybe an ornate throne-room – but this was more of a library than anything. Three walls were covered in floor to ceiling bookshelves and there was an enormous fireplace running up the fourth. No windows. It smelled overwhelmingly of old paper and cigarette smoke. The middle of the room had a big heartwood desk surrounded by chairs.

Halima looked around. She was aware of how fast her own heart was beating and willed it to slow. This was the part where she had to learn how to play the game. She had learned before when she had been dragged from her home and taken to the Imperial palace and that had been very hard. But she had been half a child then. Now she was older, smarter and harder. She could learn how to play any game.

A woman sat behind the desk. She was in her late 30’s, long-limbed and thin, with strands of silver already showing in her plainly styled black hair. She was smoking a cigarette while typing something on the screen of a thinking machine. Halima tried not to stare– the strange woman wore the same uniform as the Partisan soldiers. It all seemed so unnatural. Women did not wear uniforms. And technology? Technology in the provinces was abhorred since it was what led to the near destruction of the North 200 years ago when the neighboring Colony Asilo was overcome by dark forces and was lost. Fire had rained down from the sky in those days.

The woman looked up from her screen. She smiled. A nice smile, even though her nose was too big to be considered pretty and she wore glasses. The glasses gave her an intensely owlish look. “Miss Vernier,” she said warmly. “Please sit down. Reed, untie her hands. This is not how we treat a lady.”

“That would be ill-advised.” With a shock, Halima noticed that one of the men who had kidnapped her was also in the large room. It was the dark rangy one with the cane and the twisted leg. He gave her a self-satisfied smile as she shrunk back against the Lieutenant. She had thought the cripple helpless and harmless when she found him in her rooms at the palace, and that had been her mistake, wasn’t it? That was what everyone thought about her. “Her hands–”

“Nonsense. Untie her hands.”

Lieutenant Kimble did as he was told. Halima rubbed her wrists and tried to straighten up as if she wasn’t scared.

She could kill them. She could tear open her skin and use her blood to call upon the will of the Great Devourer. She could make their eyes bleed, she could make their tongues swell and their guts churn. She could make their blood leak from every orifice. But what would that do? How many would she have to kill before someone shot her? 

But Halima did not sit. She looked around. There was one more person in the room, a big, plainly dressed woman reading a book in a chair by the fireplace. She did not appear to be paying attention. Two other women. Two women and a cripple. This felt safer than being in a room full of rapacious soldier boys, which was what she had expected.

She pushed her hair away from her face. It was so long and thick that she was used to twisting it back and pinning it up on her head. Her chest squeezed at that thought. The King loved her hair. He loved running his age-spotted hands through it, he loved pulling it when they were in bed together. How long before he came for her? She needed him and his strength.

“Florence Gauthier, I presume,” said Halima in the haughtiest voice she could manage. She did not entertain the delusions of these traitors by using the title Prime Minister. She heard the door close behind them. Without windows, the room was dark, only lit by the fireplace and the shine from the computer screen. “You’ve made a mistake.”

Florence laughed at her. She stubbed out her cigarette in a saucer. “A mistake? How terrifying.”

“Jean-Baptiste will send men after me.” 

That made the woman by the fireplace snort. Halima felt her cheeks flush. 

“The King doesn’t have enough men to defend his borders, what makes you think that he would waste what’s left of the Imperial Army going after a teenager carrying his bastard child?” Florence shrugged. “I have the Strath. I’ve taken Kimanka. Towns are burning on the edges of Ile de Matane. The Imperials have bigger things to worry about than you do.”

That wasn’t true. Jean-Baptiste had told her that they were winning the war. “My child could be his son and heir.”

“I hope so,” said Florence dryly. “I’ve read that provisional governments are notoriously hard to manage without collateral to hold over loyalist remnants.”

Collateral. So that was what this was all about. “You’re holding me hostage.”

“Don’t be silly. I only wanted to talk to you. Sit down, Miss Vernier– or whatever your name is. You are my guest. Would you like some tea? The girls in the kitchens baked a strawberry pie last night with some of last summer’s harvest, would you like to try it? My province isn’t called the breadbasket of the Northern Territories for nothing.”

She was hungry but Halima was too proud to give in. “No, I–”

“Reed, get Daisy to bring us some strong tea with milk and breakfast. 3 cups of tea.” One corner of Florence’s mouth twitched. “Go find out whatever is taking Mr. Kosarin so long too, while you’re at it.”

Lieutenant Kimble nodded. “Prime Minister,” he said, then left, closing the door behind him again. Halima took note of how polite the soldiers were when in front of their betters.

The young man with the cane sighed from his corner the moment that he had gone. His shoulders slumped. “Mother, this is a waste of time. We should be focusing on the borders and worry about all this superstitious nonsense once we’ve won the war.”

Halima’s ears pricked and she glanced from face to face. Same strong noses, same black eyes and deep golden skin. A weakness, just as the life in her belly was a weakness. She had been led to believe that Rowan Gauthier had been hanged 7 years ago without heirs. Perhaps having no heir was better than having one too crippled to walk on his own. If her own child was born with a twisted leg, she would have to strongly consider leaving it outside for the elements to mercifully kill.

