fiya

she/her 21

[saemki]

Dark Heart Masterlist

A dangerous spellcaster is put in cruel restraints once she’s captured by the revolutionary group she’s spent years fighting against. Her enemy, one of the top revolutionaries, visits her to gloat, but finds herself drawn to the woman she’s sworn to hate.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Extras:

laila & mads neka maker

[saemki]

Dark Heart #7

Prev | Masterlist | Next

Laila slept in later than usual. She mourned her dreams as soon as she woke up, wishing she could return to the fantasy of her and Mads as more than friends. The smell wafting from the kitchen distracted her from her wishful thinking, and she swung her feet over the side of the bed and padded through the hallway. 

Mads stood over the stove, already dressed and ready for the day. A large spread of dishes sat atop the faded floral tablecloth. A plate of fluffy scrambled eggs. A stack of toast partnered with fresh jars of jam and a stick of butter. A loaf of sourdough bread and croissants from the bakery. 

“You went to the market this morning?” Laila asked, standing on her tiptoes to peek over Mads’ shoulder.

Mads nodded, sliding a spatula under sizzling strips of bacon. 

“I wanted to make you breakfast in return for dinner. I was hoping to bring it to you in bed, but I guess I took too long.”

Laila imagined pecking Mads’ cheek or giving her a hug from behind. That was what couples did while their partner cooked, right? She had no time for courting while working for the King, so she didn’t know much about romance beyond novels. 

She settled for, “I miss your breakfasts every time you’re away.”

They moved around the tiny kitchen in tandem. Laila set the table and filled a pitcher with orange juice while Mads finished cooking the meat and set the dirty pans in the sink. 

Once they finished their meal, Mads collected the silverware and dishes with quick waves of her hand. Laila watched her magic glow, then turned her attention to folding the linen napkins by hand.

“Laila?”

She hummed absentmindedly, still focused on folding the napkins.

“Why don’t you use your magic?”

Laila froze, refusing to look up at Mads. 

“Sorry if I’m overstepping. I’m just curious because I assumed you’d want to get back to using it once the restraints were gone. But I haven’t seen you use it once.”

She tightened her fist around the napkin, squeezing it until her knuckles turned white. 

“I…I can’t.”

“What?”

Laila finally raised her head. Mads looked at her, eyebrows drawn together in concern.

“What do you mean you can’t? Is something wrong?”

“They made it so that I can’t anymore,” Laila murmured. “Right before I was exiled, my master, the Archmage, was ordered to seal my magic away as punishment.”

“What?” Mads’ voice grew sharp. “As punishment? Was exile not punishment enough?”

“The exile was a performance,” Laila said bitterly, “to convince the public the Crown stands against dark magic. Sealing my magic was my real punishment, the consequence for slipping up, exposing myself as the Dread, and revealing the use of dark magic by a soldier of the King.” 

“So you didn’t need them?”

Mads looked hollowed out, the color drained from her face. 

Laila blinked, confused.

“The restraints,” she said, voice hoarse. “You didn’t need them.”

“No.” Laila wrung her hands together. “I didn’t.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Mads’ voice broke. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m not a good person, Mads. You know I deserved to be there. You know I deserved to suffer.” She pointed a trembling finger at Mads’ chest. “You said it yourself. You wished you had been the one to put me in those restraints.”

Mads shook her head vehemently and rushed over to take Laila’s hands in her own.

“I didn’t mean that, not for a second. I just wanted to piss you off. Please, believe me, I’d never want you to suffer like that. Not when I could’ve stopped it.”

“It doesn’t matter what you want.” Laila turned away, tilting her head so Mads wouldn’’t see the tears forming in her eyes. “I hurt people. I killed people. I deserve consequences. No judge would change the verdict of a murderer’s trial just because one person doesn’t want them to be locked up.”

“You didn’t get a trial.”

Laila threw her hands up and laughed, near hysterical. Her tears fell, but she didn’t care.

“I didn’t need a trial! I’m guilty without a doubt. Everyone in this kingdom knows that. Hell, probably the whole world if the news has spread far enough. Any jury would take one look at me and vote unanimously.”

Mads swore loud enough to make Laila flinch. 

