#i swear this chapter is not angst

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Hey, does anyone ever think about the fact that Esther literally tearing apart and killing Monty in order to make him human would have been the near-death experience that allowed him to see ghosts and want to deck something? No, just me?

[see-kaye]

Malleyuu divorce arc real

[c4sen]

BSD 109 SPOILERS

for what is a monster, if not greedy?

a guilty pleasure. death can be peaceful. but would you be able to rest? surely, you knew. no, surely, you know.

[autisticlancemcclain]

prev chapter

– – –

The hole doesn’t go away in the pod. 

It was stupid to think that it would. They all watched him die. All of them. They watched his eyes go dull. They watched him collapse to the ground. He swayed, for a moment. Like his body wasn’t quite ready to fall, ready to give up, even as his brain was fried to death. 

He fell forward, in the end. Even though he was against a wall. He tipped right forward, nose smashing to the ground, like he was suddenly top heavy. None of them were fast enough to catch him. None of them were fast enough to even move, not for several moments, not for so long that they would have been killed, too, if their helmets had been cracked like Lance’s.

The worst part was that he laid there. For who knows how long. Just – by himself, on the ground, arms tucked close to his chest, face to the floor. Like he does when he’s really frustrated with something and needs to feel the weight of his body crushing him a little. Sometimes when he’s really frustrated he does that in front of Keith. He stomps to Keith’s room and flops right on Keith’s bed, careless of how many times he bumps into Keith on the way down, shoves his face in Keith’s pillow and tucks his arms under him. That’s how Keith knows he does it, the arm thing. Because he trusts Keith enough to feel frustrated around him.

It made Keith really guilty. Here he was, fighting off a hoard of Galran soldiers with burning eyes, as Lance lay frustrated behind him. Injured, too. That wasn’t fair. Keith was supposed to be helping. He was supposed to be quietly running his hand over Lance’s back until Lance settled enough to talk. That was his job. He needed to do his job. 

“Room’s thinning out,” Shiro had said quietly. “Keep it up and we’ll be done with this in twenty, okay, guys?”

There was no answer. Not even a twitch of acknowledgement. No one spoke up or grunted or nodded or nothing. Nothing until the final soldier was killed, slashed to pieces by Keith’s blade. Nothing for several moments after, even, as all of them stood still and listless and thoughtless. 

“We must go now,” Allura had announced, finally breaking the silence. “Home. Castle. We must.”

Her words seemed to snap the rest of them into action, each of them stepping over the carnage they made, with half-aborted movements, hesitant and confused. 

“We need the data,” Pidge mumbled. “That we came here for. Before we blow the place.”

Hunk had made a noise. Keith still doesn’t quite know how to describe it. It was gravelly, almost. Scraped raw. Not quite pained, though. Not then. Like a thought had travelled down from his brain to be shared to the group but had shriveled up and died in his throat. Like he wasn’t sure of anything, anymore. 

“I’ll wait with Lance,” Hunk had said softly. “He got hurt. He shouldn’t – he doesn’t like being alone. Not when he’s hurt.”

Hysterical laughter bubbled up in Keith’s throat, and it took every ounce of strength he had to fight it off, to shove it down somewhere dark and stupid inside him. “Not ever.” 

Keith stumbled over the severed leg of a sentry, on his way to Lance. The sting of his palms smacking on the metal ground zapped right up his arms, making his elbows shake. He struggled to get back to his feet. He thinks he kicked a few more scattered limbs on his way up. He’s not sure. He knows the sound of it rattled around in his brain. 

He and Hunk reached Lance at the same time. The rest of the team had already filed out by then, or at least Keith hadn’t noticed them in the room anymore. Not that he really noticed anything, at that point. At that point, all he was worried about were his hands, gently around Lance’s left arm, hauling him up with Hunk’s help to lean on the wall. Keith and Hunk sat pressed closely to either side of him, propping him upright.

“It’ll be okay, Lance,” Hunk had said quietly. “I’ll carry you back to the castle. And then a couple hours in the healing pod and you’ll be up in no time.”

It’s been six hours, now. None of them have done anything but stand, tired and banged up and exhausted, staring blankly ahead of them. Keith keeps cycling the day over and over in his brain. Somehow, the look on Lance’s face, seconds after the blast burns through his forehead, changes every time. The first time Keith was sure it was fear. Then surprise. Then pain, then exhaustion, then blank nothingness. 

Then, worst of all, accusation. The worst one of them all was the image in Keith’s brain of Lance’s dark brown eyes, sour in their pain, looking at Keith in some kind of betrayal. 

You can’t save me, those eyes said. I looked to you in my last moments and I was scared and I was hurt and I was vulnerable and I wanted to rely on you like you relied on me for months and months and months and you let me die. You killed me. I will never be alive again and it is because you failed me.

Keith has fallen in those spirals before. Lance likes to say that Keith is obsessed with making himself feel guilty before anyone else has the chance to. He’s right, of course. Lance is bossy and sarcastic and incendiary, but he’s right, a lot.