“We have more than one enemy to worry about,” said Florence. She lit another cigarette. “You just lack the imagination to see the big picture. Once I’ve broken the shackles of the monarchy, we can turn our eyes to the south and the ones who created this mess to begin with.”

“Right. Eden.” The cripple rubbed his face like he was bone tired. Like he had heard this half a hundred times already. “That wasn’t the superstitious nonsense I was thinking about, but right. You’re right.”

“Eden?” asked Halima. She couldn’t keep herself from speaking and found herself stepping closer to the desk. For the first time that morning she didn’t feel like watching these people bleed and die. They couldn’t talk if they were dead. They couldn’t tell her what they knew. Her eyebrows furrowed. “That’s not real.”

Florence and the cripple looked at each other with their identical faces and identical raised eyebrows. 

“Only 200 years have gone by and look how easily people forget our history,” commented the woman by the fire. She flipped a page in her book without looking up.

“Don’t be rude, Beatrice.” Florence exhaled a cloud of smoke. “This girl never had a chance to learn.”

“My brother used to tell me funny stories about a place called Eden. He said it was a garden of paradise where people never die.”

“That does sound like a funny story.” The young man with the cane ducked his head to hide a smile. “What a sweet brother you had, Miss Vernier.”

Had.

Her last memory of Cihad had not been sweet. They both had been running, Halima had been choking on black blood that would not stop pouring from her nose and mouth. She had taken their father’s Book to protect the vessel the Great Devourer lived inside of and could feel its power curling in every crevice of her small body. In all of that confusion, in the midst of the slaughter and screaming and darkness, Cihad had reached out to grab her hands. The moment that their skin touched, lightning had arced down her brother’s arms. And Halima’s world had gone dark until later when she woke to Imperial soldiers pulling her to her feet.

There was a pit of emptiness in Halima’s stomach. She tried to ignore it. There were days when she didn’t think about everything that had been taken away from her. Sometimes there were weeks. As time passed, her good memories faded and were replaced by memories of screaming and of mud. She could barely remember her mother’s voice or the feeling of her father’s hands as he taught her how to control the power within her. If she closed her eyes it was hard to picture her brother’s face, the way that he would smile when he laughed at her. It was only bits and pieces now. She was at once younger and older than Cihad would ever be. 

A weakness overcame her and all of a sudden Halima felt very sorry for herself. The God of the Void had wanted her to live even after her family was all dead so that was that. There was nothing to do about it. She sat down in one of the empty chairs. A lump had formed in her throat. Maybe it would be nice to drink a cup of tea.

She wanted someone to hold her. Not Jean-Baptiste, not his old, stinking arms. She wanted her mother. Halima did the next best thing and put her hands over her own belly. Her baby kicked as it swam inside of her.

Time passed. It was almost nice to just sit there and not be expected to do anything. It was quiet and these people did not act like they wanted to hurt her. They didn’t stare at her like she was a piece of meat. Maybe it was all a misunderstanding and–

The peace and quiet were put to an end by the door creaking open again. The man who had opened it was not the Lieutenant, it was the giant who had assisted in Halima’s kidnapping last night. He was bigger than any man she had seen in her life and his broad shoulders blocked out the light from the hallway. The man was not alone. He carefully pushed a pale, fat young woman inside the room. She had her hands all twisted up in her own long dark hair and was breathing heavily. The second he let go of her, she crumpled to the ground in an undignified heap, covering her face.

There was a ragged little boy with them as well, quiet and staring with his big black eyes. Perhaps the woman’s son. He just stood there looking all around as if he had never seen other people or books or anything at all.

Halima did not move either. She did not know what was going on.

“What took you so long?” asked the cripple. “And where’s the other one?”

“The girl wouldn’t come out of the room, Flick.” The giant had a soft, whining voice for someone of his size.  “I didn’t want to grab her. I was talking to her and asking her to come out and then Reed just–”

Someone was screaming curses. The Lieutenant shoved his way inside past the big man. He held another struggling girl tight, one hand knotted through her hair, one arm wrapped around her thin waist. The girl was kicking and trying to scratch him as if it was the only thing in the world that mattered. Maybe it was. He shook her hard enough for everyone to hear her teeth click together.

Now Halima was thankful for how amenable she had been when the soldiers came to take her from her room. She would not want to chip a tooth.

“Bitch!” exclaimed Reed Kimble. “I had to pry her out of there and she fought like a feral cat! She scratched me!”

“Let go of me!” The girl was around Halima’s age and was strikingly ugly. Skinny and dirty, with sallow skin and cheeks spotted by pockmark scars from an old illness. She kept struggling. “Motherfucker, let go of me! Let go! I’ll kill you!”

“You’re hurting her!” said the little boy. He scooted closer to the weeping woman on the floor who was probably his mother. “Stop! You’re hurting Jules!”

The girl twisted her hand around and raked her long nails down the Lieutenant’s cheek. Red streaks appeared alongside the green ones. He swore and cuffed the girl alongside the head, then shoved her to the ground. She went down in a flutter of dirty wool petticoats but scrambled back up immediately with her teeth bared, standing protectively in front of the little boy and his mother.

“This is giving me a headache,” commented Florence. “Go take care of your face, Reed, we’ll be fine without you.”

