#ofincantations

@ofincantations​ asked:  “i never want to hear you say that again.”

It didn’t so much hurt, but it was the speed in which the back of Mary Lou’s hand came in contact with his mouth that startled him. He had jumped, dropped his spoon, splashed a bit of vegetable stew on the table as he brought his hands up to cradle his mouth. Sometimes he swore, she was always on edge to give him a smack. Patient but itching to catch him slipping up even the slightest bit because, to her, all infractions were seen the same; it coincided with the Bible! All sins were created equal, as were all violations to her list of rules.

@ofincantations​ asked:  “where did you get that? who gave it to you?”

@ofincantations

Imogen has to swallow her instinct to say something snarky. It takes all her strength to do so. Let no one say she never sacrifices for anyone.

"Well, I am feeling a little tickle in my throat, to be honest."

Okay, so maybe she doesn't succeed in suppressing her snark. (Gotta work on that.) But she tries, and isn't that what matters?

It seemed all the children had gone out to play, or pass out the pamphlets- well, except for Chastity, of course, who Credence had spotted dutifully washing and drying dishes in the kitchen as he walked past it. The nave was just as empty as the rest of the place except for his unmistakable mother, sitting at one of the tables writing out what he could only assume was her next sermon. They were all similar but never quite the same.

Credence stepped up behind her with a bouquet of Sweet Peas clutched in his hand; pink, white, purple and blue.  “Mama,”  he interrupted in a hushed voice, reached out to tap Mary Lou on the shoulder. He normally wouldn’t dare disturb her when she was working on her speeches but this was important. He had a gift!  “Happy Mother’s Day, mama. Look, I got these for you.”  The boy’s lips pursed together in something akin to a smile, but not quiet.

Credence barely had time to raise his head and see who it was standing in front of him before the stack of leaflets were slapped out of his hands. The papers scattered, littering the sidewalk and the streets.  “Didn’t I tell you to stay off this block?”  Roy reiterated with much threat in his tone. The Barebone boy didn’t respond to him; his mama had specifically told him to cover these blocks with Modesty. And he was much more scared of Mary Lou than he was of Roy Cooper.  “Hey, I’m talkin’ to you!”  he continued when he realized he wasn’t getting quite the reaction that he wanted.

Credence continued to maintain his silence, instead opting to kneel down and grab up as many of the leaflets as he could manage.  “Ow!” Credence sucked in a sharp breath, and he finally responded when a heavy work boot slammed down on his fingers, crushing them between the rubber bottoms and the concrete.  “Ah! Get off! That hurts!”  He attempted to shove at the older boy’s shins but it was really no use. Roy seemed to be getting some kind of sick enjoyment out of the torment, laughing to himself.  “Oh, now you’re talking?”  He mocked.  “Are you slow or what? Didn’t I tell you to stay off this block?”  He said again, digging harder into Credence’s fingers- Credence was desperately trying to yank them out from under the other boy’s boot. Roy glanced up when he spotted some quickened movements heading in their direction.  “Oh look, your baby sister is coming to your rescue! How cute.”

@ofincantations​ asked:  "you look like your father."

“Ah,”  was all Lucius said at first. A sound of acknowledgement that he had heard her comment. It did not sound like a compliment, nor did he take it as one. But facts were facts- and he looked exceedingly like Abraxas. The Malfoy genes were strong as it seemed their signature platinum blond hair and skin so delicately white that it almost seemed to glow under certain lighting beat out even dominant genes. Word was old blood magic could have been involved but that, of course, has never been confirmed.

@ofincantations​ asked:  “What do you dream about?”

“What do I dream about?”  Credence repeated the question.  “Oh... I don’t know. I dream about all kinds of things, I guess.”  Most of the time they were less dreams and more nightmares, but he didn’t want to say that and upset Modesty for asking such an innocent question. He dunked the plate he had just scrubbed back down into the water to rinse off any remaining soap, and then handed it over to Modesty to dry. Dishes, in general, were one of the easier chores to do around the church despite the volume of them from all of the orphans that their mother fed. But doing them alongside his sister made the task enjoyable in a way. It gave them downtime to just talk with one another; something that neither child did very much of in general.  “If I had to pick a dream that I have a lot it’s uh...”