“Children,” Coran says, quiet and sad and wary. “The pods are –” he stops for a minute, choked. “The pods are not machines of miracle.”

“Don’t,” Pidge begs. There are tear tracks dried on her cheeks. “Please. He just needs a couple more hours.”

Coran slumps forward. Keith has never seen him slump, before. He’s always stood tall, heels clicked together. He has stood tall in front of Galran fleets that stretched farther than the eye could see. He has stood tall as the team failed again and again. He has stood tall as his entire planet burned to ashes and he was one of two people to be left to rise among them. 

But now he loses his strength. Standing in front of Lance’s dead fucking body and the dead fucking team he loses his strength. 

“He’s gone,” Keith chokes out, and he can’t hold himself up anymore. His knees buckle and hit the ground, hard, and it hurts but he can barely feel it. 

No one says anything else. No one has to. They stand in front of Lance’s corpse until none of them can anymore, and then they turn, one by one, and go to bed.

– – –

next chapter

[starlightvld]

A rough sketch of Simon's face stares back at him, and a wounded noise slips past his lips as he runs a thumb over the jawline he never could quite replicate to his satisfaction. He doesn't have the energy to be embarrassed, though, as he stares at the crude rendering for far longer than he should with his sister sitting beside him.

The next page is almost worse: notes on the mission just prior to Makarov's jailbreak and a few scribbles of Price's beard in the corner. A huff from Fi catches his attention, and he turns to find her staring at the doodles.

"It should look ridiculous on him," she says.

"Aye, but he p... p... pulls it off s-somehow."

"A mystery fer the ages."

John snorts, which leads into an explosive exhale as he turns the page to find more notes. Memories bombard him from all sides. He can feel the walls closing in as he stares at the page and mourns all he's lost.

All he'll never have or be again.

- Broken Bones and Shattered Hearts, Chapter 11, Art by the amazing @kibagib

[eyesontheskyline]

no such thing as over this (ch 7/16).

Read here on ao3.

Rating: M (probably actually T, but I'm covering my bases in case my outline gets away from me)

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply (but non-graphic mentions of canon violence)

Relationships: Emily Prentiss/Aaron Hotchner

Summary: A S7 fix-it in which Emily's trauma is acknowledged and Hotch doesn't want to take her for granted again. (A friends-to-lovers slow-ish burn that also deals with Emily's relationships with the rest of the team, but is decidedly Hotchniss in nature.)

Chapter Excerpt: He invites her to meet him on the jet, watches her sit ramrod straight and defensive in the chair opposite him as he reads from her therapist’s report, and he realises they’re in trouble. But her work has been exceptional, and she agrees to the deal he offers – to tell him if she’s having a bad day – and despite the countless lies in the file in front of him, he believes her.

She sits staring out at the airstrip as they wait for the rest of the team, and he nudges her foot under the table. She nudges back, smiling a little, but doesn’t look at him.

“Emily,” he says softly.

“Hotch,” she replies.

“This case –”

“It’s fine,” she interrupts, and he feels his eyebrows raise. She blows out a breath, presses flat palms down on the table. “Sorry,” she says, meeting his eyes at last. “We both see the parallels. Letting them know he’s watching and he can get them any time – the power he gets from that. . . Foyet too, right?”

“Right,” he agrees.

He watches as her jaw tightens and releases, her eyes all determination. “So let’s just focus on getting him.”

[good-beanswrites]

🎬: About Es being a past prisoner and the secret 11th prisoner in your AU. But advance apologies if I'm overstepping into your AU!

I had this idea from a story that pretty much did the same thing. Going off there are novels/manga on Milgram and there being another Es and their own prisoners running another Milgram (but differently) I imagine this Milgram projects has been going on for a while, and our Es was from a previous project who might have gotten the worst verdict (or the most spared out of everyone), and was given this final task as a warden for the next group of prisoners. This is why they so readily agreed and had their memories wiped for this Milgram project instead of being weary on a shady project on judging an almost crime, they've already been through this.

(BTW is it bad and worrying for one of our ten fav prisoners to be the next Es if this is legit...)

Anyway, that's why Es is in Milgram in your AU, I guess? And the lore drop that Kotoko picks up on them being the 11th prisoner, I can imagine her also talking to Kazui since he's a policeman to see if she could cross out any theories on who Es is (Did they look familiar. Possible missing child. Any cases to do with an almost crime by a child other than the 10 of them here). Kazui knows Kotoko wants to investigate, but reminds her that, like in their prison while the trial is on, the facilities they're in have high security too. They do have the freedom to move about, but still limited.

If they're trying to investigate Es, maybe Fuuta, Kotoko and Mikoto can try to do the hacking on the comp Mikoto's allowed to use to Photoshop some shots for the MVs and photos (Fuuta and Kotoko seem to be able to search up info they need I think...). Yuno, Mahiru and Muu can work on charming the staff to see if they can spill more deets on Milgram. Not sure how much the group can gather, but oh boy fun times in Milgram can turn into another sort of stress in this AU...