He had his hand clutched over the scratches and looked down at the new girls hatefully. “I understand why you wanted the King’s whore, Prime Minister, but the elders say that anyone who willingly allows a witch to live won’t go to the summerlands after their death. We need to burn them and purify the estate.”

“Superstitious nonsense,” said Flick with a nasty smirk. From her place by the fire, Beatrice laughed.

Witches? If this was true, Halima could not help but agree. Her father had always told her about how in the old days, in their old home – wherever that had been – a witch had destroyed the human body of the Great Devourer. That was why God’s spirit lived inside the Book to begin with. Witchcraft was the polar opposite of blood magic. Blood magic required self-sacrifice, it was a selfless act. Witches stole their power from the lives around them. They brewed poisons and aborted innocent babies. Thankfully it was said that there weren’t many of them left.

They didn’t look like witches. They looked like dirty peasants from the Hinterlands.

“Let me worry about why I wanted these girls.” Florence flicked the ash from her cigarette. “Go. See about that tea while you’re at it.”

The door closed behind him. Halima eyed the others in the room with her. She did not see any weapons. Who would protect her if these girls were dangerous? Which one of them could she rely on? 

She watched the ugly combative one grab the little boy and turn him this way and that as if looking for injury. She smoothed down his fluffy black hair. The boy couldn’t have been more than 7 and had a dumb glassy look like there was something wrong with him. They had probably locked him away somewhere, witches did things like that. He pulled away from her touch, put his fingers in his mouth, and stared at his mother crying on the floor. The ugly girl made an angry, frustrated noise, then spun back around to glare daggers at anyone looking at her.

“Kidnappers!” She hissed. She pointed a boney black stained hand at Florence. “When my teacher comes for us, she will–”

“I know all about your master, Julia Labelle. I hope she does come, I have personal business with her from many years ago. Why don’t you all sit down?”

“Ahh!” The woman on the floor moaned. She was still hiding her face. The boy hesitated, then tried to put his little arms around her as a comfort but she curled further into herself to keep him away. “Do you smell that? Can you smell it? Like rotting meat! I smelled it in my dreams before I had Marty! That terrible desert!”

“This is a wonderful way to spend the morning,” said Flick.

“I agree.” Halima hid a smile behind one hand to mirror his sarcasm. She had already decided that it would be easy to ingratiate herself with these people. If what they said was true, if the war was lost and Jean-Baptiste's fall was an inevitability, she wanted to be on the winning side. She needed to stay where she was safe, where the power was. Flirt. Charm. Hide what she really was behind her beauty and pleasantness. She watched the cripple cut his dark eyes towards her. 

Jules crouched to pet the crazy woman’s head as she shuddered and sobbed. Halima stared brazenly at her, having already mentally established how far above her she was in the new hierarchy. At least she was above her in the hierarchy of kidnapped young women. What an ugly girl. Her hair was so greasy and tangled. What nasty hole had they dragged these people from?

“It smells like the demons I saw in my dreams!”

“I know. I know, Ivy.” Jules looked up and cast her squinty gaze about the room. Her mouth was set in a hard line. “Like death. I smell it too.”

Halima gave herself a sniff. Although she had not bathed since the day before, the scent of rose petals lingered on her skin and hair. Jean-Baptiste liked it when she bathed in rose water. For her part, she did not smell any rotting meat in the room, only cigarette smoke.

“You all must be wondering why I’ve gathered you here,” said Florence.

“Gathered?” Jules spat. “Kidnapped! Men grabbed us in the night, they burned down our home! They shot my cat! I’m not wondering about anything!” Beside her, the boy, Marty, tried to rub his mother’s back and she twisted away from him. 

“Please stop interrupting the Prime Minister.”

“Prime Minister?! Are you out of your mind?! We’re the King’s subjects!”

Florence shrugged. “You’ll be treated well if you decide to stay at my estate and help me, but I won’t force you. You’ll have food and clothing. I’ll even provide an education for the boy– I’m sure he wouldn’t learn anything if he was stuck out in the Hinterlands all his life. You must understand that war is coming. If you stay with me, you’ll be protected. You’ll be safe. All of you girls must know how dangerous it is out there for anyone who does not worship the new gods. They burn witches, even if they are only young girls. I don’t need to tell you what happens to les yeux sanglants, the bloody eyes. There was a reason the Butcher’s men tried to slaughter all of them 6 years ago.”

Halima’s heart clenched. Her mouth went dry. They knew. They already knew, how was that possible? She was so careful! So that was why they had bound her hands. So that was why Florence Gauthier had commented on her name! All of a sudden she could not move. It was like she was 12 years old and watching her home burn all over again! She saw the ugly witch girl���s face screw up in confusion.

Play along. Protect yourself. Protect the baby. Her parents and Cihad were dead but she wasn’t and that had to mean something. 

It seemed as though Jules was either stupid or uneducated. Or maybe she was only worried about herself and her friends. “You want us to work for you.” Her tone was poisonous. “You want to use us.”

“I’m a collector of talented people. It seems wasteful that our leaders have killed those who can do magic for the last 200 years.”