“I don’t care what everyone else thinks. Maybe you do deserve to suffer after everything you’ve done. But I couldn’t stand to watch it because I’m selfish. It was eating me alive watching you rot down there. I don’t regret saving you. I need you—I need you safe and sound, no matter how much you don’t deserve it.”

“You’re such a fool,” Laila choked out.

But she pulled her into an embrace anyway, letting Mads cry on her shoulder and take deep, shuddering breaths against her neck.

[saemki]

Dark Heart #6

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

laila & mads!

Winter faded into a pleasantly warm spring. What once were bare spindly tree branches now bore swaths of green leaves, and the bushes around Mads’ childhood home sprouted little flowers in all colors of the rainbow.

She spent most days inside, reading and cooking and gardening and taking care of the house when Mads wasn’t around. It was peaceful, a way of life she was thoroughly unused to and undeserving of. And since she was not used to it, it left her feeling antsy. Cooped up. Like the bored housewife in one of the plays she read, who killed her husband because she was sick of being inside all the time.

Not that she was anything close to Mads’ wife. No, that was not a possibility she could ever entertain. And she was free to leave the house whenever she pleased. Mads hadn’t forbade her from doing so, but she was scared. Like if she stepped out alone without Mads by her side, anything could happen. The witch hunters could find her, or the revolutionaries could take her back. Maybe the townspeople would recognize who she really was if Mads wasn’t there to distract them. It could be anyone. The butcher who sold them fresh meat, the florist who tucked daffodils behind their ears when they passed by her stand, one of the workers at the bookshop with stacked shelves and the ever present scent of ink and parchment.

So she stayed inside. Did the hand stretches the local physician taught her to fight off the lingering stiffness and pain. Sat in the backyard and watched the squirrels eat the nuts and seeds she left out for them. Slept in Mads’ childhood bedroom and woke up sweaty and panting from disjointed nightmares of the cell, the mask, the branding, her parents and sister. Of Mads coming to the realization that she was unworthy of this kindness.

She glanced at the clock across from the dining table. Mads would be back any minute. While cleaning, she found a set of cookbooks in a cupboard. She made two recipes in anticipation of Mads’ return, a spicy rice dish with egg and potato and a milder chicken curry.

Three short knocks came, then a pause, then another knock. It was Mads’ code to alert Laila she was home.

The lock turned, and Mads entered with her bag slung over her shoulder. Her hair was windswept and she looked weary from travel, but her face brightened when she saw Laila sitting at the table.

She hung her bag by the door and opened her arms. Laila tried not to look too enthusiastic, but her chair scraped against the floor in her haste to be in Mads’ arms again.

Mads smelled like pine needles. Her hair, which had grown from her shoulders down to her chest, tickled Laila’s cheek. Whenever they hugged, Mads squeezed her just right, her chin tucked into Laila’s shoulder.

“I missed you,” she murmured, her voice raspy. Even though the spring days were warm, the nights were still cold.

“I missed you, too,” Laila admitted. It pained her to withdraw from Mads, but she stepped back towards the stove. “Let me make you some tea.”

“Thank you, but no need, darling. I’m sure you’ve already spent so much time cooking. Sit down and relax, I’ll put some tea on.”

The casual pet name sent a jolt up her spine and heat to her cheeks. She managed to squeak out, “Okay!” and took a seat while Mads put the kettle on the stove.

It turned out that Mads was a very affectionate friend. At first, Laila assumed her hugs were out of pity, but she just liked physical affection. She often patted Laila on the shoulder, grabbed her when she doubled over laughing, and linked their arms when they went shopping on busy days. It didn’t make her uncomfortable. In fact, she craved Mads’ touch so much it was mortifying. But the pet names? Dear god. If Mads kept that up, she swore her heart would explode.

Darling. Sweetheart. One time, when Laila was sick with a fever, Mads had brushed her sweat-slicked bangs back and called her ‘baby’.

When Mads said things like that, it was dangerous. It made Laila want to kiss her.

Feeling that way for her must be some sort of sacrilege. Mads was a hero who risked her life to fight for justice. Who went out of her way to help the little people, ones the King and his men didn’t give a damn about. A woman with a heart of gold who tended to her sworn enemy even though she had no reason to. And Laila was what? A cold-blooded killer. A creature destined for evil from the moment she was born. An orphan of her own making.