No worries!! Like I said before, this whole au has been a fun collaborative project, so there's no overstepping :) I am sorry I won't be writing a lot on the ending until we get more info, but that's just the perfectionist in me who doesn't want to be proven wrong 😅 Still, I love tossing around and digging into ending scenarios, I really love this!

Because that would make a lot of sense why they're so willing to subject themself to the whole experiment! They remember how tough their experience was, and are confident they can care for the new set of prisoners while doing their job. I'm imagining they get the opportunity to return as guard, and get to have a nice talk with their own guard first. Once they fully understand what it's like, they're know they can handle it and sign up. It adds a bit of drama, too, since they must have been really young committing their crime in order to complete a years-long experiment prior to this one. They would have been like 10? Oof. (Now I wanna see their three trial songs 👀)

And like you said, that also brings up the question of the new warden. Though I think it's based on verdict results, I can just picture Jackalope keeping an eye on everyone during filming. He studyies their interactions and personalities, keeping his own set of notes on who would make a good successor. (I'm not going to go through every character but there are pros to any choice, it's very fun picturing them all taking the job.) Haha, on the other hand, maybe the reason Kotoko keeps bringing up her role as Es' partner/bringer of justice is because she did discover the truth. She drops as many hints as possible so she can be chosen next 😅

Ooh, I love her working with Kazui on an investigation! The fact that eh may know details on recent crimes (and almost-crimes) is super fun to work with. He's the last person who's going to spill a secret, so the group could go several trials without realizing Kazui had actually heard all about their situation this whole time.

(Getting sidetrack for a sec, I'm suddenly realizing that he and Kotoko may have heard things about the crimes in canon, too. They're a bit unclear about how much time passed between the murders and arriving to Milgram, so maybe he heard some things. I don't know how well-connected Tokyo police departments are, but Yuno, Fuuta, Muu, and Shidou are all nearby. There's definitely a chance he caught word of the vigilante nearby, and she heard about the odd policeman's suicide. Both of them could have heard about the tragic housefire, the disgraced doctor, or horrible schoolgirl murder nearby.)

Anyway, I like that idea of Kazui wracking his brain for any similar cases. Though, if he had, Milgram may have had the foresight to wipe parts of his memory, too. Maybe he does end up using his call to reach out to Hinako and have her look into it from the outside. Sadly, Kotoko seems the type to sacrifice her personal call to reach out to a connection who can help as well. I'll have to think about how closely Jackalope monitors those calls, hm.

I'm going crazy over prisoner investigation team !! Kotoko and Fuuta had the online knowledge to find some good info, and Mikoto and Kazui seem like they'd have a huge network of people they can ask for info and favors from. Haha, I'm torn whether Mahiru would have flirting down to a science or if she'd refuse to do it since it wasn't real love 😂 Still, she's very good at reading people and could definitely help the others charm and bribe their way into some restricted areas. Amane and Haruka can also charm with their innocence/cuteness (though I'm not sure Amane would). Shidou seems very organized, he'd have a plan and backup plan and backup-backup plan ready, no matter what happens. I think it's even funnier, then if Milgram had run several experiments prior. Jackalope would think this was just another runthrough, and for the first time the ten subjects decided to organize together and Cause Problems.

I think there's a beautiful irony in a story featuring ten prisoners planning a jailbreak to save the prison guard...

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

I am at 59k on this Ninjago fic i swear I'll finish it this month I will work on nothing else I am going to finish this--

[not-poignant]

Fae Tales - The Nascent Diplomat (Gwyn/Augus)

Pairing: Augus Each Uisge/Gwyn ap Nudd

Tags: Fae politics, past child abuse, past sexual abuse, developing relationship, slow burn, mind games, Unseelie Court (See fic for more tags)

Summary: Augus is summoned by the Unseelie King of the fae to test out his hand at being a diplomat with a secretive, cave-dwelling race of fae known as the vench. He is sent to the remote region of Aethelwaters to strike up a trade deal, with the King’s Mage and executioner - Gwyn ap Nudd - as his bodyguard.

They come face to face with a closed culture largely unreceptive to newcomers, initiations to test their merit, an unusual way of feeding, and pitfalls and traps at every turn. Will it drive the shaky foundation between Gwyn and Augus further apart? Or bring them together?

Fae Tales - 38/? - The Nascent Diplomat - Gwyn/Augus on AO3!

In which one of the world's greatest wordsmiths, the Raven Prince, says one of the most important things he will ever say in his life to Gwyn ap Nudd.

-Thanks to all the Patreon supporters for making this story possible!

Chapter 39 of The Nascent Diplomat is available now for early release, for folks in the Augus & Gwyn+ tiers on Patreon and Ream! :D Temsen's bluff about how well he was surviving the deprivation of touch and intimacy falters, and he seizes the nearest opportunity to feed, which happens to be Gwyn ap Nudd, with unexpected and potentially unwanted results..