“Wasteful or prudent?” By the fire, Beatrice smiled. It was a plain, friendly smile, perhaps aimed at Flick or Florence. “Magic combined with technology led to the bloody fall of Asilo, if the rumors are to be believed. The ones who escaped the Lost Colony caused a lot of suffering here. Maybe we should have learned from the mistakes in our pasts.”

Florence inhaled smoke and theatrically pressed buttons on her thinking machine. “Our resident historian, my Minister of Communications, Beatrice Kosarin,” she said to the girls. “Magic and technology were only tools in the hands of our enemies. They can be tools in our hands as well. Ivan, show these young ladies what I mean.”

The giant blinked downturned eyes that gave him a look of perpetual melancholy. He had a few broken teeth, like someone had hit him hard in the mouth a long time ago. Despite how large he was, he was so quiet that Halima had nearly forgotten he was there. He stretched out one huge hand. “What do–”

“That green book on the top shelf.”

And as if by– well, as if by magic, a large old book on one of the shelves behind Florence floated outwards. It was like it had been grabbed by an invisible hand. Halima felt a shiver go up her spine. Her father had always said such abilities existed, something innate, something lower than the worship of the Great Devourer. Cihad had been able to do things without making sacrifices to God. He had been able to pull electricity from the air and direct it. She watched the book float down, down, down, until it thumped down quietly on Florence’s desk.

Jules cursed and made the sign against evil.

“A useful tool,” said Florence, opening the book. A blush spread across Ivan’s cheeks. Maybe he did not like being called a tool. “I like to surround myself with useful people. I have a war to win, after all. And after this war, I plan to win another one. There’s questions I have and you ladies can help me answer them.”

Never ending war. Halima did not like the thought. Her baby twisted around in her belly. Did she want to bring this child up in a struggle that never ended? Did she think she had a choice?

On the floor, the witch named Ivy kept crying. Halima did not want to be like that, scared and stupid. So what. So these people knew what she was. They didn’t know who she was. They didn’t know what she was capable of or what she was willing to do to survive. In Ile de Matane she had used her body to get what she wanted and to appear useful. Here she would appear useful in other ways. It was not so different from being a soldier.

“My teacher didn’t teach us much,” said Jules. She hunched her shoulders, crossed her arms tight. “If that’s what you want. I know the healing arts. That’s it.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can learn.” Florence flipped through the old book. “This is the journal of a man named Frank Martel, back before the monarchy. Interesting stuff, if you can believe it. He was the kind of man who liked to keep records. Times used to be different. He wrote about his friends. Some man named Jerry from Asilo. A woman named Silas from Eden. People who should be long dead.” She looked up. “Healing arts. I hear witches can pull life from the things around them and funnel that into their bodies. Is that true? Could a person extend their life unnaturally that way? Maybe a witch could live for centuries if they sucked the life from another soul.”

“I don’t know anything about it.”

“Hm. And I hear blood magic can bring back the dead. They say that the Princess Seraphine is a bloated corpse shambling around the Imperial Palace. What about that, Miss Vernier?”

Halima did not shrink down, but she wanted to. She forced her own pulse to slow by breathing deeply through her nose. Was this a trap? She had not talked about her God or her sacrifices to Him for years and now her mouth was so dry that she could not speak. All eyes were on her now and the look that Jules was giving her was downright hateful. 

And to bring up the revolting Princess as if that was her fault! Halima almost shuddered.

She licked her lips and lowered her eyes. “You’ve mistaken me for someone else. It’s forbidden to worship the Void. I would never spill my own blood.”

May the Great Devourer forgive her for denying Him. She didn’t even know where the Book that held God’s spirit was now. It was terrible to even think about. She didn’t know where God was. He didn’t talk to her anymore like he did when she was a child.

“You deny being from Blagodat?”

“I was born to a merchant in Ile de Matane. I worship the new gods. And the King.” There was a lump in her throat. So these people knew about witches and appeared to be willing to let them live despite their danger. So what? That did not mean that she was safe. The bodies of her parents and her brother and almost everyone she had grown up with were rotting in the mud back home all because of their faithfulness to God. Some other pretty girls had been taken along with her, sold to the brothels in the city. Halima did not know what had happened to them. Not everyone was as clever and as careful as she was. But was living better or worse than rotting in the mud? “I can’t help you do whatever it is you want to do.”

“Not much use to us, then,” commented Beatrice.

Jules had grabbed Marty tight up into her arms. “Something does stink in here. You all can’t smell it?”

“Smell yourself,” Halima said coldly. She straightened her back. “I am only a merchant’s daughter, beloved by the King. Send me back if you want. You’ve wasted your time. As you can all see, my eyes are brown, not red with dark magic.” It was unlikely that anyone knew the secrets of her people. They wouldn’t know that the color faded without a connection to the God of the Void. 

The witch-boy whined. Ivan hesitated, then pulled a peppermint out of his pocket, crouching down to offer it to him. Jules snatched it out of his hand.

“How many bodies were you unable to account for in the ruins of the blood magic cult?” asked Beatrice.

Flick shrugged. “Nasty work. It was hard to make much sense of anything there, since the bones were so picked over and scavenged by the crawling mutant howlers. I counted skulls. The census from the year before said that it was a town of 643. A few dozen were missing. Who’s to say.”