Mads may have a heart of gold, but that heart could never love her. Not in the way Laila so selfishly wanted her to.

The kettle whistled merrily. Mads sat across from her, a broad smile on her face.

“This looks delicious,” she said, scooping a heaping spoonful of rice onto her plate. “Smells like it, too. Thanks for the meal.”

Laila flushed pink.

“It’s the least I can do.” Mads’ fingers brushed hers as she handed over the spoon. “Tell me about your trip. How was it?”

Mads launched into a long-winded account of her journey and how she took down ten of the King’s soldiers on her own. Laila leaned in, listening intently. She could listen to Mads talk forever.

“Gosh, I forgot about the tea!”

Mads jumped up and rushed over to pour two cups.

“Tulsi or chamomile?” Mads asked.

“Tulsi, please.”

Mads set the steaming mug in front of Laila. Instead of sitting down, she went to her bag.

“I was so happy to see you, I forgot I have something for you.”

“For me?” Laila echoed. “You didn’t have to.”

Mads dug through her bag and retrieved an object wrapped in brown paper tied with twine.

“I think you’ll like it.”

Laila unknotted the twine and pulled the paper away. Inside lay a round tin.

“Open it,” Mads encouraged. “I picked it up from an apothecary in Lewin.”

She twisted the lid, which fell open easily and revealed a pale yellow substance that looked like jelly and smelled like herbs.

“It’s an ointment. The worker said it helps with sore joints. I hope it’ll be good for your hands.”

“Mads.” Laila cradled the tin to her chest. “This is so thoughtful. I—you’re so—”

She really didn’t want to cry, but she couldn’t help the tears that welled up in her eyes.

“Aw, you’re gonna make me cry too,” Mads lamented. She stood up, but Laila motioned for her to sit down again.

“The food is getting cold.” She sniffled. “Don’t worry about me, I’m just really happy. Thank you.”

Mads reached across the table to pat her hand.

“If it’s not effective, I’m going to chew that worker out the next time I’m in Lewin.”

That drew a laugh out of Laila, and they finished their dinner and tea, Mads telling stories between every bite.

Mads insisted on washing the dishes while Laila got ready for bed. She peeked into Laila’s room after, her hands still damp.

“Goodnight, Laila.”

“Goodnight.”

Mads smiled at her before she headed down the hallway to what used to be her parents’ room. Laila fidgeted with her fingers, unconsciously forming messy versions of the sigils Valeria taught her. How would Mads react if Laila said she wanted to sleep by her side? Would she be disgusted? Would she find it strange? Would she take it the wrong way, assuming Laila only wanted her body?

She placed a fist over her treacherous heart, as if that would make it stop racing. She couldn’t feel this way. It was wrong and selfish and unfair to Mads, but she couldn’t help it.

Instead of a nightmare, that night Laila dreamt of falling asleep next to Mads. Her scarred back pressed against Mads’ chest, secure and warm, heart fluttering with an emotion she refused to name.

[saemki]

laila and mads (recolored by me)

credit: neka maker

[saemki]

Dark Heart #5

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 Laila awoke to birdsong. 

Consciousness came slowly. Her eyelids fluttered, heavy with exhaustion. Her body was cushioned by downy softness. A gentle breeze drifting through an ajar window tickled the side of her face. Delicate blue curtains swayed in the wind, as beautiful as butterfly wings.

“Welcome back to the land of the living.” 

Mads entered the room, balancing a tray on one arm while holding a pitcher of water in the other. As she passed the window, the sun lit her back and made it look like an angel. 

Where am I? Laila asked as soon as Mads linked their minds. 

“At my place.” Mads placed the tray and pitcher on the bedside table. “Well, sort of. It was my parents’, but everyone’s moved out by now, so I use it as a base these days. It’s no mansion, but I’ll give you a tour later. But first…”

She rummaged around in her pocket and pulled out a pair of thin metal rods with curved ends that clinked together in her palm. 

“…I’m going to get these damn things off you.” 

Gently, she brushed Laila’s hair away from the back of her neck. 

