inthewildwood | Girls Like Girls! A femslash ficathon

no worries!! thanks for your lovely comment, it really made my day ♥

elementary, joan/moriarty, do you know where the wilds things go/they go along to take your honey

carmilla web series, carmilla/laura, and I promised myself I wouldn’t let you complete me

veronica mars, veronica/lilly, love is watching someone die

harry potter, ginny/hermione, see two young savage things

Mahou Shoujo Lyrical Nanoha (StrikerS onwards i.e. adulthood), Fate/Nanoha, Long-distance is hard but we make it work.

Akuma no Riddle | Riddle of the Devil, Tokaku/Haru, I will protect you. Always.

Breathe…in through the nose, sharp, out through the mouth, hot…that’s a good girl.

The words come into her head in Miss Giddy’s firm rasp, sending an immediate wash of stiff-backed strength through Splendid’s core. Everything aches, and not in its usual ache—her back, her hips, her neck, all of it throbs and heaves, like her bones are melting in on each other, like they couldn’t support her or her little one any longer, or maybe didn’t want to.

“Miss—Giddy—“ she huffs out, mouth dry with sand. But her teacher-mother isn’t there. It is only her mind, her thoughts drowning in the ever-nearing roar of engines, the thick, choking scent of guzzoline. She is alone between monsters made of metal, her baby wishing to be out into the awful world, her chest screaming with tight agony, and all she wants is the strength to push herself off from the sand and back into her sisters’ waiting arms.

“Grab her,” Joe yells out into the dry air, voice thick with anger, but void of emotion. How much feeling could one have for a plaything, anyways? They get dirty and torn and you throw them away.

But Splendid is no longer the spoilt boy’s plaything, so she grits her teeth, stands on shaking and searing legs, holds her hands up into the dry air, and screams with all the breath in her lungs towards the disappearing War Rig, “I’m alive!”

The words ring out hot and clear, the blue skies ignoring the gag in the back of her throat, the choke of dirt and blood rising in her gullet. It lets the words travel, all the way back to the War Rig rumbling into the horizon, and Splendid holds her breath until a familiar shock of brilliant red appears outside the cab of the truck.

The sound of brakes crunching against sand brings a garbled laugh to her lips. She stumbles forward, her belly throwing her off balance as it often does, and a gout of blood travels down her leg followed by a sharp pain. “I’m alive,” she says again, falling to her knees, the grit digging into her flesh. The road melts in front of her, Joe yells from behind, and the Splendid Angharad closes her eyes, the fire of Capable’s hair still burned into memory.

*

Hot, too hot, she thinks before even opening her eyes, the blankets covering her body soaked in sweat. The world smells like metal. “Water,” she croaks, and a tin cup touches her lips.

“Our brilliant Splendid,” the Dag says from her left, tipping the cup a bit more for her. “Is there a thing you cannot master?”

Splendid opens her eyes, gritty with grime. “What…have I mastered?”

“Staying alive,” Capable says from her right, voice hushed and gentle, and then Splendid knows, she just knows that the little one made it.

“Let me see him,” Splendid says, lifting herself off the hot metal floor of the hidden cab in the truck. A fiery pain spreads through her lower half, but the cloth covering her is not soaked in blood, so she just keeps her eyes on the bundle on Capable’s arms and tries to forget about her baby-bereft body.

Capable looks up at her, eyes serene in a way none of their eyes have ever been, not for one second. “Ten fingers, ten toes, and a button nose. Perfect in every way.” A stray curl falls into her puffy eyes, and Splendid can see she’s been crying.

“No tears, Capable one,” Splendid says, taking the child from her arms. “What is there to cry about now? The little one is born free. I’m free. We are free.” Capable was right—the baby is perfect, plump and pink and squirming, a blank slate in their cruel world. “Who helped me with him?”

The Dag and Cheedo go quiet, looking away shyly. But Capable just smiles. “I led him into the world. He came feet-first, you know, but my mum used to deliver the Wretched babes. All I had to do was give him a lovely little gentle touch and twist and there he was.”

Furiosa leans back, arm on the back of Max’s seat. “You wouldn’t have made it without her help, Splendid.”

Capable ducks her head, cheeks flushing sweetly. She touches the baby’s tiny, curled fist. “What shall you call him?”

Splendid slides her index fingers along the baby’s cheek until she meets Capable’s touch, both of them sharing the warmth of his strong breath. “I will call him Abel. And from now on, I will be Angharad.”

“No more Splendid?” Cheedo looks almost bereft but hides it well.

Angharad, newly born and newly mothered, shakes her head. “I will use the name my mother gave me, and Abel will have the name of the mother who brought him into the world.”

Capable opens her mouth to speak, then closes it. “Oh, Angharad,” she says softly, lip trembling.

“We must all be mothers now,” Angharad says, holding Abel close to her chest. “On our very own terms.”

The War Rig rumbles along the dusty desert, coughing its great bellows of smoke into the gritty air, and the mothers curl up together with their new son. “We are alive, Capable,” Angharad says, face buried in Capable’s sun-scented hair.