If these people wanted to get a rise out of Halima by discussing the desecration of her people’s bodies, it would not work. She believed that their souls were at peace in the Void. She lifted her chin.

“The young sergeant from Kimanka said that his father took a handful of girls as war-brides, as is their savage custom,” mused Florence contemplatively. She blinked and looked around. “Where is your blustery friend, Ivan? Go find him. Here I am talking about my collection and I’m missing one member of the menagerie.”

That made Beatrice laugh her mean laugh again. Halima was not sure if she liked her. She watched the big man nod once and then leave the room. Jules inched back towards the door, pulling Marty with her but paused when she seemed to remember his mother was prostrated and sniveling on the floor.

The thinking machine on the desk gave a series of loud beeps. It made Halima flinch. Everyone knew that technology was a dangerous tool, only a select few built and used thinking machines to send messages or compile data. 200 years ago fiery missiles had rained down from the sky across every province, guided by technology. The thinking machines were what had brought it. That destruction was what had ended democracy in the North and why the first King had come into his power. What was this woman thinking, using it so casually?

She used it for the same reason she had brought witches into her own home. For the same reason she had brought Halima there against her will. Useful tools, but dangerous ones.

“Is it that Agapama fool?” asked Beatrice. She snapped her book shut, showing irritation for the first time.

“Of course it is.” Florence clicked a few buttons, then snubbed out her cigarette. “I don’t understand why he doesn’t just leave. I’ll never understand…”

Now that she was being ignored, Jules seemed to grow angry. “You’ve said what you wanted to, are you going to let us go now?!”

“What will you go back to? Go crawling back to your master so that she can drain the life out of you? She was an old woman when I went to her and begged her to end my pregnancy 20 years ago. What does she look like now? No older than me?”

Jules went pale under her spotty, dirty face. Flick, who appeared no more than 20 years old, coughed awkwardly.

This talk of witchcraft and abortion was obscene but Halima kept her mouth shut. Sit and wait, she thought. Sit and wait this out. They didn’t know her.

Again, the door to the room opened and Ivan returned. He stopped where he had stood before, close to and right behind the ugly witch as if he felt protective towards her. He was closely followed by a young man in one of the armored uniforms that Halima had been unable to recognize. Barely out of his teens, he carried himself in a scornful fashion. His face was smooth and tan and very handsome but he wore a sneering expression, brown curly hair falling into cold eyes.

“Prime Minister,” he said in the same thick marshland accent of Kimanka that Ivan and Beatrice both had. “I told you I don’t want to waste my time with this stupidity. The Imperial Army is marching on our borders.”

“Arrogant puppy,” muttered Flick under his breath, just loud enough for his mother and Halima to hear.

“And I told you to watch your manners, Anatole Surkhov. You didn’t want to meet my guests?”

“They’re only girls,” the young sergeant said dismissively.

Surkhov. That was the name of the Butcher of Kimanka, the man who spearheaded the slaughter of Halima’s people. She remembered seeing him among the carnage while she tried to run with Cihad, she remembered the blood-fury. But the Butcher had died in his own home. And as far as she remembered from her time there, he only had daughters.

The room seemed to fill with a faint high pitched buzzing. It was like listening to a far-off hive of bees. Halima touched a hand to one ear and frowned.

“Girls,” repeated Florence. “Have a look. Do you remember any of these girls from your youth in that barbarous swamp you crawled out of? Do any of them look familiar?”

Anatole cast his cold gaze about. “I don’t remember much of my youth in Kimanka. You can ask Dog.”

Ivan made a movement like someone had hit him when he heard that. Dog. It wasn’t a name anyone chose. Jules looked up at him and made a “tsk” noise with her tongue. 

For her part, Halima did remember everything. She remembered her time in the Butcher’s fortress after his soldiers carried her and the other surviving girls to the marshlands before she was sold to suffer indignity after indignity. Even then she did not draw her own blood to protect herself. She did not remember any boys her own age from that time, only men and their grabbing hands and hungry faces.

Her baby was kicking like it wanted to get out. The buzz continued.

“Be polite.” These farmers from the Strath did not like marshlanders from Kimanka, that much was evident. So how had Florence convinced them to fight for her? Their only value was brutality, they had nothing in common with people who believed in the gentle summerlands. Halima had even given herself a Strath name– Olive. “Your father did not steal girls from the blood cultists of Blagodat?”

“How would I know? My father did a lot of things to a lot of girls, I wasn’t exactly keeping a record like the rest of you people.” Anatole put a gloved hand on his sword hilt. The buzzing grew loud enough for Halima to wince. “The only thing I remember my father stealing from Blagodat is this.”

“Oh, here we go,” said Flick, rolling his eyes. He leaned on his cane and turned his face towards his mother. “You talk about your collection of useful tools, Prime Minister. It’s that cursed blade you want, not the deviant who holds it.”

Those were the wrong words from the wrong mouth. Anatole’s beautiful, contemptuous face changed in an instant, his eyes going wide, his lips twisting back. He drew his sword one-handed. It was long and wrought of black iron, old as anything, with a strange silver script twisting down the blade. The air seemed to sing the second he pulled it from its sheath. He pointed it towards Flick, his stance perfect and practiced. “You look like the only deviant in this room, cripple.”