“Bear with me,” she murmured, leaning in close. “This may take awhile.” 

She inserted one rod into the keyhole, turning it to the side before using the second to push up the pins within the lock. Pushing the rod in further, she looked for the seized pin. The first one went up with no resistance, same with the second and third. But the fourth one barely moved.  

“Almost got it.”

Mads fiddled with the rod, jamming it into the pin until it clicked and popped upwards. She did the same with the fifth pin. With a few more twists of the lockpick, the back of the mask fell open. 

Laila sat frozen in place as Mads took the mask in both hands and pulled it off. She placed it out of sight behind a bunched up part of the blanket. Laila caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror hung on the wall across from the bed. Red, irritated dents outlined where the mask used to rest. Her lips were chapped and pale. Her jaw was more apparent, her cheeks thin and caved in. She hardly recognized the woman staring back at her. 

“Mads,” she rasped, her first time speaking out loud in months. “I…”

Mads poured a cup of water from the pitcher and pushed it into her hands. 

“Drink first.” 

She did, gulping it down greedily. Mads refilled the cup and brought it to Laila’s lips, helping her drink it slowly. 

“You’ll be sick if you drink so much so fast,” she chided. 

“I know.” Laila’s voice was still hoarse, but no longer as gravelly and painful. “But I haven’t been able to in so long.” 

Mads’ shoulders dropped. 

“I know.” She took in a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “We aren’t done yet.” 

The shackles were harder to unlock, with small keyholes that could scarcely fit the lockpicks. Yet Mads worked diligently, steady hands moving the rods every which way until they opened with an audible pop.  

Once they were both off, Laila tried to extend her fingers. They couldn’t move much, sore and stiff from their tight containment. 

Mads took Laila’s hands in her own and rubbed circles into tendons and muscles stiff from months of disuse. Laila’s muscles untensed, finally, finally able to relax for the first time in what felt like forever. A lump formed in her throat, overwhelmed by her newfound freedom. By Mads’ trust in her, strong enough to bring an enemy into her cherished childhood home. 

The tears came quietly at first, enough to escape Mads’ notice. Laila tried to hold back, but she couldn’t. They shook her shoulders, wracked her entire body as she curled into Mads’ chest and sobbed. 

Mads held her with one arm and stroked her hair with the other. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m just…so happy,” she choked out. “I thought I’d die down there.” 

“I wouldn’t have let that happen.” Mads’ brow wrinkled and her hold tightened. “But I shouldn’t have let you suffer for so long. I should’ve freed you much sooner.” 

“You couldn’t have gotten past the guards.” 

“No, I could’ve found a way.” Mads wore a grim look. “I could’ve done something.” 

“You did. You took care of me, even though you had no reason to.” 

“I didn’t need a reason.” 

Mads held her, letting her tears soak her shirt until Laila fell asleep, exhausted but safe.

[saemki]

Dark Heart #4

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Months went by, and Laila found herself used to her situation. The feeding tube was still an uncomfortable nuisance, but Mads had found a way to slip a straw beneath her mask. She nearly cried in relief when those first drops of water soothed her dry, irritated throat. She did cry when Mads brought her a bottle of sweet fruit juice after so long of having nothing besides the bare necessities. 

As one of the top revolutionaries, Mads was a busy woman. Still, she made time to visit Laila, to bathe her and wash her hair, to bring her water and juice and wine, or hot cider and tea and thick blankets when winter came. And she always, always gave warning if she had to leave for a mission. 

She had left the week prior, bidding Laila goodbye with a stack of enchanted novels that allowed her to flip the pages with her mind, an impossible task for someone with bound hands. The books were entertaining, full of high-stakes tales of adventure, swoon-worthy romance, and emotional scenes that made her heart swell and drop. Even so, they could not compare to Mads’ steadfast presence, nor her jokes and sweet touches.

Twelve days after Mads’ departure, alarm bells began to ring. In the distance, muffled by the thick walls and the long hallway that stretched between Laila’s cell and the rest of the dungeons, she heard sounds of commotion. Armor clanging, panicked shouts, guns cocking, heavy boots thrumming againsst the floor. Shoving her books to the side, Laila swung her feet over the edge of the bed and crept as close to the door as the chains bolted into the wall allowed her to go. Their length wasn’t nearly enough, and the barred window lay too high on the door for her to look through. 