“That we are,” Capable says, eyes shut to the world, lips curled into a smile.

Author's notes: Modern AU with the girls escaping Joe's "cult," aro-ace Angharad, mention of past abuse, POV Capable.

Capable wakes every night in a sheen of sweat, her harsh breath clattering into the room, the nightmare fading away from the edges of her vision. She looks around, takes inventory—her room is small and sparsely decorated with a roll-top desk and chest of drawers, her curtains pale pink, her framed photo of the girls atop her night table.

Joe and his roaming hands and Cheshire cat smile are nothing but memories.

The clock always reads sometime between midnight and two in the morning—the witching hours, as Miss Giddy used to say. Now they just feel like a prison sentence. Capable sits up and tugs on her plush bathrobe. She and Angharad bought them at Wal-Mart, two of the same robes, because they were so deliciously soft and luxurious, so different from the simple, coarse garments Joe dressed them in. Then she goes to Angharad’s room.

Angharad is always awake in those hours. She refuses to sleep and give in to the satisfaction of the nightmare that used to visit her as well. Her bedroom is the same size and shape with a comfortable chair in the corner for reading, and when Capable peers through the crack in the door, she sees her Angharad sitting with her legs curled up to her chest, reading glasses perched at the tip of her nose, a book open in her hands.

Angharad smiles softly and sets down her book. “Nightmares again?” Capable nods and steps inside, instantly calming in the warm, yellowish light coming from Angharad’s lamp. “Come sit with me.”

Capable curls up next to Angharad in the big chair. Her body isn’t as small as it used to be when Joe had them on rations—her hips have filled out, her face has rounded fully like it was when she was a little girl. Angharad is still slim, but she practically glows with health now that she’s free to eat the foods she loves. Her caesarean scar is dark and visible beneath her thin cotton tank top, and Capable strokes it gently with her index finger. Angharad doesn’t mind it. “I can almost smell him,” Capable says, burying her face in Angharad’s neck. “It just won’t go away.”

Angharad sighs, taking off her eyeglasses. She wraps her arm around Capable’s shoulders. “Remember what the doctor said? It’ll take time. And now that we’re free, we’ve got lots of time.” She glances at her night table where there is a small framed photo of the baby, the little one she gave up for adoption after they got out. She doesn’t know his name, only his face.

(Capable knows his name. It’s Thomas. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever tell Angharad or if Angharad even wants to know).

Capable glances over to see Angharad’s book—The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. Despite their lack of education in Joe’s “Citadel,” Angharad was an excellent reader and devoured all the literature she could get. The Dag preferred erotic novels, the pages of lush sex scenes and descriptive kissing sending her into sweet dreams, but Angharad claimed she’d had enough sex (“Not sex, rape,” Toast says with clenched teeth, and they know, Angharad knows, but she is still so very afraid of that terrible word) for a lifetime and that she’d rather read about what happens when sex is not happening.

Capable doesn’t read any books because she can’t read, was never allowed. But her sisters—and Angharad, who is something different than a sister now—are teaching her, and so is Miss Giddy, who still comes by once in a while, and she and Cheedo see a tutor who helps them with things like finances, science, and letters.

“Is this book for college?” Capable plays with the frayed pages of the novel.

“No,” Angharad says, smiling. “Just for fun.” She’s already passed her GED classes and is taking courses in literature and political science at the community college, something Capable can hardly dream of. They barely allow her to help out part-time at the church daycare after she passed her mental health exams, citing she might be a danger to the children, as if she wasn’t formerly a child who’d had much of that danger done to herself.

The only thing Capable understood was children. Angharad understood everything. She was going to make something of herself, of them, of all of them and the women and boys Joe kept under his iron grip for so many years.

“Fun,” Capable says, a huff of irony in her voice. “I still don’t know how to do that. To have that.”

The Dag began having fun right after they got out—she loved parties and clubs, wearing nice clothes, staying out late. She kept boyfriends and girlfriends. Toast was quieter, and since she was the only girl who still had family looking for her in the world, she moved back across the country and didn’t see her sisters very often. Cheedo was still a little girl with plenty of life left ahead of her, and the kind couple who secreted them away from Joe’s world adopted her as their beloved daughter, hoping to help her finish her girlhood years in peace, prosperity, and true love.

And that just left Capable. Quiet, handy little Capable with her fire-red hair and drawn mouth, the one who raised the Boys from childhood and tried to make them better than just mindless followers, the one who felt she didn’t have a purpose in this brave new world.

“You will learn,” Angharad says firmly, pressing a kiss to the crown of Capable’s head. She gives kisses sparingly, and never for romance or passion. Kisses are like little jewels to her—precious and rare and always well-deserved. “We have a lifetime to learn.”

“Will you always stay with me, my Angharad?” Capable’s voice is small. She wants to take it back, suck the words from the air, but Angharad just tightens her arms, holding her closer.

“Always, my love. This is our world now, and we will learn it together.”

Oh my gosh this prompt is perfect for my OT3! I have no idea if you watch Once Upon A Time at all, but I couldn't resist, so apologies if this means nothing to you!