Halima could not help herself. She could not control herself. She screamed, then clasped her hands over her mouth. The last time she had seen that sword, it had been in her father’s hands in the black temple.

Florence slapped her hands down on her desk. She did not stand up, her face did not betray any emotion other than the inquisitive firmness it always held. “Control yourselves!” she barked. “By the new gods, I can’t believe I have to deal with this.”

“Take it back before I break your good leg,” gritted Anatole.

“Your father was a murderer of women and children. Mother, it was a mistake to recruit these marshland animals, just like it was a mistake to bring these girls under our roof.”

Meanwhile, Ivan had taken a step forward and placed his big body in between the witches and the man with the sword. The action was instinctual and unconscious. The little boy Marty, who had still been trying to comfort his stupid mother, grabbed hold of his pant leg. Jules appeared at a loss, woefully ignorant of how to act around men.

Nobody thought to step in front of Halima. Not that it would have mattered. She would have ripped at her own hair if she could have. Her heart pounded. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. Her family was dead and it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. They hadn’t deserved it and Halima didn’t deserve this. There was another scream bubbling up inside of her and she knew that if she kept staring at this memory of her father, she wouldn’t be able to bite it back down.

The Faceless Priest had been loving and he had been cruel and he was dead. His sword had been forged out of the same metal as the dying star that had brought the Great Devourer’s spirit hurtling to earth from the other place. It was supposed to be Cihad’s, it was supposed to have passed into Cihad’s hands, but Cihad was dead too. The blade had been stolen by heathens just like Halima had been stolen.

“I challenge you,” said Anatole, with a menacing step forward. His boots clicked. The star-metal sword sang in a voice nobody else could hear. 

“And I reject it.”

“Let me know when to call a maid to mop up all the blood,” said Beatrice. She sighed. “You’ll never learn what’s inside the Lost Colony, ma’am. These girls are worse than stupid and we won’t find answers if we can’t even unite the different provinces. Look how that’s working out. Old books are so much more predictable than people.”

“How hard could it be to unite if we all stopped acting like children?!” 

“I challenge you!”

“And I unconditionally reject it!”

Halima’s hands were shaking now. She couldn’t stop it. She had tried for so long and for what? All she had was the memory of Cihad’s hands reaching for her and then it all went black. Somewhere in that blackness she had been doomed to this life of misery, of scratching out a place for herself where she could be safe. Her father had been supposed to protect her. God was supposed to protect her! Where had the Great Devourer been while men had touched her, while she had made herself low?

If the sword had been taken from the corpse of her father, then the Book must have been taken from Cihad’s corpse. She bit her own tongue and tasted blood.

“Where is it?” she asked, and nobody heard her. Her blood was copper-bright. No, no.

The mad woman on the floor was rocking herself back and forth. “I didn’t want to see it,” she whimpered. “I didn’t want to see that place. I didn’t want to have him, so I tried to stop it! I knew it, I knew that he could open a door that led those things here!”

Anatole gave his blade an intimidating little slash. “I’m tired of the disrespect! I’m tired of my father’s name in the mouths of spineless peasants!”

Halima clenched her fists. “Where is it?” she said again, louder this time, her voice wavering. Florence glanced at her sharply.

“Tolya, please calm down,” whined Dog. He pressed closer to Jules and Marty with his arms outstretched, probably ready to snatch something with his invisible hands. The ugly witch-girl stared at him and then touched her own hand to his back as if she wanted to give him strength.

“Yes, Tolya, please calm down,” Flick repeated mockingly. “Put that thing away before you hurt yourself. You’ve been here 6 months. I’ve devoted my entire life to this struggle, I’ve given everything, so don’t you think–”

It was too late and it was too much. Halima shot to her feet. She didn’t care what they thought of her, she didn’t care about hiding herself or protecting herself. Only one thing mattered and that was the God of the Void. The Great Devourer was all that she had left, he was the only family she had left and somebody was keeping him from her. 

“Where is it?!” she was shouting. She could hear her own voice from outside of her body, mingled with the otherworldly ringing of the starmetal sword. There was blood at the corners of her lips. The air around her smelled like ozone, like the sky after a lightning flash. “Where is it?! What have you done with it? Where have you people taken it? Is it in here on the shelves with all the others? Where is my father’s Book?!”

All eyes were on her now. Wide eyes, but not scared, not yet. She could make them scared if she wanted to. They should be scared of her. They did not know her relationship to the God of the Void– they did not know anything about anything! That was why she had been ripped from the palace in the first place! For what? Because one self-important woman from the backwoods province of the Strath was curious and wanted to know things?

Halima wanted to know things now too. Please, God, she thought, praying for the first time in all these years, praying with the taste of blood in her mouth. Please. Please. What else was there to say to him other than please? She had felt God’s embrace curling inside of her once when she had touched the Book and now it was all empty.

“I want the Book!” she yelled. “I want the Book, where is it? Cihad and I took it when we were trying to run while they were shooting everyone in town! I kept asking God for help and they killed everyone anyway! Do you know we were trying to run here because we thought it would be safe? But this isn’t safe, it’s just the same, it’s just more people trying to hurt each other. Now my brother is dead and I don’t remember what happened, so where is the Book? If you people have it, you have to give it to me!”