The bells grew louder, more urgent. A door slammed open, the force causing the walls to shudder. Someone yelled, and she strained closer to hear, muscles protesting from the strain.

“Here…King’s army…they…!”

Gritting her teeth, she forced herself forward. The chains creaked and groaned.

“Attacked…waiting…reinforcements…”

An acrid smell wafted through the bars. Laila wrinkled her nose.

“Need all the hands…put out…keeps spreading…”

“Fire!” someone shrieked.

Even in her isolated space, she could hear the prisoners clamoring. They rattled the bars, yelled and jeered at the fleeing guards. She stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over her chains. They weren’t going to let anyone go, certainly not her. She was going to die down here. Would asphixiation from the smoke take her first, or would she be stuck waiting for the flames to engulf her? Heart hammering, she yanked at the chains. No matter how hard she tugged, bracing herself with her feet against the wall, the bolted plate didn’t give. She panted, every inhale bringing the steadily increasing trickle of smoke into her lungs. Her knees hit the floor, fear making her too weak to stand.

No, no, I don’t want to die, she thought desperately. Not here, please not here, not alone!

She could hear the flames approaching, their roar overpowering everything else. The screams, the thundering footsteps above her, the relentless gun and cannon fire. The other prisoners begged to guards that were not there. They threw themselves against the bars, and Laila would’ve done the same could she move close enough to the door. The smoke swept in like a horde of phantoms, a thick, cloudy gray that obscured her vision and burned her throat. She curled into herself, pressing the neckline of her tunic over her nose and mouth.

Please, she wept. Please, tell me you’ll come back.

“Hey!” a prisoner yelled.

She didn’t have the strength to lift her head up. 

“Hey, lady! Where are you going? Let us out!”

The door flew open. Laila shifted to her side, trying to catch a glimpse of who had come.

Is it you? It must be, right?

Tears leaked out of her burning eyes as she looked up at the figure in the doorway. 

Mads rushed through the smoke, dropping to her knees at Laila’s side. With a swipe of her sword, the chains connecting Laila to the wall fell to the ground. She swept Laila into her arms like she weighed nothing, carrying her out of that wretched cell and through dungeon hallways, unlocking each cell with a flick of her hand all the while. 

You came.

Mads smiled down at her. 

“Of course I did.”

That smile was the last thing she saw before her vision faded to black.

[saemki]

Dark Heart #3

Part 1 | Part 2

cw: mention of suicidal thoughts

Laila tossed and turned under her torn blanket. She itched like a thousand bugs were crawling over every inch of her skin. She felt disgusting, covered in grime and sweat after the guards missed her bimonthly sorry excuse for a shower. When the guard came to feed her, she tried to remind him, but there was no use in trying to speak. All she could get out was muffled nonsense, and the guard had looked at her with such disdain she was embarrassed she even tried. 

It killed her to admit it, even to herself, but she missed Mads. At least she could understand her, but clearly she’d realized that Laila was a lost cause. Why had she kept coming in the first place? What sort of person wanted to make daily trips to a dark cell to visit someone who had killed so many of their comrades?

Someone who wants to gloat. She said it herself.

But Mads had stopped being so smug after the first week. Dry comments turned into casual conversation, like she was telling a friend about her day instead of a high-security prisoner. Laila missed it so much, it ate her up inside. She was so, so lonely. She drifted off and dreamt of a thumb against her temple and Mads’ laugh in her ear.

+++

The squeal of the old hinges jolted her out of sleep. 

“Hello,” Mads said. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

Laila glared.

“Not a morning person?” Mads teased, crossing the room to sit on the edge of the cot. 

Her thumb met Laila’s skin and she let her in like it was second nature.

“Should I come back later, let you sleep more?”

Laila crossed her arms and refused to meet Mads’ eyes.

I don’t know why you came in the first place. 

“I just got back and I chose to come see you first thing, but it seems like that was a mistake. Why are you in such a bad mood first thing in the morning?”