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The world doesn't stand a chance. Together there is nothing and no one that can stop them.

The Evil Queen.

The Dark One.

The Big Bad Wolf.

They will set the world on fire, burning those who have wronged them, those they love, and everyone in between.

The Queen rules once more, as she should. She plans and schemes and ensures that retribution is as poetic as it is brutal. She couldn't save the Saviour, so instead she embraced the darkness once more to join her there.

The Saviour with the heart with the most potential for darkness is long gone, that darkness having consumed her entirely. It was a noble sacrifice borne of love that led her there, but the result was the same. Now the Dark One feels nothing but vengeance and fury for anyone other than her lovers.

The woman who was a wolf is now just a wolf. She gave up her humanity and allowed the Wolf to swallow her whole in order to join her lovers in the dark. She hunts with all the cunning and deadly grace of her species, both with teeth and claws and dark eyes and seductive lips.

Together they are one.

The head, the heart and the predator.

And they will devour the world for what it has done to them.

Once Upon A Time - Regina/Emma/Ruby - The Head, The Heart and The Predator (http://inthewildwood.livejournal.com/40383.html?thread=157631#t157631)

I only know the show from what I've seen around fandom, but this was still really enjoyable. The imagery it evokes and the delicious viciousness! I like the bit with the Wolf especially.

Aww thank you. :) And thanks for reading even though you don't watch the show.

I don't know if the OP meant that but I read it as bombs (dramatic statements with profound meaning) about truth and beauty. Maybe I'm to literal.

I also have, for some reason, a mental picture of them sharing a bath with one of those fizzy bath bombs bubbling up around them. Mmmm bathtime fun.

Yes!

Not sure if you're even in this fandom (or if anyone's even doing this ficathon anymore, really), but I did use this prompt.

Material Girl (http://archiveofourown.org/works/5204489) | Supergirl CBS | Cat/Kara | T | 500w

Material Girl (http://archiveofourown.org/works/5204489) | Supergirl CBS | Cat/Kara | T | 500w

Actually I'm not, but I'll go read now and leave a comment anyway ^-^
Thank you :D

She’s well-acquainted with the smell of smoke and the roar of pistol fire by now, but she’ll be damned if she still doesn’t jump and curse at the sound of a door being shut. Reminds her too much of a round of gunfire being squeezed off being squeezed off.

Melanie – being Melanie – never flinches. She simply accepts the world around her with such grace and good humor. It’s taken Scarlet long to realize that her friend’s sense of genteel wisdom has been guiding her the whole time.

She leans back against the newel post of the mansion. It’s not Tara, or Charleston, but it has the children, has Melanie in it – it’s home. Convention be blasted to hell, it’s entirely perfect as well.

Melly brings her iced tea and thanks the servants kindly. That’s her way. Scarlet’s is more fiery. And yet they suit, far better than the men in their lives once did.

“Darling, can you help me with the tea tray? The children are waking from their naps.”

“Isn’t that what the servants are for?”

“Oh, but I’d rather you do it.”

Pouting, Scarlet comes away from the porch – knowing all the while she’ll do exactly as Mellie asks.

Cosette only knows one thing about the mysterious girl who’s been beating her to the scene of every single slaying over the past few weeks – she’s got very nice handwriting. Her watcher Faunchelvaunt is very impressed with it too – less with Cosette’s speed, which prevented her from reaching the scene of the crime in due time.

“Be swifter, child,” he advised. “You cannot afford to be tardy and let the innocent suffer in your wake.”

So Cosette tried to be tougher, faster, wiser. It was hard not to wonder, though, about this mystery girl she’d never seen.

***

She finally met the girl with the impeccable handwriting in a cemetery. She was busy strangling a vamp with her bare hands before dusting it, so Cosette understandably didn’t have time for polite conversation with her initially. The vampire dead, Cosette approached her.

“You shouldn’t be out here so late,” she said.

The girl laughed, flicked her dark hair back. “I have to be here. This is my beat.” She raised an eyebrow. “You’re the other one, huh? The blonde girl who was called a couple of weeks ago?”

Cosette’s wounded bird expression must have pierced some tender part of the girls’s conscious; she frowned. “I’ve been learning,” Cosette said in defense of herself.

“Sure you have,” the girl said. “I bet your watcher’s better than mine, eight to the bar.” She came closer, her walk cocky and assured. She brushed a lock of Cosette’s golden hair back, and the stake rattled in her grip.

The kiss was a brush, a little asp’s nibble.

“My name’s Eponine,” the girl said, and then she walked away whistling, the Saint Stephen’s medal tied to her belt jingling with every step.

Yes a katy and topanga fanfic

Girls Like Girls! A femslash ficathon

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Better a Master of One 1/2

Better a Master of One 2/2

Brave New Girls 1/2

Brave New Girls 2/2

Once Upon A Time - Regina/Emma/Ruby

RE: Fills

RE: Once Upon A Time - Regina/Emma/Ruby

RE: Once Upon A Time - Regina/Emma/Ruby

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RE: Fills

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Impertinence, Scarlet/Melanie, PG

An Asp's Nibble (Ep/Cos) (PG)

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