“Her eyes…” murmured Flick. It made her want to scream again. She had exposed herself and they were all staring at her.

All the fury had drained from Anatole. He lowered the sword along with his gaze, his expression changing to one of shame. “Just a girl,” he said hollowly. “My– my father was only following ord–”

“Where is the Book?!”

Jules had picked up Marty and was holding him close. She was the only one who still looked hateful.

“I was right,” said Beatrice. “I knew it. The Faceless Priest’s daughter survived the genocide at Blagodat. That’s Isaksen’s Book of skin she’s screaming about, Frank Martel mentioned it in his journal. From the entries right before he left for Asilo.”

“And the boy she’s talking about?”

“Must have run off and starved to death in the wilderness. Flick and I never found any records of anyone finding that Book. I was hoping that the girl would know, if she really turned out to be Halima Tariq. Guess not.”

It was too much. The last person who had called her by her true name had been Cihad. Halima could not get enough air. She choked once and then burst into tears. “I want the Book!” she wailed. It was too late to care about what they all thought about her, or how childish she was acting. Her childhood had been stolen from her! “You’ve already taken everything from me, I just want the Book! Kill me already, if that’s what you want to do.”

Silently, Flick pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and limped over to her. He handed it over wordlessly. Halima took it and blew her nose. “Sorry,” he said. He did not sound so cheeky now. “We’ve been unkind. Nobody here wants to hurt you.”

Her lower lip trembled. There were spots of blood on the handkerchief. Please, God, she thought again, but she did not know what she was praying for.

The hungry God of the Void did not answer. It was not listening.

They didn’t know. They didn’t have it. Halima would have been happier not knowing any of this, she would have been better off back in the palace with Jean-Baptiste. Or maybe not. If the war came to Ile de Matane and ravaging soldiers entered the palace, she and the baby would be as dead as Cihad.

She didn’t want to die. The pain filled the emptiness that her family’s deaths left in her heart. These people didn’t know where the Book was, but they knew things, that much was clear. And they were trying to learn more. Tears dripped off her face and onto the floor.

 “Poor girl,” said Florence. “At least we know now. Could have done without the dramatics.”

“Another piece of your puzzle,” said Beatrice. “Who’s to say how many pieces there are left.”

Halima rubbed her belly as she sniffled. Only a few months left now. Maybe if it was a boy she would name it after her brother, but it was bad luck to name a child after the dead.

“Would you like to go back to your room and rest now?” Flick’s voice was still kind in the way that people are kind when they want to get rid of you. “We could see about that tea. And the strawberry pie.”

Men were always nicer to her when she cried. She blew her nose again. “That’s fine. For now. Until I figure out what I want to do.”

Ivan looked down at the witch-girl. “And you, miss?”

Jules was clearly struggling to hold Marty. She scowled, which didn’t do her any favors. “Well we don’t have anywhere else to go.” Something was bothering her. Probably the implication that her master ate people.

It would not be pleasant to share a space with witches. It would be even less pleasant to share a space with so many soldiers. But Halima intended to stay here, at least until she had the baby. At least until she saw who was winning the war so that she could end up on the winning side.

And now, like Florence Gauthier, she had pieces of her own puzzle to put together.

Halima Tariq would just have to keep praying.

[thewirewitch]

One of those days where I'm just kinda done with my family owning a dog. She makes me tired in an emotional way and I know she doesn't mean to, it's just kinda frustrating...

(rant under the cut. Tw for animal death)

I've had a fear of dogs since I was really young, probably around 4-5 years old, since I went to a relative's house and her dog (who was fully grown, but she said he was a "puppy") jumped up on me and scratched my face (my mom said I was also knocked over, but I don't remember the moment of impact, just him running at me and the aftermath). I used to love dogs before that.

Years later, when I was around 9, my mom decided to get a dog. A miniature shar-pei, to be specific. Neither she nor my dad did any research on them before they bought one (current dog, her name's Winks). They didn't know they are usually aggressive and protective.

I tried to get over my fear of dogs when we got her. At first I was scared, but later on I tried petting her multiple times, but she'd always nip at me.

Then as she got older, and the years went on, she would still try to bite me for certain things. If I handed something to a parent, or they handed something to me, she'd always try to bite my arm. So I stopped directly handing things to my parents, or receiving things from them unless I knew she couldn't get to me.

One ordinary day I had gone downstairs and she went over to me and bit my foot. I locked myself in the bathroom, which was right next to the stairs. She had drawn some blood. I stayed in there for a while.

Another time, it was late at night and my mom was on the couch. I went over to sit beside her, but Winks jumped up on the couch before I could sit down and she bit my thigh. It hurt and bled for several days after that. Not a lot of blood, though. She also used to get kind of alert when I'd go over to my parents before that. I don't stand very close to them when they're seated anymore, even if they want to show me something on a computer.

A few years ago Winks began to follow me really close and growl/squeak if I went upstairs later in the day. I found out she wouldn't do that much if I was carrying something (like a large cup of water, a plate/bowl of food, laundry basket, etc.) so whenever I go downstairs, I always bring something up with me.