Because I’m sick of this! Laila exclaimed. I’m sick of not being able to speak, or eat, or bathe. Everything I do is at the whim of others! If I want to speak, I need you. If I want to eat or drink, I need a guard to funnel slop through my nose. Do you know what I would give to eat something, actually eat something? I would chew and swallow molded bread or drink polluted water if it meant I could do it on my own. My mouth is so dry, it’s worse than the days I spent dehydrated in that damned wasteland. 

If I want to shower, I need the guards to strip me naked and douse me in freezing water, and they haven’t come in a month. It’s humiliating and violating and I hate it. I’m disgusting. My hair is disgusting. My body is disgusting. The mask makes me feel like throwing up if it shifts even just a bit, and my fingers ache. I just want to die. Are those good enough reasons for you?

Mads looked at her with such pity, it made her more nauseous than the metal in her mouth ever had. 

“I’ll be back,” she promised.

Wait, don’t! Mads couldn’t hear it, already rushing towards the door. Hold on!

True to her word, Mads returned not long later. She grunted as she pushed the door open, hands full with a hefty bucket. Water sloshed over the edges and dripped to the floor. She set it down next to the cot, and pulled a bottle and a cloth out of her bag. Then she put her thumb to the side of Laila’s head again, this time exerting more magic than usual.

“There,” she said, satisfied as she pulled her finger away. “It should work even when I’m not touching you now.”

What are you doing? Laila asked.

“Giving you a bath.” Mads rolled up her sleeves and doused the cloth in the bucket. “Take it as an apology for leaving without any notice.”

You don’t have to do this for me. 

“Too late. If the guards won’t, I’ll take it into my own hands.”

Mads ran the damp cloth over her arm. The water was pleasantly warm, and Mads took great care to drag the cloth over every place she could reach. She wiped away the dirt and grime and rinsed the cloth in the basin after each swipe. The soap came next, spread across her skin by callused hands. No one had ever touched her with such gentleness, save for perhaps Valeria. Once her body had been cleaned and dried, Mads guided her to the floor, positioning her neck against the edge of the bucket. If her hands had felt good against her skin, they felt even better massaging her scalp, running soap through the tangled, greasy mess of her hair. Nimble fingers unraveled every knot and lathered soap from root to end. The water temperature had cooled to lukewarm, so Mads took care to avoid getting it on Laila’s skin. 

I don’t understand. Laila was sure her voice would’ve broken had she been able to say it out loud. Why are you doing this? Why do you come visit me? Why are you…being so nice?

“I don’t know, honestly,” Mads admitted, rinsing the suds out of Laila’s hair. “I always hated you, even before we fought for the first time. You were another one of the King’s dogs. One of the strongest. I hated you more each time we clashed, and even more when I found out you were the Dread. You’ve killed my people. You’ve sent them to rot in cells like this one. I meant only to visit you once to revel in your capture and never return. But seeing you in this state…I felt the need to come back. You looked so sad. So defeated. And I should be happy about that, but for some reason I’m not. So I’m here.” 

She helped Laila sit up and wrung out her dripping hair with a towel. 

“It doesn’t help that you’re not so bad to talk to.” 

Laila laughed, the sound captured by the mask.

I have been told my whole life that I am the furthest thing from a conversationalist. 

“They couldn’t be more wrong.” 

Laila settled back against Mads’ chest as she toweled off her hair. She was warm and inviting, and if Laila believed in any gods, she would pray to them to never leave her arms.

[saemki]

Dark Heart #2

Part 1

“I thought you must’ve died after that bastard decided to throw you to the wolves! It’s a shame to see you alive and kicking.” 

Laila jerked against her restraints instinctively, her body urging her to lunge at Mads and shut her mouth. 

“Well, I guess it’s nice to see you like this.” Mads’ eyes flicked from Laila’s gag to her restrained hands. “Although I wish I had been the one to put you in these. How did some second rate guys manage to capture you before I could, huh?”

If Laila could, she would hit her with a curse of silence. Instead, she leveled Mads with a glare she hoped conveyed the amount of rage burning within her. 

“It’s kind of boring when you can’t talk back.” Mads scratched her head. “I just wanted to confirm the rumors I heard were actually true.”