[artyartpile]

Bede/Hop | Pokemon Sword and Shield

Fic Summary:

Hop's day was going great, until Bede showed up at his doorstep and shoved an egg into his hands.

This was not how he was expecting things to go.

[that-nerd-who-writes-fanfiction]

I feel like I’m tightrope walking sanity. I’m either gonna start writing psychology papers or Franz Kafka type poetry.

(I’ve been writing so long that words no longer look real and my characters are collecting trauma like pokemon so the angst is angsting like a mentally ill poets journal)

[cowardlybean]

if i write another reigen major character death fic people will certainly think i’m nuts!

However.

[xxsuicidalravenxx]

This is wild, I cannot stop typing bro. I'm gonna be busy all next week, so I'm gonna try to get the next chapter out sometime this weekend (i doubt I'll succeed, but a girl can hope).

[lonelysucker7]

Strangers on a Train

🎉 Chapter 4 🎉

Pairing: Kaine Parker x gn!Reader

Summary: You’re just an average person making their daily living, surviving adulthood as it is. You live in Houston, Texas where even the hero the Scarlet Spider lives. And then there’s a guy, who looks like he’s gone through hell, on a train you’re crushing on.

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Bit of profanity, some angst, chaotic as frick

2/24/24

Note: HIII!!! OH MY GOD ITS BEEN TWO MONTHS. Listen, I was struggling okay 😭 like chapter 3 kinda made me hesitate writing another chapter. To the people that sticked around, the anon who was excited… I’m sorry. I may have disappointed you now and it’s okay to feel that way. And I thank you for being there anyway near or far. I can’t really say if I’ll keep up with next chapter as life is pushing me around. But… we’ll see?

Anywho, enjoy!!! 😆

Next: Chapter 5

Previously: Chapter 3

🔴⚫️🔴⚫️🔴⚫️🔴⚫️🔴⚫️🔴⚫️🔴⚫️🔴⚫️

For a while now not a single drop of water fell from the skies in the city of Houston. Thank you, climate change. In consequence everyone burned under the scorching sun and lived with it in any possible way.

Until last night the weatherman predicted Houston was supposed to welcome the first of rain showers in a long time. And to you that felt a little ridiculous. Why did everything feel the first all of a sudden?

The next day peeking out the window was met with the sight of a wet pavement and dry dirt turned to squishy looking mud. For a minute you considered staying home to avoid a certain someone with the rain serving as an excuse to stay away. You couldn’t anyway, not after using one of your work time off from just a few days ago. Besides, after countless days of sweltering at night the rain encourages you to enjoy this as much as you can.

You pack the usual in your found bag, sneak in a couple of those snacks that were found there and zip it up to a close. Donning a comfortable jacket and taking your umbrella in hand, you paused midway to the door, the fingertips of your hand grazing the doorknob. Your eyebrows furrowed with a moment, your arm almost unhooking the bag on your shoulder to let it fall to the ground.

But you fix it back up again.

Either I apologize or just ignore it and sit somewhere else. One or the other.

“God, this is so stupid…” you muttered with a frown.

With a shake of your head you swing the door open and out the door you went.

………………………………………………………………………….

The rain had been going on since last night but you swore it felt like days as your feet kept stepping into large puddles that splashed your pants. It almost made you feel icky on the way the murky dark cool water clung onto your ankles but you felt good about it in a strange way. It distracted you somehow from feeling other things.

The walk to the station was a steady one. Minus the wind trying to carry you away with your almost broken umbrella.

Upon arriving you realized how empty the site was hardly with any person in sight. It was just you and two others. Above you the plastic roof you had a crack and water seeped in so you kept away from it standing in the open with your umbrella. Standing there in the quietness and the little pattering noises of rain bouncing off the hood helped you relax.

This is the calmest it’s been for a while now.

Suddenly the whistle of the train rings out somewhere in the distance, your hand automatically clenches tightly the strap of your bag and handle of the umbrella. The precipitation on this cloudy day makes your hand clammy. You nodded your head lightly as you rocked on the heels of your feet. And slowly, with the hand that grasped once the strap, move it to rest it over your chest. You kept rubbing with your palm in gentle circles as your heart thrummed excitedly. The loud pounds audible in your ears.

The train kept coming nearer and nearer by the second and finally moved to a halt in front of you. Steamed floated from its rails, followed by the metal sound of doors scraping to open. You stood there silently feeling those only people pass by you with a hurry to escape the now heavy rain. Now it was you on the platform and still you continued rocking on your heels more forcefully, and suddenly one of your legs made an effort to one step forward. It might have been summertime where heat made you sweat, yet somehow the rain made you feel warm around your neck. It burned even beneath the umbrella.

Is it too late to go back?

You put down your umbrella, reaching to close it. With a little shake to remove the raindrops and feeling the dense wetness tickling your hair and nape of your neck, you reach out to grab the rails of the entrance and hop in.