More recently I had started to wear shorts. One night when I was going to head upstairs, Winks silently went over to me, even when I wasn't close to either parents, and bit my ankle. Thankfully she didn't bite very hard, but my mom yelled at her when she did, so, she might have bit harder if my mom didn't notice. I don't wear shorts after 6pm downstairs anymore. I always put on a pair of long pants if I "need" too.

Despite all this, despite her singling me out to be super vigilant about, she also paces around downstairs some nights and squeaks because she wants me to go downstairs. Despite the fact my brother had gone on multiple day-long trips away from home, the one time I went on a 4-day school trip to DC she didn't eat anything, and now usually only eats at night when I'm around (which is why she squeaks). I don't get it. If I leave to go with a friend, she squeaks like she would if one of my parents left, but she doesn't react at all if my brother leaves the house.

What got me to type all this is because today she ended up finding a nest of baby bunnies under our back porch. Even though my dad put a fence up around the gaps under the porch, she still went under there and ate as many of them as she could. And it upsets me.

But I can't be mad at her for it. Because that's just her nature. I can't be mad at her about anything she did to me or to anyone or anything else because that's just what her nature is. I haven't even brought up a lot of the stuff she's done that has made me feel some negative way, just the major ones I remember right now.

But I am mad. I'm not mad at her. I'm mad at my parents.

I could say it was my fault she got those bunnies because I didn't put the bamboo stake in the right place when I looked at the fence. I could say it's my dad's fault for not putting the fence up in an effective way to begin with. I could say it's Winks's fault, but it's just her nature.

Or I could say...it's both my parents' fault for even getting a dog to begin with. Their kid, their little girl, me, who was, and still is, terrified of dogs, pleading with them not to get one. I told them not to do it. They knew I was scared of dogs. But they didn't listen. And neither of them did research on shar-pei temperament. And now look what we're strapped with.

I used to wear shoes all the time since I didn't want Winks to hurt my feet in some way. I don't hug my parents as much as I used to because I'm scared Winks will come after me if I did. My family can't go on day-long trips because Winks stresses out when we're not home. We once came home to our front doorframe all chewed-up on one side. We can't visit family members without bringing her with us. She's chewed up the doorframe of one of my uncles' guest room door because she was left in there alone. My uncles don't want us bringing her over because she's not socialized. So we don't visit out extended family much anymore unless one of us stays behind (usually me and my brother). One of our neighbors has to make sure their kids don't get close to our fence or else Winks would bark at them and scare them. My mom had to put a tarp around our fence so Winks can't bite any hands that may slip between the boards. My parents and brother have had to throw multiple dead animals out of our backyard because Winks would hunt them. My dad once had to beat a small racoon with a wooden board because Winks had picked a fight with it. We can't leave our trashcans on the floor or leave me and my brother's bathroom door open without something in front of it because she's eat out of the trashcans and she'd lick things in the bathroom she really shouldn't. I've had an argument with my brother over this.

I'm just tired, man. And I know whenever Winks passes, I'll be sad. Despite EVEREYTHING, I'm going to be sad. Whether it be because my parents will be sad, or guilt that I didn't try harder to bond with her, I know I'm going to cry. There have been a few times where I thought she was dead and it made me feel dread. Despite it all I still have some semblance of care for her. So even when she does pass, there won't be a sense of relief. I won't be able to go "it's over" and just move on.

I still talk to her. I still give her ice cubes and let her outside if she wants to go out. I still care about her, and sometimes I wish I didn't, and sometimes I wish I cared more.

And all this just makes me feel emotionally exhausted.

If I could go back in time at points throughout my life and change things, one of the things I would do is make sure my parents didn't get her. I'd tell them all the trouble we'd go through, and that they should get any other kind of dog than a shar-pei. Tell my mom that the cuteness isn't worth it, and to find another kind of dog she thinks is cute, and that's actually sociable. Maybe we could have gone on more trips. Maybe our family could be a little closer. Maybe my anxiety towards animals wouldn't be so bad.

But that's not what happened. And now my parents learned from their mistake, and brought the rest of us with them.

[dyke1]

I managed to fall back asleep but I think I was having a nightmare ugh and it was just my luck that my mom had gone to the bathroom at the same time cause she started yelling at me for waking her up?? I know she's not really herself ESPCIALLY at night maybe she was sleepwalking idk?????? and I was also definitely out of it cause her screaming woke me up and i started crying and begging her to believe me WTF ❓️❗️I think I know what I was dreaming about because I woke up nauseous which always happens when I have a dream about that stupid person and I think it just struck me cause I told! one! person at school ehat happened to me which was the counselor who didn't believe me and sometimes I dream about her too and I think tgat frustration qnd anger from not being believed just bled from my nightmare into real life and just getting startled like that freaked the hell out of my like heart was literally pounding out of my chest I'm still so angry I'm shaking I don't know if I should bring it up to her tommorow I know she'll either have forgotten what happened tommorow or not realized she did anything or just get mad at me/ not believe she was yelling at night but I don't want to relive that man I'm just so angry right now I feel sick I just hope I don't wake up again cause that was embarrassing as hell