She spun on her heel and moved to open the door. Laila’s chains rattled as she reached out, thankful that the gag stopped her from crying out, ‘don’t leave!’

Mads glanced over her shoulder and aimed a two-fingered salute at her before exiting. 

Laila huffed. She wanted to kill her. She wanted her to come back.

+++

The next day, the door swung open again hours after she had been fed. 

“Hello again,” Mads said, ducking inside. “I’m back. Thought it would be fun to gloat again.”

Laila glowered. Asshole. 

Mads strode closer, stopping just far enough so Laila’s restraints went taut and she couldn’t reach. It was a smart move. Laila would’ve decked her with a metal mitt if she came any closer.

“I want to try something.”

Mads reached a hand out, and Laila drew back. The revolutionary pursed her lips. 

“I told you, it’s boring when you can’t talk back. So I’m gonna give you the chance to speak.”

Laila furrowed her brows. If anything, this was a ploy to torment her further. But her curiosity got the best of her, so she leaned forward. 

Mads smiled triumphantly and pressed her thumb to the side of Laila’s head. Magic pulsed at the edges of her mind, like gentle fingers probing for entry. Laila gasped and scrambled backwards, hitting the wall.

“If you let me in, you can talk to me. Or more like, send your thoughts to me.”

Hesitantly, she scooted towards Mads until she was back in reach. Again, Mads pressed her thumb to her temple, and this time, Laila let her in. She had been trained against every form of telepathic magic. Her mind was strong as a fortress, but she was desperate for the chance to speak, even if it wasn’t verbal.

“Say something,” Mads encouraged.

Fuck you.

Mads threw her head back and laughed. 

“You haven’t changed at all.”

Laila would argue the opposite. Exile had changed her. Imprisonment had changed her. She wasn’t sure who she was anymore. 

Are you going to keep showing up to harass me?

“Given the amount of times you’ve tried to kill me, I think it’s warranted.” Mads glanced at the door. “Should I leave?”

Don’t, Laila said, hoping Mads couldn’t hear the desperation in her tone over their mental link.

Based on the way her eyes widened, she could. 

“Alright, then.”

And even when she did leave, she came back the next day. And the next, and the day after that, until her appearance was a given. A daily event as consistent as the guard with the feeding tube. Every time, she pressed her thumb against Laila’s temple and granted her the ability to communicate once again, a gift Laila could not figure out what she had done to deserve. Her touch was gentle. Even the magic that wormed its way into her mind was gentle, like a warm caress. No matter how rude she was, no matter how many insults and cruel she hurled at Mads, she always came back.

Until one day she didn’t, and Laila was left alone again, her only company the silent guard and the occasional bug or rat scuttling across the ground.

[saemki]

Dark Heart #1

Whispers filled the crowded hallways, blending together into a snake’s hiss. Laila swallowed hard, saliva pooling uncomfortably in her throat. The metal mask they clasped around her face had a flat sheet that pressed her tongue to the bottom of her mouth, preventing her from verbal spell casting. 

“It’s really her,” someone in the crowd muttered. “The Dread of Dowen.”

The whispers grew louder. Someone spat at her feet. She tried to flex her fingers, but the metal mitts encasing her hands kept them in place. Yet another safeguard against spell casting, this time for hand sigils. 

Laila kept her head held high, meeting the gaze of every person pushing to catch a glimpse of her beaten and restrained. Some shuddered, others flinched away, and a few of the bravest held her stare until she passed. 

The guards at her back led her through winding hallways, down steep stairs, and past barred cells until they reached a thick iron door at the edge of the dungeons. The hinges creaked as a guard pushed it open, a grating noise that echoed in the dank air. 

The other guard shoved her through the doorway. She landed in an unceramonious heap, the side of her mask clanging against the floor and sending painful reverberations through her jaw. The door slammed shut behind her, causing the stone walls to quake. 

Picking herself up off the ground, Laila surveyed the cell. It didn’t have much to offer. A moth-eaten cot shoved in one corner with a bunched up, threadbare blanket. In the other corner, a basin and a stone toilet. 