Behind you the doors close and your heart sinks slightly. The platform view leaves your sight and you turn around to find the seat. When you do your breath hitches slightly causing you to thin your lips a bit.

Unsurprisingly He was there in his regular seat and all staring back at you with a slight frown.

Ah shit.

Now it really was too late…

Woo.

Okay.

Seats around you are at your disposition ready for you to take without competition. The urge to sit far enough from Him starts to become overwhelming and you do just that, huffing with a smile.

You turn your back grabbing one of the handles directing towards the end of the train. Right, you had no blame in this, you never asked for the seat, whatever his problem was he—

Halfway you backtracked your steps, a pained expression contorting and swiftly you took a seat in the front of the car near a window facing diagonally to Him. In your seat your bag rests on your lap and the wet umbrella rests on the empty seat next to you. You couldn’t even raise your eyes from your bag starting to pick on the little messy crosshatched stitches on the side.

The train is dreadfully quiet, not much of a crowd to begin with, standing or sitting. It was just you, Him, and maybe a couple others making five. Where was the crowd when you needed it? To hide you? You could only blame the rain for arriving a day too late for the inconvenience of yesterday. Inconvenience?

You sighed.

“Brought my bag today.” You announced towards Him, your voice cracking at ‘bag’. Hearing your voice makes you suppress a screech, the blood rushing to your ears as you stretch your lips to smile at Him. If you had bleach in this moment, you’d pour it over your eyes to spare yourself the sight of the man staring at you like he smelled a dead animal from nearby. Well no it was actually more confused and slightly startled, but he sees you shrugging your bag to show him.

He blinks remotely, but it’s a sign of acknowledgement to say the least. An eyebrow raises a bit, stretching some of the scars near his eye. A brief nod as he lowly responds,

“…Good for you?”

Lord almighty help my ass.

You nodded, smiling meekly, feeling your bones rattle a little in your body. Your left leg bounces slightly, shaking your bag. A brief chuckle emits from your lips and you add on,

“Y-yeah, I mean… I thought I lost my bag forever, s-since y’know… that day, right…?” Your words trailed on attempting to reference your attack at the same time looking at him with a suggestive smile. It only earns you a subtle discomfort from his part.

“Yeah…I know.” He turns his head away for a moment, facing out the window with an unreadable expression. Your leg bounces slightly more, and you’re tongue tied for a second. What to say next you’re not sure, but you still kept that smile. So you continue.

“A-and let me tell you i-it was returned to me—” You nervously chuckled, your fingers wringing together “—Back to my workplace! L-like, wow, I really second guessed myself right there… Someone must have sent me an angel. Funny huh?”

Your cheeks began to hurt from your smile equally as your hands ached with every tug you gave to your fingers. Your audience appeared stunned to silence like if he was caught off guard without being able to say something properly back. This is the part you hated in every conversation similar to this and in each one it was you who ended up screwing it. All you wanted to know was.. was…

“You okay?” He asks, his eyes narrowing a little, regarding the sight of your stiffened appearance. You hum your answer with an awkward smile, replying,

“I’m fine.”

“Really.” He doesn’t sound convinced, his eyebrows lowering even more. You nod your head curtly before he can say anything else.

“Yeah. I'm fine.” You reply with a shrug. He still doesn’t look convinced but his eyes relax a tad bit. You turned your head back to face the window, chewing on the inside walls of your right cheek. You pointed out the window, breathing out the obvious stress in your voice.

“Uh, n-nice day rig—?”

“Stop. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

His stern voice cut you off with a hand to halting your sentence. He doesn’t look too pleased, rather irritated you both are aware you are avoiding to confess something that’s guilt tripping you. Your mouth snapped shut then, your body tensing up with a noticeable shake. Only then you utter off your tongue with guilt,

“Sorry.”

The train rattled on as the silence fell upon you both and now the overwhelming feeling of regret and embarrassment flooded your mind. Your eye catches his one of his boots slightly twist down his heel on the floor making a little squeaky sound. Gosh you thought you had it in control. Now you have him more uncomfortable than ever, and he’s not meeting your eye at all. Your mind starts to mock you: You had a way with words, you liked talking to people, you good at this you’re good at that—

What a joke.

“Hey listen… About yesterday…”

Your voice comes down with a slight softer tone than the eccentric one you held a couple moments ago. You swallow a bit through your thickening throat. The words are stuck in your chest. Leaning your head back, you brought it back down and you let it rush out.

“I’m sorr—”

“I’m sorry.”

You both freeze as you both let out apologies to each other. His eyes are slightly wide, but yours is wider with the addition of throwing out your empty upturned hands to your apology. He hums a little as if he was unsure to proceed or not. And you blink a little.

“Say what now—?”

“You tell me—”

Another pause. You both clearly want to respond to whatever the hell you two are trying to apologize. Lips twitching, eyes squinted, fluorescent lights burning the retinas. Like drawing guns at sundown. Who shoots first?

You. You’re faster. Bringing back your hands, you point at yourself and rapidly spit out your words

“HoldupletmegofirstImadeyouuncomfortablesoImsorry.”

“Uncomfortable—You’re sorry?” He was baffled, staring at you with his brows knitted together, as if trying to make out what you’re apologizing for. Too fast man, too fast! Idiot!

You can’t help but roll your eyes and you run a distressed hand over your mouth, leaning slightly forward as you say with a much slower culpability.

“I said…” You inhale a bit of air and then exhale it. “…I said something that made you run out of this train. Not sure what it was but I sincerely didn't mean to offend you. I’m sorry.”

He in return does a double take, pausing to open his mouth and close it yet again. And the moment you’re about to lay more apologies, he raises his hand again to stop you. A beat. That same strange look from yesterday reappeared on his face, the one where he was conflicted.

“I…I didn’t run out on you because… Of whatever you said.” He began slowly. The little muscles on the side of his jaw tenses up, flexing slightly. The weary look in his eye made him shift his focus away from meeting your face as if apologizing was becoming hard for him to continue. He glanced at the ground then dully met your eye once more.

“The train….” He pauses again letting the sentence alone to settle down. “It was crowded and I don’t sit well in crowded spaces. It’s hot, it’s stuffy—”

“It’s hell.” You mused softly, half smiling at him at your slow understanding. A little nod and a soft rumble from his chest is heard.

“Damn right it is.” He looks away, scratching his stubble with a finger as a faint streak of annoyance appears in his eyes. At the mention to the stuffy environment of passengers, you were beginning to be partially thankful today no one rode the train.

Humid and sweat. A hygienic disaster.

“Frankly, yesterday showed how good I am at running away from it. And it ends up becoming someone else’s problem.”

A mild worry creases his brow as he glances back at you at the same time he weighs his words with a sense of familiarity. Like it wasn’t the first time it happened. The man straightens up his back and he faces you fully now from the distance you two were in. A subtle amused smile begins to show on his face and he turns a palm up, directing it towards you.

“Look I’m not the best at apologies but I’m sorry for causing you trouble. Clearly you were distressed.” He responds candidly, but you hear a hint of slight tease in it. Of course he’s referring to the way you acted like a doofus a good minutes ago making you feel pretty stupid for a second. But now that it was resolved you could reply without the need of feeling that way.

A small smile gets to you and you rub your neck. “Oh, ha, yeah ‘distressed’… I’m sorry for that too. And you’re fine. I mean I thought… I thought I scared you.”

“Don’t sweat it. And you? Scare me?” He crosses his arms, a light smirk on his lips that causes you to clench your jaw a little. “Believe me, I’ve seen scarier.”

Somehow those words get a little laugh out of you with those nerves combined from earlier, almost causing you to tear up. You rub a finger underneath your eye, and ask him,

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

You see him tilt his head to the side a bit and his eyes glower at a thought. But he briefly flashes a smirk, his head shaking, and responds,

“Wouldn’t you like to know…”

So he doesn’t want to say… Okay. You just shrugged it off, sensing the question and answer could possibly a little intrusive. Stranger to stranger, why dump all the exposition?

“Too personal?”

“Very.”

You thin your lips, shifting your eyes away for a moment and say,

“Gotcha.”

Once you understood, you watch him turn back to face outside the window watching the raindrops falling sideways with rushed synchronization. The small droplets created a cascade of shadows reflecting visibly on his face and they darken his thoughtful look alongside his scars. You grow a little quiet, and you contemplate taking his word seriously or not. The temptation to ask him for an explanation almost claws your back. But you thought better of it.

“Your question earlier about the weather… I agree. It’s nice.” He comments to you through the silence, continuing to stare out the window. You feel yourself start smiling a little, forgetting whatever weird thoughts got to your mind. You also turn around to see the rain indirectly sharing the sight with him.

Outside, the weather has become a little heavier, the clouds darkening grey hovering over the city from a distance and the sight of mist starts rising from the ground. It’s such a nice sight to see that it’s no wonder you two grown ups feel entranced by the peaceful setting.

The train makes a stop at the same platform you made the man sitting diagonally of you run off. The thought made you still cringe a bit, but now his apology replayed in your mind for comfort. The rain here has gotten heavier and alarmingly impossible to see around. People get off chattering about the killings from these past days and your ears don’t catch much except the possibility of a serial killer on the loose.

More people come inside the cart, moving to take up the space in the back which leaves you and him the only ones taking space in the front. The train picks up pace once again and you know its heading to the man’s stop.

“Mind if I ask a question about yesterday?” He speaks up from his seat. You shake your head.

“Not at all. Ask away.”

“Thanks. Your, uh, nightmares… Worse or better today?” He asks curiously.

Pulling yourself away from the window, you look back at him and he meets your gaze. You nod your head back and forth, trying to pick up on the feelings of your nightmares. Last night you did have another one, a slightly much calmer one with less blood and less death. And less screaming.