She limped over to the cot and sank into the lumpy mattress. She wanted to rip the mask off her face and the mitts off her hands. She wanted to bring the entire building crashing to the ground. She wanted to hope that someone would come for her, but she knew no one would. The King had already denounced her for her use of dark magic, as if his advisors weren’t the ones who taught her how to use it. How to channel it by whispering words and twisting her fingers, who sent her out to fight and kill with it. 

She had been born with it. A wild and untamed darkness that seeped through her very skin as she grew, manifesting in blackened runes scrawled across her body. It took her parents, her sister, drained the very life from her hometown until the grass wilted and the soil dried out. It took those near her, quicker for the ones she touched.

One day, the King’s troops were sent to investigate the deaths in a tiny town in the south of Dowen. They found her alone in a house made of rotting wood and took her back to the palace in gloved hands. There, she met Archmage Valeria, a stern woman whose eyes softened when she was presented with a trembling child radiating darkness and death. She taught her how to control the darkness and disguise it as regular magic, and it worked until her last mission. 

A reckless blunder exposed herself to the entire kingdom as the Dread of Dowen. The mysterious dark sorcerer that struck in the dead of night and left a trail of bodies behind them was in fact the Head Mage of the King’s army. 

It wasn’t a good look for his rulership, so King Katz denounced her in front of a roaring crowd, ousting her in a violent ceremony designated for heretics who went against the law and practiced dark magic. The King’s men strung her up and pressed hot pokers to her bare back, branding her with the kingdom’s pentagram star. Then she was sent into exile, dumped and left to die in a wasteland across Dowen’s western border.

She crawled when the pain in her back made it impossible to walk, crossing the barren ground until she made it to civilization. The burns healed raised and reddened, cutting through the mess of runes clustered on her skin. She covered her marked skin and hid her face with a hood, passing from town to town like a ghost, staying in the shadows and never lingering for too long.

Still, the revolutionaries found her. An underground group determined to remove Katz from the throne. A group she’d fought against time and time again, capturing or killing their members on order of the King. It was no surprise they still came for her even after being exiled by the man they hated. But she had been so focused on avoiding those who wanted to burn dark magic users at the stake, she forgot to account for them. 

She shifted to lie on her back. The brand was still tender despite being fully healed, but she paid it no mind. The metal sheet weighed heavy in her mouth, cold against her teeth. Its presence made her feel like gagging, and frustrated tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. Staring at the dark ceiling, she began to wish the King’s men hadn’t listened to Valeria’s pleas to let her live. 

Weeks passed, but to Laila, they dragged on into what felt like years. She tracked the days based on her feeding time. Once a day, a guard would enter, shove a tube down her nostril, pump liquid nutrients into her stomach, and leave without a word, even as she coughed and choked and cried in the first days. Two weeks in, they stripped her of her scratchy tunic and trousers and hosed her down with cold water like a dog. It was utter humiliation, a feeling she was growing used to. 

She was lying in bed–as she always did, for there was nothing else to do–when the door creaked open. Startled, she sat up and squinted so her eyes would adjust to the sudden light spilling through the doorway. Someone had already come to feed her, and no one came to see her beyond that. A tall figure stepped in, kicking the door shut behind them. 

“I leave for a month and miss all the fun,” they drawled. 

Laila grit her teeth. She would recognize that cocky voice anywhere.

Madura, known as Mads to her fellow revolutionaries, leaned against the door with her arms crossed over her chest, sporting a grin that made a growl rise in the back of Laila’s throat. 

“Long time no see.”

[mightbebobbie]

happy valentines 💖💕🌸

[stargirl230]

thanks for the light

I was just trying to figure out how procreate works but then the op brainworms got to me and 35 hours later here we are! can you tell I miss home-cooked meals :')

(no reposts; reblogs appreciated)

[dragonbonez]

He just wants to be like his dad.

[autisticaboutstufflol]

im actually the funniest guy ever

[teas-onepiece-stuff]

Drew Sanji with his mouse friend for the Zosan Tangled AU as well as two extra sketches from tonight

[mightbebobbie]

after wci… i like to think zoro respects sanji a lot for doing everything he could to protect the crew in the way he thought was best :’)

[cottoncandyofterror]

Thriller Bark but OPLA and a wee bit more homoerotic touching!

[moonpaw]

can’t offer him fuck all