“I’d say it’s much better.”

“Good to hear.”

You think he might think that’s the end of it. But you add,

“…Although something keeps ticking me off.”

The look of surprise appearing in his face answers your assumption.

“Is that so? And that would be?”

You sucked a bit of air between your teeth and exhaled softly.

“There are these growling noises. Animalistic. They sound familiar and I can’t put to a finger to it.” You say with a bit of disbelief, placing a fist under your chin. Your eyes flickered towards his when he clicks his tongue a little.

“Best not to look into it. Spare yourself from more frights. You’re looking much better today than yesterday.” He comments with a light warning, an etched look of discomfort on his eye. You quirk an eyebrow but hum in agreement. He may be right. In your state right now, your nightmare has become less of a problem now. Just like he said, even the mirror you looked at in the morning showed you your face was much better and your energy was returning.

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Don’t suppose. Take my word for it.” He firmly states seriously with a hint of a lightness mixed in.

His look appeared a little hard, but he kept a calm demeanor as he is straightening his jacket to stretch out the wrinkles. Even then a subtle smirk is there. You could feel your chest swelling up a little every time he did that.

Above you both, the roof began to audibly slam loud drum beats of rain and you heard him cuss under his breath. A small pout was formed on his lips as he glared at the roof and he mutters.

“Son of a bitch… This rain is gonna wash the spider out.”

You glance over your shoulder briefly, but snap to look at it back and turn fully to face it. Your face almost pressed against the window, your breath fogging it up a bit.

“Oh wow look outside.” Both of you stare out in your individual windows sharing a moment of silence as only the pattering of rain trickles harder. The station up ahead was almost invisible, blended by the streaks of water. Buckets. Cats and dogs. It might wash the spiders out like he said.

“A free shower.” You mumble in awe.

“With bacteria.” He adds flatly.

“What makes anyone wanna go out there? Pretty heavy stuff to deal with.” You turn back to him as you jerk your thumb outside. The man only shrugs it off, his gloved fingers starting to zip up his dark jacket.

“You’re here. Answer it yourself.”

“Work day. And I came prepared.” You raise your umbrella and shake it a bit as couple droplets stain the seat. The man nods at it in approval.

“Smart.” He continues to move the zipper up. “The longer ones been in Houston, the more beats they get used to. They shouldn’t have trouble dealing with extreme weather. It's a warmer climate down here after all.” He says matter of fact.

“Huh. Okay. So how long have you been living in Houston?” You blurt out your question with genuine curiosity. The man’s zipper gets jammed in the middle and he tugs it up with a little more force. His hands drop to his sides, giving up with a grumble and he pauses for a second to think of a response. And it’s that dang look of his again.

“Uh…”

Before he can answer, the ding of the announcement for his stop rings out and it scares you both. Both of you share a look of irritation at the announcement. But slowly the man’s face softens up a little, a contemplative look on his eye. He sighs.

“…Saving that for tomorrow.” He finally answers conclusively.

He gets up from his seat, the back hairs of your neck prickling as you hear his low grunts reacting to the popping of his legs. You notice He didn’t seem to be with his bag today and he began to walk out towards the exit without any rush. And you took advantage of his slow pace to say,

“Thank you by the way!”

The man stops in his tracks and his dark eyes gaze down at you puzzled. You smiled warmly at him, feeling more comfortable and confident.

“For your seat yesterday. I didn’t let anyone else take it.”

You kept smiling at him, happy for his kindness from yesterday. The funny look he gives you is a little odd, but nevertheless keeps his handsome features in check. He slowly nods, his hand tapping lightly the bar of the pole a bit as he looks away. Maybe the train fluorescent lights were causing you to be a little color blind, but you swore to see faint pink on his scarred cheeks.

“No problem.” He mellows faintly and resumes his walk. But not before pausing again to look at you and say, “Don’t linger too much out in the rain. It’s nice, but… You don’t want to catch a cold, do you?”

He held your gaze for a little longer before stepping out. The rain washed down on him immediately, pushing him down, but recovers and stays upfront. And soon the train departed with his figure disappearing in the showers.

You remained in your seat, feeling the blood rushing to your face intensifying once he was gone. And you place your face in your hands, smiling now like an idiot and laugh a little.

What a thrill this morning was for you.

Much better than what you expected.

Best of all…There was going to be a tomorrow.

.

.

.

[yuzurins]

[ 11.25 pm ]

"seriously y/n, what happened to you that made you want to drink this much?" miya osamu queried as he cleaned up the mess of onigiris you made. "you always refuse whenever we go to parties."

"i got fired." you weeped, rotating your head from where it layed on your cheek to bury your nose into the table.

osamu squinted his eyes and scrunched his face up.

"nah, there's no way those idiots would fire someone as competent as you," he poked your forehead. "tell me what really happened."

abruptly lifting your head, you gave the man in front of you a pout. "can't a girl have fun for once!"

he scoffed at your childishness, yet a smile grew on his face nonetheless. "wouldn't take ya as the type to go drinkin alone though."

"no, but you're here with me, so technically i'm not alone." a serious expression showed itself as you stared at him dead in the eyes.

osamu's breathing stifled, but he tried to act unphased and conceal the flush that began to spread over his face.

because he swore he was over you.

the two of you sat in silence for a few seconds, until you burst out in laughter, making the male confused.

you smacked the table you were sitting at as you giggled uncontrollably. it was clear you had too much to drink.

osamu figured that he couldn't even begin to fathom what was going on in your mind and stayed silent, waiting for you to finish your fit of laughter.

you wiped the corners of your eyes despite no tears coming out, and sighed as you eventually calmed down.

"sorry, sorry!" you smiled. "i was just reminiscing about some stuff, that's all."

"care to share what got you laughing so hard?" he snickered, walking over to open a cabinet near the back.

"i was just thinking about how i used to have a fat crush on you back in highschool."

osamu's whole body stiffened.

he freezes, unable to control his body as he wants, causing him to drop the cup of water he wanted to give you.

thank god he wasn't facing you, because he could feel his face overheating to the point where one could mistake that he had a fever.

"'samu? is everything alright over there?"

your voice became muffled, barely audible as osamu breathed heavily, subconsciously tuning out his surroundings as he did so.

the fact that you could admit something so casually was enough to shatter his heart into a thousand pieces.

and to make it worse, it felt like you stepped on those thousand pieces of his heart as he recalled how hard you had laughed from it aswell. it didn't help that you were drunk.

it was obvious that you moved on.

no, of course it was.

so why— why was osamu holding on to that tiny spark of hope that you actually felt something towards him?

it was wrong. it was so wrong.

since you had a boyfriend, and he was just a close friend.

and maybe it wasn't until you admitted to liking him in the past tense that his mind finally pieced together that information.

perhaps the realization just hit him too hard.

the ring of the bell that then came from the door felt like a big punch to the face.

"y/n— y/n! i've been looking all over for you!" a painfully familiar voice called, subtly panting as a sign of exhaustion.

both you and osamu turned your heads over to the source of the sound, but two different reactions adorned your faces as the person approached closer.

your eyes lit up, endearment enveloping your features as you stopped slouching and sat up in your seat. whereas osamu felt his breathing become even more unstable and narrowed his shoulders, attempting to hide his prescence by shrinking his body.

"tsumie!" you squealed at the sight of the blonde.

the perfect fuel to the fire that was burning inside of osamu.

the person who had shown up was miya atsumu.

osamu's twin brother, who just happened to be,

your boyfriend.

it may be that the reason behind why osamu held onto that aspiration was because you were dating someone who looked just like him. it was rude to assume that you were just into someone's looks, but was it really a coincidence that you went from liking him to liking his brother?

what he never will know is what went on behind the scenes between you two, as he never bothered to ask how the two of you got together to save himself the heartache.

osamu decided not to dwell on this matter.

for it was already too late to change anything.

sighing quietly to himself, he picked up the cup that he had dropped earlier and turned back around to face the two of you.

you were resting your head on the shoulder of a pouting atsumu.

"c'mon 'tsumuuu," you dragged the ending of his childhood nickname. "don't be mad, i just went out drinking once! plus, 'samu is here, so it's not like i would get myself into anything dangerous!"

atsumu acknowledged your argument, but felt as though he couldn't back down just yet. he scoffed and turned his head away. "who wouldn't be mad when their girlfriend runs away from practice without notice, and won't pick up their phone either!"

a matching pout grew on your face as you snuggled your face further into his shoulder. "well," you hummed. "you said 'samu was lonely! so i thought i'd come visit him and do something funny to make him laugh a bit, since he's always helping us."

cautiously taking a glance over at you, atsumu found himself giving into your puppy eyes as he did every other day. he took his arms out of the crossed position they were in, pinched both your cheeks and started playing around with them. no words were spoken, yet the message he was trying to convey was clearer than day.

it was like you and him were in your own world. anyone could see that, and it was no different for osamu, who was the one who always got the front row seat. but he couldn't bring himself to dislike his brother, especially not over a girl.

osamu found himself smiling bitterly as he heard that you came here to keep him company after atsumu told you that he was lonely, though he refuses to admit that what his brother said was right.

proven by the unfortunate timing in highschool, the ones who were meant to be were not you and him, but rather you and atsumu.

osamu was fine with sacrificing his own feelings for the two most important people in his life to be happy. truly.

he could only hope that in another universe, in another timeline, in another life, maybe, just maybe, he could've had a happy ending with you.

[little-peril-stories]

The Queen of Lies: The Looking Glass

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

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

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

Chapter 3: The Looking Glass

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A shiver ran down her spine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That, Breanna did not dare to answer.

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

“It is what it is,” she said quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes. Preferable. Bearable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Breanna certainly hoped she could.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because she’d distracted the medic while he bled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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